A Dance of Cloaks s-1

by David Dalglish

  She ducked under the kick, spun around him, and then jabbed his throat with her elbow. When he collapsed, he rolled his body, avoiding the next two blows from her foot. He caught her heel on her third kick and then shoved it upward. She somersaulted with the push, snapping his chin with her other foot. As he staggered back, she landed lightly on her feet, drew two daggers from her belt, and hurled them across the room.

  They stabbed into the wood at his feet, barely an inch at either side.

  “Soldiers give chase, you stupid boy,” Kayla said. “Do you want to get us both killed?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. Kayla drew two more daggers, twirling them in her fingers. The boy was smart, she could see that. He had to know he was beaten, yet the fact that she held back the killing blow surely should earn her some measure of trust.

  “Your name,” she said. “Tell me, and I’ll hide you from them.”

  “My name…” He was not at all winded from the run or their tussle, though he spoke low as if embarrassed by the sound of his own voice. “My name is Haern.”

  “The Haerns are simple farmers,” Kayla said. “Stop lying to me. We both know you’ve never bent your back in a field or soiled your clothes in pig shit.”

  “Haern is my first name,” the boy said, his eyes sparkling. “You haven’t asked for my last name yet.”

  She glanced toward the door, expecting soldiers to come barging in at any moment.

  “And what might that be?” she asked.

  “Felhorn.”

  And then it clicked. She would make no money from this information, nor from the ransom. Only a fool would dare ransom a child of Thren Felhorn and expect to live another year.

  Unless they delivered the child to Thren himself.

  “Thren’s your father,” she said flatly.

  Haern nodded.

  “Good. Listen to me, we don’t have much time if I’m going to get you to…”

  And then the doors opened, a pair of guards with swords drawn standing at the entrance.

  “Here!” one shouted, the last word he ever spoke. A throwing dagger speared his left eye. The other guard swore, and then another dagger sailed through his open mouth and jutted out the back of his neck.

  “Follow me,” Kayla shouted as she grabbed Haern’s shirt. He did his best to follow, but she noticed his limp had returned.

  “The door,” he said, nodding to where the dead guards lay.

  “No time,” she said. “They’ll be there soon.”

  On the opposite side of the temple she reached a boarded window and yanked on the boards. The wood was old and weather-beaten, but she was not the strongest of women. She tugged and pulled, but the wood refused to break.

  “Give me a dagger,” Haern said.

  Kayla at first thought to refuse, then decided it couldn’t possibly make things worse. She gave him one.

  “Keep the pointy end away from me,” she said.

  Three more guards poured through the door and shouted for them to surrender.

  “Damn it,” Kayla muttered.

  “You handle them,” Haern said. “I’ll get us out.”

  As if completely unaware, the boy used his dagger to slice into the wood surrounding the nails. Kayla thought him crazy, but he worked the wood like an expert. In a handful of seconds, the first nail popped into his palm.

  Still, many nails and many boards remained. Kayla drew two more daggers and faced the guards. Pressed into the corner with Haern at her back hampered her style, so she ran to the side, hurling dagger after dagger to keep their attention. A couple glanced off their mail, another ricocheted off the flat edge of a blade, but one sank deep into the flesh of a soldier’s thigh. He swore and pulled it out while the other two rushed closer.

  Kayla dodged and rolled, her lithe body narrowly avoiding the swings. Once she was on the far side, she turned and sprinted, rolling past the two nearer soldiers and straight for the wounded man. Down on one knee clutching his wound, he only had time to look up and curse again before she stabbed a dagger in his eye. She yanked it out as she passed, wincing at the eyeball lodged halfway up the slender blade.

  When she reached Haern, she leapt into the air and spun, her hands a blur as the daggers flew. The two guards crossed their arms to block their faces, but she had anticipated such a basic defense. Sharp points dug into their legs, hands, and feet. Blood poured across the faded floor.

