Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  Again Alyssa expected an angry reaction, and again she was surprised by how docilely her lover reacted.

  “If you think it wise,” he said. His arms wrapped tighter around her, and sighing contentedly, she let him tuck her head underneath his chin. Her breath blew across his neck.

  “It may not be too late,” Nava suggested. “If we kill Lord Gemcroft before he can appoint a new successor, by law Alyssa inherits his wealth and business transactions.”

  “No,” Alyssa said as she pulled away from Yoren’s arms. “I don’t want him killed. Whatever he’s done to me doesn’t deserve that. I worry for my family, my father included. These thief guilds will destroy everything my family has worked for. I can’t allow that. That’s why I must take over.”

  “She is the last,” Eliora said. “Maynard might not remove her from his will, for if he does, the Gemcroft line dies with the stroke of his pen.”

  “Stop it,” Alyssa said. “All of you. I will not let you kill him. He will not banish me, not forever. I know my father. Given time, he will accept me back.”

  “Time you may not have,” Eliora said darkly.

  “Ladies, I believe my lovely needs a rest,” Yoren said. “If you might give us some privacy? Perhaps tomorrow morning we’ll have a reasonable plan prepared. For now, I think we’re all a bit upset over how things fell apart.”

  The faceless women slipped through the trees, with only Eliora glancing back. She said nothing, though Alyssa felt her eyes peering at her through the thin white cloth.

  “I’m sorry,” Alyssa said, shifting closer to the fire. She wasn’t sure what for, but guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. Whether by her own actions or not, she felt she had failed so many people. Yoren put his hand on her shoulder, and she was thankful for his kindness.

  “Everyone makes mistakes,” Yoren said. He paced behind her, and the silence she hoped he’d end stretched out longer and longer.

  “I couldn’t bear to see him dead,” she said. Yoren’s pacing made her nervous. What was troubling him so badly?

  “Sometimes good men must die to further the cause of something greater,” Yoren said.

  “Yes, but I—”

  Yoren grabbed her arms, yanking her to her feet and spinning her about. When she looked into his eyes, she saw that same fire that had always aroused her lust and called her to his bed. This time anger was mixed with the lust, along with a dash of contempt. She felt she looked into the eyes of a stranger.

  “Listen to me,” Yoren said. He was trying to remain calm, and succeeding only barely. “We have gambled everything on your ascension. Do you understand that? You are an outcast and a bloody fool if you think your father hasn’t already written you out of his will. You are dead to him. He might as well be dead to you.”

  He paused as if waiting for her to answer. She nodded her head, unsure of what to believe. Would Maynard cast her out so? Would he believe she’d been behind the attack by the faceless? Yoren loomed over her, and for the first time she felt vulnerable in his presence.

  “We have done everything to put you into power,” the man continued. “And will continue to do everything. Do not let your emotions get in the way of this, Alyssa. Everything is before us; all we need is to shed a little more blood. One day, our children will inherit the Gemcroft fortune, and our grandchildren will dance in the mines your father chokes with axes and slaves.”

  They are liars, girl, echoed her father’s voice in her ear. Liars and thieves and conniving men…

  “The Gemcroft name is doomed,” Yoren said. “You knew that when we came here. Your father is weak. A strong leader must arise.” He brushed her hair. “A leader like me.”

  And that was it, then. Alyssa looked upon the man not as her lover, not as a dashing man with a hint of danger in his smile. She saw the poised viper, saw in his smile a crawling beast that would take all her power and leave her shriveled and dead. They would not be equals, not once the wedding bells rang.

  And right now her life was in his hands.

  His face brushed her neck, and his arms held her closer against him. For once, it did not excite her. Instead she fought down her revulsion, pretended to be aroused as his tongue flicked across her skin. As his hands fumbled across her breasts, she swallowed her anger and shame and let it burn away her self-delusions. To the ground by the fire they went, and she spread her legs for him as he pulled down his trousers. She let him think he’d convinced her, let him believe himself still in control. She was a Gemcroft, and could endure the man’s touch for a little while longer. But she swore that should she somehow assume control of the estate that was rightly hers, she would not let a dog like Yoren have a single taste of its power.

  Father was right, she thought as Yoren grunted louder. I am such a stupid girl. But that girl dies tonight.

  Yoren would be the next to die, and unlike her, he would not be reborn wiser, stronger. He’d just stay dead.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Given the mansion’s numerous closets, secret pathways, and gardens, Aaron couldn’t have been happier with his new home. He’d spent the past few days lurking more aimlessly than normal. Since the attempt on Aaron’s life, his father had not appointed a new teacher in weaponry, stealth, or politics. With little else to do, Aaron had begun picking random workers and stalking them. He’d watched fat Olivia slaving away at the ovens for nearly four hours before she noticed his presence. Deciding a busy, unskilled person like that was no fun, he moved up in difficulty. Senke had caught him in less than four minutes; Will in less than two.

  But Senke and Will were gone, as was Kayla, whom he hadn’t worked up the courage to stalk yet. He’d discussed her with Senke plenty, blurting out how beautiful and skilled she was. Senke, the wily woman-lover that he was, had been more than sympathetic. But then he’d gone on and said the worst three words in the world to Aaron: “You’re too young.”

  With the king sending soldiers to kill him, Aaron didn’t think growing older that much of a guarantee. He’d spent the last two hours hiding atop an old wardrobe. Floor planks opened up nearby to one of the many tunnels leading in and out of the mansion. Aaron had watched people come and go, observing their reactions as they stepped into the light. For a few, he’d even scratched the wood with his fingers or let out a quick cough. None had noticed. Aaron found himself missing Senke even more.

