Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  “Is it really so terrible to do what he says?” she asked.

  The shadows seemed to curl off Zusa’s body like mist off a pond. It was as if anger fueled them.

  “If we do as he says, the Kulls will be furious,” Zusa said. Her voice trembled with rage. “How dare he deny me an apprentice. How dare he!”

  As they neared the wall, Veliana glanced over, an idea blossoming in her mind.

  “Who do you serve?” she asked.

  “Karak,” Zusa replied.

  “Help me out here, Zusa. In this matter, is it Alyssa or is it the Kulls?”

  “The Kulls have offered land for a temple in Riverrun, a prosperous town that has long denied us permission to establish a presence.”

  “Land owned by the Gemcrofts, correct?”

  Zusa halted and looked at Veliana. At least, Veliana assumed she did from the way her head tilted. It was hard to know with that damned cloth over her face.

  “What are you saying?” Zusa asked.

  Veliana shrugged.

  “Seems if you’re doing all this for the land, then the Kulls are irrelevant. We just need a promise from Alyssa.”

  Zusa crossed her arms.

  “What do you get out of it?” she asked.

  “Give me two days,” Veliana said, winking her good eye. “I need to find out what happened to my guild. Can you keep Alyssa safe and out of Pelarak’s hands until then?”

  The faceless woman thought for a long time. The shadows swirling about her slowly cooled.

  “Very well,” Zusa said. “Return to me afterward. I am not releasing you from your oath.”

  Veliana drew her two daggers and laughed.

  “I wouldn’t dare risk you lovely ladies coming after me when I sleep,” she said. “But let me seek my revenge on Thren, and I’ll behave … enough.”

  Zusa watched her go back into the heart of the city. She crossed her arms. Their plan was already fragile. Cutting out the Kull family would make matters even more precarious. Everything seemed to hinge upon the Kensgold.

  A Kensgold that would be starting in only a few days.

  “Forgive me if I go against your wishes, Karak,” Zusa whispered as she turned and dashed into the dark alleys. “But Pelarak is only a man. He is not you. We will do your will as we know best.”

  The bar was empty but for an unconscious man slumped over a table, a lone serving wench cleaning around him with a cloth, and two lovers feeling each other up in the corner. Gileas would have preferred them all gone, but he couldn’t afford to be choosy. With Veliana still alive, his days were numbered. After what he’d done to her, there was no way she wouldn’t come for vengeance. He sat in the corner opposite the lovers, leering at them, enjoying the sight of the woman’s thigh. When she finally glanced over and saw him, she flipped a finger at him and then returned her attention to her lover.

  Gileas pretended not to notice the man from the Spider Guild entering the tavern. He kept his head down, staring at the table as if stuck in a drunken stupor.

  “Strange place for a worm,” said the man as he sat down across from him.

  “Soil beneath the wood floor,” Gileas grunted. “And you’re late, Senke. I’m pushing my luck as it is.”

  Senke chuckled as he glanced about the room. The serving wench seemed determined not to acknowledge his existence, so he decided against a drink.

  “Second time now you come calling with supposed valuable information,” Senke said, sounding vaguely amused by the idea. “I’m not sure if I believe you have it or not, but apparently my master is willing to listen.”

  Gileas handed over a yellow piece of paper. Senke flipped it open, read it, and then raised an eyebrow.

  “This is her location?” he asked. “You’re sure?”

  “Would I lie to the great and mighty Spider Guild?” Gileas asked. “Spiders kill worms, or at least, they would if they fought.”

  “Yeah, but worms eat the spiders after they’re dead.”

  Gileas laughed as if this were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Senke shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.

  “A good laugh is priceless, but my information is not,” said Gileas. “Where is my pay?”

  Senke reached into a pocket of his long gray cloak and pulled out a small bag of coin. He tossed it onto the table.

  “You’ll get the second half when the information pans out,” Senke said. Gileas snorted.

  “Keep the other half for yourself, or donate it to some orphans. What I have is all I need to leave for a more, hrm, friendly environment? Once a few certain people are dead, I’m sure I’ll come back to sell you the rest of my little secrets.”

