A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (8 page)

“Oh fuck.”

The tile cracked, Haern caught the briefest flash of lightning, and then the shock wave hit him, stealing his breath away. The sound was intense, like the roar of a lion larger than the city itself. Haern had thought himself far enough away, but in the split second the purple fire blasted toward him, he knew he’d made a grave error. When it rolled across his body, he felt no heat, only pressure, and an ache in his ears. No burns. The fire vanished, and when Haern looked down, he saw Delysia clutching his hand, white light shimmering from her fingers.

“Tarlak!” Delysia screamed, and after such an eruption, her voice sounded so thin, so hollow. She let Haern go to dash toward the crater in the center of the street, and she wasn’t alone. Soldiers from up the road came running, Antonil in the lead. Haern rose to his feet, lost his balance, struggled to stand again. His head ached, his eyes still filled with the afterimage of the explosion, and his stomach was performing loops. Delysia had protected him from the flames, he knew, but the blast had struck him in a way he couldn’t quite understand, leaving him sick and dazed. Fighting through it, he staggered after Delysia while offering a desperate prayer for his idiot wizard friend.

Fires burned on either side of the street, adding a rumble to the cries of the soldiers and Delysia. Haern stumbled into the crater, which contained patches of dwindling purple fire that billowed smoke. At the sight of Tarlak sitting on his rump, hat in his hands, Haern let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. The wizard’s eyes were wide, and he looked like he’d taken a few punches to the face, but other than random burnt spots on his yellow robes, he appeared no worse for wear.

“Least I knew what was coming this time,” Tarlak said as Delysia threw her arms around him. The wizard looked past Haern, let out a grunt. “Someone should do something about those fires before they spread.”

“My men are already on it,” Antonil said from the crater’s edge. The soldier’s face was locked in a frown so stiff it looked made of iron. “And is it safe to say you’ve made no progress?”

With Delysia’s help Tarlak stood, and he leaned on her heavily.

“Quite the opposite,” he said, and despite his obvious dizziness, he smiled at the guard captain. “I’ve learned a
second
way to make these things explode.”

Antonil certainly saw no humor in the situation, and without responding he turned to take charge of the cleanup.

“Come on,” Haern said, taking Tarlak by the arm and shifting his weight onto him and off Delysia. “You might not have been burned, but you’re not well. That much is obvious.”

Through the patches of smoke they led him, then farther down the street so they could be away from the commotion of the scrambling soldiers. Tarlak more collapsed than sat when they stopped in the middle, and he let out a loud groan.

“Had protections against fire on me from the beginning,” he said, and he touched his stomach as if in pain. “Guess I should have put on a few more. Felt like I was hit with a brick when that damn thing went off.”

Haern looked back to the crater and the burning homes and suppressed a shudder. Tarlak had told him what the tiles did, but seeing it … seeing was something else entirely. Over three hundred of those tiles were scattered throughout the city. Should they be activated at once, the only thing that’d remain would be the greatest common grave in the entire history of Dezrel. A chill ran up Haern’s spine at the horrid thought, and he did his best to push it away. Dwelling on such things would only paralyze him into inaction.

“Sit still,” Delysia said, putting her hands on either side of her brother’s face. “Let me see if I can help.”

She closed her eyes and began to pray. White light surrounded her hands, flashing briefly before sinking into Tarlak’s skin. When she was done, the wizard did appear more together mentally, and he kissed his sister on the cheek.

“Thanks, Sis,” he said, earning himself a smile.

As Tarlak put his hat back on, he looked to where the tile had been, and Haern brought his attention to it as well.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Tarlak said. “If Muzien wants to destroy Veldaren, why hasn’t he done so already?”

“How do you know it’s Muzien?” Delysia asked.

“He’s the one who smuggled them in, and it’s his guild’s symbol on their front,” Haern said.

“But Luther, a priest of Karak, helped make them,” she countered. “And don’t forget, Thren was the last to see Luther alive.”

