“What if we’re recognized?” Aaron asked as they neared the more populous parts of the city. More and more merchants were lined up on the sides of the street.
“We’re just two of many,” Thren said. “Don’t give anyone reason to suspect otherwise.”
Thren wore the plain gray cloak of the Spider Guild. Because of Aaron’s age, it would seem odd for him to be ranked as anything above a cutpurse, so instead of a cloak he had a thin band of gray cloth tied around his left arm. Thren had cut Aaron’s hair short just in case some of the guards might remember what he looked like. The bounty on his son had lasted only a single night, and not at all according to the castle records. Still, being reckless was not something Thren was known for. He kept his hood low, and had charcoal smeared across his face.
Thren had hammered into Aaron the importance of not acting scared or in a hurry. They merely went on their way, not rushing, not dawdling. They were on a job, and very few would be stupid enough to interfere.
“I’ve never met our target,” Thren said, talking casually as if about the weather. “Watch for a tall man with red hair and beard and white robes. He’ll be attracting a crowd, most likely.”
Aaron watched, not convinced he’d be much use considering he was shorter than his father, his view blocked by the rest of the midday traffic. He had to try, though. Even if it was hopeless, he had to throw his entire concentration behind the task.
Then he saw Kayla staring at him from afar. She blew him a kiss. He looked away and hoped his blush would go unnoticed. Kayla was trailing after them, though he didn’t know why. Was it just for protection? Usually his father kept Senke and Will with him if he was worried about his safety. What then?
“There,” Thren said, nodding ever so slightly to the east. Aaron followed his eyes. A crowd had gathered near a gap in the various merchant stalls. A few were jeering from the outer limits, but most were listening with rapt attention. Those closest to the center clapped and cheered.
In the center of the crowd was their target, a middle-aged man with deep red hair and a beard of the same color. His robes were white, and clean despite the color. He seemed handsome enough. Whatever speech he was giving appeared intense, yet he smiled while giving it.
“What’s his name?” Aaron asked when he realized his father had stopped to listen.
“Delius Eschaton,” Thren said. “Now be silent.”
Aaron listened to Delius as he preached, at first from simple curiosity, then more and more because of the speaker’s sheer oratory skill.
“Night and day we bemoan the fate dealt to us,” Delius shouted. “How many of you fear walking the streets at night? How many of you bite your tongues for fear of earning poison in your wine or death inside your bread?”
Delius pointed to a small girl behind him. She appeared no older than eleven, and she blushed at the sudden attention.
“I fear for my daughter. I fear she might not have the life she deserves. How many of you have daughters and sons that have entangled themselves in the thief guilds’ lies? How many trade decency and conscience for a dab of food and a glut of blood? Do you mourn for them, mothers? Do you pray for them, fathers? Do you know what those prayers accomplish?”
Someone had placed a small pail before him, and all throughout his preaching men and women tossed in small copper coins in appreciation. Delius abruptly kicked the pail, scattering the coins throughout the crowd. Only a handful stooped for them. The rest stood enraptured. They all expected an explosion of sound and rage, but instead Delius’s voice fell to a stage whisper.
“Nothing, for we do nothing. We are afraid.”
A murmur slipped through the crowd. Delius let it spread as he turned and accepted a drink from his daughter. He handed it back, wiped his lips, and then turned to the crowd. His boisterousness suddenly returned.
“Afraid? Of course we’re afraid. Who wants to die? You might think me mad, but I like this meager existence we call living. But the only reason the guilds and the Trifect bathe our streets in blood is because we let them. We turn blind eyes to underhanded dealings. We keep still tongues about guards we know take bribes. We fill our own pockets with sinful gold and bloodied silver, but hard coin is an ill pillow. Can you sleep at night? Do you hear Ashhur’s voice whispering for something better, something more?
“We deny righteousness in fear of our own safety, and in doing so forfeit the future of our children. We let them live in a dead tomorrow because we fear bleeding for it today. Ashhur has called you! He longs to forgive you! Will you accept it? Will you help remove the darkness from our city and let in the blessed light?”
