On the other side of the doorway, hewn into the bedrock, was a stairway. There were more than a hundred steps, and Ofcive 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 hung 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. I am the one who will lay Verovan's treasure at your feet, but first you must pay my price." The Faceless paused.
The room went silent as each Night Mask worried what that price might be, and each considered what price would be too high. "I demand your fealty," the Faceless announced in a sepulchral tone, "not as a crime lord, but as your king! I will make Westgate the greatest empire in the Realms, and you shall all share in the riches of that empire! If you share in my vision, if you accept my terms, kneel now before me."
Like faithful worshipers, the Night Masks below the dais knelt as a body. The Night Masters on the steps did not seem certain whether or not they too were required to join in this physical display/but when Kimbel knelt, the others followed. If any one of them held a republican sentiment or inwardly questioned the wisdom of agreeing to so empower an anonymous crime lord, they did not share it with their fellows. "All hail the Faceless," Kimbel cried, "King of Westgate!" The Faceless,"-the crowd shouted, "King of Westgate!"
The Faceless, surprised but very pleased by Kimbel's call for the crowd's allegiance, held up his arms and basked in the adulation of the thieves of Westgate. Unfortunately, his moment of glory was followed immediately by an uncomfortable silence as hundreds of Night Masks grew anxious for their reward and wondered if it was too soon to get off their knees.
"All hail the Faceless," a shrill but clear voice called out from the back of the dais. "Master of an honorless, greedy mob. Traitor to his duty and family. Murderer of his father and his lover." The speaker leaped up on the feasting table behind the Faceless so that all could see the red-haired halfling woman in leather armor-Winter-hart. The sound of her sword slipping from its scabbard slithered through the length of the hall. She aimed the blade at the Faceless's neck.
"My gods," Olive gasped under her breath. "She's going to get herself killed.
"But if that isn't an entrance to die for," Jamal whispered, "I don't know what is."
The aura of puissance momentarily faded from the Faceless as he retreated from the point of the halfling's weapon and nearly took a tumble down the dais steps.
"Maybe we could grab her and escape down the stairs," Olive whispered. She began to pull back the tapestry, but Jamal set a heavy hand on her shoulder and held her back.
"Wait," the actress whispered. "Heroes never truly die," she added with a delighted grin on her face. She's as crazed as Winterhart, Olive thought.
The Night Masks held their breath, waiting to see what their master would do.
From behind his mask the Faceless glared with fury at the insolent halfling facing him. It would not look particularly valiant for him to skewer the vermin, but none of his Night Masters showed the least inclination to grab the creature and throw it at his feet. All were no doubt afraid of losing a hand to the steel weapon still pointed in their master's direction. Even more aggravating were the charges the halfling brought. How had she discovered his. secrets?
He would have to make a joke of her. It was not the dignified beginning he imagined for his reign, but he had to keep her from making further accusations. "Did you intend to challenge me all by yourself?" the Faceless asked with a tone of amused derision.
Miss Winterhart smiled. "Well, to tell the truth, I did bring a few friends."
Olive's heart leaped to her throat. Surely this crazy halfling didn't expect the three of them to fight a horde of Night Masks! Did she expect Olive and Jamal to step out from behind the tapestry and make another dramatic speech?
Apparently Winterhart had not been counting just Olive and Jamal among her few friends. The halfling swords woman gestured to the back of the hall just as platoons of the city watch marched toward the back ranks of Night Masks. The soldiers all wore leather armor and copper helmets and were armed with swords and crossbows. The room rang with the echoes of their boots stomping on the stone-paved floor. – Durgar the Just stood at the front of his troops in his silver plate armor, carrying his mace like a staff of power. "In the name of the watch," the priest bellowed, "I order you to lay down your weapons and surrender. Failure to obey will be met with lethal force. This is your only warning.''
The Night Masks, who for years had considered the watch a joke, were not about to surrender to them when the largest treasure they'd ever looted was nearly theirs.
The thieves charged first, with their weapons drawn. The front ranks of the watch knelt in a precision maneuver, leaving the second rank clear to toss out great capture nets. The kneeling first rank let loose a volley of crossbow bolts. Night Masks at the battle's front who were not dragged down by the heavy, weighted nets, were felled by the shower of missiles.
The Night Masters and the Faceless began moving toward the door hidden behind the tapestry. Winterhart leaped down from the table in front of them, blocking their escape. The Faceless and four of the Night Masters drew swords.