A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance
Read A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance Online
Authors: David Dalglish
“Despite everything, you still believed you were better,” Muzien said. The tip of the sword lowered, the cold steel gently touching the skin of his neck. Every maneuver, every thrust and parry, carried that arrogance. Deep down, you felt your skill would overwhelm mine. Do you understand your error, Watcher? You will never defeat me. You will never even challenge me. There is so much you can learn at my hands, but only if you submit. Only if you humble yourself to one who is greater. Otherwise…”
The tip drew a single drop of blood.
“Otherwise you will die at these hands, having learned nothing at all.”
Muzien withdrew the blade, sheathing it while walking away. He showed no fear at putting his back to Haern.
“Reconsider my offer,” the elf said as he dismissed the rest of his guild with a single hand gesture. “Despite this poor performance, I still feel you are the most qualified to inherit my legacy.”
“I won’t,” Haern said as he slowly rose to one knee. Blood trickled down his neck, and he had to grit his teeth against the continued pain from where Muzien kicked him. “I will never swear allegiance to someone like you.”
Muzien cast a glance over his shoulder.
“Then get out of my city,” he said. “You are unwelcome here.”
With that he sprinted down the street, black coat flapping behind him. Haern watched him vanish, and the fear in his gut continued to grow.
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.
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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: 9781405530026
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 © 2015 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
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London, EC4Y 0DY
Contents
Read an Extras from Blood Song
To you loyal readers,
who have allowed me to live a dream
I
nto the secluded shrine below Palace Thyne walked Muzien Ordoth, and he was pleased to see he was not alone. He’d worried that the high priest of Celestia would be afraid to meet with him in such a clandestine manner, or worse, deem such a meeting beneath him. They met in a place long forgotten, accessible only through ancient tunnels cut into the granite beneath the palace. The shrine itself was lit with forever-burning torches that produced no smoke, their yellow light reflecting off the emerald walls.
“You should have been here before me, kneeling in prayer to our goddess,” said Varen Dultha, rising from his knees before the statuette of Celestia that rested atop the oaken altar. When he turned, his smug distaste tested the limits of Muzien’s patience, and control. “But then again, you’ve never been much for prayers and worship, have you?”
“I do not appreciate having my faith questioned,” Muzien said. “My loyalty to the goddess has not wavered once over this past decade.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Varen said. “Living among humans? Trading with them? Keeping many in your employ? The goddess commanded us to watch over them, guide them, and remain neutral in their affairs if they would not listen. Pray tell me, how were you doing
Celestia’s
work there in Mordeina?”
Muzien took in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He needed to remain calm, and not let his disagreements with the high priest ruin all he’d done. In the secret records of their people, he would be called the savior of their city, perhaps their entire race. What did a few insults to his pride matter compared to that? But before he answered, he walked past Varen and put a hand atop the nude statuette. It was of their goddess, arms raised above her head, mouth open. Carefully carved to represent the delicate nature of balance, she could have been bound and in pain, or finding pleasure in freedom. Often the viewer’s mood was what was reflected back, a subtle point Muzien wished more elves would understand. Above the statuette, carved into the emerald and filled with gold, was a four-pointed star, the fabled form Celestia had taken when coming down to speak with the brother gods before their war hundreds of years ago. It was as symbolic as it was historical, for that same star often represented the sun, showcasing the duality of the goddess, her watchful eye in both day and night.
After whispering a prayer for guidance, all while fully aware Varen impatiently waited, Muzien crossed his arms over his chest and met the stare of the priest. Varen was slender, even for an elf, his long hair so white it approached silver. He was young, nearly as young as Muzien. The two had risen in power together over the last century, but it had been Varen who won the position of high priest, the youngest elf ever to have done so. The wound to Muzien’s ego had taken years to heal, the bleeding halted only when he’d realized there were better ways to protect his people than from within the isolated halls of their temples.
“I do Celestia’s work by protecting her people,” Muzien said.
“Are her people in danger?”
Muzien’s jaw clenched tight, grinding his teeth.
“You’re no fool, Varen,” he said. “The humans’ temperament toward us has worsened drastically over the past twenty years. They fear us now, that fear bordering on the insane. In their cities, men and women preach hatred toward us, a hatred so primal and raw no peaceful solution will ever suffice.”
Varen’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that why you’ve pulled me down to this forgotten place?” he asked. “To insult my diplomats before they may even speak a word?”
Muzien shook his head. Conflict between the races was growing; everyone could see that. Over the past year, as a way to counter the seemingly inevitable, Varen had championed an initiative to send dozens of trained diplomats to permanently live in Mordeina, the capital city of the human nation of Mordan. But Muzien had beat them there by a decade, and he knew the futility of such an attempt. His voice was absent during the debates, for he had no time for such things. He had a war to prevent.
“Your diplomats will be made to wait at the gates,” Muzien said, stepping closer to Varen. “After a week or so, they’ll be allowed in, only to be met with vicious crowds. They’ll be cursed at, spat at. Little boys and girls will hurl stones at their heads. Whatever home you think they’ll stay in will be burned to the ground. Should they go to speak with the king, they will be denied nine times out of ten, and whatever audience they find will be brief, and spent listening to the king inform us of our failures and deviousness. This anger the humans feel, it is a sickness, without base or merit or reason. It’s founded on one thing, Varen: fear.”
“If all this is true,” asked Varen, “then how have you lived there so long?”
“Because I
want
them to fear me.”
Muzien could feel the conversation slipping away from him, so before the priest responded he pressed on, letting his anger fuel his words.
“Listen well, Varen,” he said. “You know war is coming, as sure as the rising sun. It is only a matter of time before the humans raise their banners and descend upon our forests. They’ll burn every tree to ash if they must to satisfy their blood lust. If we don’t do something to prevent it, our people will suffer terribly.”
For once that smug look faded, revealing a very tired, frustrated Varen.
“Of course I know it,” he said. “But too many consider the humans as curiosities to be ignored, not feared. They see the borders of our forest as impenetrable. To convince them to permanently station diplomats in Mordeina took more effort than you can imagine. Damn it, Muzien, it is easier for me to find an elf
eager
for war than one who will accept mankind as a legitimate danger.”
Muzien reached out, put a hand on Varen’s shoulder. He tried to remember a time when he’d considered the elf a friend. It felt like a different life, and a gulf of blood and coin lay between.
“There’s still hope,” Muzien said, and he felt his heart speeding up. This was it, the culmination of his plan. “In Mordeina, I have formed a guild of men and women loyal to my name. They’re bound by greed and ambition, and for that alone they are both predictable and reliable. I’ve dipped my fingers into every bit of trade, particularly the vices their kings and queens have ruled illegal. The price was dear, Varen, and I’ve spilled more blood than I wish to see again in my lifetime, but I would gladly pay it a hundred times over if it means the safety of our people.”
“I don’t understand,” said Varen. “How does a guild of humans spare us from a potential war?”
“By bringing the war to them. A minor noble from the southern nation of Ker has made repeated claims that he could conquer all of Mordan, usually under the guise of some bloated family history … a noble that is firmly in my pocket. From all across Mordeina and Ker I’ve secretly contacted mercenary bands, drawing them south to join him. Should he march upon Mordeina, and place it under siege, my guild will sabotage the defenses, overthrowing that wretched Baedan family line that has ruled Mordan for far too long.”