As men and women surged forward, crying out for healing and prayers, Thren shook his head.
“He is too dangerous to live,” he said, glancing down at his son. “This city needs to be warned what this high-minded drivel will earn them. Faith has its place, and that place is far from us. I’ve waited too long as it is to kill him, so this message must be a strong one. Consider this your first real test, Aaron. No games. No training. We’re spilling real blood.”
He tilted his head and scratched at the side of his nose. Kayla saw from afar and closed the distance between them. Instead of talking, though, she moved right past without saying a word. She bullied through the gathered throng to the front. Thren knelt down so Aaron could hear him over the rising volume of prayers and shouts.
“Kayla will handle Delius,” he said. “Kill his girl. Return to the safe house when you escape.”
Thren slipped deeper into the crowd, nearing the front while staying on the opposite side of Kayla. Delius was kneeling near the center, his hands on the sides of an elderly woman. Both were crying. The scene felt strange and alien to Aaron. He had never been to any religious ceremony before, let alone a spontaneous one broken out in the streets. The fervor of the people’s prayers was shocking.
He saw the girl standing behind her father. A hard knot grew in his stomach. Fingering the dagger Thren had given him, he eased his way around the back. The crowd was thinnest there, arranged single file with their backs to a wall. Aaron crossed his arms and watched the proceedings. He could see Kayla slowly working her way toward where Delius prayed with the others. Thren remained where he was, one row back on the opposite side.
Not sure what signal he should wait for, Aaron decided to be patient. The professional part of his mind knew the easiest time to kill Delius’s daughter would be in the chaos after Thren and Kayla struck. The Haern part of him only looked at the young girl in horror. She was so pretty, with red hair as fiery as her father’s. Whenever she smiled, huge dimples grew on her cheeks.
Aaron remembered Kayla returning to his room, the earrings in her hand. Rejected, and why? Because his father wanted him kept pure of women. Staring at the girl, he had an inkling as to why.
“Father,” he heard Kayla shout. “Father, please, pray with me!”
She was directly next to Delius. The man smiled at her and took her hands. He knelt beside her, and Kayla bent her head as if in prayer. They were huddled together, seeming somehow intimate and private although a massive crowd was gathered around them. Delius’s body shuddered. His head snapped back. Kayla was already running through the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. Delius collapsed on his side, the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his chest.
Shocked screams of two nearby women alerted the rest. The whole crowd fumed. Men turned this way and that, shouting for the guilty party, asking who had seen what. It was chaos, and if a few souls had seen what Kayla had done, they were not heard above the rest of the din.
Thren chose that moment to leap to the front, standing on a small stool that Delius had sat upon at times when he preached. He was already a tall man, and the stool made sure that the guildmaster towered over the rest. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply. More gasps filtered through the crowd as people realized who he was.
Aaron did not watch him. He was still staring at the girl and the horrified expr
ession on her face. Twin paths of tears ran down her cheeks. When her lower lip quivered, he felt the cold stone in his gut turn into a blade. Though he had done nothing, only watched, Aaron felt guilt creeping around his shoulders, wrapping tightly about his neck.
“This fate,” Thren shouted, gesturing to the dead body, “belongs to any who dare turn against the rightful rulers of this city. Keep your righteousness out of our shadows. It has no place there.”
And then he turned and jumped. His hands caught the top of the wall and flipped him over, deeper into the trade districts of Veldaren.
The crowd exploded. Furious shouts coupled with heartbroken wails. Some gave chase. Aaron stood shocked, his hand clutching his dagger so hard his knuckles ached. Then the girl turned and ran. He almost didn’t notice. When he did, he shouted to her.
“Wait!”
He couldn’t believe how stupid it was to shout that. Trying to push his emotions down, he chased after. He didn’t know where she was headed, or for what purpose. Perhaps she knew she was in danger. Perhaps she only wanted to get away from the massive crowd of strangers and back to what might remain of her family.
