Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  “Aaron?” Kayla asked as she took a small step backward, her hand resting on her belt of daggers. Veliana drew her own and then pointed one at Kayla’s neck.

  “You know his plans,” Veliana said. “I may not be skilled enough to kill Thren, but I can kill his son. At least I can inflict some measure of pain on that withered heart of his. Now tell me, where is Aaron?”

  Kayla hesitated, and that was enough for someone as fast as Veliana. She dodged to one side, avoiding Kayla’s thrown dagger, and then delivered a kick to the head. As Kayla collapsed, Veliana fell upon her, her knees on her wrists and her dagger at her throat.

  “My guild is dying as we speak,” Veliana seethed, her face inches from Kayla’s. “I have nothing left to lose, nothing, so do not think I would lie to you now. Tell me, or I’ll do to you what was done to me.”

  Her wounded eye was ugly and red, and Kayla stared at the milky pupil in horror as Veliana’s dagger slowly trailed up her neck toward her left eye.

  “I sent him away,” she said. “He was watching us, so I made him promise to leave us be. He’s turned against his father. He wants to stop all this, but he’s just a boy. Just a stupid boy.”

  Veliana left her dagger pressed against Kayla’s face as she thought.

  “He lied to you,” she whispered. “Just like his father, he’ll promise one thing and do another. He’s at Leon Connington’s estate. He must be.”

  She stood and slowly backed away, watching for the slightest movement on Kayla’s part.

  “You gave me warning,” Veliana said. “For that I’ll let you live.”

  “Aaron has done nothing wrong,” Kayla said. “Hate the Spider Guild, and justly so, but he’s not his father. He’s done nothing wrong.”

  “Neither did she,” Veliana said, pointing at the body of the dead girl. She put her ear against the door, listening. When all was silent, she kicked it open and ran. Kayla rose to her knees, rubbing at her throat where Veliana’s knife had pressed. She stared at the bodies around her and wondered how she had fallen so far. All she had wanted was a bit of coin, but Thren had given her a taste of power. He’d hinted at something even greater. Now an ocean of blood swirled across the mansion floor, its guilt on her as much as anyone else. Except Thren.

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, Thren Felhorn stepped inside the room and glanced about. Dimly she wondered how much time had passed.

  “The Ash Guild is no more,” he said, sounding disinterested. He stepped about, seeing the dead Hawks and the young girl. “What is going on here, Kayla? Get off your knees. You aren’t some low-rent whore.”

  “We lost too many,” Kayla said. She felt cold inside. Her skin tingled, and she felt certain death awaited her. “We failed you. We can spring no trap here.”

  Thren tilted his head to one side. He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look him in the eye.

  “If you failed, it was because of the strength of our opponent and my failure to prepare accordingly. I saw the remnants of the spells on my way inside. Maynard prepared well for us, far better than the others.”

  Thren nodded toward the carnage.

  “You haven’t answered my question. What happened here?”

  She glanced at the two dead rogues.

  “They disobeyed orders,” she said. “I made them pay for it.”

  Thren smiled at her.

  “Death for disobedience,” he said. “A woman after my own heart.”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “Come with me to the Kensgold. The attack at Leon’s has gone smoothly so far, and I’ve ordered Senke to leave Leon alive so I might give him his deserved punishment. Still, we have much to do before that fight begins. We’ve struck at the Connington and Gemcroft families, but the Keenans have so far gone unscathed. That changes now.”

  Thren left the bedroom and headed toward the mansion’s exit.

  As if lost in a nightmare, Kayla followed.

  CHAPTER

  33

  The king was in a fouler mood than normal. From the window of a castle tower he had observed the great masses traveling west out of Veldaren, followed by the start of the feasting and celebrations. Gerand was waiting for him in his throne room. Sixteen guards protected His Majesty when he entered.

  “It looks like an army gathers at our doorstep,” King Vaelor said as he sat on his throne. “And where are my subjects? Shouldn’t I have petty squabbles to settle?”

