17

Maggie and I left Johannes's house after he told me all he knew of the Faceless men, it didn't really add anything to what I'd learned through osmosis in the city, or from the Sealord. We didn't go home immediately though, the presses were our next destination. Ever since I got the business up and running, I'd been offering members of the Voyagers deals on reprinting their books. If they let me copy a book from their libraries, I'd give them a percentage of all of its sales. It was good practice for the printers to keep them busy, and democratized knowledge, or at least whatever information was in the books. There were plenty of books there that hadn't yet been copied though, and it was beginning to resemble a library, even if most were just the same book, copied over and over again. Before the whole assassins mess I'd actually planned to found a library, I had considered several names, but I currently was leaning towards the Ivy and Bob Memorial Library. Hopefully the current situation could be resolved and I'd go back to more domestic pursuits. In all the books that hadn't been copied yet I was hoping to find one that shed more light on the Faceless men.

Maggie and I spent the rest of the day there, reading through old and dusty books. Indexes weren't a thing in books here, so to get a sense of the book you had to read the introduction at the very least. Even then some valuable tidbit could be hidden away further in and we'd miss it. Having a spirit of knowledge around to do research really had spoiled me.

The Faceless men came up several times in histories of Braavos. Sealords, kings, and merchant princes had been allegedly killed by them, the only clue to the seeming accident being the sudden poverty of the assassinated man's enemies. Tregar's murder seemed uncharacteristically overt, but the expertise in disguises shown by the dead servant was a definite hint of their involvement.

Another book on secret societies had a few more clues, the Faceless men weren't covered in too much detail, the majority focused on a group of the knowledge monks who apparently wanted to destroy all magic. The author sounded like a conspiracy theorist, which made me a little leery to trust it, but it did have the most information. He claimed the Faceless men had been founded in Valryia before its fall, and somehow contributed to the Doom which even now made trips there extremely dangerous. They apparently worshipped a death god who had aspects in all religions, and killing for them was a ritual sacrifice. The most worrying thing he wrote was that they apparently had some means of taking the faces of the dead. I had thought them simply masters of disguise but after Quaithe I was forced to acknowledge they may have some sort of glamour based magic. It was an unpleasant thought, the Sight would burn through all illusions, but I had seen enough with it that I would never forget to be wary of it's use.

We left the shop when the sun was about to set, they may have promised a year but trusting killer cult members was never a winning move. Maggie had calmed down over the day, like when dealing with Quaithe, she had an unshakable confidence in me that I knew I couldn't live up to. I had more work to do though, the assassins might not have known the value time gave a wizard but they would regret it.

My first priority was our home's defenses, given that the Faceless men might be illusionists I was working on a ward that would disrupt them. It would only function inside a threshold but it would stop them from infiltrating my house if they somehow got past the other wards. I'd probably install the same ward on any of my friends' homes who had strong enough thresholds, I couldn't think of a good reason for them to refuse.

My next project was also related to dealing with illusions. When the Faerie courts fought, the Gatekeeper had given me an ointment that penetrated glamours. I had of course kept some, and with Bob's help, reverse engineered it. It would spare me from using the Sight and I could give some to Syrio or anyone else who came with me. Honestly I was tempted to make a barrel of it and give out free samples. Magic might be different here, but the essence of life should not be used to facilitate murder. Anything I could do to impede that goal would be worthwhile.

My normal gear, staff, blasting rod, water gauntlet, and of course my latest coat were all ready and had all the enhancements I could think of, since I'd worked on them ever since Quaithe appeared. It was two weeks after I received the warning that I walked with Maggie to Johannes's now heavily warded house, and with my heart pounding, left her there.

I stood in the Sealord's Square with the half coin I'd given Syrio burning in my hand. I could feel the other half approaching me, and I turned to look for him in the crowd. He emerged, wearing dark clothes and a narrow sword, moving with a predatory grace that reminded me of Thomas. "It is time then?"

I nodded and then opened my Sight, Syrio looked much the same except instead of standing still his sword was in his hand, while he shifted from stance to stance like lightning. I closed my third eye with relief, I had wondered since his convenient appearance if he was who he claimed. He was the First Sword, and only mortal, if he betrayed me it wouldn't be through magic. "I think so yes. Let's see what the House of Black and White has to offer us. First though, smear some of this over your eyes." He took the small jar of the ointment, cracked the lid and looked at it dubiously.

"What is it? Warpaint is not something I feel the need to indulge in."

I grabbed it back from him and put two stripes over my own eyes. "It will let you see through illusions, if they've got magic this will beat it."

He took the gunk back and applied it while looking mutinous. "I'm grateful for your gift, but please endeavor to make your next cosmetic less rank." After spending a week with batches constantly being made and tested I didn't even notice the smell, whatever method Rashid had used to make it scentless it eluded me.

"You'll be grateful for it the next time an invisible demon tries to eat your face."

"This hypothetical demon will be repelled by the smell? If I have to wear it that long, I might welcome it." While he complained, we started walking towards the temple of the Many-Faced god. The square was fairly central and the temple wasn't, it was on its own island, creepily deserted of course. Walking across the final bridge, we left the teeming masses of the city behind us, and with them, their noise. The only sound were our footsteps, well my footsteps, Syrio's were silent as he managed to look even more dangerous as we walked up the rocky hill the temple was built on.

