Read Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts Online
Authors: David Dalglish
Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts
“That’s the way this world works, Muzien. It’s the best of us who die before their time, the ones who the world gives cruel jokes and ignoble deaths.”
“If that is true, then why do I still live?”
Ridley winked.
“Because you’re
not
the best of us. You’re the worst of us, Muzien, the very worst.”
At that, the Darkhand had to smile. He looked to the sleeping city that, despite the fire he set, would not dare come to put it out, not while so many of his guild walked the streets in all directions, ordering men and women to return to their beds should they poke their heads out their doors. The city was alive, Muzien knew, a living, breathing conglomerate of beings, and like any being, it could be made to fear, and fear him it would.
But there was still one man out there who wouldn’t fear him, who could be a great asset to his plan, or its most terrible threat.
“Where have you gone, my student?” Muzien asked with a breathless whisper that was carried away by the night wind along with the smoke, ash, and all else that remained of the Hawk Guild.
David Dalglish
currently lives in rural Missouri with his wife, Samantha, and daughters Morgan and Katherine. He graduated from Missouri Southern State University in 2006 with a degree in mathematics and currently spends his free time teaching his children the timeless wisdom of Mario jumping on a turtle shell.
Find out more about David Dalglish and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at
www.orbitbooks.net
.
Y
D
AVID
D
ALGLISH
Shadowdance
A Dance of Cloaks
A Dance of Blades
A Dance of Mirrors
A Dance of Shadows
A Dance of Ghosts
A Dance of Chaos
Shadowdance short fiction
Cloak and Spider (e-only novella)
COPYRIGHT
Published by Orbit
ISBN: 9781405530071
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 David Dalglish
Excerpt from
A Dance of Chaos
by David Dalglish
Copyright © 2014 by David Dalglish
Excerpt from
Blood Song
by Anthony Ryan
Copyright © 2011 by Anthony Ryan
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Orbit
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
Contents
To Rob, for keeping me from ever losing my confidence,
and Krista, for answering every medieval question
I could come up with
K
adish Fel wore a rut into the dirt floor as he paced in the center of the large warehouse. The smell of dust overwhelmed his nose, and he sneezed often. All around were giant squares of hay stacked to the ceiling, hay Kadish would sell to the outlying farms come winter. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, for it was the only way to keep himself from drawing his swords and twirling them as a nervous tic. But drawn weapons wouldn’t do, not when he needed his ambush to succeed.
“Not sure I’ve ever seen you so nervous,” said Carlisle, a squat man who helped Kadish with the more brutal affairs of his Hawk Guild. “You really think Darkhand will be that frightening in person?”
Kadish stopped his pacing, just for a moment.
“You know his reputation,” he said, running a hand through his auburn hair.
“Aye, I do,” laughed Carlisle. “But I also know people love telling tales, and that the tales get larger with the telling. This guy lives three kingdoms away, and every story making its way here probably went through many tellings before ever reaching us.”
Carlisle reached into his pocket, taking out a pinch of snuff and snorting it.
“Besides,” he continued, rubbing his eyes as they watered. “I don’t care if this guy’s the biggest shit in all of Mordeina; he’s still coming into our city. Our
home
. That arrogant prick dies tonight.”
Kadish looked to the rafters, to the tops of the mountains of hay. Hidden above were nearly twenty members of his Hawk Guild, every last one armed with crossbow bolts tipped with poison. On the ground were ten more, their daggers ready. In but a moment, Kadish could bring the wrath of his entire guild upon the man he was soon to meet for the first time. Yet he still felt he was the one in danger.
Muzien the Darkhand, no matter how bloated his reputation, no matter how far he was from home, was still a man to fear.
“Perhaps he won’t show,” Kadish said as the minutes crawled, midnight passing and the truly late hours arriving. “He might have anticipated our ambush.”
Carlisle sat down on a single bundle of hay, grunting and shifting at its lack of comfort. He took another hit of snuff, then shook his head.
“Or maybe he’s abandoned coming into Veldaren altogether. That Victor fellow, how long ago was it, three weeks…”
“Five,” said Kadish.