  “Hurry,” she heard Haern shout. She turned to see him toss her dagger back, hilt first. Three boards lay by his feet. He climbed up and out the window, not pausing to see if she followed. Kayla blew the wounded soldiers a kiss, then sprang after him.

  “How fast can you run?” she asked Haern when she landed outside. The drop from the temple was farther than it looked, and she felt her knees ache.

  “Not fast enough.”

  “Limp if you have to,” Kayla said, grabbing his arm. “But we’re still going to run, even if it’s on one foot.”

  He hesitated only a brief moment before looping his arm around her neck and running alongside. Shouts echoed behind them, and Kayla felt her heart thud in her ears. She had killed a second soldier, as well as wounded two more. There would be no jail cell waiting for her if they were caught, just a short fall from a taut rope.

  They hobbled down the road, Kayla desperate to add distance between them and the guards. She asked questions in a rapid-fire manner as they ran, hoping against hope for a plan to emerge in her mind.

  “Where is Thren’s hideout?” she asked.

  Haern refused to answer at first, but then she cuffed him on the side of his head.

  “I’m trying to save your life, and mine, so tell me where we’re going.”

  “The western district,” Haern said, elaborating no further.

  “No good,” Kayla said. She knew she couldn’t take Haern there anyway, not until they lost their pursuers. Leading half the city’s soldiers to Thren Felhorn’s secret hideout was another good way to end up dead, regardless of her somewhat noble intentions.

  “Any other safehouses?” she asked.

  “None I know of.”

  “Friends that can hide us?”

  “Friends are dangerous.”

  Kayla rolled her eyes.

  “Are you useful in any way?”

  Haern shocked her by blushing.

  “Not yet. But I will be. I’ll kill as well as you, milady.”

  She laughed, even as a pair of soldiers turned into the alley ahead of them. She wished she hadn’t killed earlier; then she might have been able to turn Haern over and save her own life. Daggers twirling, she accepted her only other recourse. Haern let go of her to free up her movements.

  “Keep your eyes open for a place to hide,” she said.

  Two more guards stepped out behind them, shouting for them to surrender. Haern grabbed a dagger from Kayla’s belt and kissed the blade.

  “Your name?” he asked.

  “Kayla,” she replied.

  “If we separate, I’ll find you. As long as I draw breath, I’ll ensure my father rewards you well.”

  Back to back, they faced the approaching guards. At first it seemed they would wait for more to arrive, but when Kayla flung several daggers through the air, one sinking into the flesh above a man’s knee, the soldiers decided subduing the unarmored woman and the hapless boy would be easier than dodging an angry barrage of steel. Kayla felt worried knowing Haern faced two, but she remembered how he had fought back at the temple. Maybe he could survive long enough for her to finish her own and switch over to help him.

  The first soldier slashed his sword at her chest. She parried it with the dagger in her left hand, stepped in closer, and then cut across his face with her right. Blood spilled across her arm, and he howled as the tip hooked the underside of his eye. His companion lunged, forcing Kayla back and preventing a killing blow. The wounded man clutched his face with his free hand, glaring with his good eye. The other man struck again, a weak thrust that revealed ju
st how green he was. She batted it aside, slashed his wrist, and then hurled her dagger. Deadly accurate from over fifty yards, the man had no chance standing mere feet away. The dagger struck just above his gorget.

  She heard shouts behind her, followed by a cry of pain. Knowing her time was short, she pressed an attack on the wounded soldier. He parried a couple of her stabs, but he was woozy from the loss of blood, and his movements awkward from still clutching his face with his other hand. Kayla curled about him, always drifting to his wounded side, and then one of his blocks came in too soon. Her daggers sunk into the flesh of his throat and stomach. Gasping, he fell and died.

  Feeling certain the boy was dead, she spun around and brought her daggers up to defend herself. Instead, she saw Haern dancing between the two soldiers, his dagger a blur of steel. Both soldiers were bleeding, and one in particular was soaked with blood from a gash underneath his arm. She watched as the boy ducked a sideways slash, spun on his heels, and then lunged to the side of a thrust. The sword pierced the air inches from his face, but he seemed not to care how close he came to death. His dagger punched underneath the breastplate, slicing open the flesh and spilling intestines to the cold dirt of the alley.