“Perhaps,” said Tarlak, “but Luther’s dead, and he’s not giving us any answers as to why he did it. If Thren has the key, why hasn’t he said or done something about it? They’re Muzien’s tiles, and it makes sense that he’s the one holding the key. Question is, what does he want? Maybe they’re his backup plan in case someone defeats him.”

“He does seem like one to hold an entire city hostage,” Haern said. “That might be why no one’s heard anything of these tiles. With Muzien’s takeover progressing so smoothly, he’s had no reason to need them. That might change if we directly challenge him.”

Tarlak stood, brushing dirt and ash off his yellow robes.

“Then if we do challenge him, we need to do it before he knows he’s in danger,” Tarlak said. “Killing him in his sleep sounds like the best plan to me. Give him no chance to activate these tiles, however it is he does it.” He turned Haern’s way. “Question is, are you capable of finding out where he sleeps? Where he eats? Where he might be vulnerable in any way?”

Haern thought of how he’d been guided into an alley to fight a member of the Sun Guild for Muzien’s amusement, thought of how easily he’d been defeated in a direct fight. Muzien, the ruthless killer … vulnerable?

“I don’t know,” Haern said. “The elf is a legend for a reason, Tar. What you ask for may not be possible.”

Tarlak shook his head.

“You damn well better try,” he said. “Right now, we’ve got little else to go on. Whatever hope we have, it’s resting on you.”

The wizard stormed off, yelling for soldiers to clear the way from the homes so he could douse the fires with his magic. Frustrated at his fears being so callously dismissed, Haern turned to leave, but Delysia reached out and caught his wrist.

“Haern,” she said. “Please, we should talk.”

He glanced to her, saw her resolve, and knew he could not bear to challenge it at that moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I buried Ghost’s body as you asked. Other than that, I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it.”

His words cut into her. True to her nature, she refused to let it show.

“I see,” she said. “Then let me say my own piece until you are ready. I’m sorry, Haern. About your father, and you … I never should have said it.”

The remembrance only added guilt to his already shaken mind.
Your father would be so proud
, she’d said. Comparing him. Condemning him. He pulled his hand free of her, slowly, not wanting to offend her or hurt her more than he already had. She was waiting for him to respond, and he saw the hope in her eyes that her apology would shake him free.

“I’m sorry, Del,” he said, this time his voice far softer. “I really am sorry. Beyond that, I have nothing to say.”

She brushed a hand across his forehead, pushing a bit of blond hair away from his face.

“Well, when you do have something to say, I’ll be waiting for you.”

She went to kiss his cheek, but when she did, the image of Zusa climbing on top of him flashed in Haern’s mind, and he turned his face away.

“I need to sleep,” he said, feeling a sudden surge of guilt. “Tonight will be a long, long night.”

She watched him leave past Tarlak, past the burning homes, past the crater left by Muzien’s tile on his way back to the Eschaton Tower. She said nothing, but he heard her voice anyway, chasing after him in his mind.

Back when the city had been ruled by the various guilds, if Haern wanted to find a member of the Serpent Guild, he went to the Serpent Guild’s territory. As he crouched in the rooftop corner of an inn, listening to the boisterous laughter within, he pulled his hood lower over his face and frowned. Now, though? Now the whole damn city was Muzien’s. Where was he to even start?

Inside were several members of the Sun Guild he’d stalked to the inn under the cover of night. They gathered on the second floor, in a large common room where they sat playing cards at a table. Near them was the window Haern hung above, easily listening in. The men and women were loud, they were drunk, and they’d said not a damn thing useful the whole hour he’d been there.

“Patience, Haern,” he told himself as he rolled onto his back and thumped his head against the rooftop. “You’re not going to solve this riddle in a day.”

Haern had been convinced one of them was a higher-ranking member of the Sun Guild, and hoped an overheard conversation would give him what he needed. It appeared not to be. If he wanted information, it’d involve the edge of a blade and a bit of blood. Killing them might alert Muzien that someone hunted him, but deep down Haern knew it’d been naïve to hope he could discover the elf’s location without cutting a few throats.

