Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

“Did they really? You say Thren was not weak. How do you know?”

  Aaron paused, and his head leaned back a little as if he had smelled a bad smell.

  “How could he be weak?” Aaron asked. “We’ve survived against the Trifect. We’ve killed many of them, and thwarted every attempt to defeat us.”

  “Not every attempt,” Robert said. “Must I get out the children’s rhymes? Your father has suffered many casualties, and his coffers are near empty. This war taxes both sides. Never think you are invincible and your opponent a whipping boy. Rarely do matters work out that simply.”

  “Still, my father was not weak.”

  “You are wrong,” Robert insisted. “Even a weak Thren Felhorn can withstand for many years. That is irrelevant. Have you ever heard that sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness?”

  Aaron nodded. He had heard such a sentiment before.

  “Then consider this … five years ago, your father was consolidating power, but then other guilds broke away from him. Too many wanted control, and Thren’s reputation was not yet established, though he built much of it during that time, brick by brick with the blood of his would-be assassins.”

  He paused, and Aaron sensed the unasked question. With the information given, he should be able to piece together the rest. He thought, his fingers pressed against his lips. He puzzled it over, and Robert did not hurry him.

  “The Trifect realized how dangerous he was,” Aaron said at last. “They knew he would eventually succeed in uniting the guilds against them. So when they saw the infighting, they tried to kill him.”

  “Exactly,” Robert said. A bit of a smile touched his face. “They saw Thren’s power as brittle and tried to smash it with a hammer. They did as they always did, Aaron, by striking when their opponent was weakest. But they erred, for your father erred, one of the few times in his life, but also the greatest. Just before the war between the Trifect and the underworld began, a weak guild, the Mantis Guild, tried breaking away. Instead of crushing that rebellion, your father let it last for several months.”

  “Why would he do that?” Aaron asked.

  “I should ask you,” Robert said. “You should know.”

  Again Aaron puzzled it over. He thought of Senke and of all the times he had let Aaron nearly score a blow or let a slash slip through his defenses, only for it to fall just short.

  “Father wanted to teach the guild a lesson,” he ventured.

  “A wise guess,” Robert said, “but still wrong. Try again, and remember my words.”

  He replayed the conversation again and again, and then the words struck.

  Sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness.

  “He was plotting against the Trifect,” Aaron said. His whole face flushed with pride at discovering the reason. “The Trifect would not suspect my father of doing anything drastic until the rebellion was finished.”

  “Quite right,” Robert said.

  “That was when the Trifect struck,” Aaron continued. “They thought him weak, his alliance breaking, and so they sent in their mercenaries.”

  “Your father wanted to solidify power in secret,” Robert said. “He used that rebellion to hide his strength, to make him seem weak, all so he might surprise the Trifect when he unleashed his collected power upon them. Every time someone rebelled before, Thren crushed them with brutal efficiency, but not the Mantises. That semblance of weakness unraveled all of his plans. If the Trifect had correctly gauged his strength, they would have bartered for peace and waited until Thren reached an age where he was too old to keep the rest in line. Instead they sent their mercenaries into the streets, killing thieves in their guildhouses. When your father tried for peace, it was too late. The Trifect had tasted blood and victory, and they set up a trap instead. Leon Connington nearly stabbed your father to death when Thren visited him in his mansion, and Maynard Gemcroft had his archers fire from their windows upon another of the Spider Guild’s men sent to broker peace. That betrayal left your father in a hopeless position. Either he dies, or the three leaders of the Trifect die.”

  Robert pointed at a few books outside his reach, and Aaron fetched them. The old man opened them, his eyes not scanning the pages. It was as if the act gave him comfort.

