“The whole world is sleeping,” Kayla said, her voice sounding very tired.
“Not all,” Will said. “Not the part that matters to us. But the old man would not make it through the tunnel. Which order you want to disobey: the ban on the door, or the command to bring Robert here by morning?”
Their voices grew softer as they hurried deeper into the mansion. When they were far enough away, Aaron darted after.
He stopped for just a moment at his father’s study, peering around the corner of a hall. Sneaking in through the door would be tough. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, but whatever the matter, he would probably hear the dreaded ‘you’re not old enough’ speech and then be sent to his room.
Decision made, Aaron waited until the door closed before he bolted to its side, pressed his ear against a crack by the hinges, and listened.
In his dream, he was lively and youthful. Darla was at his side, her thin arms wrapped about his body. He nuzzled his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. Instead of her normal perfume of roses, he smelled blood. Something hard struck his face, and then he opened his eyes.
Darla vanished, the arms around him gone, too. He was on his knees, stained with blood and filth. Before him, his face an unreadable mask of stone, stood Thren Felhorn.
“Welcome to my home,” Thren said, his icy voice robbing any meaning from the greeting. “I trust you’ll find it more comfortable than your last abode.”
“I take whatever comforts are afforded to me,” Robert said, dismally wishing he could be back in his dream. He wanted Darla, his beloved wife Darla, not a heartless interrogation. If he only closed his eyes, perhaps she’d be waiting for him, her face shining with light as it had in the prison…
Another blow to his face jolted his eyes awake. Will towered over him, blood on his knuckles. Robert chuckled. Compared to the pain in his shoulders, the punch was little more than an annoyance.
“I know you must be tired,” Thren said, walking out from behind the table. A hand on one knee, he knelt before Robert. “Tired, and in pain. I do not wish to add to either, old man, but I will. Tell me, what was your part in all of this?”
“My part?” Robert asked. “My part was to hang from chains. What is it you speak of?”
Thren narrowed his eyes, but he stayed his hand.
“My son,” he said, his voice quieting. “Did you have a hand in my son’s capture?”
“Capture? So he didn’t escape? I’m sorry, Thren, I tried, but he was just a boy, trained perhaps but…is he alive or dead?”
Thren only shook his head. “You were fond of this saying yourself, Robert. Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”
The old man rubbed his chin, letting his tired, sluggish mind slowly work through the cobwebs.
“He died,” he said. “Otherwise you would already know what role I played. When the soldiers came, I helped him get out, but they must have surrounded my home too well. I was no party to his death, but that matters not. Your son is dead, and therefore my life is forfeit. I ask you make it quick. I am an old man, and have waited long enough for the mystery of the hereafter.”
He gave no indication that he lied. Thren stood, drawing one of his shortswords, the sound it made as it cleared its sheath making Robert shiver. The three who had rescued him stepped aside, leaving the matter solely to their guildmaster.
“Swear it,” Thren said as he pressed the tip of his sword against Robert’s neck. “Swear you had no involvement with the king. Speak truly, old man, so you may go into the afterlife without the weight of lies about your neck.”
Robert stood to his full height.
“Truth or lie, I die the same,” he said. “And I do not fear the fate your sword promises.”
Anger flashed across Thren’s eyes. His mouth curled downward as his frown deepened. The whole room quieted, the very air thickening with the certainty of impending death. Then the door slammed open, Aaron’s angry cry breaking the silence.
“He did nothing wrong, nothing. Don’t you kill him, don’t you…”
Will grabbed him by the neck and yanked him away from Robert. Thren watched his son, his visage not changing in the slightest. The tip of his sword still pressed against the old man’s neck.
“I see the boy lives,” Robert said. The movement rubbed the tip against his flesh, drawing a tiny drop of blood. “Yet still I face death. What crime have I committed now?”
“You still lie,” Thren said. His voice seemed torn out from a deep cavern, reluctant and heavy. “Kayla told me of Gerand’s exit. You spoke with him before the attempt on my son. I want the truth, all of it. Any more lies and I will force the heavens to wait for your arrival while you rot in a cell.”
Robert glanced at Aaron, who stood with Will’s arm wrapped around his chest. His lip quivered, but he showed no tears, and the old man felt a strange sense of pride. That was a boy worth training, he realized. One who could risk defying the will of his own father, and reveal his own inappropriate spying, all to spare a life he deemed innocent.
“Very well,” Robert said. “I speak not to save my own life, but for the sake of the boy. When you first asked me to train Aaron, I meant to say no, but Gerand found out about the proposition and went to the king. They decided I should use the opportunity to learn more about you. All we hear are half-whispers, rumors, and exaggerated tales of your amazing excellence. The chance to learn even a shred of truth about the war being waged outside the castle walls proved too alluring. I had my orders, and that was to train the boy while keeping my eyes and ears open.
“Gerand, however, had other plans. The Trifect has gotten to the king somehow. Troops surrounded my home after you left. When Gerand informed me of his plan, I struck him with my cane and then released Aaron. That is my tale. I am an old advisor doing the will of his king, and though you may call me a traitor to your name, I was betrayed all the same. Do to me what you will.”