She turned down a small alley in between two bakeries. The air smelled of yeast and flour. The girl ducked behind a large refuse container and didn’t reappear. Aaron realized she didn’t know she was being chased. She just wanted to be alone.
His dagger still sheathed, Aaron stepped around the corner of the bin and saw Delius’s daughter.
She sat with her back to the wall, her head buried in her knees, arms wrapped around her legs. Tears wet her dress and face. Her eyes were closed. Aaron couldn’t believe what he saw and heard. She was praying.
“Please, Ashhur,” he heard her say. “Please, please, oh god, please…”
He drew the dagger, never making a sound. His hand trembled as he held it. She would by no means be his first kill. All his victims flashed before his eyes, from assassins to guards to his own brother. All had been armed. All had lived a violent life. There was something about donning a thief’s cloak or soldier’s helmet that made death forever possible. But what had this girl done? Why would she die? For nothing.
No, not nothing. She’d die because his father desired it. Aaron was becoming little more than the extended will of his father. He looked to the girl, so close to his age, so wounded, so alone. Gods damn it all, how could he kill her while she was praying? Praying!
Her eyes had still not opened. He had a chance. He had a choice. Kayla’s words flashed through his head.
You must keep Haern hidden and safe. Keep him alive. Can you do that for me?
If he killed the girl, he’d be killing the part of him that was still free. The part that could love Kayla. The part that wasn’t wholly enmeshed with his father. Killing her meant killing Haern.
Aaron sheathed the dagger and stepped back out of sight. He leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the refuse bin. A soft sigh escaped his lips, unheard through her sobs. His eyes lifted to the sky, and there he saw Kayla watching him from the rooftops.
His heart leaped in his chest. His legs turned to water. How long had she watched? Had she even known his task in the bloody affair?
As if in answer, she looked to the girl, looked to him, and then smiled. Moments later she was gone, vaulting along the rooftops.
“Please, Ashhur, please give him back,” Aaron heard the girl beg. “Ashhur, please, I can’t, I can’t…”
He ran, unable to listen to any more.
CHAPTER
16
Veliana wondered what James would think if he saw her like this. Her eyes were blindfolded by one of Zusa’s wraps. She detected the faintest hint of sweat on it. She kept her hands at her sides, and was thankful they weren’t tied. Zusa didn’t seem worried that she’d run off but had insisted quite strongly that she not. Veliana had sworn her life to the faceless. If she tried to leave, her life would be forfeit, for it was no longer hers. It was Karak’s.
It seemed appropriate enough, so she thanked Karak that the streets were so empty. At least they sounded empty. Zusa rushed her along at dizzying speed. If the other faceless women were nearby, she wasn’t aware of them.
Veliana’s knowledge of the streets was superb. With every turn she tracked where they were. A few times she had to guess, and the speed at which they hurried was no help, but no matter the twists and loops they made, she was certain they had traveled into the northeastern district.
They stopped. A gate rattled. Zusa yanked the cloth from Veliana’s eyes to let her see. Before her towered the temple to Karak, impressive with its black marble and rows of pillars. Through a trick of her eyes, she swore she saw the lion skull hanging above the door turn and rattle its teeth.
“Welcome home,” Zusa said.
The doors opened. They were ushered in by a young man with a pockmarked face. Once they were inside the main foyer, the priest left them between the rows of pews arranged before the giant statue of Karak. Veliana looked around as subtly as she could, doing her best to appear unimpressed. In truth the praying men unnerved her, their ululations stretching too loud and too long. The very air seemed thick with energy. It felt like magic.
“Who have we come to speak with?” Veliana asked.
“For matters of such importance, we must speak with the high priest. His name is Pelarak, and the name he carries is a great honor, given by Karak himself when he ascended to his position.” Zusa gestured about the room. “Every man here would throw himself upon a sword to protect Pelarak’s life. Do not fight him, and do not argue, even if he kills me.”