Rolling onto his knees, Haern drew one of his swords and crouched before the rooftop’s edge. The window was just barely large enough for him to fit through, though he’d need to shatter it thoroughly to not get stuck. Grabbing the edge with his free hand, he prepared to jump, then froze. A creak of wood behind him, that of someone landing on the rooftop. Pretending he hadn’t heard, Haern lowered more, as if tensing for an assault on the room below, then spun, drawing his other blade and holding them out in a defensive formation. Instead of an assault, he found a painfully familiar figure standing on the other side of the inn’s rooftop, arms crossed over his chest.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of torturing those six down there for information,” Thren Felhorn said, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’d be a waste of time. None of them are beyond the second rank. At best, you’ll find where they’ve stashed a haul of crimleaf or stolen goods. Nothing truly valuable.”

Haern slowly lowered his sabers, though his fingers still gripped the handles tightly. The faintest of scars marked his chin where his father had cut him the last time they met.
We’re all murderers
, Thren had said.
Some just better than others
. It was the clearest window into his father’s soul he’d ever had, and it made his heart ache as much as it enraged him. Seeing Thren on the rooftop with him, disappointed as usual, face passive and bored as if nothing between them existed, did little to help matters.

“Why are you here?” Haern asked. “What is it you want?”

Thren tilted his head to one side, as if analyzing an animal.

“I want your help.”

Haern didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Is that so?”

“It is. The city has changed in our absence, as I’m sure you’ve discovered. The Sun Guild rules, but that rule cannot last. Veldaren was my city once, and it needs to become that again.”

“You’d have me help restore you to power?” Haern asked. Even for his father, this seemed too audacious.

“I’d have you prevent the destruction of the entire city by the tiles Luther created.”

Haern froze, and Thren smiled at his surprise.

“What do you know?” Haern asked, hoping to glean some information from his father, information he’d refused to share at their last meeting.

“I know what Luther told me,” Thren said. “I know the destruction those tiles are capable of, and I know who currently holds the amulet to activate them.”

“Muzien.”

Thren nodded.

“A wise guess. Which fate would you choose for this city, Watcher? To thrive in my hands, or collapse into rubble and flame? Muzien was my teacher once. I know how he thinks, how he plans, and what he’s capable of. Work with me. Together, we can bring that elf low.”

“An alliance,” Haern said, and he felt a knot forming in the center of his chest. “Because it worked so well when we went after Luther.”

“Together we entered, and together we left,” Thren said with a shrug. “Karak’s paladins died, not us.”

Thren was conveniently leaving out Delysia’s role in the events, as well as Thren’s betrayal in between the arrival and the escape, but Haern knew he still had a point. If there was anyone who might know of a chink in Muzien’s armor, it was Thren. Much as he disliked the idea of working with him again, he knew of no better way.

“I’ll aid you only in killing Muzien,” Haern said. “Nothing else. I won’t help you reform the Spider Guild, nor attack other guilds.”

“As if I needed your help in such matters,” Thren said. “It’s Muzien, and only Muzien, who surpasses my own skill. I fear no one else, not even you. Together we will return Veldaren to the world we both know and rule.”

Haern tried to ignore how such language made the knot in his stomach worse.

“I want to make this perfectly clear,” he said. “I’m with you only to save this city from the threat of the tiles, nothing else. The moment I feel you’re leading me on for your own agenda, I’m on my own. Got it?”

Thren looked merely amused at his insistence.

“Of course,” he said.

“Good,” Haern said, and he sheathed his swords. “So let’s get started. If those below us are worthless, then where do we actually start?”

Thren grinned.

“I don’t know where Muzien is, but there is someone we can find who I believe will. His name is Ridley, Muzien’s right-hand man when it comes to affairs in Veldaren…”

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