  He never hesitated, not even after such a cruel killing. The other soldier’s strike would have severed his spine, but instead it clacked against the ground. Haern slashed his wrist, danced about, stabbed his side, and then as the guard turned he continued dancing, continued twirling. His dagger buried into flesh, finding two more exposed slits in the armor. Blood ran freely, and when the boy kicked out his knees, the guard fell without the strength to return to a stand.

  Kayla shook her head in amazement. He would not one day learn to kill as well as her. He already did.

  Haern sheathed the dagger and joined her side.

  “Your limp,” she said, realizing he had shown no hint of the injury during battle.

  “I hurt it worse,” he said, wrapping his arm around hers. “But I’ve been shown how to ignore such things. Better to live torn and in pain than die in perfect health.”

  He spoke as if the saying were memorized, and the gasps of pain he made with each step of his wounded leg seemed to mock him.

  “We’ll never escape,” she said as they turned down a small alley between rows of houses that stank more like a sewer. “Not leaving a trail of bodies behind us.”

  “We just need to keep going,” he said. “It doesn’t matter where.”

  “Why not,” she asked.

  “Because my father’s eyes are in all places. Once we are seen, he’ll come for us.”

  Kayla smirked.

  “Can’t rely on your father like that. He’s not the Reaper, able to see out of all shadows and end your life with a kiss of his scythe. The night is deep, the soldiers are about, and if we’re to see the dawn we’ll need to hide.”

  Haern looked upset at her dismissal of his father, but he refused to argue the point.

  Kayla scanned the houses she passed, hoping to recognize one. Considering how she prided herself on information, she realized just how little she knew her surroundings. She was friends with the scum of the streets, but the eastern district was home to the rich and influential. She might know her way around, and list many names useful to blackmail, but not one could she count as a friend. Out of all of Veldaren, this was most definitely farthest from home.

  “Wait,” Haern said as they passed by a wide mansion surrounded by a thick fence. Its bars were made of dark iron, their spiked tops over ten feet tall. Behind them, oak trees with interlocking branches surrounded the building, giving privacy to the mansion with their beauty.

  Haern pointed. “We can hide here.”

  It took a moment for Kayla to realize where they were, but when she did her eyes widened.

  “Are you daft, boy? This is Keenan’s estate.”

  “Exactly,” Haern said, a bit of a smile curling his lips. “The one place no one would dare look for us.”

  The reasoning was sound, but looking at those enchanted bars, she wondered how in the world they would cross.

  “Follow me,” Haern said. Instead of climbing the bars, though, he turned and shimmied up the wall of a much more modest dwelling on the opposite side of the road. He clearly favored his right leg, bracing his weight on it as often as he could. It seemed there was no way up, but his feet and hands found crevices, windowsills, and indents in the plaster.

  Kayla knew she was good at climbing, but she doubted her ability to follow. Still, the shouts of guards chased after them, so she had no choice but to try. She made it halfway up before her foot slipped. The windowsill cracked and broke. Her hands flailing wildly, she grabbed the first thing she could: Haern’s leg. The boy hung from the roof by his hands, and though his grip seemed like iron, she could hear his grunts of pain. She swung her foot further to the side, on what remained of the windowsill. When she let go of his leg, she heard him exhale slowly, as if he fought to control his pain. A moment later, he was back atop the roof and gone from her sight.

  The rest of the way up was easy, and when she got there she found Haern lying on his back, tears running down the sides of his face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We can hide here, surely the guards won’t look…”

  “They will,” Haern said. “They can see us from the street. Even if it takes all night, they’ll find us.”

  Kayla sighed. He was right, of course. The roof was not perfectly flat, but instead sharply angled, with sharp triangles rising up to make a space for windows. If they hunkered down, they might go unnoticed, but any searching eyes would eventually spot them. Slowly, Haern shifted all his weight to his left leg and tried to stand. Kayla gently put her hands underneath his elbows and helped him.

