Dancer's Lament: Path to Ascendancy Book 1 (55 page)

‘Beat them with gold,’ Dorin said.

‘I like it,’ Rheena said, and offered Dorin a nod of agreement.

Dorin considered, tilting his head and thinking. He had to admit the plan had a real elegance. What he liked was the logic: why subdue everyone when you could just offer to pay them twice as much? Once word got out they’d start trickling in on their own. And when Urquart couldn’t meet his payroll . . . well, everyone would just melt away.

He gave his own nod of assent. ‘Okay. Give it a shot.’

Wu was obviously disappointed by Dorin’s reaction. He raised his brows. ‘Well, with that enthusiastic endorsement we are in agreement.’ He waved everyone out. ‘Enough for now. My partner and I need to talk.’

Rheena jerked a thumb to the doorway. ‘You heard the man. Get going.’

‘You too,’ Wu said, shooing her out. She shot a glance at Dorin who inclined his head to the doorway and she straightened her shirt. ‘Fine. I’ll be outside, then.’

Once the door was shut Wu turned his attention to Dorin and studied him for a time. He knitted his fingers across his stomach, twiddling his thumbs, and cleared his throat. ‘I know how you feel,’ he began.

‘Oh? You do?’

‘Absolutely. This work bores you. You are thinking . . . what now? Is this all there is? What possible challenge remains?’

Dorin raised a brow. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. And I understand. Really, I do.’

‘You do.’

‘Certainly. And I have been thinking. Other challenges beckon.’ He reached into his shirt and withdrew a flat wooden box.

Dorin jabbed a warning finger. ‘Do not talk to me about the godsdamned box.’

Wu quickly slipped it back within his shirt. ‘Okay.’ He drummed his fingertips on the table before him. His brows rose. ‘About Shadow. I think I may have a solution . . . We could return, as you say.’

Dorin, his arms crossed, leaned forward. ‘You
think
. . . you
think
you have a solution? You’ll have to do better than that.’

‘Well, we have to test it. How else will we find out?’

‘And this testing . . . it involves us dangling ourselves in front of these daemon dogs, I suppose?’

‘Hounds. They’re referred to as hounds.’

Dorin looked to the ceiling. ‘Whatever you say. No. Not good enough. Go dangle yourself.’

Wu ducked his head and fluttered his fingers among the papers piled on his desk. ‘I think we have a greater chance for success together.’

‘You mean you have a better chance with me.’

‘Let’s not get bigheaded,’ Wu observed loftily.

‘No, let’s not.’

Wu stared; Dorin returned the stare. Wu held his glower, his brows lowering. Dorin tilted his head a touch to one side, drew a long slow breath. The silence lengthened between them. He could hear the murmured voices of their crew in adjacent rooms and halls. He waited.

Wu finally pressed a hand to his brow, sighing. ‘You are so
infantile
. So be it! Shalmanat, then. We move against her.’

‘From what I hear we only have to wait.’

‘No. She is recovering.’ Dorin lifted a brow. Wu opened his hands as if insulted. ‘What? I have paid sources in the palace.’ Dorin grunted his satisfaction. ‘So, we are agreed, then?’

He was shaking his head, tapping his thumbs to his biceps. ‘I don’t know. I’m really developing a strong dislike for this place.’

Wu’s grey brows wrinkled in confusion. ‘Well, where then?’

‘I’ve been thinking about Unta . . .’

‘Unta!’ The mage threw his hands in the air. ‘As I’ve said: we’d just have to start all over again.’

Dorin sent him a glare. ‘We? What do you mean
we
? I can do just fine on my own!’

Wu now held his palms out, soothing, ‘Of course, of course. No one disputes that. That is not the question. The question is – what should
we
do?’

‘Exactly.’ He pushed himself from the wall. ‘What should we do?’

Wu merely stared from beneath his wrinkled brows. His tiny ferret eyes darted right and left. Dorin sighed and let his arms fall. ‘I’m going to take a walk.’ He pulled open the door and headed down the tunnel hall. As he passed Rheena he said, ‘I need some air.’ She drew breath to say something, but perhaps noted his expression and reconsidered, and nodded him out instead.