  “The city needs this fighting to end. The few who have remained neutral, like the king and the priests of Karak and Ashhur, will one day take a side to end the bloodshed. Your father is too strong, Aaron. He should have lost years ago. The guilds would have fractured, some great men would have died, and then the petty theft and trade of vice and flesh would have resumed as always. But not now. Each side has lost too much. They’re like two stags staring eye to eye. The first one to blink loses…”

  “Is this your advice to my son?” Thren asked from the doorway. Neither had heard his approach, nor his opening of the door. His arms were crossed and his face a mask. “My strength is a weakness; my war a mistake?”

  Aaron fought an impulse to back away as if caught doing something wrong. Instead he bowed his head respectfully to both his father and his teacher.

  “Robert speaks the truth as he knows it,” Aaron said. “I need his honesty, not stories lying about the Trifect’s power and twisting blame to where it does not belong.”

  Thren nodded, clearly pleased.

  “Teach truthfully,” he told Robert. “Never lie to my son. He is old enough for every truth, no matter how harsh. And he was right, Aaron. I was a fool. I let the Mantis Guild survive. I let an enemy live when I should have ended their existence. Sometimes even the most clever man can outsmart himself. You don’t build an elaborate maze to kill a roach. You crush it with your heel. Now prepare your things. I go to a man who has lied to me, and want you at my side. There are lessons that one does not learn from books and study.”

  Aaron did not ask where they were going, though he very much wanted to. The boy knew his father would tell him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. They both wore the gray cloaks of their guild. Much of Aaron’s outfit was new, from the soft black leather of his boots to the faded trousers and the thick gray tunic. He was most proud of the sword that swung from his hip, a thin rapier shortened to match his height.

  “Say nothing, not even if you are directly addressed,” Thren said as he led them through the dark streets. Morning was fast approaching, but until then the city would be still empty and quiet. The few men about them had their own business to attend to, and hide, so the father and son were left alone to wander.

  “What if you demand I speak?” Aaron asked. Thren glanced back at him, looking bewildered.

  “Why would I?” he asked.

  Aaron nodded, his face flushed red.

  They continued down the streets, which Thren named off as they passed, as well as what guild lay claim to them.

  “Our territory is never something to give up lightly,” Thren told him. “Every home, every run-down business, brings us profit. The businesses pay us protection money so we will not rob their stores. The street women give us coin for the privilege of using our streets. The people buy our drugs, supply us with recruits, and provide simple prey for our younger members in training. Every thief guild in Veldaren is trying to build an empire, and the one thing an empire needs more than anything else is land.”

  “You talk as if we’re at war with the other guilds. I thought the Trifect was our enemy?”

  Thren crossed his arms, his look hardening.

  “In time we’ll crush the leaders of the Trifect. We’ll scatter their wealth to the four winds, and a dozen other lords and ladies will scramble like dogs to pick up the pieces. In that chaos there will be so much for us to take, so much profit to be made. Aaron, who do you think will be competing with us for that wealth?”

  Aaron looked away, embarrassed.

  “The other guilds.”

  “That’s right, my son. They are not our friends. No thief guild, not the Hawks, the Ash, the Serpents, the Wolves … not a
one is to be trusted. They are allies now, united only by a common foe. When that foe dies, every truce is broken. A new war will be upon us, and it will be one we must win, no different from the one we face now. Never stop looking to the future, nor forget the past. The other guilds were our enemies. They will be our enemies again.”

  They continued as the moon faded, the morning sun fast approaching. Before a large building marked with a sign painted entirely red, Thren paused and put a hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

  “We approach a brothel. Do you know what is done there?”

  When he nodded, a small frown tugged at the corner of Thren’s mouth.

  “I’ll assume Senke is to blame. Remember, women are a weakness to you. I want you pure, Aaron. I want you perfect. No strong drink will touch your lips. No womanly flesh will your hands caress. No priest will sway your heart. Power is all that matters, power and the skill to keep it. You have so much to learn, but once you are older, you will learn directly from me. Men fear my name, Aaron, but they will fear yours a hundred times more.”

  With morning close, the brothel was mostly empty. The women had slipped into more comfortable clothing. No men lingered drinking or chatting with the women before heading up to the more comfortable private rooms. The few who did remain were fast asleep. When the sun rose over the walls of the city, the ladies would prod them awake and usher them home to their wives, children, or professions.

