A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (3 page)

Antonil suddenly straightened his spine, his arms falling to his sides. When he spoke, it was as if his jaw didn’t want to move.

“The explosion in the western district,” he said. “I just thought it another mess caused by you or the Ash Guild. It was one of the tiles, wasn’t it?”

Haern let out a sigh.

“It was,” he said.

“That explosion leveled two homes and blasted a fair chunk out of the wall surrounding the city. A wall that has stood for years, a wall more than ten feet thick built with ancient stone.”

“I know.”

Antonil turned away, ran his hands through his hair, and then suddenly spun about, striking his fist against the door behind him.

“Do you know how many of those tiles have been buried against the castle’s walls?” he asked. “Two dozen at last count, more than enough to level the whole damn thing. We have to get them out, and now.”

“You can’t,” Haern said, and he felt a pang of guilt for his words. It seemed everything he said drained more hope and life from the man. “There’s an enchantment upon them, something that messes with their weight and makes them nearly impossible to move by hand. If you do succeed, it will only break the magic and cause the tiles to activate immediately.”

The weight of the words seemed to be settling on Antonil, and they were heavy indeed.

“These tiles,” he said, “if they’re magical, isn’t there anything Tarlak can do to disarm them?”

“Perhaps,” Haern said, after a moment’s hesitation. Tarlak’s rambling tirade about the differences between clerical and arcane magic, as well as the careful wardings built into each of the tiles, flashed through his mind. “It’s complicated, though, and Tarlak’s made little progress. Even trying to analyze one risks setting the spell off, killing anyone nearby. These tiles weren’t buried in quiet little corners, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” Antonil said. He walked to the edge of the battlement, joining Haern, and put his hands on the short stone wall. Swallowing hard, he overlooked the city, and Haern knew he was remembering all the places he’d seen those tiles on his patrols, every intersection, every home, every shop.

“What does he want?” Antonil asked, his voice now a whisper.

“If you mean Muzien, I’m not sure,” Haern said. “It’s possible he was used by someone else to smuggle them into the city. So far he’s made no threats and given no ultimatums. It may only be a final measure should he fail to retain control of the underworld. Honestly, I don’t think we’re supposed to know what they do yet. If we act quickly enough, we might be able to salvage the situation into something resembling a happy ending.”

Antonil laughed, so tired, so bitter.

“A happy ending,” he said. “I don’t see that ahead of us.”

Haern put a hand on Antonil’s shoulder, patting the steel pauldron protecting it.

“Don’t lose hope just yet,” he said. “I’m here now, remember?”

He grinned, and despite his dour mood, Antonil grinned back.

“I guess there’s always the chance you’ll pull off another miracle,” the guard captain said. “Stay safe, Watcher. Strange as it sounds, these streets are no longer yours.”

Haern grabbed the coiled rope at his feet and tossed it over the side.

“They were never mine,” he said. “But until I die, they will always be under my care.”

Over the stone he went, using his cloak to protect his hands as he slid down, the rope curled once around his arm. The moment his feet touched ground, the rope ascended.

“I pray matters went well,” said the lone soldier.

“Best as I could hope,” Haern said as he returned to the dark streets.

It took less than thirty seconds to spot a man following him from the corner of his eye. Picking up his pace, Haern traveled the main road running south from the castle to the heart of the city. The tail, a younger man lurking on the rooftops, had to abandon stealth to maintain the chase, making it easy for Haern to get a look at the man’s chest, and the four-pointed star sewn across it.

Will Muzien make his move against me already?
Haern wondered, suddenly cutting right, his first deviation in several minutes. So far he’d had no interaction with the mysterious elf since returning from his trek west to infiltrate the Stronghold. A quick glance behind showed the tail grabbing the side of a rooftop and using it to swing down to the ground. Vanishing into an alley out of the man’s sight, Haern turned, drew his swords, and began counting. At four he rushed forward, perfectly timing the man’s arrival into the alley. Before he could even ready a dagger, Haern’s sabers were at his throat.

“I pray you were hoping to talk,” Haern said as the young man’s eyes widened. “Because anything else is suicide.”

“No, not, no…” the man said, and he looked ready to piss his pants. “Tracking your movements, that’s all, I swear.”