  “Most have decided to partake in festivities that transpire every two years rather than wait in line for a ruling they may get on any day,” Gerand explained.

  “But everyone?” Vaelor wondered. “Surely there’s a few level-headed men about somewhere.”

  “There were a few,” Gerand said, clearing his throat. “I sent them away. From everything we know, today should be … interesting, and I felt it best to keep you safe.”

  King Vaelor rolled his eyes. As if determined to show how brave he was, he dismissed half his retainer of guards, leaving only a paltry eight watching over him. Gerand did his best not to roll his own eyes in return. With the sheer amount of mercenaries gathered outside the walls, the advisor had thought it best to keep the king’s day dull. Besides, with all eyes turned to the Kensgold, there was too much risk of a silent dagger striking the other way.

  “Safe,” the king muttered. “Often you have promised to keep me safe, but where are the results of your promises? What has grown from your comforting words? I was promised the head of Thren Felhorn, yet where is it?”

  Gerand coughed and looked at the guards. King Vaelor realized what he wanted and dismissed the remaining eight.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” the king said once they were on the far side of the throne room. He pulled back his robe to reveal his gold sword belted at his hip. Gerand was far from impressed but didn’t dare let that show.

  “As you must understand,” Gerand began, “arranging Thren’s murder is no easy feat. Men have wanted him dead for a decade, yet he remains as powerful as ever.”

  “I want his head,” the king said. “Not excuses.”

  “I am giving you neither,” Gerand said. “Only word of what is to come. My men have crawled about the city and spent much. We gained little in return, but all it takes is one whisper, one turncoat, and the whole fortune is worth the coin. And that is what I have: a turncoat.”

  King Vaelor sat erect in his seat.

  “You found a member of his guild to turn against him?” he asked, unable to hide his excitement.

  “I cannot say,” Gerand insisted. “Surely you understand. I will say nothing of who he or she is, other than that the price was absurdly high. I dare not risk a single whisper reaching Thren. The plans we knew for the Kensgold were but a hoax, and my little bird has informed me of the real plan. If all goes well, I will deliver his head to you on a platter by tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent,” the king said, slapping his thigh with his hand. “What will I do when you’re gone, Gerand?”

  The advisor smiled. He had every intention of being around long after King Vaelor was gone, not the reverse.

  “A king of your majesty and skill will always find a way to reign,” he said.

  King Vaelor laughed.

  “So true. But what am I to do? With no squabbles, no royal visitors, and no feasts planned, I am sorely pressed for entertainment.”

  “For that, I have found a solution,” Gerand said. He clapped twice, and one of the guards at the throne room’s main entrance threw open the doors. Ten girls wearing silks that hid nothing walked into the room, bells jingling from their wrists and ankles.

  “Dancers,” Gerand said. “Come all the way from Ker. They are known as the Naked Bells, and I have spent a great amount of the crown’s coin for their appearance.”

  Slowly the women began their gyrations.

  “Naked Bells?” King Vaelor asked, licking his lips. “Yet I see so much silk.”

  “Give us time to earn our name,” one of the women
said, her voice husky and foreign.

  The Naked Bells took almost half an hour to fully deserve their name. Gerand watched the dancers with more than a casual interest. Ever since Thren had captured his wife, he’d been worried sick, but he’d also been left to his own devices to satisfy his carnal desires. The exotic women shifted and danced with professional expertise, every movement designed to flaunt a certain curve, emphasize the length of their legs, or bring attention to their lips, breasts, or waists.

  Every passing minute saw one of them discard a piece of her silk. The king had watched the entire proceeding with rapt attention. No doubt he would claim two or three to come with him to his bedchambers. The king had no wife, and plenty were unhappy with this fact, but he was still young enough that Gerand had managed to quell most grumblings. Besides, he figured that if worse came to worst, there’d be a handful of bastards to choose from. He watched the naked women dance, the bells on their wrists and ankles jingling, and wondered if one might be the future mother of a king.

