Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella

by David Dalglish

  “Is this where we part ways?” Marion asked as Kyle led her to a group of five men standing about the lawn, drinking wine from tall glasses.

  “Are you sure?” Kyle asked, looking her over. She could tell he wasn’t sure she’d been at his side long enough for her to be easily labeled as his, but she did not care.

  “Yes,” she said, gently slipping from his arm. “Enjoy your talks and deals. I need a bit of wine in my stomach before I will enjoy my time.”

  She made her way through the crowd, careful not to brush against anyone. The last thing she wanted was for someone to initiate conversation with her. Finding the nearest platter of wine carried by a servant, she snagged a glass and then looked for a table somewhere. There were dozens set about, mostly occupied, but she found one in the corner with only two seats, both empty. Sitting in one with her back to the wall of a garden, she sipped her wine. It was weaker than she’d expected, but at least it tasted phenomenal. Distant music of violins and cellos wafted over her, and she closed her eyes to try to relax.

  “Is this seat taken?” a man’s voice interrupted her thoughts to ask.

  “Perhaps,” she said, opening her eyes, “depending on who is seeking to claim it.”

  Before her was a well-dressed man with short blond hair and intense blue eyes. He was young, seventeen, perhaps eighteen at most. His vest was slightly open, and she could tell through the thin white shirt beneath that he was fit. At his waist was a short sword, its sheath tied shut with a comically oversized white ribbon.

  “It’s not the chair I’m hoping for,” he said, still standing. His voice was deep, commanding. “But the company instead.”

  “Then have the chair,” she said. “We’ll decide on the company as we go along.”

  He slid into the seat, then leaned back. The man openly stared at her, and she realized she’d not been told his name.

  “Will you not introduce yourself?” she asked.

  “My name is Thren,” he said. “Of a family of no importance, I assure you, but at the same time the importance of my being here is of the utmost. So here I am.”

  “Marion Lightborn,” she said, and she caught how Thren’s eyes sparkled at the name. “I’m here with Kyle Garland.”

  “Such a shame,” said Thren. “I was hoping you’d come alone.”

  “Don’t fret,” she told him. “Pretty blue eyes like yours, you should find many women eager to vanish into one of Maynard’s rooms for a quick, private conversation.”

  Thren chuckled.

  “I could take one of those women as easily as I take this seat. But it’s not the seat I want, remember?”

  Despite herself, she blushed.

  “Indeed,” she said.

  Thren looked over his shoulder, scanning the surrounding groups that chatted nearby. Their voices were like a buzz amid the music, which sadly was not loud enough to drown them out.

  “Is that him?” Thren asked, gesturing toward a pack of six. Marion sipped her glass of wine.

  “That it is,” she said. “The one in white, dark hair, gold on the cuffs. Such a fine dresser, my date.”

  “The devotion you show your lover is one bards would sing of for years, should they ever spend time in your presence.”

  Marion laughed.

  “He is not my lover. I am willing to do much for wealth, but not that. Not him.”

  Thren leaned toward her, and his smile widened at that.

  “You impress me more and more,” he said.

  “You give me too much credit. I’m still a whore. I’m just more selective about it is all. Besides, so far I’ve been given weeks of fine food, drink, and clothes to wear, and I haven’t had to spread my legs once. All I’ve had to do is promise to spread my legs come a day that is always soon, always just on the horizon.”

  “That gem on his finger,” he said. “Is that the Heart?”

  Marion finished her drink.

  “Kyle’s pride and joy. The Heart of Ker, supposedly dug from the sands not long after the black spire crumbled and the sands were swallowed by the grasslands. Yes, that’s it. He keeps it with him always. The only things that stay closer to him are his bodyguards.”

  “Bodyguards?”

  Marion searched, gestured to one of them lurking along the wall.

  “The women in the white masks.” She turned back, shook her head. “I wish you could see them sparring sometime. If they weren’t fucking Kyle every night, I wouldn’t think they were human.”

