He readied the mace in his other hand.
“Let’s take a look, eh?” Dustin said as he spun the boy onto his back. When Haern rolled, his leg shot upward, kicking Dustin in the chin with his heel. Haern used the momentary confusion to continue his roll, breaking free of Dustin’s grip. The mace missed and struck the carpet, breaking the wood floor underneath. The boy lunged for the dagger, scooped it up in his hands, and then whirled.
Dustin’s jaw dropped as the dagger flew through the air and buried itself in his chest. Before he could react, Haern was already chasing it, his foot slamming into Dustin’s throat. Dustin retched as he fell. His mace smacked the floor twice, never once hitting flesh. Haern straddled him, his knees pressing in against Dustin’s elbows. Dustin felt the dagger yank free of his chest, then press against his throat.
“You can’t kill her,” Haern said.
“Your father will figure it out, Aaron,” said Dustin, hoping his guess was right and the boy’s real name would startle him.
Instead his whole face darkened, a frightening gleam in his eye.
“I’m not Aaron,” he said. “Not when I have a choice.”
The dagger stabbed downward, and then Dustin saw the gleam no more.
Haern sheathed his dagger and tightened his mask. He was bleeding from the nose, where Dustin had elbowed him, and, with nowhere else to go, the blood was seeping into the mask and running down his lips. His stomach felt like it had a terrible cramp from his being kneed there. Sniffling, he stood up and held in a shiver.
Now he’d actually killed Dustin, he had no clue what to do with the body. He thought about leaving it there for the old lady to clean up. Surely she knew some younger men to help deliver it to proper gravemen.
Haern frowned. That wouldn’t do. If Thren found out one of his men had died on the job, he’d send another to finish it. He never left things undone. He needed Dustin gone; that way he could claim the kill for himself and act as if Dustin had never shown. Thieves went missing all the time for a million reasons. Surely he could think of one that sounded convincing.
His stomach heaved again, and he fell to his knees. When he vomited he saw blood, hoped it wasn’t something serious. His heart was pounding in his head, and once more he looked to the dead body, as if to confirm it was still there. Amid his pain, he heard the padded footsteps only a moment before something blunt struck the back of his head. His vision swam with dots, and his whole body lurched to one side. He spun as he fell, just in time to see something large and black come swinging in at his face. Right before he was knocked out cold, he wondered how many days until his father forgot he’d ever existed.
“Stay back, Delysia,” said the old woman, holding a heavy iron pan. “These vermin are dangerous even at a young age.”
“Don’t be silly, Gran,” said Delysia. “You hurt him bad.”
Gran stood over both bodies, wielding the pan with both hands as if it were an ancient weapon of legend. She gently prodded the young man’s body with her bare foot before stepping back into the kitchen.
“He dead?” Delysia asked.
“Don’t look like it,” said Gran. “Maybe if I were twenty years younger I’d have sent his brains flying out his ear, but looks like I just rung his bell a little.”
“What do we do?” asked Delysia. “Tie him up?”
“Don’t have the rope for that. Here, help me drag him into the pantry. We’ll just lock him up in there for now.”
She stepped around and grabbed the boy’s feet.
“Ugh,” she said. “Blood all over the carpet.”
“Gran!”
The old lady looked up at her granddaughter.
“What?” she asked.
Delysia’s face was pale, and with a limp hand she pointed to Dustin’s lifeless body. Gran, whose real name she hadn’t gone by for at least fifteen years, turned around and looked.
“Keep forgetting how sheltered you’ve been,” Gran said. “Delius did a good job of that, at least. If he had let you go to market on your own once in a while you’d have seen plenty sights worse than this lying in the gutters.”
Delysia’s eyes teared up at her father’s name. Gran saw this and quietly muttered a curse to herself.
“I’m sorry, girl. It’s been a rough day, and this ugly business is so much more than you deserve. Your father was a good man, and I’m sure he was doing what he thought was best for you.”
Delysia nodded and wiped away some of her tears. Trying to be brave, she grabbed the boy’s hands and helped lift him off the floor. They dragged him to the pantry door, then dropped him so Gran could remove the dagger from his belt.
“Most likely we’ll let the guards have him,” Gran said as she put the dagger on one of the tables.
The pantry was large enough for three people standing side by side, so one unconscious young man easily fit. Gran dropped her end unceremoniously on the floor. Delysia lowered hers a bit more gently, not wanting to hurt his head. They shut the door, leaving him sprawled across the floor.
“Bring the candle closer so I can see,” Gran said. Delysia promptly obeyed. They had two candles lit, one for each of them from when they had sneaked out of their bedroom to see what was going on. Delysia put one on the counter next to the pantry and left the other one on the table beside the dagger.
“Need a lock,” Gran said as she examined the pantry door. “Give me that chair. No, darling, the other one, the one that didn’t cost your father ten farms’ worth of dairy milk.”
The pantry had a slot for a lock in case the servants’ fingers got too sticky when they were cooking and cleaning. It was up high, far beyond reach of Gran’s stooped shoulders.
