Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  CHAPTER

  2

  Information meant wealth, and Kayla loved both. She was not the quietest thief, and unlike many in her line of work, she did not take to the shadows as fish took to water. Her fingers lacked the dexterity for caressing locks into opening. But her ears were always listening, and her eyes sharp. Throughout her rough life she had learned that dealing with information could net her coin and safety … although it could just as easily earn her death. Sometimes secrets were too dangerous to sell.

  Watching the soldiers surround the home, Kayla debated the value of what she saw. Clearly the king, or at least one of his minions, was interfering with the shadowy war being waged between the Trifect and the guilds. She shifted her weight from leg to leg, trying to make sure neither fell asleep. She lay atop a nearby home, having stalked the troops ever since they left the castle grounds by following along the rooftops.

  She could barely see the front door, but she had long learned to analyze everything about a man. What a man wore, and the way he walked, could identify him no matter how dark the night, no matter how well he hid his face. Kayla needed little of that skill, though, for when the man stepped out of the door, his hood flapped in the wind, revealing the scarred face of Gerand Crold. He held a hand against his forehead as if he had been wounded. Suddenly he realized the mishap with his cloak, glanced about as if worried, and then pulled it back over his face.

  Good luck finding me, she thought.

  Kayla smiled. Now this was something she could sell. Every week she met with a squat little man named Undry who ran a shop specializing in perfumes. She would whisper to him what she knew, and then he would give her a garish oversize bottle of what looked like perfume, except filled with silver and gold coin. From there the information traveled upward until it reached Laurie Keenan, the wealthiest of the three lords of the Trifect.

  Kayla heard shouting. Shifting her weight, she watched as a boy leaped through a window, hit the ground with a roll, and then darted away. A single soldier was in sight, startled by the broken glass and sudden burst of movement mere feet away.

  Before she knew she had reached a decision, Kayla was already moving. Her hand slipped into her belt, where dozens of slender daggers were clipped tight, designed more for throwing than for wielding in melee. Based on the shouts and frantic searching of the soldiers, they clearly wanted the boy. Whoever he was, he was valuable, and Kayla would not let such easy money slip through her fingers. If Undry would pay for rumors of newly hired mercenaries and extra-large shipments, how much might he pay for the blood relative of a Trifect, or perhaps one of the many guildleaders?

  She threw her dagger. The shadows might not be a second skin to her, and silence only a loose friend, but when it came to throwing the blade, she knew of no one better. Before the soldier could give chase, a wickedly sharp point pierced the side of his neck and ruptured his windpipe. He collapsed, unable to cry out to the others. Sheathing the second dagger she had grabbed in case she missed, she looked for the boy.

  Damn, he’s fast, she thought, sprinting after. If the boy hadn’t been so panicked, he easily would have heard her clattering across the rooftops. He darted through alleys, cutting back and forth as if to lose a pursuer. His path remained steadily eastward, regardless of how crooked and curved. Once she realized this, Kayla began to shrink the distance by taking a more direct route.

  Where are you taking me? she wondered. A great cry rose up all around her. She stopped and crouched, feeling a bit of worry crawl up her chest. It seemed the soldiers had given chase after all, but not just the few that had surrounded the home. Hundreds rushed up and down the streets in small groups.

  “The boy!” they shouted. “Hand us over the boy!”

  They pressed into homes, swarmed over alleyways, and pushed aside any they wished. Slowly, systematically, they were sealing off the entire eastern district.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  Kayla wasn’t exactly the most wanted lady of Veldaren, but she was no friend of the law, either. A guard in a pissy mood could easily take away her daggers, and if any should make the connection between her and the guard she’d just killed…

  “Fuck me up, down, and sideways,” she said, wondering how she’d gotten herself so messed up. She hurried from one side of her current rooftop to the other, taking in the positions of the soldiers. Frantic, she ran back to the north edge, realizing she had taken her eyes off the boy. If he’d made a sudden turn, or jumped through a window, then it would be the soldiers who found him, not her.