  Senke shrugged.

  “Your loss. I’ll find some orphanage suitably run-down to match your charming personality.”

  Gileas laughed.

  “To think I’ll miss your wit,” he said.

  “And to think I’ll miss your lies.”

  Senke tugged at his hood in a mock salute, then left the tavern. Gileas nibbled on the ends of his fingers, waiting a minute or two to make sure Senke wouldn’t see him leave. He heard the door creak. He looked up. No one was there.

  “Hrmph,” he said.

  A dagger plunged into his back. He shrieked. The lovers in the corner dashed out the door, the guy struggling to pull up his pants and looking damn foolish doing so. The wench shouted something about no blades, but Gileas didn’t hear it. He twisted to one side, hoping to keep the blade from pushing in farther, but then a hand grabbed his head and slammed it against the table. Stars swam before his eyes.

  Someone yanked the dagger out. Gileas clutched his arms against his chest, rocking back and forth as pain shot through his body. Warm blood ran down his spine.

  “Hello, Vel,” he said as Veliana sat down opposite him. Twirling in her left hand was a bloody dagger, flecks splattering across the table. The tavern owner neared and started to speak, but a single glare from Veliana shut him up.

  “This is guild business,” she said. That was all the tavern keeper needed to hear.

  “I just saw a Spider Guild officer leaving the bar,” she said when the man was gone. “What did you sell him, Worm?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “Only lies and promises and empty air.”

  She grabbed his hand and thrust the dagger through his palm. To his credit, he didn’t scream.

  “Try again,” she said.

  “You’re a fool,” he said. “I wouldn’t have killed you. I never would have. So angry…”

  “Look at me!” she shouted. She jammed a finger toward her scarred eye. “Look!”

  The pupil was milky white, the outer edges bloody. From her forehead to her cheek, the inflamed scar overwhelmed whatever beauty she might have had.

  “You think I give a rat’s ass if you meant to kill me or not?” she asked.

  Gileas coughed. He felt like his back was on fire. With how wet his cough sounded, he knew she’d pierced his lung. It wasn’t fatal, not yet…

  “I can pay you, enough for a healer. There’s a chance they can heal your eye. Not enough to see, I doubt, but at least it won’t be so ugly.”

  Veliana yanked the dagger out and then rammed it back downward, this time penetrating his wrist. He screamed.

  “What’d you sell him?” she asked. “You already sold me out to Thren. Who else did you ruin? What remains of my Ash Guild?”

  Gileas laughed in spite of the pain it caused him.

  “They’re hiding, Vel. Hiding. But worms crawl everywhere. Thren knows where they are now. He knows, and you’ll all die. He’ll have his plan, his stupid, doomed plan. Oh, how I cannot wait to see the Kensgold as it unfolds, and the chaos it will unleash.”

  Realization hit Veliana like a cold fist in her gut.

  “You told Gerand the truth,” she said. “Not that all the guildleaders would be massing at Thren’s hideout tomorrow. You told the king’s advisor the goddamn truth.”

  Gileas’s black-toothed grin was all the a
nswer she needed.

  “You son of a bitch,” she said, her voice seething with rage. “The king’s soldiers were going to save us all from that overconfident bastard and his war!”

  “Who knows who Gerand’s told?” Gileas said. He coughed, and blood spilled across his lips. “Who knows what plans they’ve spun? The Kensgold will be a fun night. So much fun…”

  “You’ll watch nothing,” Veliana said. “You’re going to do Dezrel a favor and fucking die.”

  She yanked her dagger out and thrust for his chest. The dagger punched through his clothes but pierced no flesh. They were empty, and already falling as if dropped from the ceiling. The clothes piled on the chair, looking like some strange joke. Veliana stared at them, her mouth open in shock. She’d thought the first time that she was delusional from her pain and trauma. This time she knew magic was at work.