  Thren let out another chuckle, and he rose from his seat.

  “I think your lover has spotted me,” he said, bowing low. As he did, Kyle strode over, an unpleasant look on his face.

  “Marion, my dear,” he said, kissing her cheek. His eyes never left Thren’s face. “I see you have made a new friend.”

  Thren grinned.

  “I wouldn’t call me a friend,” he said. “Good day, Lord Garland. Oh, and nice ring. Wouldn’t mind having one like that for myself.”

  He sauntered off, as if amused by Kyle’s jealous reaction. Kyle slipped into the other seat, still glaring at Thren’s back.

  “Who was that man?” he asked.

  Marion let a small smile spread on her lips.

  “He said his name was Thren.”

  The blood drained from Kyle’s face. Up from his chair he bolted, forcefully grabbing her hand as he stared into the crowd.

  “Thren?” he hissed. “As in Thren Felhorn?”

  “Perhaps, why?”

  Kyle looked down at his ring, then clenched the hand into a fist.

  “That man’s the Darkhand’s apprentice,” Kyle said, craning his neck. “He’s robbed several of my caravans already, and…damn it, I can’t see him anymore!”

  His two bodyguards, who’d been lurking against the side of the mansion so their master could bargain and banter in privacy, saw his distress and hurried over.

  “What is the matter?” asked Green.

  “Thren’s here,” said Kyle.

  “Bertram let him in?” asked Brown.

  “Or he climbed the wall,” said Green.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Kyle said. “We have to leave, now. He made his intentions quite clear. He wants my ring. He wants the Heart of Ker!”

  “Calm down,” Marion said, pulling her hand free of his. “You don’t know that. He just said it was a nice ring. Even if that was Thren, and he’s here to rob people, there’s hundreds here whose purses he might take instead.”

  “He was mocking me, you stupid woman,” Kyle said. “What do we do, what do we do?”

  “We should leave,” Green said.

  “There are two days left, I can’t leave yet,” Kyle said. “Safe, we have to get somewhere safe until I can talk to Bertram in private, let that idiot know his security isn’t doing its damn job.”

  “To your room then,” said Brown.

  Marion was more dragged than led through the party toward the main entrance of the mansion. The doors were propped open, and inside the halls she saw plenty more people scurrying about. Stairs immediately before her led to the higher floor, and Kyle took them without hesitating. At the top, an older man and his wife were coming down. Kyle paused for a moment to smile and intrude into their conversation.

  “Bartholomew, old friend,” said Kyle. “Forgive my hurry, but I’d love to talk later. Tell me, which room is yours so I may visit when things calm down later tonight?”

  “First on your left once you reach the end of the hall,” said the gray-haired man. “And try not to come too late. Once these old bones get a bit of alcohol into them, sleep doesn’t lurk far behind.”

  Kyle laughed, and Marion did her best to put on a pleasing face.

  “Come on,” Kyle said once they were past. Down the hall they walked, then turned left. At the first in a sea of doors they stopped, and Kyle checked the knob.

  “Locked,” he said, stepping aside so one of his bodyguards could slide forward. She pulled two thin wires from her pocket and, kneeling do
wn, inserted both into the lock.

  “We’re breaking into the old man’s room?” Marion asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’d rather think of it as switching rooms until I can be assured of my safety,” Kyle said.

  With a click the lock tumbled, and the bodyguard pushed open the door. Together they stepped into a well-furnished room, the grand bed covered with seemingly endless number of blankets, great curtains furled before two large windows. Marion wrinkled her nose as behind her Green shut the door and relocked it.

  “Smells like…something,” she said. “Like dusty clothes in a dustier closet.”

  “For once will you stop complaining!” Kyle yelled, whirling on her. Marion took a step back, and she averted her gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I fear I erred in talking to Thren and put us all in danger. Please forgive me.”

  When he said nothing she took a step forward and kissed his cheek.

  “Very sorry,” she whispered.

  Kyle cleared his throat, looked to his bodyguards.

