A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance (11 page)

“How?” Thren whispered beside him.

As Haern prepared to move, he saw that Ridley wasn’t grinning at them, not exactly. The man’s eyes flitted left, right, almost as if …

Haern rolled to one side, then shoved to his feet. His sabers were in his hands in a flash, and his father mirrored his actions. Back-to-back, they watched as men in long dark coats landed on either side of the rooftop, the moonlight reflecting off the naked steel of their daggers and swords. An escort, Haern realized. Ridley had never spotted them, but the men tasked with keeping Ridley alive had.

“Only six?” Thren asked as the members of the Sun closed in.

“Four more than we need,” said one, lifting a small hand crossbow that had been strapped to his side. Before he could fire, Haern leaped straight for him. The sudden burst of speed prompted the man into firing without aiming, and before the man’s finger could even finish pulling the trigger Haern had already dropped to a roll. The bolt sailed above him, and pulling out of his roll, Haern plunged his saber deep into the man’s belly. As he died, his body collapsed onto Haern, gushing blood across his hands and legs. Shoving it away, Haern flung his arms out to the sides, blocking hit after hit as two others of the Sun flanked him. Dictating the flow of the battle, Haern shifted back and forth, as dependable as the pendulum of a clock. He never let either go on the offensive, always slashing for their necks and faces so they must parry or retreat. Behind him he heard vicious collisions of steel, no doubt his father battling the other three.

The men were good, Haern had to give them that. Twice he had openings for a kill that he could not take, for the other attacker would leap to the threatened man’s aid by pressing the offensive and forcing Haern’s attention his way. Still, no matter how good they were, Haern was better. Pulling back to the edge of the roof, he put the two men before him, then crouched low. They’d anticipated it, of course, but he trusted his speed. Leaping forward, he spun once, spinning his cloak in a wide flourish to hide his movements. As his sabers came slicing in, the two scattered to either side, fleeing his attacks and once again putting themselves into flanking position. Haern ducked beneath a stab, parried a slash from his right, and then swore.

These men weren’t just good. They were Muzien’s best.

But Muzien’s best or not, he was the Watcher. He couldn’t let them believe they had a chance. He couldn’t let the city know the gap between his skill and that of his enemies was closing. On the balls of his feet he twirled, positioning his sabers through gut reaction and the briefest glimpses from the corners of his eyes. His left hand batted aside a killing thrust, his spin continued, and then he finally managed to draw blood by slicing across the face of the other man. As the man screamed, Haern jammed his right leg into the rooftop to halt his spin, and like a midnight predator he launched himself upon his wounded prey. Sabers sinking into flesh, Haern pulled them free and turned to the other man, blocking the anticipated attack. It’d been a desperate attempt, for they both knew that one-on-one there would be no contest.

Steel sang as Haern batted away the attempted flurry of blows, then stepped forward. The two were incredibly close, their weapons awkwardly positioned, but Haern had been ready, the other man had not. His knee rammed the man’s groin as he simultaneously head-butted him. Dazed and struggling to stand, the man could do little when Haern’s sabers came racing in, cutting across his belly and inner thigh, spilling blood and intestines across the rooftop.

As the Sun Guild member collapsed, Haern turned to help his father. Of the original three, one was dead, the other two pressing him hard with flanking maneuvers. Haern broke into a run, hoping neither had realized the other fight had ended. He slammed into one of the men with his shoulder, then rolled to halt his momentum, coming up just shy of the rooftop’s edge. His opponent was not so lucky, sailing off the side and landing headfirst in a bloody heap at the feet of a no-longer-smiling Ridley.

“You should have run,” Haern told him.

Ridley turned to do just that as Haern grabbed the side of the rooftop and swung down. Reaching into his belt, he grabbed two small, slender daggers weighted for throwing. As Ridley dashed for the street, Haern hurled the first, then the second. The first he’d sent purposefully wide left, and as it whisked past, Ridley instinctively jerked to the right … and into the path of the second dagger. It sank up to the handle into the man’s right leg, and with a scream he crumpled. Haern rushed to where Ridley lay, and in his haste he nearly lost his foot. Ridley rolled onto his back, lashing out with a short sword he’d drawn while Haern could not see. At the last second Haern leaped over it, landed on the other side of Ridley, spun, and then kicked him in the head as hard as he could.

