Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella

by David Dalglish

  He took in a deep breath, let it out.

  “I can make no promises,” he said.

  “Just do what you know to do,” Thren said. “And waste no more time. Get on with it.”

  Thren had no desire to watch, his focus solely on his wife. He leaned in closer, felt the heat coming off her in waves. Gently he kissed her eyebrows, her cheek, then leaned his forehead against her as she let out a terrible scream, louder than any before. It seemed to tear out of her, going on and on.

  And then it halted.

  “Marion,” he whispered, feeling tears running down his face. All color was gone from her now, and her eyes rolled up into her head. Her mouth hung open, her upper body shaking as if she had been struck with a deep shiver in the middle of winter. Prayers rolled from Calan’s lips, an urgent stream with words that seemed to wash over Thren like water. It seemed everywhere on the bed he looked he saw blood.

  When the baby let out a wail, it only shoved the knife in Thren’s heart all the deeper. Stepping away from his wife, Thren looked to Grayson, saw the man standing there in shock, an ebony statue shedding tears. Thren turned more, and suddenly a bundled life was in his hands, a boy, remnants of blood still on his exposed face and arms, the skin a flushed red. The baby more mewled than cried, with far less strength than the howl Randith had let out when he came into the world.

  Paula the midwife stood in the corner, washing her hands with a frown on her face that told Thren everything he needed to know. Out of the room he stepped, unable to be there, unable to watch as Marion’s body grew ever stiller despite the prayers of the priest.

  A boy, thought Thren, staring down at the crying child as if it were this bizarre thing. What name did we promise to use if it was a boy?

  “Aaron,” he whispered, finally remembering. It was as if his mind no longer wanted to work. He kept thinking of the way Marion had convulsed in his arms, kept hearing the echo of that long, horrid shriek.

  Thren stared down at Aaron. The baby’s eyes were swollen shut, his nose pressed downward. Atop his head was a shock of blond hair, so much like Thren’s own. So little of Marion, he realized. Would she be denied to him even in the life that had taken her away?

  “Aaron,” Thren whispered again, trying to evoke something in himself, to make this alien thing he held suddenly have meaning. He wanted to feel protective toward it, to feel he could sacrifice the world to ensure its safety. Upon his holding Randith, not even a king’s army could have forced the baby from his arms. But what was this thing? This crying, angry thing that twitched within the blood-soaked towel?

  It was a death sentence, a murderer, a thief of the life of his beloved Marion. This baby had stolen away her future, stolen away the very breath from her lungs and left her pouring out lifeblood upon a mattress. Much as Thren tried to deny it, much as he tried to remind himself that he held one of the few pieces of Marion left in the world, he felt only rage. Cold rage, something unlike what he felt when a man betrayed him, or a lord or member of the Trifect dared insult him. There was so little emotion to it, so little passion. It was angered death in him, an all-consuming thought.

  “You took her from me,” Thren whispered. “Why? What cruel joke in this world decided she was to die now? She’ll never hold you, never feed you. Your older brother will grow, mature, take a wife of his own, and never again behold the face of his mother.”

  He was crying again, though he’d never realized he’d started. He noticed only when the tears fell upon Aaron’s face. The baby’s crying had begun to subside, still constant but not as strong. For a brief moment Thren thought the baby might die there, rendering Marion’s sacrifice worthless…and the only thing he felt was satisfaction. Escape. Already the burden of raising Randith would be on his shoulders. Did he want this creature to be his as well?

  All it’d take was a shift of the towel wrapped about him. So easy it’d be to block the air from his lungs. So easy to bury him along with his mother, to say goodbye to the future he should have had.

  Thren’s fingers grabbed the top of the towel. Thren’s eyes widened, and he felt the cold rage dwindling down into emptiness, total emptiness. He no longer cared. Not about himself, not about Marion, not about Aaron. Was it shock? He didn’t know. Did it matter? Higher he pulled the towel, then shifted his fingers, pressing it against Aaron’s mouth. The baby’s crying immediately stopped. As he held on tight, Aaron’s legs kicked harder, his arms flailing out to the sides.

