Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  “I’m fine,” she said. “He got away is all. He wasn’t dangerous.”

  “Wasn’t dangerous? Wasn’t … did you even see what he did to that man? He cut his damn throat, you stupid girl!”

  At this point one of the guards entered, looking around with a distant, tired expression.

  “Where’d you say the boy was?”

  “Um, er, he’s…” stammered Gran.

  “He got away,” Delysia said. “He kicked open the door and ran.”

  “Hrm,” muttered the guard. “You see what he looked like?”

  “He had a mask,” Gran said, finally composing herself. “I didn’t think to remove it.”

  “Can’t do much about that, then. What do you reckon happened to the thief back there? Those cuts don’t look like a boy made them.”

  “I’ve told you what I know,” said Gran.

  The guard shrugged and left the kitchen. They examined the body a few minutes longer, then gave the estate a lazy search, finding nothing. When a third guard showed up with a wagon for the body, they picked it up and carried it outside.

  “I’d reckon you should get yourselves some mercenaries,” one said to them. “Place like this, it looks like you should be able to afford a sellsword or two.”

  Delysia stayed in her seat the whole while, not once getting up to leave the kitchen. Gran wandered about before dismissing the guards. When she returned to the kitchen, her face was a lively red.

  “Well that was embarrassing enough,” she said. “I tell them stories of a dangerous young man locked in my pantry, and all I can show them is dust bunnies and some rotted cabbage!”

  Gran caught Delysia’s eyes drifting over her shoulder and turned to look. Sitting on top of the counter, a cabinet door open below him, was Haern. Delysia winced as Gran screamed bloody murder.

  CHAPTER

  19

  The third safe house was the correct one. Veliana glanced around to make sure no one watched, then pushed aside a false brick in the giant wall surrounding the city. When she did, a lever snapped within the wall, unseen gears turned, and the dirt below her shifted as a circular sheet of metal lifted upward. Replacing the brick, Veliana climbed down a small ladder, and then replaced the lid. It would be visible under close inspection for a day or two until the dust settled over it and a few walked across it.

  Not that it mattered. If Gileas really had told Thren its location, they had less than an hour to get out.

  In the darkness that overcame her when she replaced the lid, Veliana had to feel around to get her bearings. There was only one direction to go, back toward the city in a cramped tunnel. She squirmed on her belly, elbows tucked tight against her sides. About twenty feet in, the tunnel started sloping upward. Another twenty feet and she bopped her head against a solid piece of wood.

  “Shit,” she said as she touched her throbbing forehead. Normally, close to the false bottoms of buildings, there’d be light sneaking through the cracks. Here there was nothing. Feeling around blindly, she found a small lever and pulled it. Grating noises from both sides filled her ears, and then a whoosh of air above her signified the board’s removal. She climbed out.

  It didn’t take long to figure out why there was no light warning her of the false bottom. She was in the basement of a rather large mansion. She’d known of the entrance to the safe house but never been there before.

  James must have fled here, she thought. This place looks to be enormous.

  The basement itself was not lit, but to her right she saw light spilling down a staircase and she worked her way toward it. She kicked a crate once, biting down on her tongue to hold in another curse. She walked more carefully after that. At the bottom of the stairs she looked up. A man was leaning against the door frame at the top, his back to her.

  “Make him roll again,” the man shouted. “I saw Jek shaking them bones a bit too crazy. He’s probably got a rigged pair in his pockets.”

  As he finished talking, Veliana pressed the tip of her dagger against his neck, having climbed all the way up without alerting him to her presence.

  “A lousy guard is a dead guard,” she told him as he jerked his head around, his whole body stiffening.

  “Hey, Vel,” he said, smiling nervously at her. “Glad to see you’re back and cheery as ever.”

  Veliana recognized him as Jorey, a low recruit, promoted most likely because of the attrition caused by the other guilds.

