David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades: Shadowdance Trilogy, Book 2

by David Dalglish

Published by David Dalglish at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 David Dalglish

BOOKS BY DAVID DALGLISH

THE HALF-ORC SERIES

The Weight of Blood

The Cost of Betrayal

The Death of Promises

The Shadows of Grace

A Sliver of Redemption

THE WORLD OF DEZREL

A Dance of Cloaks

A Dance of Blades

Guardian of the Mountain

H aern watched theropes fly over the wall, heavy weights on their ends. They clackedagainst the stone, then settled on the street. The ropes lookedlike snakes in the pale moonlight, appropriate enough given how theSerpent Guild controlled them.

For several minutes, nothing. Haern shiftedunder his worn cloak, his exposed hand shivering in the cold whileholding an empty bottle. He kept his hood low, and he bobbed hishead as if sleeping. When the first of the Serpents entered thealley, Haern spotted him with ease. The Serpent looked young forsuch a task, but then two older men arrived, their hands and facesscarred from the brutal life they led. Green cloaks flutteredbehind them as they rushed past the houses and to the wall wherethe ropes hung like vines. They tugged each rope twice, givingtheir signal. Then the older ones grabbed a rope while the youngertied the two weighted ends together and looped them about a carvedinset in the wall.

Quick and quiet, he heard one of themwhisper to the younger. Dont let the crate make a sound when itlands, and the gods help you if you drop it.

Haern let his head bob lower. The three wereto his right, little more than twenty feet away. Already he knewtheir skill was laughable if they had not yet noticed his presence.His right eye peeked from under his hood, his neck twistingslightly to give him a better view. Another Serpent appeared fromoutside the city, climbing atop the wall and motioning down to theothers. Their arm muscles bulging, the older two began pulling onthe ropes. Meanwhile the younger steadily took in the slack so itwouldnt get in their way.

Haern coughed as the crate reached the top ofthe wall. This time the younger heard, and he tensed as ifexpecting to be shot with an arrow.

Someones watching, he whispered to theothers.

Haern leaned back, the cloak hiding his grin.About damn time. He let the bottle roll limp from his hand, thesound of glass on stone grating in the silence.

Just a drunk, said one of them. Go chasehim off.

Haern heard the soft sound of a bladescraping against leather, most likely the young ones belt.

Get out of here, said the Serpent.

Haern let out a loud, obnoxious snore. A bootkicked his side, but it was weak, hesitant. He shuddered as ifwaking from a dream.

Whywhy you kick me? he asked, his hoodstill low. He had to time it just right, at the exact moment thecrate touched ground.

Beat it! hissed the young thief. Now, orIll gut you!

Haern looked up and stared into his eyes. Hislips curled into a smirk. He knew shadows danced across his face,but his eyesthe man clearly saw his eyes. His dagger dipped in hishand, and he took a step back. Death was in Haerns smirk, andsteel in his gaze. As he heard the sound of the crate softlythumping to the ground, he stood, his ratty gray cloak fallingaside to reveal the two swords sheathed at his hips.

Shit, its him! the thief screamed, turningto run.

Haern felt contempt ripple through him. Suchpoor trainingdid the guilds let anyone in now? He took the youngman down, making sure no hit was lethal. He needed a messagedelivered.

Who? asked one, turning at the cry.

Haern cut his throat before he could draw hisblade. The other yelped and stepped back. His dagger parried thefirst of Haerns stabs, but he had no concept of positioning. Haernsmacked the dagger twice to the right, then slipped his left swordinto his belly and twisted. As the thief bled out, Haern looked tothe Serpent atop the wall.

Care to join the fun? he asked, yanking outhis blade and letting the blood drip to the street. Im out ofplayers.

Two daggers whirled down at him. Heside-stepped one and smacked away the other. Hoping to provoke himfurther, Haern kicked the crate. With no other option, the thiefturned and fled back down the wall. Disappointed, Haern sheathed asword and used the other to pry open the crate. With a loud creakthe top came off, revealing three burlap sacks within. He dipped ahand in one, and it came out dripping with gold coins, each oneclearly marked by the sigil of the Gemcroft family.

Interesting.

Please, he heard the young thief beg. Hebled from cuts on his arms and legs, most certainly painful, butnothing life-threatening. The worst hed done was hamstring him toprevent him from fleeing. Please, dont kill me. I cant, Icant

Haern slung all three bags over his shoulder.With his free hand he pressed the tip of his sword against theyoung mans throat.

Theyll want to know why you lived, hesaid.

The man had no response to that, only apathetic sniffle. Haern shook his head. How far the Serpent Guildhad fallenbut all the guilds had fallen since that bloody nightfive years ago. Thren Felhorn, the legend, had failed in his coup,bringing doom upon the underworld. Threnhis father

Tell them you have a message, Haern said.Tell them Im watching.

Who?

In response, Haern took his sword and dippedit in the mans blood.

Theyll know who, he said before vanishing,leaving only a single eye drawn in the dirt as his message, bloodfor its ink, a sword its quill.

He didnt go far. He had to lug the bags tothe rooftops one at a time, but once up high, he slowed. Therooftops were his home, had been for years. Following the main roadwest, he reached the inner markets, still silent and empty.Plunking down the bags, he laid with his eyes closed andwaited.

He woke to the sounds of trade. Hungerstirred in his belly, but he ignored it. Hunger, like lonelinessand pain, had become a constant companion. He wouldnt call itfriend, though.

May you go to better hands, Haern said tothe first sack of gold before stabbing its side. Coins spilled, andhe hurled them like rain to the packed streets. Without pause hecut the second and third, flinging them to the suddenly ravenouscrowd. They dove and fought as the gold rolled along, bouncing offbodies and plinking into various wooden stalls. Only a few botheredto look up, those who were lame or old and dared not fight thecrowd.

The Watcher! someone cried. The Watcher ishere!

The cry put a smile to his lips as Haern fledsouth, having not kept a single coin.

*

I t had taken fiveyears, but at last Alyssa Gemcroft understood her late fathersparanoia. The meal prepared before her, spiced pork intermixed withbaked apples, smelled delicious, but her appetite remaineddormant.

I can have one of the servants taste it, ifyoud like, said her closest family advisor, a man named Bertramwho had loyally served her father. Ill even do so myself.

No, she said, brushing her red bangs backand tucking them behind her left ear. Thats not necessary. I canafford to skip a meal.

Bertram frowned, and she hated the way helooked at herlike a doting grandfather, or a worried teacher. Justthe night before, two servants had died eating their daily rations.Though theyd replaced much of the mansions food, as well asexecuted those they thought responsible, the memory lingered inAlyssas mind. The way the two had retched, their faces turning ahorrific shade of purple

She snapped her fingers, and the many waitingservants rushed to clear the trays away. Despite the rumble in herbelly, she felt better with the food gone. At least now she couldthink without fear of choking, or convulsing to death on somestrange toxin. Bertram motioned to a chair beside her, and she gavehim permission to sit.

I know these are not peaceful times, hesaid, but we cannot allow fear to control our lives. That is avictory you know the thief guilds have longed for.