  The door to the other room opened, and out stepped Grayson. Thren pulled back the towel, shifted his arms to hide what he’d done.

  “What?” asked Thren as Aaron resumed his crying.

  “Marion wants to see her baby,” Grayson said, and despite his tears, a smile spread wide across his face. “Now get your ass in here.”

  It was as if the stone about his heart shattered. Thren felt he could breathe again, felt as if the room weren’t so dark. Slowly he walked inside, Aaron cradled in his arms. Marion smiled at him from the bed, still deathly pale, but she was herself again, her bloodshot eyes showing recognition for the first time in hours. Calan stood beside her, looking very much drained.

  “Praise Ashhur,” he said, putting his hands on his back and stretching until it popped.

  “Indeed,” said Thren, feet moving of their own accord. Once at Marion’s side he offered the baby to her, and she gently took him and placed his mouth to her breast.

  “It’s a boy,” she said, her voice raspy.

  “His name’s Aaron,” Thren said. “Randith should be happy. He’s always wanted a brother to play with.”

  “Aaron,” Marion cooed, then laid her head back on her pillow and closed her eyes. “I’m glad we picked that name. It suits him.”

  Thren didn’t quite see how it did, but he would not question her now. His hands free, he wiped the tears from his face and tried to recover his bearings. Glancing into the other room, he almost felt as if he’d stepped out of a different world, a darkness to which he wanted never to return.

  Grayson once more went to his sister’s side, and with him cradling her, Calan took the time to gently pull Thren aside.

  “Why did you think you must drag me here at sword’s edge?” the man asked.

  Thren started to answer, stopped. It seemed almost stupid now, but it was hard to explain the panic they’d all been in as Marion’s health failed through the night.

  “Because I feared you’d say no,” he said. “Given who I am. Who we are.”

  Calan put a hand on his arm.

  “I don’t care if you’re the king, a peasant, or Thren Felhorn. I’d have still come, and still done my best to save that woman’s life.”

  Thren grinned.

  “I am Thren Felhorn.”

  Calan froze for a moment, then chuckled.

  “Well. It’s good to know I didn’t make such a boast in vain. Both those lives, your child’s and your wife’s, are miracles. Cherish them. Protect them. I do not know what fate awaits them, but I pray the gift was given wisely.”

  Thren crossed his arms and looked away. The gods weren’t for him, he knew, and he felt uncomfortable with the priest’s admonition.

  “You’re free to leave,” he said.

  Calan nodded, moved to the door.

  “I stole a life away from the Reaper this night,” the priest said as he opened it. “Look to yourself, Thren, and then to the child. Make it mean something.”

  And then he left.

  Thren went back into the room, saw the midwife attending Marion to help with Aaron’s latching, and Grayson leaning against a corner of the room with his eyes closed, fast asleep. Back to the bed he walked, and he let his eyes settle on Aaron Felhorn.

  Make it mean something, echoed Calan’s words in his head.

  Thren didn’t know how, didn’t know what it even meant, but he knew that come his future days, he would ensure just that. Randith would be his elder son, heir to the empire of drugs, theft, and murder that Thren daily built. But Aaron? Aar
on would be something more. Something special.

  Someone to steal life from the Reaper.

  Stealing Memories

  Thren kissed his wife on the lips, then told her goodbye.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, pausing at the door to the quaint home on the corner of the winding street. “The Scorpion Guild will never find you here.”

  Marion smiled at him, exotic and beautiful despite the simple dress she wore, which clung to her dark skin and hinted at so very little being worn underneath.

  “I’m more worried about not being found,” she said. “Do not forget about me here, and bring my boys to me when you feel it safe. I miss them already.”

  She gave Thren a look he’d often wilted under before, one that promised a fiery passion should he return to her. All he had to do was momentarily escape the guilds, the dealings, the bloodshed and drugs.

  “I miss you already as well,” she told him.