  “Thren’ll come back when it’s dark,” he said. “Either that, or try to strike now while there’s so many people milling about. We’ll hunker down here until morning, then find Bertram.”

  “I could go now,” Green said. “Thren is but a young fool. We do not need two of us to protect you from him.”

  “No,” Kyle said as Marion slipped from his arms and walked to the window. “No, I will not leave myself vulnerable for even a second.”

  Marion undid the latch holding the windows shut and then pushed them open. A sudden gust of warm air blew against her, and she let out a sigh as it teased her hair.

  “Much better,” she said.

  She thought Kyle might protest, and she heard him turn at the sound of the opening window, but he was given no time. Her eyes drifted upward, and hanging from the roof not two rooms over, with a smile on his face, was Thren Felhorn.

  “He’s here!” she screamed, suddenly flinging herself back from the window.

  “Who? Where?” asked Kyle.

  “On the roof!” Marion said, calming herself down so her next words came out only urgently instead of in an undignified screech.

  “Then let us abandon hiding,” Brown said, drawing one of her daggers. “I’ll bring you his head, my master.”

  “Wait!” Kyle cried, but she ignored him. The bodyguard put a foot on the windowsill, spun, and then leaped to the rooftop, grabbing hold and pulling herself beyond Marion’s line of sight. Now trembling, Marion clutched Kyle’s arm to her, pressing her body against his.

  “He won’t kill us, will he?” she asked. “He just wants the Heart, he won’t kill us, he doesn’t need to kill us…”

  At the door came a single solitary knock. The force of it made the hinges rattle.

  “Lord Garland?” asked a deep voice. “That you in there, Kyle?”

  Green put herself between the two of them and the door, and she drew her blades.

  “Stay behind me,” she said. “I will keep you both safe.”

  The door suddenly burst open, and Marion let out a soft gasp as she took a step backward. Standing there was an enormous man with dark skin and a shaved head. Several hoop earrings dangled from his ear. At his hips were buckled two swords.

  “Stay…stay back,” Kyle said, trying not to sound terrified. “I’ll have no bloodshed here!”

  The man tilted his head, and he smirked at the bodyguard, who remained crouched in a defensive stance, clearly expecting him to attack.

  “Bloodshed?” asked the man. “Why, how rude. I’m not here for bloodshed.”

  Kyle licked his lips.

  “Then what are you here for?”

  The man gestured past him, toward Marion.

  “I just came here to say hello to my sister, that’s all.”

  And then he was gone, as was Marion, already diving out the open window to the room, using the rope left for her by Thren to guide her to the ground. Once on her feet, she brushed off her dress, lifted the Heart of Ker up so Kyle could see it clearly, and then hid it in the ample cleavage her dress created. Smiling, she blew him a kiss.

  Kyle started to curse, but he pulled back into the room with a cowardly yell as the body of Green fell mere inches from his head, crumpling dead at Marion’s feet.

  Marion was gone long before the crowds could gather at the sight of the mangled corpse and wonder what was going on.

  * * *

  Thren sat in one of two wooden chairs in his meager apartment, legs crossed, the Heart of Ker raised high so the light from the window could set it to sparkling.

  “Honestly thought it’d be tougher than that,” said Grayson, plopping into the chair opposite him. His friend grinned, and he reached out for the Heart. Thren tossed it over to him, let the dark-skinned man twirl the enormous ruby in his fingers.

  “You underestimate our training,” Thren said, leaning his head on his fist.

  “And my womanly persuasions,” said Marion, coming in from the other room. She’d washed her face clean of all the powders and pampering she’d received, and instead of a red dress she now wore a tightly fitted pair of pants and a cotton shirt.

  “My dear,” Thren said, smiling at her, “I doubt I will ever underestimate your womanly persuasions.”

  Marion kissed her brother on the cheek even as he delivered a subtle glare Thren’s way.

  “I’ll snag us something to eat,” she said, heading to the door. “After such a score, I think all three of us deserve to celebrate.”