“Hold it steady for me,” said Gran after returning to the table and grabbing the dagger.
“Yes, Gran,” said Delysia.
Gran climbed up, putting both feet on the cushion.
“You want me to split my head open like a watermelon?” Gran snapped. “Hold that blasted thing still!”
Delysia clutched the chair tighter, doing her best to keep it from rocking. She wondered what might happen if the thief inside woke up and tried to open the door. Gran would go sprawling, perhaps even taking Delysia down with her. She prayed he stayed unconscious.
“Hope this’ll fit,” Gran said as she pushed the dagger into the hole intended for a lock’s latch. It slid in about a third of the way before catching. Gran grunted and pushed harder, but the dagger wasn’t budging.
“We’ll have to hope it holds,” Gran said. “I’m coming back down now.”
She stepped off, looking very relieved when her feet touched solid floor. Her wrinkled hands clutched the back of the chair as she regained her breath.
“Was a time I could go leaping tree to tree without a care,” Gran grumbled. “What I’d give to be that crazy gal again.”
“Do you want me to fetch the guards?” Delysia asked.
“You?” asked Gran. She looked at the young girl as if she’d asked to drink hard liquor and then run naked through Merchant Way. “Don’t be daft. Two men snuck in with aims to rob and kill you. I’m not letting you run about on your own.”
“We have to get someone,” Delysia insisted. “What if more come? I want the guards, Gran. Can’t you go get the guards?”
Gran’s whole face turned sour.
“Of course I want the guards. Something needs to be done about this, a dead body and a locked-up young man. But by Ashhur’s beard, I’m not letting you out at night. Gods damn it, I should have had one of the servants stay overnight. Thought you could use some quiet time to grieve, but what do I know?”
Delysia shifted uncomfortably as her grandmother muttered and looked around the kitchen.
“All right,” Gran said. “I don’t like this one bit, but here’s what we’ll do. I’ll hurry out and find a guard. You stay right where you are. If that boy starts kicking and shoving at the door, you watch the latch at the top. That dagger starts moving, or the wood starts to break, you
run your skinny ass out to the streets and the nearest guard station. Am I understood?”
Delysia tucked her hands behind her back and lowered her head. That always seemed to please Gran best when she was lecturing.
“Yes, Gran,” the girl said.
Gran was still frowning when she hurried back to her bedroom. She was only in her shift, and dead body or no dead body, she wasn’t going out indecent. Once she had on a dull beige dress and a red scarf, she returned to the kitchen and kissed her granddaughter on the forehead.
“Be safe, and may Ashhur watch over you,” she said.
“I’ll be careful,” Delysia said. Gran’s eyes darted over to the pantry as if a monster lurked within.
“You better. Remember, second it looks weak, you run like the wind.”
When she was gone, Delysia sat down on the expensive chair. She picked at the fine cloth on the cushion, not seeing how it was really any different from the other chair. She’d left it in front of the pantry door, thinking maybe if the door burst open it might cause the boy to stumble. With his mask on, she hadn’t had a chance to see much of his face, only his blond hair peeking out from the top.
The candles slowly flickered and burned. The longer Gran was gone, the more slowly the seconds seemed to crawl. Delysia hadn’t realized just how quiet the mansion had gotten. For as long as she could remember, cats had lived underneath the floor of their home, sneaking in and out of holes her family could never find. She heard them crawling now, thumping against boards and beams. Every time she heard one, her skin crawled. They’d never bothered her before, but now she imagined men with daggers instead of cats with kittens.
In that quiet, she heard a muffled noise within the pantry.
Delysia tensed. Even her breathing halted. She listened for something, anything. Another noise, this time like a foot dragging along the floor. The young man was getting up. She thought about shoving the back of the chair against the pantry door, but knew it would do no good. There was nothing for it to hook under. She’d have to trust the dagger.
Suddenly the door rocked outward. She heard objects rattling within, and the wood creaked as the dagger caught inside the latch. Despite herself, Delysia let out a shrill scream.
That seemed to puzzle whoever was inside. She heard him speak, his voice muffled but still understandable.
“You’re alive?”
Delysia wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Of course I am,” she said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She heard a loud thump within. It sounded like he’d sat down with his back against the door.
“Then I didn’t fail,” she heard him say, though whether to her or himself, she didn’t know.
“My granny is getting the guard,” Delysia said, thinking if she could keep him talking he wouldn’t start beating on the door. Of course, with that being her plan, she realized how dumb it was to admit guards were coming. She smacked her forehead and hoped she hadn’t screwed up too badly.
“Guards?” the boy said. “Good, you’ll be safe.”
Delysia stared at the door, certain she had misheard.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said good, you’ll be safe.”
She blinked. Why would someone who had broken into her home care if she was safe, unless…
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Protecting you,” said the boy.
“From who?”
“The men who killed your father.”
That sent an icy chill down her spine. She’d tried to forget the body in the hallway, tried to forget the horrible moment when her father had collapsed amid his followers. Why did people want her dead? Why did they want her father dead?