“Five, right. Whatever. Victor’s men thrashed the Sun Guild, drove ’em out of the city like they were rats on a ship. Fuck, even the fabled Grayson Lightborn got his ass killed. Perhaps Muzien took one look at our city and decided he didn’t want to share his right-hand man’s fate?”
“Then why set up this meeting if he was just going to turn tail and slither back to Mordeina?”
Carlisle spit.
“He’s an elf. Who says he has to make sense?”
Kadish shrugged. Well, Carlisle did have a point there. Still, the reputation the Darkhand carried …
“No,” Kadish said. “The Sun Guild isn’t finished with our city just yet. He’s here, in Veldaren. And he’ll be here for our meeting, even if he makes us wait a few hours.”
“What makes you so certain?”
Kadish crossed his arms and leaned against one of the nine support beams throughout the middle of the building. The wood was rough and splintered, but his long brown cloak kept him safe from its discomfort. His brow furrowed, and he let his voice drop in hopes that only Carlisle, and not the rest of his hidden men, would hear.
“Because a man with a reputation like Muzien’s doesn’t get it through accident,” he said. “He gets it by working his ass off for it and making sure nothing tarnishes it. He’s like Thren in that regard, except even better if we’re to believe the stories. By Karak, I think every child alive has heard the tale of Muzien’s Red Wine.”
Carlisle snickered.
“Well,” he said. “Make sure you don’t drink anything that elf offers you, then, eh?”
“Indeed. But my point is, calling us here for a meeting and then flaking … all it takes are a few whispers by me and everyone hears of his cowardice, his unreliability. He won’t allow it, no matter how petty. He wants us afraid, every single one of us. I have a feeling we’re not the first he’ll talk to tonight.”
“Perhaps,” said Carlisle. “But we’ll sure as shit be the
last
he talks to.”
“I pray we are.”
With a sudden bang, the worn door blocking the only entrance to the building smacked open. Despite the many hours of waiting, despite his fear of the unknown guildmaster of the Suns, Kadish felt relief that the time had finally come. In through the door walked two hard-looking men dressed in dark grays and tightly fitted clothing. Daggers gleamed from their belts. They wore no cloaks, instead bearing the four-pointed star sewn just above their hearts. From what Kadish had learned, the rings in their ears signified solo kills, and each man had at least a dozen hoops and studs. They strode in without pause, their eyes scanning every corner of the room. Kadish swallowed, trusting his men to be adequately hidden.
And then in stepped the Darkhand. He was tall, and despite the long dark coat he wore, it was striking how slender an elf Muzien was. That slenderness belied a smooth strength, for each step he took was carefully weighted, every twitch of his muscles like that of a feline predator. His hair was a dark umber, the front of which was hooked into two braids and tied behind his head. From his hips swayed two swords, mimicking him in length and slenderness. Upon entering the building, Muzien glanced about the place, seeing the tall stacks of hay, and smirked. That done, he brought his attention to Kadish as he moved to join his two acquaintances. The moment those cool blue eyes settled on Kadish, he felt his scrotum tighten, felt the air around him thicken. Kadish had met hard men, had spent decades among those who viewed life as something to trade and fuck and cut short without a second thought.
He’d not seen eyes quite like Muzien’s. Beneath that gaze, Kadish felt like an insect seeking an audience with the boot about to crush him beneath its heel.
“Wel … welcome to Veldaren,” Kadish said, gathering his senses. He expected better of himself, and he used his wounded pride to find the strength to stand a little taller, and let a bit of mockery enter his voice. “I pray you won’t be staying long?”
Muzien stood several feet opposite Kadish, with his bodyguards on either side. His long, pale fingers slowly twirled a gold band on the index finger of his left hand, which, true to his name, appeared to have been crafted out of coals instead of flesh.
“I’ll stay until my task here is done,” he said, openly staring at Kadish. Disliking the cryptic answer, Kadish felt himself snap.
“Not sure that’s wise,” he said. “Your kind ain’t wanted here, Muzien. You think your little trick with your ears fools anybody?”
Muzien tilted his head slightly to one side, as if amused. The tops of his ears, where there should have been the distinctive upturned curve of his race, were instead two mutilated scars.