  Aaron thought perhaps he should be in bed, but the Spider Guild was far more active at night than during the day. More active meant more interesting. He wandered the hallway, listening for something to watch. On a good day he’d catch several members of the guild gambling with dice, and he’d watch the twitches of their faces and the nervous movements of their hands. Aaron had gotten quite skilled at guessing who would win by the severity of their tells.

  As he wandered, he found his spirits dropping. He bypassed only a couple of men, all alone and looking almost annoyed at his presence. When he passed by the front door, Aaron crossed his arms and leaned against it. “So bored,” he sighed.

  Then he felt the door behind him shudder, as if someone was grabbing the iron handles on the other side but not yet pulling. Voices drifted inward. Aaron wasted no time. Before the door could creak open, he was already hidden in a shadowy corner.

  Senke entered first, and Aaron’s initial joy at seeing him was tempered by the deep scowl across his face. Kayla followed. There was blood on their clothes, and numerous cuts across their bodies. Aaron sank farther into the darkness, watching with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

  Will entered, an old man held in his arms. It took a moment before Aaron realized who it was: Robert Haern, the kindly teacher who had risked his life to help him escape the soldiers. His face was bruised, his hair dirty, but enough of the man remained to clearly identify him. Aaron felt an initial inclination to reveal his presence, but he fought it down. They had entered through the front door. No one was permitted to use the front door.

  “He still with us?” Kayla asked, gingerly
touching a gash on her forehead with her fingertips.

  “He lives,” Will said. “But his sleep is deep.”

  “We’ll let Thren wake him up,” Senke said as he ducked his head outside, looked about, and then shut the door. “Perhaps during his questioning he’ll forget the fact that we walked through the front gate and door with the whole world watching.”

  “The whole world is sleeping,” Kayla said, her voice sounding very tired.

  “No it’s not,” Will said. “Not the part that matters to us. But the old man would not make it through the tunnel. Which order do 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 him awake. The giant man 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.

  “The king dared cross a line he should never cross,” he said, his voice quieting. “My son … did you have a hand in my son’s capture?”

  “Capture? So he didn’t escape?” Robert let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, Thren, I tried, but he was just a boy, trained perhaps but … do you know if he is 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. “If he lived, you would not waste time rescuing me, nor would you wonder what role I played. When the soldiers came, I helped him escape through a window, but they must have surrounded my home too well. Listen to me, Thren. I was no party to his death, but I know of your reputation. If your son is dead, 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.”

  Thren stood, drawing one of his short swords. The sound it made as it cleared its sheath made 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 truth, old man, and go into the afterlife without the weight of lies about your neck.”

  Robert slowly 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!” Aaron screamed. “Nothing. Don’t you kill him, don’t you…”

  The big man 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 Robert’s neck, but despite it Robert smiled.

  “I see the boy lives,” he said. The movement rubbed the tip against his flesh, drawing a tiny drop of blood. “I wonder if it is you with the weight of lies around his neck, Thren?”

  “Do not mock me, old man,” 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 the big man’s arms wrapped around his chest. His lip quivered, but he showed no tears, and Robert felt a strange sense of pride. That was a boy worth training, he realized. One who would defy 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’s trust. When you first asked me to train Aaron, I meant to say no, but Gerand’s spies discovered 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, seemed to have his own plans. Troops surrounded my home after you left. When I discovered his plan, I struck him with my cane and then released Aaron. After that, I was beaten and taken to the prison, where you later found me. That is my tale. I am an old advisor doing the will of his king, and though you may call me a betrayer to your name, I was betrayed all the same. Do to me what you will.”

  Robert and Thren stared eye to eye, neither flinching. At this point Robert was too tired to care anymore what happened to him. When his role as the king’s advisor had ended, he’d thought himself free of the games, the constant backstabbing and rumormongering. He just wanted to teach. Was that so horrible?

  “While in my services, you betrayed information about me and my son,” Thren said. “I have killed men for less.”

  The words hung in the air. Robert narrowed his eyes. Something about the way Thren stood, without any anger or fury, hinted at something more. No, the guildmaster looked far too pleased with himself.

  “However,” Thren continued, “you also saved the life of my son despite knowing the punishment you would receive. So now I face a dilemma, for anyone who saves the life of my heir 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.”

  “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.

  “Follow me please,” 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. Oh, and we’ll get someone to check you over. You took a beating in that prison…”

  “Wait,” Thren said. He turned and crossed his arms, facing his son. Aaron lowered his head, then quickly raised it, as if fighting off his initial fear.

  “Yes, Father?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

  “You spied on our proceedings.”

  “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.”

  Robert watched, curious that Thren would conduct something so private with others watching. Was he testing Aaron? Or perhaps making a show of the fact that no one was immune to punishment, not even his own son?

  “I want to know,” Aaron blurted, his voice no longer a whisper. He pressed on, speaking faster and faster as if to outrun his own doubt. “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.”

  “That still does not give you permission to spy on my activities!”

  Aaron expected the boy to cower. Thren’s fury was like a monster all its own, and against that raised voice even Robert had felt a momentary flinch of panic. But instead Aaron only 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 he looked lost in a past Robert knew nothing of. The old man looked away, for some reason worried that if Thren should realize he watched, he’d react violently against him.