  “I’ll scream when I jump,” he said. “Ignore it. I’ll be fine.”

  And then he was off, showing no sign of his injury. The roof, while angled, was still wide and offered plenty of room for a running start. In between the spikes of the gate were thick stripes of the dark iron, and it was for them he dove like a swan. With both hands he latched on, and when his body swung downward, he kicked off the bars with his good leg. Feet in the air, he vaulted over the spikes and landed on the smooth carpet of grass on the other side.

  True to his word, he screamed in pain the whole while.

  Kayla felt her lips tremble at the display. Perhaps it would be better to remain on the rooftop, hoping the guards would miss her. They weren’t searching for her, after all, just the boy. The strange, incredibly trained teenage boy who fought like an assassin. She couldn’t possibly mimic his act, could she?

  She made her decision. With her longer legs, perhaps there was another way…

  In a single quick motion she unbuckled her belt, counted to three, and then ran off the side of the house. When the fence neared, she looped the belt around one of the spikes and then did her best to hold in a shout of pain as her body rammed into the bars. She started to fall, but then the belt tightened. Using a similar technique, she kicked off the bars and somersaulted. Her breath caught in her throat as she passed over the incredibly sharp tips. She pictured herself impaled, her corpse upside-down like some grotesque ornament.

  Then she was over, and the blessed ground met her feet. She rolled along, then scrambled toward the nearest tree. Compared to the house, it made easy climbing with its many shoots and branches. Haern was waiting for her among the leaves.

  “Keep quiet,” he whispered. Tears ran down his face, but he kept the sobs out of his voice. With a slender hand, he pointed through a gap in the leaves where the street was visible to them both. Soldiers ran past, torches in hand. They scoured the area, but not once did they inspect the land behind the walls.

  “Laurie Keenan’s property might as well be a foreign nation,” Kayla whispered. “A smart call, though you have the courage of a lion to leap like you did. If your knee had buckled…”

  “It didn’t,” Haern said. “Not until I landed.”

 
; She pulled up his pant leg and looked. His knee had already turned a shade of blue, with the very center an ugly brown. When she touched it gently with her fingers, she could tell it was badly swollen.

  “We need it wrapped and iced,” she whispered. “And you need to give it rest.”

  Haern nodded.

  “How long can we hide here?”

  Kayla shrugged. “We pressing our luck as is, but if we stay away from the mansion we should be safe. I hear all his traps are within its halls.”

  Haern leaned his head against a branch and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t let me fall,” he said. “Please?”

  “Sleep if you must,” she said, reattaching her belt. “I’ll keep us safe.”

  Several hours passed. If she had any doubt to the boy’s identity, the tenacity of the soldiers’ search erased them. Carefully she pushed the blonde hair off his face and looked at his soft features.

  There was no doubt he was Aaron Felhorn, and by his actions and his skill, he was most certainly his father’s son.

  When the sun finally began to creep above the city walls, Kayla nudged him awake. He snapped his eyes open and stared at her without a word. It was as if now the danger was passed, he had grown inward and shy.

  “Come, Aaron,” she said. “Let us get you home.”

  “Haern,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “Call me Haern.”

  “Why?” Kayla asked. “I know who you are; there is no need for pretenses.”

  “Because when I am Haern…” He stopped and looked away. “When I am him, he is everything I am not.”

  She wasn’t sure she understood, but she had a lot more pressing things to worry about than what name the Felhorn whelp wanted to be called.

  “Should we head west?” she asked. He nodded. “I thought so, but we have a slight problem. How do we get over the gate?”

  He didn’t know. It seemed when the hounds were at his heel, he was a fountain of ideas, but when things quieted down, the fountain ran dry. She almost smacked him upside the head and threatened to cut his throat if he didn’t produce an idea, but the thought was so absurd she laughed.