The main doors were monochromatic, one door was of ebony and the other was made of the pure white wood I'd used for my staff. They were half closed, and the interior was in deep shadow. Syrio and I exchanged a glance, and pulled them the rest of the way open, letting in the wan light in as we entered ourselves. I could feel death in the air, back home I wouldn't have dared entered the Nevernever here, for fear of what lurked on the other side of a place like this. The temple was dark, low fires in alcoves carved in the walls provided what little illumination there was. There was a dark pool in the center of the floor and and around the room were statues of gods I vaguely recognized. Syrio, seeing the direction I looked whispered their names, "The Stranger, Bakkalon, the Weeping Woman, the Merlyn King." He stopped there, but there were far more statues than the four he'd named, and I didn't like that the last one shared the greatest wizard ever's name.

There was only one man in visible in the temple, he was dressed in a gray robe and didn't acknowledge our arrival. He continued to sweep as we approached, only stopping when we stood in front of him. He turned to look at us and Syrio gasped, whatever illusion he projected was defeated by Rashid's concoction. The man was wearing a mask, at first I thought it was finely dyed leather, but then I realized no tanner had made it. It was the skin off of a corpse, the edges were stained red in what I knew was blood, and I had to resist the urge to rip it from his face. Illusions based on flayed faces were not the best introduction to magic, and Syrio looked pale. "Two men are here, a man wonders why."

Syrio gripped the hilt of his sword, "We came to speak to the Faceless men, and we have found one, although perhaps we should call you the two faced men?" His lethal grace remained, but he now moved in a manner that suggested violence was imminent. He surged forward, shoving the man hard. "I have had friends come here to die, and you wear their skin? What part of the gift of death is that?"

The cloaked man barely reacted to Syrio's push, he recovered his balance effortlessly, and stood still a few paces back. "A man still wonders."

Syrio seethed at my side but didn't reply. I stepped forward. "You and yours threatened me, and killed a friend. I would hear the reason why."

"We have killed none of your friends."

"Fucker!" Syrio almost blurred forward, and grabbed the edge of his facemask. "You killed Tregar Antaryon, and I want to know why!" With a sharp motion he tore it free, throwing the priest to the ground with it. "Don't like anyone else with magic, how's it feel to be on this side of it!" He lunged forward and kicked the man in the side, his breath came out came out in a rush and he curled around himself. Syrio stepped back. "Well? We're waiting."

As the priest wheezed another voice came from the back of the temple, and I spun to face it, Syrio's outburst had surprised me, and I was inwardly cursing about not watching my back in a ninja fortress. "Tregar Antaryon did not die by our hands."

Facing him I lit my staff, the entire length shone white, and chased the shadows of the temple away. In the glare the mysterious temple now looked shabby, the dark grandeur was lost with my light. "And why should we trust the word of an assassin?" The man walked towards Syrio and I, as the beaten priest crawled away.

"We are servants of the Many-Faced god, we serve a grander purpose than murder."

"I doubt it makes much difference to those who end up on your blades." He had continued to walk nearer, if he got too much closer he might be able to act before I could. Syrio unsheathed his sword and stepped forward, the man stopped just short of skewering himself.

"Death comes to all men. Through us it comes gently, it is a gift. Tregar Antaryon's end was not ours." Despite having a razor sharp blade inches from his throat, the priest was calm, or at least his flesh mask didn't show emotions. "A man wonders why you believed our guilt?"

"A man wearing a dead man's face came to warn the Sealord" Syrio bit out. "Whatever would make us think of you?" He traced the air in front of the man's mask with his blade. "If not you whom?"

"We are not the only ones in this city who can hide behind another's face. You stand next to another."

"Since he'd drive himself out of the city. Name names, or we're going through this building ripping off every face, if its the one they were born with or not." Syrio's voice was growing manic, but his sword was perfectly still pointing at the priest's eye.

"Tregar Antaryon was killed by a shadow-binder, the followers of R'hllor have them in their number."

"It is said you kill those who study magic in this city. Why do you tolerate their sorcery?" He turned to look at me, his eyes didn't dilate at all staring into my light, and I realized with a shock he was blind.

"We serve the Many-Faced god. When sorcerers seek to claim those who have received the gift, we act, and not before. You have nothing to fear from us yet Harry Dresden."

I wasn't quite willing to take his word but Quaithe had acted as if oaths mattered. "Swear this on your power, and in your god's name, or I will join Syrio in the cleansing of this place."

"Of course, the god I serve does not lie and neither do his followers. You have my vow." At that he turned away, and began walking back into the depths of the temple. Syrio shuddered and then gave a harsh exhale.

"Let's leave this pit, before I have to kill everyone in here." He hurried out, his quick steps more than matching my longer strides. The sunlight outside was a shock, even with my light the temple was dim. We left the island in silence, before hailing a boat when we reached a busier canal. We sat as the gondolier pushed us out and he eventually spoke "Do you trust them?"

I thought about it, either we trusted them or we would fight, I wasn't going to live with another sword hanging over my head. "I don't know if we can, but we can pierce their illusions and without that they are just men, trained and skilled no doubt, but mortal." Syrio nodded and was silent for the rest of the trip. As we parted ways in the square I handed him the jar of ointment. "Keep it just in case, when you run out I'll make more."

As I started to leave he called out. "Dresden, what will you do next?"

I stopped and turned back, "I think we'll need to visit the Red Temple."