  “Out of my way,” she said, giving him a shove. Several other men in the light grays of the Ash Guild jumped from their seats around a table. Two of them grabbed daggers, while the rest just gawked.

  “You’re supposed to be dead,” said the man holding the dice. She presumed he was Jek.

  “Hate to disappoint,” she said. “Now where is James?”

  “What the fuck happened to your face?” asked one of the thieves. She ignored him and continued glaring.

  “Upstairs,” said Jek.

  “All right. I want torches lit and stuck in the basement. Get two men watching it, and I mean watching it, not sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for a crossbow bolt. What about the front doors to the building? Who’s watching them?”

  “Just Gary,” said another. “It’s been quiet here. The guilds have started leaving us alone since James agreed to Thren’s plan.”

  This stopped Veliana in her tracks.

  “He agreed?” she asked. “When?”

  “Earlier this morning,” said Jorey. “Where have you been, Vel?”

  Veliana shook her head, trying to match things up in her mind.

  “No time,” she said. “I’ve got to talk to James. The rest of you, get to the doors, with at least one man patrolling the windows.”

  “Why the attitude?” asked a fat man from the corner.

  “Because Thren knows we’re here,” she said. “He won’t leave us be, not now, not ever.”

  “But we agreed to what he wanted,” said Jek. “Surely he won’t…”

  “The next person that argues with me gets a knife in the throat,” Veliana shouted.

  That shut them up, she thought as she stormed through the house, searching for a way upstairs. When she came upon a spiral staircase she grabbed the railing and used it to climb up the steps two at a time. Once on the second floor, she looked about, seeing a hallway leading in either direction. She chose one, her head on a swivel. She stopped when a voice called her name.

  “Veliana?”

  She spun, stepped two doors down, and found James sitting on the edge of his bed, naked. Refusing to blush or even avert her eyes, she crossed her arms behind the small of her back. A young blonde lay sprawled out on the bed beside him, her slender form barely hidden by the thin blankets wrapped around her.

  “Apologies for the bad timing,” she said. “I hope I arrived at the end, and not the beginning.”

  James chuckled.

  “We Berens like to think there are no endings or beginnings,” he said. “Just brief interludes in between.”

  He stood and pulled on his trousers. His movements stirred the woman beside him. She pulled the blankets closer and then rolled the other way.

  “Who is that?” Veliana asked as James stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

  “One of Leon Connington’s maids. Why?”

  Her jaw dropped open.

  “Are you mad? She could tell him where our safe house is!”

  James laughed.

  “You know how he treats them. He’ll be lucky if he even gets his maid back, let alone any information.”

  James’s joy drained away as he truly saw her face for the first time.

  “By Ashhur, what happened to you?” he asked, gently touching it with his fingertips. “Is it still tender?”

  “Hurts like a bitch,” she said. “It won’t heal, either. What is this I hear about you making a deal with Thren?”

  James sighed. He walked into the room opposite his own. There were no furnishings or portraits, just
a single yellow curtain he pulled back so he could stare out at the city through the diamond-shaped window.

  “Thren’s plan may be suicide, but there’s still a chance of it succeeding. If we opposed him any longer, we’d never last another night. They burned us out of our last two safe houses. Did you see?”

  She nodded. James shook his head, his hand curling as if he wished he had a drink to hold.

  “We’ve lost so many. Our territory is almost nonexistent. Even after this, we’ll still lose most of our members to other guilds unless we get lucky and hit a large haul somewhere. What would you have me do, Vel? Stand and fight him, fight the combined might of all the thief guilds?”

  “Other guilds must be getting nervous,” Veliana said. “Thren tried to recruit me to take your place. He feared others would abandon him if he tried to force anyone to his side.”

  James laughed.

  “He didn’t do any of this. He planted whispers, ideas, and let the rest of the guilds eat us alive. Those who were closest to the Spider Guild got the best territory … our best territory. He wanted you because it was easier. A quick coup, a few dead bodies, and then he’s got another puppet running another guild. Instead he had to spill a bit more blood. It wasn’t hard. You know Kadish Vel? His Hawks have wanted everything north of Iron Road for months. Now he’s got it. Five years we’ve fought that bastard’s war, five fucking years, and now because we don’t play along, we get thrown to the dogs.”