  She picked up his shirt and shook it. Nothing. She used her dagger to shift his trousers from side to side. Still nothing. Curses on her lips, she turned to leave when something caught her eye.

  Crawling on the floor toward a small crack was an eight-inch black worm. As it flexed, she saw a thin cut along its side.

  “Not possible,” she said. No wonder he had been nicknamed the Worm. He’d probably given the name to himself to mock every single person he dealt with. Every joke about living in mud, digging through walls, listening with ears clogged with dirt … it was all true.

  It was almost to the crack. Veliana hurled her dagger, wanting to get nowhere near the strange creature. The dagger pierced the worm just above its midsection. It twisted and squirmed, its body cut in half. Still it crawled toward the crack, leaving its lower half behind.

  Veliana crushed it with her heel. Innards spurted across the floor. She held in a wave of vomit. It reminded her of when he had kissed her. She pulled the dagger free, wiped it clean on her pant leg, and then sheathed it. It took a couple kicks to get the worm body through the crack. The carcass was shockingly heavy for being only a worm.

  When done, she turned and saw the tavern keeper looking at her with wide eyes.

  “Burn the clothes,” Veliana said as she tossed him Gileas’s bag of coins. “Consider that ample payment for keeping your mouth shut.”

  With no time to waste, she hurried out the door. Everything was a mess. If the king knew of Thren’s plans for the Kensgold, then most likely the Trifect did too. That changed everything.

  Before she could worry about that, she had to deal with her most pressing danger: Thren knew where the Ash Guild had holed up to hide. Preparations for an assault would have already begun. Thren had long learned never to let an enemy last a second longer than necessary. She ran a list of safe houses through her mind, trying to decide which one James would flee to first.

  Faster and faster she ran, praying no guild member caught sight of her. Her guild was dying, and the scent of blood would bring every last cutpurse down on their heads.

  CHAPTER

  17

  When Aaron arrived in his father’s room, Kayla was already there, waiting.

  “As I was telling Kayla, this was a perfect hit,” Thren said to his son. “Delius is dead, in the middle of a crowd in daylight, no less. No one saw the killer. We’ve heard confused reports already claiming it was a man instead of a woman. The entire city knows I am responsible, but no court will ever judge me, no soldier will ever find me. That is how you send a message, my son. That is how you frighten a population, by showing that even with common knowledge of our guilt, their justice will never reach us.”

  “Yes, Father,” Aaron said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Thren noticed his subdued nature and then rubbed his chin. He stared into Aaron’s eyes, trying to decipher the reason.

  “The girl,” he asked. “Did you kill her?”

  Aaron shook his head. He almost lied. He wanted to claim she’d died, and that the trauma of killing a young girl in cold blood had left him ill. But he couldn’t. His entire insides chilled at the very thought of his father finding out he spoke a lie.

  “No,” he said, stealing a glance at Kayla. “She ran away while the crowd was still gathered. I failed.”

  Thren caught the glance and turned his attention to Kayla. She only shrugged as if she didn’t understand.

  “No matter,” Thren said. “Kayla, go fetch me one of our cutpurses. I don’t care who.”

  Aaron waited with his eyes downcast. His father never said a word.

  “You called for me?” asked a clean-shaven man with thick circles underneath his eyes. His black hair was cropped and pulled back into a ponytail.

  “I did. Aaron, this is Dustin. Have you met him before?”

  Aaron shook his head.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Look upon him,” Thren said to his son. “And listen carefully. Instead of spending time thieving, assaulting caravans, or working the streets, he will instead track your failed target. He will spend our money bribing men and women to find out the girl’s name and location. He’ll risk his life in these endeavors, to both rival thief guilds as well as the Trifect’s men. Coin, time, and manpower, all wasted because you couldn’t do one simple job.”

  Aaron kept his eyes down, accepting his father’s rebuke.

  “I understand,” he said.

  “Good.” Thren turned to Dustin. “Her last name is Eschaton, daughter of a priest who died earlier today. Find and kill her.”

  “Am I allowed to have any fun with her beforehand?” asked Dustin.