  One in particular had caught Gerand’s eye. Her hair was a deep red, just how he liked. Her breasts were smaller than the others’, but he found that attractive as well. Most important, she had been the last to strip completely naked. Or perhaps it was the way the king’s eyes lingered on her the longest. Gerand consoled himself by remembering that they were hired to please the king, so please him they would.

  No, Gerand thought. She’ll be mine, king or no. I may have a touch of gray in my hair, but I’m far more a man that that stupid brat.

  The Naked Bells’ undulations increased in intensity. The bells, all different sizes and pitches, rose into a beautiful chaos of sound. The redhead swirled before King Vaelor, almost within his touch. Out of all of them, only she clutched the bells of her wrists in her hands to stop their ring. Gerand watched, curious as to why. With all the others focusing their noise in a final hurrah, why would she…

  And then he saw her fingers twist at a bell, pulling something out from its clapper.

  “Stop her!” Gerand shouted, pointing. From the corner a soldier lowered his crossbow and fired. The bolt struck the redhead in the neck. Her blood splashed across the king’s face. The sound of her skull striking the cold stone made Gerand’s stomach twist. A thin needle rolled from her dead fingers. The rest of the Naked Bells stepped back, some crying, others staring coldly at the loss of one of their own.

  “What is going on here?” the king shouted. Gerand retrieved the pin and held it up for the king to see.

  “Do you see the flecks of green?” Gerand asked. “Venom of the hourglass scorpion, I’d wager. It takes several hours to flow through the blood and affect the heart, but once it does, death is inevitable. Someone paid her to kill you.”

  King Vaelor’s face turned a deep shade of red.

  “Thren!” he shouted. “It’s that bastard Felhorn! I want him dead, do you hear me?”

  “I have my plans in motion, Your Majesty.”

  “Do you know where he is?” the king asked, still shouting.

  “Where he is to be, yes,” Gerand admitted. “But we’ve not yet received the signal…”

  “Send my soldiers,” the king said. “All of them, every man able to hold a sword. He dies tonight, do you understand? Send them. Now!”

  “Yes, milord,” Gerand said, bowing low.

  King Vaelor stomped about, furious and frustrated. At last he pointed to two of the girls, then snapped his fingers.

  “Remove their bells,” he said. “Search them thoroughly. I won’t let that fucker ruin my entertainment, but I won’t be stabbed in my own bedchambers either.”

  Guards neared and undid the leather straps of the bells on their wrists and ankles. The girls reluctantly joined the king in his bedchambers, soldiers following behind with their swords drawn. Once the door was shut, Gerand sighed and turned to the rest.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. He met the eyes of the guard captain, nodded. Gerand left, not wanting to watch as the remaining guards cut them down and covered the throne room with their beautiful, beautiful corpses.

  Senke walked through the halls of the Connington mansion feeling a bit let down. While the doors and windows were thick, the lawn had few traps, and the ones it did have were designed to alert, not kill. The inside was even emptier. By his count, ten soldiers had been left behind as guards. They had died quickly and easily. Other than that, the mansion was vacant.

  Gart marched alongside Senke, his mood far more sour.

  “No pasty rich people to smash,” he grumbled. “This is stupid. I bet Maynard had men left. I should have gone there. Why did Thren make me go here? I wanted head-smashing!”

  “Shut up, Gart,” Senke said. “You’ll still get your chance, remember?”

  Gart shrugged.

  “Where’s Norris?” he asked.

  “That I don’t know,” Senke said. “Him and his Serpents should be setting up the oil for the fires.”

  The two leaders neared the rows of windows that viewed the front lawn.

  “Windows won’t open, so we’ll focus on holding the doors,” Gart said. He pointed outside the gates to the houses on the far side of the road. “We’ll have archers there. Once Maynard comes, we squash them in between.”

  “Simple enough plan,” Senke said. “Should work, though. Did hardly a scratch to the manor, so there’s no reason for him to be alarmed.”

  “He’ll be alarmed,” Gart said, pointing farther to the east. “Look. Smoke.”

  Senke lowered his head a little and peered out. Sure enough, a thick plume of smoke rose high from the eastern district.