  “And the Shadows, Hawks, and Serpents,” Veliana said. “We have no friends. We never have.”

  James gestured once more to her face.

  “Who gave you that? Is that why you barged in here looking for me?”

  Veliana turned away, suddenly self-conscious of the wound.

  “That, no, Gileas did it, but he’s dead, I killed … James, Gileas sold information to one of Thren’s men less than two hours ago. He gloated over letting Felhorn know where we were hiding.”

  “It means nothing,” insisted James.

  “But he was so certain,” Veliana said. “He also claimed to have told the king’s men about Thren’s plans for the Kensgold.”

  At this, James’s face darkened.

  “Thren won’t believe you,” he said. “We tell him a dead man leaked his plan to the king, then demand he call it off? He’ll only assume we’re seeking a new way to sabotage his plan without outwardly opposing him. Worse, he’ll think we told the king ourselves. Damn that little worm.”

  Veliana knew she should have found that funny, but didn’t.

  “We can’t go through with this,” she said. “We can’t throw our lives away with him.”

  James wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close.

  “Tell me everything,” he said. “All that’s happened.”

  Veliana told her tale, of being captured and left for Gileas, and her encounter with the faceless women. She hid nothing, not even her trip to Karak’s temple. When she finished, his face was the calm, angry stone she most often saw when he was contemplating death.

  “So Vick betrayed you to the Spider Guild?” he said. “I knew he was gone, though I assumed he died in the ambush that had killed Walt, and presumably you. He must be laying low. We’ll find him in time and teach him the revenge of the Ash Guild.”

  “What do we do?” Veliana asked. “Gileas was supposed to tell them where Thren’s guildhouse is located, and convince him all the guildleaders would be there, working out a plot to kill the king. An entire army should have descended upon that Felhorn bastard’s base, but instead Gileas fucked that up and told him the truth. Now we’re sworn to a promise that means death, yet can’t back off from it else we find death in a whole new way.”

  James squeezed her shoulder.

  “We’ll play along,” he said. “I plan to survive, and settle our score with Vick and Kadish. But come the Kensgold, we will not be the ones dying that night.”

  “What do you mean?” Veliana asked. “Surely you don’t…”

  “I do,” said James. “What night will Thren be more vulnerable? What night will his entire reputation hinge upon? The Kensgold is the key, Vel. We wreck him, and everything he’s built fractures. We’ll negotiate our own peace with the Trifect. Let the others fight the mercenaries. We’ll make ten times their coin from our whores alone.”

  “I’ll trust you,” Veliana said, pulling out from his grip. “I’ll even help you after I return to the faceless women. But first you have to promise me something.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Leave his son, Aaron, to me.”

  Gerand Crold sat in his chair, feeling particularly vulnerable even though the thick stone of the castle’s walls surrounded him. He went over that morning’s conversation repeatedly in his head.

  “Thren would have a word with you,” one of the kitchen boys had told him, someone Gerand failed to recognize.

  “And why would I agree to that?” Gerand had asked in return, not bothering to ask why such a child would know. The Spiders seemed to spin their webs everywhere when they needed to.

  “It’s important. It’s about the Kensgold. Be in your room, and be alone, or people die.”

  And then the child had vanished as Gerand stood frozen still in the hallway before the throne room. The Kensgold? Did Thren know that Gerand had been tipped off about his plans for the Kensgold by the Worm?

  Gerand had gone through the day trying to remain calm, but it’d been a farce. The idea of someone sneaking into his bedroom should have been ludicrous. His quarters in the castle were small but luxurious and, more important, extremely safe. He was surrounded by guards and protected by sheer walls of stone and roving patrols of soldiers. Never before had he worried for his life when his door was locked and his window barred.