“We never hurt anyone,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. “Why did they do this, my father was good! He was good, real good, more than I’ll ever be … why did … why…”
Delysia cried. The young man inside remained silent the whole while. For some reason she found that rather kind of him.
“My name is Haern,” said the pantry once her crying died down to just sniffles.
“Hello, Haern,” she replied. “I’m Delysia Eschaton.”
“Delysia…”
To her it sounded like he was feeling over the word with his tongue, applying it to some unknown memory or picture. Perhaps he was trying to imagine what she looked like…?
“You stay put, all right?” she said. “I’ll tell the guards you behaved when they come.”
“It won’t matter, Delysia,” said Haern.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because they’ll kill me.”
Delysia shivered, wishing she had worn something warmer. The blankets of her bed were not far away, but she didn’t want to leave sight of the pantry for a second. So far Haern hadn’t tried to get out, but he might be biding his time.
“They won’t do that,” she said.
“They will. You’re not safe. You have to get out of the city, Delysia. When my … when Thren realizes Dustin failed, he’ll send another after you. He won’t stop until you’re dead.”
She wanted to believe he was lying. If he was, he was really good at it.
“Who is Thren?” she asked.
A soft chuckle echoed from within the pantry.
“You really don’t know? Thren Felhorn, leader of the Spider Guild. He’s dangerous. He’s the one who killed your father. You should have died when he did, but the other killer…”
His voice trailed off. Delysia’s hands trembled like little birds. In every corner she imagined the man from the hallway. He held a metal club in his hand, his pale face lit with a grin.
“I don’t know where to go. Dad’s will gave all his farms to the workers. We have money, but Gran won’t listen. She never listens to me. Can’t we just hire some guards?”
Another soft laugh within.
“Guards? You really don’t know anything, do you?”
Her anger flared.
“Well, at least I’m not the one stuck in a pantry!”
He didn’t seem to have a comeback for that. A minute passed in brooding silence. Haern cracked first, and that alone made Delysia feel a little better.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “How old are you, Delysia?”
She puffed out her chest, even though he couldn’t see it.
“I’m ten, almost eleven.”
“I’m only thirteen,” said Haern. “I don’t think either of us know anything, do we?”
She almost took it as an insult, then let it drop. Sitting there, scared and alone and wishing her Gran were back, she found it a little hard to argue.
“You really think someone else will come for me and Gran?” Delysia asked.
“Yes, I do.”
Delysia sighed. She felt like crying some more, so she did. Again Haern waited patiently for her to finish. She wondered how much time had passed. Surely Gran should be back with guards by now?
“Why are you here?” she asked after wiping her face with the hem of her shift.
“I said already, to protect you.”
“But that’s stupid,” she said. “You’re barely older than me!”
“The man in the hallway is dead, isn’t he?”
The way he said it gave her another chill. Delysia curled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She stared at the pantry, oddly curious as to what Haern’s face looked like underneath his mask.
“The guards won’t really kill you when they get here, right?” she asked. “You’re just saying that so I let you out.”
“They know who I am. That alone will earn me death.”
Again she thought of his mask.
“You know who is after us,” Delysia said. “That means you can help us. Can you? I know you’re young, but you stopped that man before. Can you do it again?”
“I don’t know,” she heard Haern say. “Maybe you should leave me for the guards.”
That seemed to stoke a bit of fire in her.
“Some names are so bloody they must be judged,” Haern said quietly.
Delysia shook her head. Her father had hammered home certain things in his lectures, and that was one.
“Grace is stronger than blood,” she said.
On the far side of the house, the door opened. Delysia’s heart jumped, but then she heard Gran shouting at the top of her lungs.
“Del? I’m here, sweetie! It’s Gran, and I’ve got the guard!”
She looked to the hallway, then to the pantry. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him to die.
Even though she was still young, she was as tall as Gran was. It wasn’t because she was extraordinarily tall, more that Gran had never been tall to begin with, and her back had bent with age. Delysia climbed atop the chair and stretched for the dagger lodged in the lock. On the second tug it broke free, showering a few splinters atop her head.
“Say something, hon, you’re scaring me!” Gran shouted.
“I’m in here,” Delysia shouted back as she pulled the chair away and then flung the door open. Haern stood waiting for her, his mask pulled tight around his face. Blood had soaked it throughout. For a brief moment she expected him to attack her. He didn’t. He only stared at her with the strangest of expressions.
“Don’t stand there,” she whispered. “Hide!”
When Gran arrived, accompanied by two gruff-looking men in the brown armor of the city guard, Delysia was sitting in the chair facing the pantry. She looked up and smiled at Gran, but her eyes were wild with fear.
“Are you all right?” Gran asked as she scooped her granddaughter into her arms. The guards had stopped to examine the body in the hallway. When Delysia didn’t respond, Gran glanced at the pantry door and saw it slightly ajar.
“Did he hurt you?” she asked, her eyes suddenly widening with fear.
Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 21