The connection made an audible crack, and Haern nearly screamed at the pain it caused his foot. The weapon dropped from Ridley’s limp hand, and falling to one knee, Haern put a hand on Ridley’s chest to feel for a heartbeat.

“Is he dead?” Thren asked as he came up behind him. Haern glanced his way and saw him wrapping a torn piece of his cloak around his left arm. No doubt his father had finished off his final opponent, but given the amount of blood dripping down his arm, it looked like it hadn’t been without cost.

“Still breathing,” Haern said, gingerly rising to his feet. It felt like he’d jammed several of his toes, if not dislocating one of them as well. “We need to get him out of the open.”

“We can’t use his house,” Thren said, finishing up tying his makeshift bandage. “Too many dead bodies lying around.”

Sheathing his sabers, Haern bent down and grabbed Ridley by the arms.

“Help me,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

Thren grabbed the other arm, and as if carrying a drunken friend they hurried down the street, both on the lookout for other members of the Sun Guild.

“Here,” Thren said after crossing several streets. They were before a home that looked like any other, perhaps on the smaller side. There was a single window at the front, covered with a thick wooden shutter.

“Where are we?” Haern asked.

“All this used to be my territory,” Thren said as he let go of Ridley to kneel before the closed door. “This home here is owned by a fat merchant who cheated on his wife at one of my … well, what used to be one of my whorehouses. She left him about a year ago, and I don’t think there’s been a day since where he actually falls asleep in his own bed instead of a tavern or a whorehouse.”

It took his father less than a minute to pick the lock, but it still felt like an eternity. Haern kept his eyes to the rooftops, alert for unwelcome visitors. Nothing. It seemed luck was now on their side. As Thren shoved open the door, Haern hefted Ridley back into his arms, dragging him inside. Given the nature of their intended conversation with Ridley, and the likely screaming that would accompany it, Haern moved on past the initial living room and to the bedroom in the back. With a grunt he plopped Ridley down onto the bed, then turned to his father, who entered the room holding his injured arm.

“Will you be all right?” Haern asked.

“I’m fine,” Thren said. “Didn’t tear muscle, only skin, now let’s get this bastard tied up before he wakes.”

Since they had no rope, they made do with the sheets on the bed, using their swords to cut ragged but usable strips. As they worked, Haern realized how easy it all was, how natural. For the third time in recent memory he would torture a man for information at the side of his father. He knew, deep down, that this should give him chills … but it didn’t. Instead he felt the weight of the city upon his shoulders, the lives of hundreds of thousands who would die if Muzien’s tiles erupted, blasting the city with fire and destruction. Staring down at a miserable human being like Ridley, he found it difficult to summon any empathy or guilt.

Delysia wouldn’t approve
, Haern thought as they waited for Ridley to return to consciousness. Then again, that seemed to be an all-too-familiar occurrence as well. He’d always used her as his guide, but perhaps she was right to say she could no longer be that for him. The world was filled with dark places, and ruled by people like Muzien. To stand against it, he had to dwell in those dark places. Still, should it really feel so satisfying to cut down the Sun Guild’s men?

“He’s waking,” Thren said, stirring Haern from his thoughts. Drawing a dagger from his belt, Thren knelt over Ridley and put the blade to the man’s face so it’d be there when he awoke. Just the flat edge, no risk of drawing blood. Haern crossed his arms, willing to let his father do the dirty work. As if emerging from below water, Ridley awoke coughing and gagging. The makeshift ropes easily held him. Thren calmly waited, showing no real hurry. Haern steeled himself against the brutality that would surely follow.

We do what must be done
, Haern told himself. It felt like the words weren’t for him, but the specter of Delysia he felt watching them.
That’s all. What must be done. Like putting down a rabid dog, or amputating a rotting limb. Sometimes the real world has to be messy
.

“Welcome back,” Thren said as Ridley opened his eyes. His gaze flicked between the two of them, and there was no hiding his panic.
Good
, thought Haern. The more the man was afraid, the easier it’d be to break him. Thren saw this as well, and a smile blossomed on his face.