  Yet for years he had listened to the wild tales of Thren Felhorn’s exploits. The man had killed an entire royal family, two if the rumors were true. He had stolen the family jewels from Connington’s very head without the man noticing. He had killed Ser Morak, the greatest swordsman from the nation of Ker (though whether fairly or not was under constant debate). To a man like that, what were a few walls or a door?

  Gerand put down his glass and started pacing the room. He wished his wife were there, but he had sent her away, and not to their small estate. Deep in the southern district he owned a modest jewelry shop, and he had instructed her to hide there for the next two days. Now he wondered if that would be safe. Sure, they had some guards, enough to deter any regular thieves and cutpurses … but Thren?

  “Damn it,” said Gerand, striking the top of his dresser. “He’s a man, not a ghost. Walls and doors mean the same to him as any other man.”

  Strong, angry words, but they did little to calm him. Therefore he walked over to his bed and pulled his rapier off its wall-stand. Holding the cold hilt in his hand, he felt a little better. Perhaps he wasn’t as good as Ser Morak, but he was a fine bladesman in his own right. At least he might die fighting instead of gagging on poisoned food.

  The hours crawled by, the night slowly deepening. Gerand read when he could calm himself enough to focus, his rapier across his legs as he turned the pages. Other times he looped the weapon through a few stances, trying to remember the last time he’d sparred. It had been a year or two, he decided, and that was a year or two too many. He’d have to find a partner, and a good one. Perhaps Antonil Copernus, the guard captain, would suffice…

  A knock on his door sent Gerand spinning, his blade cutting air. When he realized the door was still closed, and no specter had come for him, he felt incredibly foolish. He slid his rapier into his belt and put his hand on the handle.

  “Who is there?” he asked.

  The door blasted inward, wrenching his hand. The solid oak slammed his forehead. As he fell he tried to draw his blade, but then his back smacked atop the small chest at the foot of his bed. The rapier clattered uselessly along the stone floor. He reached for it only to have a heavy boot slam atop his fingers.
>
  “Get up,” said a voice. Rough hands grabbed the back of his clothes, yanking him to his feet and then flinging him into his chair. Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, Gerand got his first good look at his attackers. One was a woman with raven hair tied back. The other was most certainly Thren Felhorn. Gerand had never met the man before, but he’d both heard and read many descriptions.

  The woman drew one of many throwing daggers from her belt and twirled it in her fingers while Thren shut the door to the crowded room. When Gerand’s eyes flitted over to the rapier, the woman threw her dagger, piercing the chair so close to his skin it cut the cloth of his robe. She shook her head at him but said nothing.

  Thren gently pushed the woman out of the way and then stood before Gerand with his arms crossed. He frowned down at Gerand. Death was in his eyes.

  “Do you know who I am?” Thren asked.

  “I do,” Gerand said, doing his best to sound brave. How many times had he belittled Thren to the other nobles, even the king? He took every word back. Gods damn it all, where were his guards?

  “Do you know why I’m here?” Thren asked.

  Again Gerand nodded.

  “I believe I do,” he said.

  “Kayla, could you hand me his rapier, please?”

  The woman retrieved the sword and handed it hilt-first to Thren.

  “Thank you,” Thren said as he quickly inspected the blade. “Solid craftsmanship, if a bit on the self-indulgent side. A man could live for a month on what this single ruby in the hilt would fetch him. I’ve known of you for some time, Crold. Your family line has been as decadent and pointless as the hilt of your rapier. Always aspiring to be bootlickers and ass kissers, never to be leaders.”

  Thren drew one of his short swords and held it in front of Gerand’s face.

  “You see this?” he asked. “Plain, but well made. Nothing beyond the necessary. You have forgotten you are a tool, Gerand Crold, and nothing more. To pretend to be something else can lead to … dangerous circumstances. Tell me, my dear advisor to the king, which would you rather be pierced by: my short sword, or your rapier?”