  Thren chuckled, shook his head, and then stepped out into the street. Waiting for him was Grayson, arms crossed over his muscular chest.

  “I’m telling you,” he said in his baritone voice. “It’s not safe here.”

  “And why is that?” Thren asked as the two walked down the empty street. Worn homes were on either side of them, many with boarded windows and locked doors. The territory was newly taken by Thren and his Spider Guild, and it still showed the remnants of the bloody conflict that had earned him the victory.

  “Territory’s too new,” Grayson insisted, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “This was Scorpion territory for years. Those who live here, they aren’t loyal to us, not yet. Too many are watching us from the cracks in their windows. I fear at least one will run to Carr, hoping to earn themselves a shiny copper.”

  Thren paused at the end of the street, glanced back at the home his wife hid within.

  “I know,” he said, turning away. “I’m expecting it.”

  Grayson barred the way before he could take another step.

  “No,” his friend said. “No, you won’t do this. I won’t allow it.”

  “She’s not at risk,” Thren said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Damn it,” Grayson said, shoving Thren back. “She’s my sister!”

  Before he’d even taken a staggering step back, Thren had already drawn one of his short swords and pointed it at the enormous man.

  “And my wife, or have you forgotten?” he asked, meeting Grayson’s hard stare. He let his voice drop. “Carr won’t dare harm a hair on her head, Grayson. Not while his own wife and son are in my custody. He’ll only want to take her to keep things even between us. If I can ambush him in the act, I can devastate his ranks, perhaps even capture the slimy bastard himself.”

  Grayson’s hands flexed, hovering over his own swords before relaxing.

  “How many men are watching the house?” he asked.

  “A dozen, all my finest,” Thren said. “I’ll be here as well. The moment he makes his move, we’ll be on them. I promise.”

  They resumed walking down the street, an act Thren knew he had to carry out before he could slink back through the darker streets to take up the watch with the rest of his men.

  “You’re pushing against Carr too hard,” Grayson said. “You’re not giving him the respect he deserves.”

  “I’m the best guildmaster Veldaren has ever known,” Thren said. “There is no one smarter, no one better, no one more ruthless than I.”

  “And before you, Carr was the youngest, the fastest, the most ruthless.”

  Thren chuckled. Of course he knew that. For a time the man known only as Carr had been the one they’d never dared cross, even as together Thren and Grayson hopped from guild to guild, establishing their reputation in Veldaren. But that was years ago, before he’d asked Marion to marry him, promising a life and wealth far beyond the petty riches they’d known. Before he’d overthrown Jorry the Swift and claimed the Spider Guild as his own.

  The riches had followed, the years had passed, and slowly the Spider Guild had grown from just another guild to something all the others watched in fear as street after street switched from Viper, or Hawk, or Crow, to the circle and lines of the Spider.

  “There’s a reason we’ve gone after Carr over the past year,” Thren said as they stepped out into Iron Road, a far more populated stretch linking several smithies and tinkers’ shops. “He’s the one everyone was afraid of. He’s the one all the other guilds must account for in their plans. This city will never view us as its rulers so long as Carr is alive. Street by street, deal by deal, we’ll crush him. No one’s dared challenge him, yet now I have his wife and son. He’ll act rash, he’ll act stupid, and he’ll act afraid.”

  “So be it,” Grayson said. “But I’m going back into the house. I won’t let her stay there alone.”

  “She’s not alone,” Thren said, pushing aside a cutpurse no older than seven who had been angling too close. The brat looked baffled that he’d been noticed, and he wisely rushed away. “Wallace and Michael are in there with her. I’ve had them hidden inside for days now, waiting for Marion.”

  Grayson shook his head.

  “You did all this, yet told me none of it? I’m starting to think my title as your right hand is just a way to keep me happy.”

  Thren smacked him on the shoulder.

  “When it comes to Marion, I play everything close to the chest,” he said. “Now gather up your best fighters. Make sure you bring Pennell with you. Come nightfall, I want you to assault their warehouse on Flintsteel Road. Brag long and loud about it too, especially near Pennell. He’s been selling information to Carr the past few weeks.”