  The door shut, and as it did, Grayson tossed back the ring.

  “You know what happens next,” he said. “The Darkhand’s going to send us east. Our training’s over, and it’s time we prove our worth. I think he’s had his eye on Veldaren for a while now, truth be told.”

  Thren held the ring up once more, then put it into his pocket.

  “Honestly, it’s about time,” he said. “We’ll go to Veldaren, find ourselves a thief guild worthy of our talents. Won’t be too long before we make the city ours.”

  Grayson laughed.

  “Such confidence! Such gall! Is there ever a moment of doubt in your blond head?”

  Thren looked to the door, thinking of Marion’s exit.

  “Not often,” he said. “So, will your sister be coming with us to Veldaren?”

  Grayson sensed his true line of thought, and he leaned forward in his chair.

  “You’re my friend,” he said, “so I’ll give you this warning free. Marion’s off limits. If you take one more long look at my sister, touch her, kiss her, even get dirty ideas in your head just thinking about her, I will take my swords and shove them so far down your throat you’ll be shitting steel. Just so you know.”

  Thren rose from his seat, and he lifted open palms to show his surrender.

  “You’ve made your point,” he said as he headed to the door and opened it.

  “Where are you going?” Grayson asked.

  “None of your business,” Thren said, stepping out. Halfway through he paused, ducked his head back into the room. “Oh, and just so you know, I plan on marrying her one day.”

  He shut the door behind him, breathed in the fresh morning air, and laughed as he ran down the street toward the market.

  Stealing Crowns

  Thren Felhorn perched atop the stone gargoyle and waited for the signal from his guildmaster to start the killing. The night was dark, thick clouds spread across the sky blotting out the stars. Below him the street was quiet but for a lone wagon rattling toward them from afar, a few crates in the back covered with a dirty blanket. The driver looked tired, his shoulders slouched, but Thren knew it was an act. It was the man’s head that gave it away, the way he was always shifting his face from side to side in search of ambushers.

  He wasn’t looking high enough.

  “This is it,” Grayson muttered beside him, using the gargoyle’s spread wings to hide his large form. “Where’s the damn signal?”

&nbs
p; “Jorry will want to know for certain before we act,” Thren said. “Now keep your voice down.”

  Grayson grinned at him, all dark skin and white teeth.

  “Why? Scared he’ll hear us? The moment he hears us is the moment he’s too close to get away.”

  “Trust me, the Wolf Guild did not let them travel unguarded,” Thren said, watching the wagon’s approach. Despite his words, he saw no guards, no patrols from the rival guild. Something about it felt off. Their guildmaster, Jorry the Swift, had received word of the Wolf Guild’s attempting to smuggle across town a large supply of expensive wine it had previously stolen from Lord Leon Connington. Leon, gluttonous bastard that he was, had come down hard in search of his precious wine, and the Wolf Guild was reeling from the sudden assault of mercenaries.

  “Where are the guards, then?” Grayson asked, mirroring Thren’s own worries. “Perhaps they can’t spare anyone to watch the wagon?”

  “If they get that wine out of the city and shipped west, it’ll be worth a fortune in Mordan,” Thren whispered. “They can spare someone. The question is where? And why hasn’t Jorry sent us in to find out?”

  Thren and Grayson perched on the rooftop of what had once been a temple to the priests of Karak, before they’d been chased out and the building set aflame. The stone walls remained strong and tall, a perfect vantage point for the long street below. Around the neck of the gargoyle was a rope, the length of it spooled beside Thren. Once Jorry confirmed the wagon was run by the Wolf Guild, they were to climb down and ambush it just as it passed beneath. Jorry and three others were to harass from the front, distracting the Wolves from their descent. Except the wagon was almost directly beneath them, and still Jorry had not stepped out from the side alley, signaling the start of the ambush.

  “Jorry must think it’s a trap,” Thren said.

  “As if it’d matter,” Grayson said, finally whispering given the wagon’s proximity. “He think we can’t handle a few Wolves?”