  “Welcome, Thren,” said a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair and matching lipstick. “You have not graced us with your presence in far too long.”

  When she noticed Aaron, she smiled.

  “Is this the young Felhorn? He looks so much like his father, he does. You brought him to the right place, Thren. I have some younger girls, and they know how to be gentle so that…”

  “Enough.”

  His word struck her like a slap. Her lips closed, and the joy left her eyes, replaced with a cool, calculated gaze.

  “Very well. Why are you here?”

  Thren pointedly ignored her. He glanced at his son to ensure he had his attention and then began lecturing.

  “This is Red. She is in charge of the women here. It helps to have a woman deal with the younger girls, plus her experience makes sure that they know how to do their jobs properly. Every brothel has someone like her. They are never fools, and they are always dangerous. They hear more than anyone else in this city. Men are stupid when in bed.”

  “Sometimes out of bed too,” Red said.

  Thren flashed her a dangerous smile.

  “Where is Billy Price?” he asked. Red gestured toward a flight of stairs leading to an enclosed balcony.

  “Leave your swords here,” she said. “You don’t need them if you’re on business.”

  That dangerous smile on Thren’s face never changed.

  “You are not one to give orders to me,” he said. “And death by the sword is always my business.”

  Aaron was surprised by how calm Red remained before such a glare. He decided she must be threatened often to be so calm. Either that, or she held very little regard for her life.

  “Upstairs then,” she said. “You may keep your blades if you insist. I only repeat what Billy tells me. You should know that.”

  Thren dismissed Red as if she were a servant or a slave, then went up the stairs. Aaron followed.

  Billy was a fat man, astonishingly so for how short he was. When the Felhorns entered, the man stood, his gut swishing like it was made of curdled milk. His hair was cut short at the ears and dyed a pale brown. When he smiled, his two missing teeth made him look like a gaping schoolchild. Aaron wondered how such a fat, ugly man like that could run a brothel. If his father had not forbidden speaking, he would have asked.

  “Welcome, welcome,” Billy said, clapping his hands as if excited. He had been seated in a chair woefully small for his body. Behind him was a thick ornate railing, and beyond that a spectacular view of the city. “So good of you to join me in my humble establishment. The Bloodshot rarely gets company of your esteem, my great and powerful master of guilds.”

  The compliments flowed like honey from his tongue and sounded as natural as running water. Aaron felt like part of his question had been answered.

  “We come on business,” Thren said, his hands resting on the hilts of his swords. He leaned forward just enough that the sides of his cloak hid the movements of his hands.

  “Yes, of course, why else would such a noble man bother yourself with scum such as I? Why else would you dirty your hands with the doorknob of my wretched abode? Sit, please, I will not have you stand. Your son as well.”

  Thren remained standing, but he nodded at Aaron, who obediently sat down.

  “I have looked over your books,” Thren said. His face was a cold mask. “Something is odd about them, Billy. Perhaps you know what?”

  “Odd?” Billy said. His smile was grand, and he wasn’t even sweating, impressive for a man his size. Aaron watched him for all the signs of guilt he had been taught to look for. So far he saw none.

  “Of course things should be a little odd,” the fat man continued. “I run an odd place where men ask for odd things, gross things I wouldn’t dare discuss in front of your boy. But my payments are in full. I dare not cheat, not when dealing with a man as frightening as you.”

  “It is your coin that intrigues me,” Thren said. “And how much you have paid.”

  “What could possibly be the matter?” Billy asked. “At the risk of sounding proud, I pay more than any other brothel in this city! I know, for I hear the other owners whining, but I smile and think that I spend my money well for Thren’s protection.”

  “That is exactly the matter,” Thren said.

  Aaron saw a tiny twitch at the right corner of Billy’s mouth. His father had finally struck a chord.

  “How is that the matter?” Billy asked.