  She did know this: Undry would not be the one paying her for capturing the child. Anyone worth having the entire city guard chase after deserved a far better ransom. A king’s ransom, in fact. When she spotted the boy, she let out a sigh. He was a walking bag of gold, and she’d never have forgiven herself for letting him slip away.

  He was limping now, though she wasn’t sure the reason. He was also veering off the road, and she felt a mix of feelings when she realized why. Before him was an old abandoned temple to Ashhur, which had been stripped of all its valuables when the elegant white-marble temple farther north was completed. The grand double doors had been boarded shut, but those boards were long broken. Kayla smiled when he slipped inside, for she knew there was no way out. At the same time, she wanted to strangle the boy. If the guards searched inside, well … there’d be no way out.

  She looked down the street, seeing no nearby patrols. She shimmied down the side of a home. Without pause she ran across the street, kicked one of the doors open, and rushed inside.

  Where there had once been painted glass were now thick boards with even thicker nails. Where there had once been rows of benches were now splinters and ruts in the floor. The entire place stank of feces and urine. She paused just inside the door to look for the boy, and that was when he struck her.

  She felt a fist smash her temple, followed by a swift kick to her groin. As she staggered to one knee, she couldn’t help but smile knowing the boy had assumed a man chased after. Another punch struck her nose, but she caught his wrist before he could pull his fist back. She was not prepared for the sudden maneuver he made. His fingers wrapped around her own wrist, his body twisted, and then she was down on both knees, wincing as the bones of her arm protested in pain.

  Any delusions she had of his being a normal boy vanished with her shriek of pain. Her fingernails clawed his skin, but he didn’t seem to care. Face-to-face they stared, and if she’d expected to find fear or desperation, she was badly mistaken. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and as the boy let go of her wrist and tried to kick her chest, she realized he was enjoying himself.

  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 floor barely an inch to either side of his feet.

  “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 she’d held back her killing blow. Surely that would 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, and he looked insulted she’d found out the lie so easily. “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.

  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 jabbed into the back of his throat.

  “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 was a boarded window. Kayla reached up 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 oblivious to the danger, 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 boards remained. Kayla drew two more daggers and faced the guards. Remaining in the corner defending Haern was counter to her methods of combat, so she ran to the side, hurling dagger after dagger to keep the guards’ 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 of the guards’ swords. Once she was on the far side of the temple, 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 enough 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 leaped into the air and spun, her hands a blur as 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 longer 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 four soldiers now, as well as wounded two more. There would be no jail cell waiting for her if they were caught, just a thick stone and an ax.

  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.

  “You said Haern’s your first name. What’s your last?”

  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 talk.”

  “I … I’m the son of a guildmaster.”

  Kayla rolled her eyes. Well, that matched one of her earlier theories.

  “A thief guildmaster, I take it?” she said, and he confirmed it with a nod. “That’s what I thought. I’m sure you have a hideout, so where is it?”

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

  “That’s too far,” Kayla said. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t take Haern there until they lost their pursuers. Leading half the city’s soldiers to a thief guild’s secret hideout was another good way to end up dead, regardless of her somewhat noble intentions.

  “Any other safe houses?” 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. One day 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 recourse. Haern let go of her to free 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 well 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 splashed 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 just how green he was. She batted his sword aside, slashed his wrist, and then hurled her dagger. Kayla could kill a man from a rooftop. Standing mere feet away, the man had no chance. The dagger struck just above his gorget, and he gargled out a few unintelligible words as he collapsed.

  Kayla 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, his movements awkward from clutching his face with his other hand. Kayla curled about him, always drifting to his wounded side, until one of his blocks came in too early. Her daggers sank 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 Haern 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 itself in 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 stand.

  Kayla shook her head in amazement. Learn one day to kill as well as she? Nonsense, she thought. 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 taught 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 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 with us 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’re seen, he’ll come for us.”

  Kayla smirked.

  “I don’t care who your father is, Haern, he’s not the Reaper. 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 having 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 be able to list many names useful for blackmail, but not one person she could count as a friend. In 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 above the ground. Behind them, oak trees with interlocking branches surrounded the building, giving privacy to the mansion with their beauty.