Masquerades - Kate Novak [158]
Distracted by the sound of Kimbel's voice, Olive retreated a step from her opponent, giving Winterhart a chance to get to her feet. "Winterhart," Kimbel barked, "you haven't got time for
this. The Faceless is about to address his troops. You'll miss your cue." The assassin retreated through the doorway.
Winterhart dashed after him, calling out, "Come on, Ruskettle, Jamal. You don't want to miss the fun." She disappeared into the darkness beyond the door.
Olive exchanged a confused look with Jamal; then the halfling raced after Winterhart. Jamal dropped the ridiculously heavy broadsword. She considered for a moment the sword and scabbard Kimbel had given her. It could be a trick, but she needed a weapon. I really wish I'd read the script before I jumped into this play, she thought as she followed Olive.
On the other side of the doorway, hewn into the bedrock, was a stairway. There were more than a hundred steps, and Olive was breathless when she reached the top. The door was a pivoting section of wall, which someone had propped open with a spike driven into the floor. A tapestry hang over the door on the far side, concealing it from view. With her dagger, Olive poked a hole in a threadbare spot in the tapestry and pressed her eye up close.
She looked out on a dais and, beyond that, a cavernous chamber. Once, long ago, this had been the audience chamber of King Verovan, but when the castle had fallen into the hands of House Vhammos it had been converted to a dining hall, with feasting tables on the dais and in the hall below.
Now Night Masks packed the room, hundreds of them, dressed in costumes as varied as the citizenry of West-gate. There were merchants and priests, sailors and drovers, pickpockets and cutthroats, all wearing domino masks and all of them armed with deadly weapons. All had their attention focused on the dais. Ten figures wearing black robes and half masks of white porcelain stood on the stairs leading up the dais. Olive recognized one of them as Kimbel despite the mask he wore.
A man dressed in a blood-colored robe of velvet stood at the top of the dais. His face was a magical blur of colors. He stepped forward, and a buzzing sound spread through the room as hundreds of Night Masks realized he was their master.
"The Faceless," Jamal whispered behind Olive. The actress had poked her own eyehole farther up the tapestry.
Kimbel motioned for silence, and a hush fell over the room.
"You see, I live while those who oppose me have perished!" the Faceless thundered. The magical distortion of his voice, caused by the mask that obscured his features, sent a shiver down Jamal's spine. "The nobles opposed me, and they are no more. The croamarkh opposed me, and he is no more. The sell-sword Alias and her companions opposed me, and they are no more. This night I claim rulership of this city, and all of you who are loyal to me will be rewarded!"
A cheer went up from the crowd.
"Tonight begins a new era for Westgate," the Faceless continued. "The treasure of King Verovan is ours to take-"
At the mention of treasure another cheer rippled through the crowd. Gold always had a way of rallying the troops, the Faceless thought. He waited patiently for the din to die down.
"There will be danger," the Faceless warned matter-of-factly. "Verovan's treasure lies in another plane, and like most treasure hoards is guarded by creatures that dwell in that plane. Your lives will be at risk, yet your reward will be great. All of you who survive will receive a share of what is looted from the hoard. Once that share is yours, you will no longer be criminals, but the wealthiest men and women in Westgate."
There was another cheer, but the Faceless cut it off with a sharp motion of his hand. "I am the one who made the Night Masks the most powerful guild in the Heartlands. I am the one who destroyed your enemies.