“You two are dead men for this,” Ridley said, putting on a brave front.

“Is that so?” Thren said. “Your leader’s already condemned us, yet here we both are. Seems like Muzien might not be quite so godlike as he pretends.”

Ridley swallowed hard, and Haern caught him subtly testing the limits of his bonds. They would not give, of course. Both Haern and Thren knew how to restrain a prisoner.

“What do you want from me?” Ridley asked after letting out a deep breath.

Thren removed the dagger from Ridley’s face, twirled it in his hand.

“Well now, this might be easier than I hoped,” he said. “Less interesting, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. We want to know where Muzien sleeps, Ridley, and when.”

“He’s an elf,” Ridley said. “He doesn’t sleep.”

“He does, maybe not longer than a few hours, but I know he sleeps. Tell me where, Ridley, if you want us to remain on friendly terms.”

At the word
friendly
Ridley let out a short laugh, and something about the resignation in the man’s voice made Haern’s stomach uneasy.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Thren shook his head.

“Well,” he said, “it looks like we may get to have some fun after all.”

Before Ridley could react, Thren took the dagger, grabbed Ridley’s jaw with his free hand to hold him still, and then carefully slid the dagger into the man’s left eye. Ridley’s entire body went rigid, his teeth clenched tight as he breathed in and out using quick, shallow gasps. He tried to shut his eyes, but that pressed his eyelids against the sharpened edges of the dagger, forcing him to leave it open, blood and tears dripping down the side of his face.

“I’m going to make this very clear,” Thren said as he slowly twisted the dagger by the handle, rotating it back and forth by nearly imperceptible degrees. “The more I move this dagger, the more you’ll feel the muscle and tendons holding your eye in place start to tear. Trust me when I say this will hurt very, very much. If you lie to me, I’ll keep going until I finally rip the whole bloody thing out down to the stem. Tell me the truth, and answer my questions without any games or deception, and I’ll push the dagger in instead. The blade will go into your brain, and you’ll be free from this life and move on to whatever follows. Have I made myself clear?”

Ridley’s entire body had begun to shake, and he fought it with admirable control.

“Yes,” the man said, trying hard not to move his head when he spoke.

“Very well. Let’s try again, shall we? Where does Muzien sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

Thren rotated the dagger ninety degrees. As Ridley screamed, Haern fought down his repulsion.

What must be done
, he told himself, though it was now harder to believe. This time, the specter of Delysia hovering over him wasn’t disappointed. It was furious.

“No lies, remember?” Thren said. Despite Ridley’s screams of pain, Thren sounded calm, almost bored. “You’re his second-in-command here in Veldaren, are you not?”

“Yes!”

“He trusts you more than anyone else in the Sun Guild, yes?”

“I … yes, yes he does.”

Thren rotated the dagger ninety degrees in the opposite direction, bringing the eye back to its original position.

“Then answer me,” Thren said. “Where does Muzien go to sleep? Where is he when he’s most vulnerable?”

“I … don’t … know!” Ridley screamed.

“Damn it, Thren, enough,” Haern said, grabbing his father by the shoulder. Thren pulled free, and he glared until Haern stepped away.

“You both disappoint me,” Thren said as he pulled back the dagger. The eye came with it, accompanied by a burst of blood and an audible pop. Ridley screamed, and now free of the dagger, he jerked back his head, clenching both eyelids shut. Blood and tears continued to weep. Haern watched, torn between his desire to learn what he needed to save his city, and the sheer gruesomeness of the torture the man endured.
Rabid dog
, he told himself again and again, but it no longer carried the same strength.

“You fools,” Ridley said in between his gasps of pain. “I might be his second-in-command, but that means shit to someone like him. Muzien doesn’t trust
anyone
. No one knows where he goes at night to rest. We don’t know his routine. We don’t know when he’ll come to us with orders. You think he’s lived as long as he has by being
predictable
? By being
trusting
? For fuck’s sake, aren’t you two supposed to be the greatest threat that’s left to fight him? Then the city’s his. Just give up already. You don’t stand a chance.”

When he ceased, the room filled with an angry silence. Thren stood over the bed, one hand clenched into a fist, the other clutching the dagger with the eyeball still pierced by the tip.