Robert and Thren stared eye to eye, neither flinching. Aaron watched the clash of wills with a growing feeling of anxiety. He had never felt so helpless. It wasn’t like Robert had been exceedingly kind, but he had known things, and out of all his teachers, he had been the one to truly treat him like an adult. Robert had expected greatness. He had tested him with the darkness of his room, not frustrated him with beatings and curses like some of his teachers.
Aaron wanted to say this, but he knew his father would not be swayed by pity or requests for mercy. He would do what was best for the guild; he always did. Thren looked from the teacher to the student, and all there could see he had reached his decision.
“While in my services, you betrayed information about me and my son. I have killed men for less.”
The words hung in the air. Aaron fought down an impulse to shout in denial. Something about the way his father stood, without any anger or fury, hinted at something more. Thren looked far too pleased with himself.
“However,” he continued, “you also saved the life of my son knowing the punishment you would receive in turn. So now I face a dilemma, for anyone who saves the life of my son I reward greatly. How do I reward a man whose life is forfeit?”
Robert sensed the opening being given and took it.
“Let me swear what little remains of my life to you,” he said. “I shall be your slave and do whatever tasks you set before me, however difficult or demeaning.”
Senke winked at Kayla. Aaron saw it and felt his heart soar.
“A worthy suggestion,” Thren said. “For the sake of my son, I grant your request. You will have food and lodging here in my estate, and you shall train my son when you are not aiding with various duties that Senke will set up for you.”
Robert bowed low.
“Thank you,” he said.
“To your feet,” Senke said. “I’ve got a room near Aaron’s that should do nicely. Clothing might be a bit rough, but the former occupants left a few extra outfits they couldn’t cram into their wagons, so we’ll make do.”
Aaron turned to follow them as they left, but Thren cleared his throat. At the sound, the boy paused.
“Leave us,” Thren said to Will and Kayla. The two quickly obeyed. Thren shut the door behind them, then turned and crossed his arms over his chest. Aaron fought an impulse to lower his head. He was with his father; he would not show fear or weakness.
“You wish to speak with me?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.
“You spied on our proceedings,” his father said.
“It is what you train me for.”
“You misdirect me with your answer,” Thren said, his eyes narrowing. “Trained or not, that does not explain your actions. Why did you listen in? Is it because of Robert? You were with him only a day. He cannot mean enough to risk my wrath.”
“I want to know,” Aaron blurted, his voice no longer a whisper. He pressed on before he lost his nerve. “What we do, what we are. I train and train, but I am still treated as a child. I know so little of the city, and if it weren’t for Kayla, I’d be in a dungeon, or dead, father.”
“That still does not give you permission to spy on my activities!”
Thren expected his son to cower. Grown men felt the pale touch of death when he shouted in his full anger. Aaron blinked, tilted his head, and then spoke so softly.
“But spying on you is how I saved your life.”
The battle-hardened guildmaster was struck by the simple pronouncement. He looked at the young man before him and remembered when he had been just a child, a child that could stab a man with a dagger to protect his father.
He killed so young, Thren thought. Yet I coddle him from the bloodshed raging around us. I fear for his safety, yet he is fearless before death, before injury, before even me…
“Though you disappoint me with your trespass, perhaps part of the blame is mine,” the elder Felhorn said. “From now on, you will be at my side at all times. My life is not safe, Aaron, and you will soon know that. But know that regardless the risk, I will bring you with me.”
“I’m not scared,” Aaron said.
“A foolish boast. Even I am sometimes afraid, as will you often be.”
The boy let a smile creep at the corners of his mouth.
“Scared or not,” he said, “I’ll never show it.”
Thren believed him.
7
Veliana stormed toward the back of the tavern, so mad she didn’t care if anyone saw her. An unmarked door suffered her wrath as she kicked it open. Inside, several men sat around a badly worn table. Two jumped at her entrance, simple thugs playing at guardsmen. When they reached for their blades, another of the men shook his head and slapped an open palm atop the table.
“No bloodshed,” the man said. “Put your swords away. Veliana did not come here to slit our throats.”
He saw the rage burning in her eyes and thought perhaps he was wrong, but he would not admit so openly. His thugs sat down, their hands lingering on their hilts. Veliana remained standing, though she at least had the decency to close the door behind her before she continued talking.
“What game do you play, hawk?” she asked him.
Kadish Vel, master of the Hawk Guild, smiled at the question. It was no secret he liked games; he would let the puppet of the Ash Guild explain further lest he reveal more than what she already knew. When he smiled, his teeth flashed red in the dim light. His underlings claimed it was from the blood of women he dined upon in the waning hours, though the rest of the city knew it was from his addiction to chewing crimleaf.
“I play many games,” Kadish said, winking. Veliana slammed a fist atop his table, scattering dice to the floor.
“Though you seem distraught,” he said, ignoring the outburst. “Did you lose? I must say, I don’t remember playing with you, and that is a game I feel I would remember.”
Veliana glared. Kadish had a narrow face and elongated nose. He wore an eyepatch over his right eye, though she was certain it was only for looks. The guildmaster seemed to feel himself the dashing sort, though in her opinion he looked more the castle mummer than a city pirate.