“Kills you?”
“Hush,” said Zusa. “He approaches.”
An elderly man approached from the front of the temple, having just prayed with a young, overweight acolyte. He wiped away a few tears from his eyes and then smiled at Zusa. From the chains he wore, and the way every other priest turned his head and nodded in reverence as he passed, Veliana knew he could only be Pelarak.
“Welcome,” he said.
“Thank you for accepting us, my glorious high priest,” Zusa said, offering a quick bow.
“It is good to hear your voice, Zusa,” Pelarak said.
Veliana found the comment unintentionally biting.
“We must talk in private,” Zusa insisted. “Our time is short, and our matters urgent.”
“I can imagine,” Pelarak said, his kindness fading away as if it were a mirage. “Who have you brought with you?”
“That is part of what I wish to discuss.”
Pelarak gave Veliana a look that froze her blood. He was dissecting her with his eyes.
“So be it. Follow me.”
He led them to his meager chambers, holding open the door for them like a gentleman. Once they were inside he closed the door and crossed his arms.
“You have done much without my approval,” Pelarak said. “What madness has come over you lately?”
“How so?” Zusa asked. She ushered Veliana toward a seat, but no one sat.
“Attacking the Gemcroft home? What part of my orders to remain neutral and apart from the shadow war did you not understand?”
Zusa shrugged her shoulders.
“The Kulls offered land for a temple in Riverrun. They have connection to neither the guilds nor the Trifect.”
“Do you think Maynard cares?” Pelarak shook his head. “Karak made it clear as night that we were to remain indifferent. You have put our entire temple in danger because of your recklessness.”
Veliana would have given anything to see behind the white cloth over Zusa’s face.
“What did you tell him?” Zusa asked.
“With him threatening to send the starving masses after us? I offered to aid him, but only if we admitted his daughter as a priestess to ensure he made no such threats again.”
“Alyssa Gemcroft is under our protection,” Zusa said, her voice steel.
“You answer to me, faceless,” Pelarak said, his voice rising to match her inte
nsity. “I don’t care what you’ve done with her. I don’t care who you’ve promised her to, and I don’t care what you have to do. Bring her here.”
“As you wish,” Zusa said. She seemed to be staring down the high priest, even though he couldn’t see her eyes.
Pelarak broke his gaze from her and finally moved behind his desk to sit. Veliana sat down opposite him and crossed her arms. She hoped that the conversation didn’t last much longer. The sooner she left the temple the better. She felt oddly comfortable among Zusa and her faceless sisters. Inside the temple, however, she felt like an intruder waiting to be caught.
“I come to ask that Veliana may be admitted into our order,” Zusa said. Pelarak raised an eyebrow.
“Women are not ‘admitted’ to the faceless, Zusa. It is a punishment and a dishonor. What has this woman done to deserve such treatment?”
“She has sworn her life to me, and to Karak.”
“Then let her join the temple, if her vow is to Karak. You hold no position to accept a life into your hands.”
Zusa took a step forward.
“My priest, with her talents, I feel her place would be best…”
“I will decide what is best,” Pelarak said, his voice nearly shaking with a cold intensity. “Your kind has functioned far too long without supervision. If you cross my orders again I will disband the faceless and send you into exile. Your place is one of penance, not command, Zusa. If you value your faith in Karak, you will learn this quickly.”
For a long while Zusa remained silent. When she moved, it was suddenly.
“Come,” she said, grabbing Veliana’s arm and yanking her to her feet.
“Where are we going?” asked Veliana.
“I said come.”
If Pelarak was upset at her leaving instead of staying to be a priestess, he didn’t show it. He remained in his seat as they left, not bothering to see them out. Veliana wasn’t sure if it was a conscious choice or not, but Zusa didn’t blindfold her when they exited the temple. As they marched south, Veliana interrupted the silence between them.
Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 18