  “I’ve compared your coin to that of the other brothels under my protection, as well as spoken with those whining owners who pay the Hawks or the Ash. So tell me, Billy … how does a pathetic little brothel like the Bloodshot manage to outperform much grander places like the Silk or the Dandycushion? Your women are no prettier, your beds certainly not cleaner. Tell me, do you have an answer?”

  A drop of sweat. Aaron grinned. Billy had no answer to the question. Before he could begin a wave of groveling and worship, Thren held up a hand and continued talking.

  “For the past week I have had your building under watch. Most brothels have their men come to them, but you send out your girls to other places, drab places owned by men of no worth. But the men who own those places, or have loaned money to them…”

  Aaron tried to make the connection. He had an idea what his father was getting at, but something was missing, some piece. Billy, however, clearly knew what the matter was. Aaron saw him grab at a dagger strapped to his belt, then stop. He must have decided, wisely, not to fight if things turned ill. He did not look like a man who could last long in a fight.

  “I strictly forbid selling whores to the Trifect,” said Thren, an icy edge to his voice. “All the other guilds have agreed, and you were no different. While the others suffer, you somehow thrive…”

  “I charged any member of the Trifect triple,” Billy said. All false affection and worship were gone. He was pleading now. “I’m practically stealing from them. All that money I send to you, to help you. Gold spent on my girls is gold not spent on swords!”

  Not even Aaron saw the next movement coming. Thren’s hand caught Billy by his fat throat and flung him back. He slammed into the railing, which groaned in protest. A kick knocked him to one knee. Before he could cry out, the blade of a sword pressed against his breast.

  “When I give an order, I expect it obeyed,” Thren said. “You broke your word to me. You succumbed to easy coin.”

  “I gave it all to you!” shouted Billy. “Please, the girls needed work, and the Trifect was desperate! All of it I’ve given to you, I’d never cross you, I’d n
ever…”

  Thren grabbed Billy’s hand, pressed it against the railing, and then slammed his sword down. The sound the flesh made as it tore reminded Aaron of a butcher shop. As Billy screamed, Thren tossed the hand off the balcony.

  “I checked your books,” Thren said. “And I compared that to what my men saw coming and going. You did give nearly everything to me, the rest to the girls. That is why you live, Billy. Now you listen closely. Are you listening?”

  Billy nodded. He sat on his enormous rump, his stump pressed tight against the folds of his fat to stem the bleeding.

  “I want the Trifect starved. I want them without drink, without drug, and without whores. They have made my life miserable, and I will do the same to them. Coin gains me nothing. Their suffering is all I want. Will you remember that the next time they send for your girls?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Billy said. His jowls jostled as he nodded. “I’ll tell Red. I’ll remember.”

  “Good.” Thren cleaned his blade on Billy’s shoulder and then turned to go.

  “Thank you,” Billy called out as Aaron stepped in line behind his father. “Thank you!”

  They left the stairs, Aaron glancing back only once.

  “Remember this,” Thren said as they descended. “I cut off his hand, yet he thanks me for not doing worse. That is the power you must one day command. Let them think every breath of theirs is a gift, not from the gods, but from you. Do this, and you will become a god among them.”

  Because of his father’s order, Aaron could not reply. If he could, he would have mentioned that brief flash of anger he saw in Billy’s eyes when his father turned to go. He would have spoken of the dogged determination lining the fat man’s pained face, and the potential enemy Thren had just made. But Aaron could not, so he let the matter go.

  Power was hurting a man without fear of retribution. That was the lesson Aaron learned.

  Exiting the brothel, Aaron was surprised to see an ugly man waiting by the door. His clothes were ratty, his face strangely scrunched. By the way he reacted, it seemed he had been waiting for them.

  “Master Thren,” the man said, dipping his head and rubbing together his fingers, which had no fingernails, just fleshy red bruises where they should have been. “If you would only lend me your ear, there are things I could tell you. A great many things, if only you would pay the price…”