He walked aimlessly through the late afternoon, until an errand he’d been considering for some time brought him to the caravanserai district of the western Gate of the Dusk. He was now slightly anxious, which was almost funny, given what his errand here was, but he felt it just the same. The district was booming now with the end of hostilities; travellers were thick in the streets, and the first of the traders’ caravans had arrived from the nearest cities, such as Ifaran and Ipras. Produce was finally out on the stalls and shops. And people had money now that work was easy to find, what with all the rebuilding to be done. The delayed spring rains, now arrived with a vengeance, were cleansing away the lingering stink of smoke. It seemed surprising to him how quickly people could put hard times out of mind and look ahead to future plans. He supposed it was both a strength and a weakness.

Eventually, after much idling and delaying, he arrived at the wide doors of one of the larger stables in the district; that of Ullara’s family. In time, the portly fellow he assumed to be her father came to him, harried and busy now with all his new business. ‘Yes, sir?’ he asked. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You have a daughter blinded in an attack during the siege?’

The proprietor’s brow crimped, troubled, and he frowned. ‘What of it?’

‘She is well?’

‘As can be. She works with the animals. Seems to have a way with them.’

Dorin cleared his throat. The proprietor waited, looking him up and down, and Dorin saw him eyeing his new soft leather shoes and new charcoal-grey cloak. ‘I am touched by her handicap,’ he managed, and held out a small bag. ‘This is to help with her upkeep. You are kind to have kept her on.’

The proprietor did not reach for the bag. ‘As I said . . . she has a way with the animals.’

‘Please take it. I do not wish her to be any burden to you.’

‘If you insist. My thanks. Who shall I say came by?’

‘No one. No one came.’

The man frowned anew, but nodded. ‘Very well.’

Dorin inclined his head and left. Ullara’s father was hailed by other patrons, and Dorin’s last view of him was of the man tying the pouch to his belt.

He turned a corner and pressed his back to a wall. He cleared his throat, blinking. He hoped the father would say nothing; he was sure she’d be angry with him. Perhaps the bribe would be enough to prevent the father from tossing her out to beg on the streets. But he had to do what he could. At least until he was certain all this infighting between gangs was over. Then it would be safe to return; then he need not worry about what risk he might be bringing to her.

Once they’d made certain of their grip on the city, of course.

He returned to walking the streets. The curfew had been raised and people were in a celebratory mood, though not nearly as exuberant as Dorin imagined they might have been, given the price paid. The taverns and brothels were doing a booming trade, and he and Wu had a cut of that action.

He did not share the mood.

Frankly, he did not know what to think. Assassins didn’t work with partners. You never heard of such things. Yes, there was a tradition of schools and crews, such as the Nightblades; but those were groups, not partnerships.

He frowned as he walked along – it just didn’t seem workable. Who would be in charge? Him, of course. But the crazy mage would always head off and do whatever he wanted. He didn’t listen to reason, couldn’t follow orders. Had no discipline, no training. How could it possibly work?

As always, his wanderings took him up to the rooftops. He sat on the ledge of a three-storey brick building looking to the south, overlooking the Inner Round. The night was very black as heavy clouds promised more rain on the morrow, but the city was alight with celebration of the end of the siege, and victory.

Though bought with sorcerous devastation such as had not been seen in generations.

Dorin tapped his thumbs together at his lap. Perhaps they could go far together, after all. Yes, the lad’s manner and habits drove him to distraction. But there did seem to be a real genius hidden behind all the nonsense. Who else had solved this mystery of Shadow? At least that he knew of. There must be some potential in it. If they could just figure out how to exploit it properly . . .

A light step behind him stilled his thumbs. He drew back his hands, letting the hilts of throwing daggers slip from his wrists into his palms, and slowly glanced over his shoulder. It was that fop, the city mage, the one named Silk.

‘There you are,’ the fellow called from across the roof. ‘Been looking for you.’

The other city mage he’d faced before, Ho, also stepped out from cover, while a Dal Honese woman with a great mane of thick hair rose up from an alley, alighting on the roof. ‘What for?’ Dorin murmured and glanced down to the narrow cobbled way three storeys below, where an enormous giant of a fellow now came shambling out and peered up at him. His toothy grin was bright in the gloom.

Dorin carefully rose to his feet and faced Silk. The fellow adjusted the wide frills on his dark blue silk shirt. ‘Oh, just the matter of a murder.’

‘What of it?’

The mage waggled a finger at him. ‘Can’t have you going round killing people. Not on. We’d like you to come with us peacefully. As you can see, you have no chance.’