  Grayson froze in his tracks.

  “Pennell?” he said. “That drunken idiot?”

  “Watch him the next time he drinks,” Thren said. “More ends up on his shirt than in his mouth.”

  The two passed through Iron, then onto the main road leading east to west through the heart of the walled city of Veldaren. With the traffic so much louder, especially due to the midday trading, the two could talk with ease.

  “Why let Carr know about my attack on the warehouse?” Grayson asked.

  “He’ll assume the attack is the reason why we’re hiding Marion,” Thren said.

  “And if he sets up a trap for me at the warehouse?”

  Thren laughed.

  “Carr will have the entire building empty before you set foot near it, just to mock me. We’re playing a game, Grayson, and Carr is going to find out just how many moves behind me he actually is.”

  The enormous man stopped at a stand selling fruit, bought himself a few apples, and then began eating one.

  “We’re far enough,” he said, tossing one of the apples to Thren. “Here. In case you get hungry while waiting. I don’t like this, Thren, but I’m trusting you. Keep her safe, and I’ll do my best to play the distraction.”

  Thren saluted with the apple.

  “We can kill Carr at any time,” he told his most trusted friend. “But it’s not about the killing. It’s about the message you send. When I do take his life, I want all of Veldaren’s underworld to realize just how dangerous it is to cross paths with a Spider.”

  With that, Thren pulled his gray cloak tighter around his shoulders, then let the hood fall over his features. Into the alley he went, away from the crowds, away from the noise, and into the shadows and darkness that he had known all his life. In a world of backroom deals, of men who bought herbs and powders with stolen coin and fled from encounters with whores with shame in their eyes, Thren felt himself their king. These pitiful creatures, slaves to addictions and lusts, would always come crawling to him to feed their needs. Without need of chains or collars, Thren enslaved them all, building an empire on the backs of the weak.

  But there were pretenders to his throne, and Carr was the most prominent. The Scorpion Guild had to suffer an embarrassing collapse to trigger the cannibalization that Thren desired.
Let the other guilds pick apart the remains, taking territory in a mad dash to capitalize on Carr’s death. And in the chaos, they wouldn’t realize that with a relentless creep, the Spiders were taking more of their own territory.

  That’s how you build a web, he thought. One strand at a time.

  Directly opposite the house Marion stayed in was a burned-out husk of a building. Thren himself had set fire to it when they moved on the territory. Over ten Scorpions had been hiding inside, waiting to ambush Thren’s guild once they let down their guard near the very end of their raid. Remembering their screams still put a smile on Thren’s face. With the building in ruins, it was easy work for Thren to crawl amid the ash on his belly, taking up vigil on Marion’s home without anyone from the street possibly seeing him. He stared through a slit barely wider than his thumb, but he could see enough.

  Knowing the rest of his guild waited on the rooftops, Thren cleaned ash off his apple, took a bite, and then settled in.

  When the sun set, a very faint light shone in the window facing the street. It was a single candle, lit by Michael to let the rest know all was well inside. Thren smiled at the candle, and he let his nerves calm. Wallace and Michael were eyeing the streets as well. Should they spot a member of the Scorpions, then out the candle would go. Occasionally Thren watched someone wander down the street, more often than not a member of his guild. The stars twinkled into existence, and the city took on a bluish hue as the moon shone bright above it.

  Yet as the hours passed, they saw not a sign of Carr’s arrival.

  I know you’re patient, thought Thren as he shifted from side to side on his belly to keep his muscles loose. But not this patient.

  Perhaps no one had run to Carr with information on Marion after all? Or perhaps Carr hadn’t realized, when presented with the tip, that it’d actually been about Marion and not a decoy? Worse, what if they’d planned an ambush on Grayson after all? His friend was possibly the best living fighter he knew, but all the skill in the world meant nothing if an arrow took you through the back of the skull.