  “I want my message hammered home,” Thren said. “Do as you please. Make sure she dies afterward.”

  Dustin’s grin was ear-to-ear.

  “Be a pleasure. I’ll leave her bits on Ashhur’s temple door.”

  Aaron felt his neck flush. He desperately hoped his father wouldn’t notice. But of course he did.

  “You have plenty of growing up to do,” Thren said to him. “You wanted to be at my side, and now you are. Start living up to your expectations.”

  “Yes, Father,” said Aaron.

  “Begone,” Thren said, waving a dismissive hand.

  Aaron didn’t go to his room. Instead he went to Robert Haern’s.

  “Come in,” the old man said after Aaron knocked. The boy crept the door open, slipped inside, and then shut it. When he turned around, Robert was staring at him.

  “What troubles you?” Robert asked.

  Aaron bit his lower lip. He so badly wanted to ask a question, but he knew the potential danger. What he wanted to know, his father would disagree with. But he had to know. It would just eat at him for months if he didn’t find out.

  “I saw a priest today,” he said. “He wore a symbol, like this, around his neck.”

  Aaron drew a single line in the air with his finger. It looked like an M with one side much higher and sharper than the other. Robert picked up his cane and walked over to his desk.

  “Did it look something like … this?”

  Robert opened a drawer and pulled out a gold medallion hanging from a silver chain. It also had the strange line. Aaron nodded.

  “That line is the Golden Mountain,” Robert explained. “It has two peaks. The lower one represents Dezrel, and the height we can ascend to in our lives. The higher one represents the Golden Eternity. As you can see, nothing in this world can ever make one rise as high as in the afterlife.”

  “Who is Ashhur? And why do people pray to him?”

  Robert raised an eyebrow.

  “Where have you heard people praying to Ashhur?” he asked.

  A brief memory flashed before Aaron’s eyes, that of the red-haired girl sobbing in front of him as she called out to Ashhur.

  “Nowhere,” he said.

  “Hrmph. Ashhur is brother to Karak, who I’m sure you know a little bit more about, considering who your friends and associates are. Ashhur represents justice, mercy, grace … things that most would consider the finer parts of mankind. That is why someone would pray to him. They seek comfort, or forgi
veness, or protection.”

  Robert went to put the amulet back into the drawer, then paused. He saw how Aaron was looking at it, and the old man bit his lip.

  “What is going on, boy?” he asked. “Why do you come in here asking about gods?”

  Aaron didn’t want to answer, but Robert was his teacher. If he refused, then the next time he came in asking questions, he might get only silence.

  “Kayla killed a priest of Ashhur today. I was ordered to kill his daughter, but I failed.”

  “Failed?” asked Robert. It was as if he could see right through him. “Or refused?”

  Aaron felt his cheeks flush. If his father had read him as clearly, then their conversation might have taken a very different turn when Thren was scolding him for his failure.

  “She was crying,” he whispered. “She didn’t even know I was there. Her father, killed right in front of her. I’ve killed before, I’ve, but she’s not like us, not like, not…”

  Tears swelled in his eyes. Aaron couldn’t believe it. He wiped them away, the blush in his cheeks fierce. He felt so stupid, so young.

  “I’m an embarrassment,” he said.

  “No,” Robert said, putting his hands on Aaron’s shoulders. His beard wasn’t tied behind his head like normal, and it reached down to his waist. It made him look older, less controlled and more grandfatherly. His whole face seemed to sag a little, as if he had dropped a layer of armor from his flesh.

  “Listen to me, Aaron,” he said. “Your father is raising you to be something terrible. He’ll deny you everything, even his love, to make you into what he wants. Do you know what that is, boy?”

  Aaron almost denied it, but he remembered what Robert had always said: any question he asked, Aaron should already know the answer to. And Aaron did know the answer. It terrified him more than anything.

  “A killer,” Aaron said, his voice once more a whisper.

  “The perfect killer,” Robert gently corrected. “He’ll starve you of love, affection, friends, faith … everything but the blade and the shadows.”