‘You don’t really think I’m going to come quietly, do you?’

‘We’d rather you—’

Dorin snapped two throws and the slim blades would have flown true had not the black woman waved at that instant, sending the two missiles awry. As it was, the mage Silk broke off to peer down at his side where his shirt was sliced open. Dorin was gratified to see him pale to a ghostly white. ‘Get the bastard,’ the mage snarled, outraged.

Dorin turned and jumped the alley, but even as he was in the air something slapped him aside and he tumbled, arms flailing, to slam into the brick ledge of the lower roof opposite. He gripped it, winded, his chest screaming its pain.
Damned mages
.

Heavy steps thumped to the brick roof and the wide frowning mage, Ho, appeared and stared down at him. He took hold of Dorin’s shirts and lifted him on to the roof. The pain was excruciating as Dorin’s torso stabbed into him.
Damned mages broke my ribs!

All that lay between him and freedom now was this heavyset mage who held him conveniently at arm’s length. ‘Sorry, old man,’ he murmured, and thrust him in the heart. The hand released him. He fell, almost losing his balance, and ran free to escape.

Something yanked him back by an arm. He turned, and was stunned to see the burly mage still standing – even managing to grip his arm. He stared, absolutely astounded. He could not help but state the obvious: ‘You should be dead.’

The mage pulled the blade from his chest, nodding. ‘Yes, I should be.’ He punched the pommel of the weapon into Dorin’s chest and he collapsed in a sizzling blaze of agony, hugging himself.

Yet he would not give up. He imposed his rigid self-control over the torture of his broken ribs and managed to rise to stagger on. But after only a few steps that formless power took hold of him again and crushed him flat to the roof like an insect.

‘I have him!’ Mara called from the far roof.

Ho lumbered for him once more. The entire area darkened, however, and shadows were now flitting all about like tatters of storm clouds. Ho batted at them and squinted about – he seemed to have lost sight of him. ‘Where is he?’ the big fellow called.

‘I still have him!’ Mara answered.

‘Will someone do something?’ The mage grumbled.

Flames burst to life all about the circumference of the rooftop. Someone yelped in pain and Wu hopped into view batting at his trousers and sleeves. Ho reached out and grasped him by the neck, lifting him from his feet. Dorin strove to throw a weapon but Mara’s grip had him pressed so firmly he found he could not even draw breath. His vision was darkening and a roaring now filled his ears.

The shadows drifted away to nothing and the flames snapped from existence. Ho lumbered to the roof’s edge and held Wu out over the open space. The little mage struggled in Ho’s wide hand. ‘Now let’s not be too hasty . . .’ he gasped.

‘He’ll fall!’ Dorin warned even as Ho opened his grip and Wu slipped from view. ‘No!’ Dorin yelled with the last of his breath. Ho stood peering down and pressing a hand to his chest, rubbing and frowning to himself.

Disbelieving, Dorin managed to drag himself in a crawl to the roof’s lip. He peered down to see the crumpled form of the mage lying twisted amid a pool of blood spreading from his split skull.

He’s faking again, Dorin told himself. He must be. Faking it.

‘It was only two storeys,’ Ho rumbled above his head. ‘Not much of a mage, then.’

It’s false
.

Then a dog emerged from the murk, sniffed at the still form, and started lapping up the blood.

Dorin rolled over to peer up at Ho.
It’s not – the poor fellow couldn’t fly
. He knew that for certain.

Ho drew a short wooden truncheon from his belt and swung at him. He tried desperately to shift his head but Mara still held him in too tight a grip. The baton crashed into his skull and starry darkness swallowed him.

*

He awoke in a dark cell. He immediately felt at his chest and found his ribs had been healed. So, they wanted him alive. Then he remembered, and a great rage swelled over him making him feel all about himself for a weapon – any weapon. But they’d taken everything. All his equipment, all his belts. Even his shoes were gone.

He rested his head back against the cold stone wall. They didn’t have to kill the poor fellow! Still, maybe he wasn’t dead, only badly wounded. Or he’d faked it. But it had seemed so
real
. How had he done it?

Well, it was of no help to him now. He rose and found on the floor a plate covered by a wooden bowl. Within lay bread and a cold porridge of boiled barley. He ate and banged on the stout wooden door. ‘Hello! Anybody there? Hello?’ After he’d waited a long time footsteps sounded in the hall beyond. ‘Hello?’ he called again.