“That’s right,” said a voice behind Haern. “I’m the one actually looking for a fight.”

Haern kneed the first man in the stomach, then kicked him to the ground before spinning to face his boastful challenger. Approaching from the other end of the alley, two long dirks drawn and twirling in hand, was a dark-skinned man with the Sun Guild’s emblem sewn onto his shirt. The man’s hair was long, and braided in a fashion Haern recognized as more common to the distant land of Ker.

“You should have used what little surprise you had,” Haern said, settling into a stance, gaze flicking to the rooftops in case there were more ambushers. So far he saw none, but when it came to the Sun Guild, Haern had learned to expect the worst possible scenario.

“I don’t want anyone claiming I was lucky instead of skilled,” said the challenger. “You’re a fool and a fake, Watcher. Whatever reputation you had, it’s about to be mine.”

With a sudden cry the man charged, dirks pulled back for a thrust. Haern dashed to meet him, easily recognizing an overinflated ego when he saw it. He’d grown up in Thren Felhorn’s shadow, after all. Such an attitude meant overzealous aggression, and the easiest path to victory was to crush it immediately. The man thrust his dirks with admirable speed, but the placement was exactly where Haern had expected. Parrying both with a swipe of his left hand, Haern continued forward, lashing out with his right hand while twirling to deftly avoid the man’s desperate charge. His saber found flesh, the man let out a gargle, and then he collapsed, a tangle of limbs and leaking blood.

Haern shook the blood off his saber and looked back to the man who’d first been tailing him. Instead of running, he stood in the alleyway, arms crossed.

“Shouldn’t you have fled?” Haern asked.

“Why?”

The confidence with which he spoke alerted all of Haern’s senses. Glancing back to the rooftops, he saw that this time he was not alone. Four men lurked at the edges, crossbows in hand. He spun to find four more emerge at the other end of the alley, blocking it off. Joining the first man were three more members of the Sun Guild, and they too held either daggers or small crossbows. The ambushers said nothing, and other than sealing the exits, they remained still, crossbows pointed but not fired, swords drawn but held low. There was something eerie about how silent they remained, these ghostly specters. Had Muzien ordered them to remain quiet? Haern had a feeling that was the case.

And then the wall of men parted before him, and in stepped Muzien the Darkhand. He was taller than Haern had expected, his thin body draped with a black coat. The front of his dark-umber hair was carefully braided and then tied behind his head, so not a strand dared interfere with his vision. His long ears ended at abrupt scars instead of upturned points, and true to his name, his left hand was blackened as if by fire. The elf smiled, and while Haern had expected him to be smug, instead he looked intrigued.

“The Watcher of Veldaren,” Muzien said, and he extended his darkened hand in greeting. “I have longed to meet you, and witness your prowess with my own eyes.” He glanced to the dead body at his feet. “The fool was a foreigner who insisted his skills were equal to yours. I hope you do not mind me letting him pay for his boast.”

The elf was trying to be friendly, but his causal dismissal of a former guildmember’s life, and the way he made everything seem like a harmless game, made Haern’s throat tighten.

“I take no joy in killing,” Haern said. “Nor do I appreciate being used for your amusement.”

Muzien’s smile grew, and this time Haern saw the smug satisfaction he’d expected.

“What makes you think you have a choice in the matter?” he asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “This city, no, this
world
, is for our amusement, Watcher. We’re here as playthings for gods, faulty toys that break at the slightest angry touch. You ended the life of an idiot and a braggart. You know nothing of him, of his family, could not even give me his name if I offered you ten tries. To you he was an opponent to be killed. To me he was a chance to behold your legendary skills. Now he is dead, and unworthy of remembrance.”

Haern knew arguing was pointless, and he kept his hood low and his legs crouched. With so many watching, reaching Muzien would be difficult … but not impossible. Swords clenched tightly in his hands, he kept his instincts on edge, kept his eyes open for a possible opening for attack.