“I play no games with you,” Veliana said. “Your men have pushed into our territory. Everything south of Iron Road is ours, yet daily I find the bird’s eye scrawled over our ash.”
“You know the manner of guilds,” Kadish said, waving a dismissive hand. “The strong take from the weak. If you are so worried about the lost homes and bazaars then defend them.”
“Not here,” he added when he saw her reach for her daggers.
“That’s the game,” Veliana said. “You aren’t the stronger. We could bury you in days if war broke out between us. Why the sudden confidence? You’re as spineless as a snake. Where did this newfound courage come from?”
Veliana expected the insults to rankle the proud man, but instead he laughed as if she had tickled him.
“Courage is a funny thing,” he said. “What you see as courage I see as wisdom. You aren’t as strong as you once were. James Beren’s ego has defeated you. You would not storm in here red with rage if this were just a simple loss of a few pitiful homes and merchants. But wait! Don’t tell me, otherwise you spoil the game. The Serpents have moved in as well, haven’t they? And I bet the symbol of the wolf covers plenty of your ash in the east.”
“Every one of them is a lie,” Veliana said, her voice calming. A deadly seriousness had replaced her anger. “Soon all symbols will be the spider. You know that, don’t you?”
“You know nothing,” Kadish said, scratching the skin below his eyepatch. “And you can’t see the future. I, however, am smart enough to view the present. As long as you hold out on Thren and his Spider Guild, you are lost. We’ll take your members, your streets, and if we must, your lives. We all want this war to end; we will not suffer Beren to keep us from that finality. Tell him if he wants to have a guild by the end of the month, he needs to pledge his men to Thren Felhorn.”
“You know,” one of the men beside Kadish said, an ugly brute with scarred lips and a missing ear. “Perhaps James might be more willing if we had his pretty lady here for ransom.”
This time Veliana did draw her daggers but Kadish stood and glared at his men.
“This meeting is done,” he said to all of them. “We will not debase ourselves with such talk. The Ash Guild will see wisdom. Good day, Veliana.”
The woman spun and left, slamming the door behind her. When she was gone, Kadish rubbed his chin as his underlings snickered and made lewd comments.
“They’re vulnerable,” he said. “Rasta, take a few of your boys and have them scour the Ash Guild’s streets. Find out just how badly they’ve been pressed.”
“Planning something big?” the earless man said.
“Keep your mouths shut for now,” the guildmaster told him. “But if James has lost more than we anticipated…”
He let the threat hang in the air. Rasta stood and left while the earless brute recovered the dice from the floor, shook them in his hands, and rolled.
Aaron winced as he walked down the hall, his shoulder throbbing from where Senke had struck him. Ever since the meeting, and Thren’s promise to include him in all things, his father had made him spend hours training. Most often Senke was his trainer, the wiry rogue second to only Thren in skill with a blade.
“Are you ready?” Senke had asked when they first closed the door to the large, open room. Aaron had nodded but held his tongue.
“Good. Let us dance.”
And so they had danced, blunted practice swords whirling and clanging as they parried, riposted, and blocked. Of all his teachers of combat, Senke was by far the best as well as the most enjoyable to be with. He laughed, he joked, he said things about women that made Aaron blush. When it came to swordplay, though, he took the dance seriously. The joy would fade from his eyes, like a fire buried in dirt, and then he would explain an error, or detail improved reactions. Most often he smacked Aaron with his sword and let the pain do the teaching.
That da
y Senke had been determined to hone Aaron’s dodging abilities. The sword struck too quickly, and Aaron’s initial reaction was always to block or parry, not dodge. Other teachers might have taken away his sword, but Senke would have none of it. His student would learn to control his instincts, otherwise they would control him. Again and again the sword cracked against his shoulders, his head, and his hands. Whenever he tried to raise his sword, Senke’s other blade would shoot out, parry it away, and then slap him across the face.
Aaron rubbed his shoulder, part of him wanting to ask a servant to massage it for him. But massages meant pain, and pain meant failure, at least when it came to training with Senke. So he put it out of his mind as best he could, wiped more sweat from his face onto his sleeve, and stepped into Robert Haern’s room.
The furnishings were few but expensive. The chairs were padded and comfortable, the walls painted a soft red, and the carpet a luxurious green. Robert sat on the bed, piles of books on either side of him. Aaron wondered how he could possibly sleep on it, then wondered if the old men even slept in the first place.
“You’re here,” Robert said, smiling when he looked up. “I had begun to worry that Senke would knock all reason and wisdom out of you.”
“My ears are clogged,” Aaron said. “The wisdom stays in.”
The old man chuckled.
“Good for you, then. Sit. We have old matters to attend to.”
Aaron sat down, wondering what he could mean. Over the past week Robert had gone to great lengths describing the various guilds and their guildmasters. This went beyond recent times and into the past, beating into Aaron’s head why their colors were what they were, why each symbol had been chosen, what they looked like, how they were drawn, and every other possible fact that seemed totally irrelevant. No matter how obscure, Robert would frown deeply and reprimand whenever Aaron missed an answer.
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