  “That’s Maynard’s place, all right,” Senke said. “Do you think they already set it aflame?”

  “I look like a soothsayer?” Gart asked. “Go run and ask if you want answers. I got none but my fists.”

  “That might explain Thren’s delay,” Senke muttered.

  “What’s that?” asked Gart.

  “Nothing. Nothing. Let me go check on my men. Stay here and watch for any early arrivals. Try to wait until they’re inside to attack. I wouldn’t be surprised if Maynard sends someone to check on his home once he sees the smoke from afar. Let them go if possible.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Gart grumbled.

  “Prove it,” Senke said as he hurried off. He glanced at the setting sun as he passed by another row of windows. Where was Thren? Why was he so late?

  With so many treasures scattered throughout the mansion waiting to be looted, Senke went unnoticed as he walked. He’d already marked his way of escape once the chaos began. It was a slender door that led up to an attic. He’d checked it once, and in the back was a round, dusty window. From there he could reach the roof, and once upon the roof, he could pick any direction he desired to escape. But the plan was worthless without Thren there. Without Thren he’d accomplish nothing.

  As he neared the back of the mansion he heard the sound of a scuffle. Curious, Senke pushed open a door leading into a small but well-lit dining hall. One Serpent member lay dead on the floor, another bleeding as he fought a young man with a dirty gray cloak and a torn mask over his face. Senke felt his jaw drop at the sight.

  “Impossible,” he said.

  His voice drew the Serpent’s attention for the briefest moment, and that was all the young man needed. He slipped closer, jammed his dagger through ribs, and then slashed to the side. His opponent dead, the boy turned and dropped into a combat stance Senke recognized well, considering he’d taught it to him.

  “What are you doing here, Aaron?” Senke asked, not at all fooled by the mask.

  “Not Aaron,” he said. “I’m Haern. Aaron is dead.”

  Senke shook his head, hardly able to believe it.

  “How many have you killed?” Senke asked as he shut the door.

  “Five,” said Haern.

  “Five?” Senke laughed. “You’re out of your mind, Aaron. Sorry. Haern. I thought you were with the priests?”

  “I escaped,” Hae
rn said. He dropped his smaller knives and took a larger pair from the bodies, then tore off one man’s cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. Cleaning the blood off the daggers with the cloak, he tucked them into his belt and tightened the mask over his face. “I’ve come to stop this, Senke. Will you help me? Or must I kill you too?”

  Senke shook his head, torn between horror and hysterics at the boy’s audacity.

  “I won’t help you,” he told him. “But I won’t stop you either. I’m getting out, Haern. Tonight.”

  “Out?” asked Haern. “How?”

  Senke slumped to his rear.

  “I had a feeling Thren’s plan was all a lie, so when he told me the new one, I wasn’t surprised. So for a rather handsome amount of coin, I sold word of it to the king. In about an hour hundreds of soldiers will surround the estate. If there is a god, Thren will be here when they arrive. As for me, well, there’s going to be a big fire and a lot of bodies. No one will bat an eye should I go missing afterward.”

  The way Haern stood, he clearly had not been prepared to hear of such betrayal from as close a friend as Senke.

  “Why would you turn on him?” he asked.

  Senke chuckled.

  “When I joined the Spider Guild, I was in a bad spot. My son died, all because I couldn’t afford for the priests to heal him. My wife blamed it on me, and for good reason. I was lazy. Unreliable. I drank, I slept in alleys, and when I was at my lowest, Thren found me. Something about him, the way he conducts himself, it’s both terrifying and inspiring, and it awoke a fire in me that never died. I climbed the ranks, not because I was better, but because I worked harder than anyone else. I gave the guild everything of me, and Thren saw it and rewarded me accordingly. He likes that, Haern, you know that. It’s because he’s the same way. Nothing matters beyond the narrow focus, the narrow goal, and lately I was watching that goal be crafting you into something terrible. Watching what Thren was doing to you, slowly, methodically killing everything good in his own son…”