“No words?” asked the elf. “Fair enough. I only need an answer from you, so remain silent until then. Keep your hood low, your jaw locked in a frown. You’ve crafted an interesting persona, Watcher, and for years it has suited you well. But I hold no fear of a man whose face I cannot see. I do not dread finding your cloaks in my shadows. When you were but a thought in your father’s mind, I was conquering the streets of Mordeina. Bards have sung of my Red Wine since you were a babe suckling at your mother’s breast. Whatever pride you have, whatever reputation you think you’ve built, know it means
nothing
to me. Do that, and perhaps you and I may come to an understanding.”

“And what might that be?” Haern asked.

A bit of hope sparkled in Muzien’s eye.

“That you belong as my champion, and as a potential heir to the Sun.”

Haern wasn’t the only one surprised. He sensed the shock and intrigue sweeping through the men surrounding him. No doubt many had once belonged to the various thief guilds native to Veldaren. They knew what it would mean if the Watcher joined the Sun Guild.

“You’re insane,” Haern said.

“Far from it.” The elf drew a sword from his hip, and Haern braced for an attack that never came. “You were once this city’s underworld king,” Muzien said, pointing the blade at him. “Every faction, from the guilds to the Trifect, feared your wrath. Alone you conquered Veldaren, but you are not alone anymore, and you face an enemy you will never conquer. In a way you were my predecessor, but while you were willing to let others pretend to retain their power, I have neither the patience nor the goodwill to do so.”

“I never sought to rule,” Haern said.

Muzien laughed.

“Then unlike you, I am also unwilling to lie to myself. You ruled, Watcher, with a fist made of shadow instead of iron. I would offer you that position again. What we have now, is it not a peace greater than the one you fostered? No guilds are left to prey on one another. The Trifect continues to pay us for protection, and it is without need of the king’s involvement or your constant overseeing. What you created was fragile, precarious. I have fostered something greater, something eternal.”

At that, Haern slowly stood to his full height, and he held his sabers out to either side.

“Your creation is the same as mine,” he said. “Each ends at our deaths. Forgive me if I find amusement in your claim to never tell yourself lies. You’re as delusional as the dead man at your feet.”

Muzien’s amusement quickly vanished. The elf shook his head, and he slowly began to pace before Haern.

“A fate you may soon share if you resist me,” Muzien said. “Whatever skills you have, they are not enough. I can train you, mold you into something unbelievable. Should I die, my creation will live on, for it will be in your hands, and then in the hands of whom you yourself choose. The Sun rises, the Sun falls, always and again. I need no truth beyond that.”

Haern shifted, using his cloaks to hide the tensing of his legs. The men around him were growing anxious, unprepared for a discussion when they’d anticipated a battle. If he could keep the bantering going, make it seem he could be swayed …

“I’m not sure I share your truth, Muzien,” he said. “No matter my actions, the sun will rise tomorrow. Your guild, however, can be broken, your men scattered to the four winds.”

The elf’s brow furrowed.

“Kneel before me, or die before me,” he said. “You have no other fate, Watcher.”

Haern’s grim smile spread across his face.

“Then prove it.”

He lunged, feet kicking up dirt behind him as he flew toward the elf. The gap closed in a heartbeat, and Muzien had time to shout only a single word before lifting his sword in defense.

“Don’t!”

Two crossbows fired despite the order, both misjudging Haern’s speed and punching holes through his trailing cloaks. Twirling his body for added strength, Haern brought his sabers slashing in, hoping to cut across the elf’s shoulder and down his chest. Instead of falling back into a defense, Muzien stepped forward, sweeping his sword wide and into the way of Haern’s swing. Despite all Haern’s strength poured into the attack, the block succeeded with ease, and suddenly the elf was far too close. A slender hand shot out, grabbing him about the neck. Momentum halting with a jarring wrench of his spine, Haern tried to kick the elf in the stomach, but Muzien twisted, simultaneously avoiding the blow while hurling Haern to the ground.

Haern rolled, tucked his feet underneath him, and then exploded out in a double thrust. Muzien’s blade looped about, something maddeningly casual about the way he parried the two hits, took a step back, and then smacked aside Haern’s follow-up attack. Haern refused to relent, forcing Muzien to keep his sword dancing, batting from side to side against his flurry of blows. Haern’s speed, his constant shifting of positions and attempts at disguising angles, never seemed to matter.