Kayla looked to Haern and held in a smile. Maybe if they were found, the boy might reveal another amazing skill. The kid could pull out nails with a thin knife and vault over fences like a mummer’s monkey. What could he do when cornered behind a locked gate?
Locked?
“Haern, look at me,” she said. “Can you pick a lock? Not some apprentice’s crap, I mean a true smith’s lock. I’ve never had the fingers for it, but do you?”
He looked away from her, angling his head so the rising sun no longer reached through the leaves to light his face. In the shade, he seemed to grow more confident.
“Your daggers are thin, and I could try. I’d need something else, though, something even thinner.”
She handed him a dagger, then reached into her belt and pulled out a small spyglass. She used it when she needed to be absolutely certain who a person was, when guesswork and reliance on body structure and clothing were not enough … or when naming the wrong name could get her killed by all parties involved. The spyglass wasn’t what she wanted, though. What she wanted was the length of wire wrapped around the middle to reinforce the fragile creation. Haern saw and nodded happily. He snatched the spyglass from her hands, unwound the wire, and handed the spyglass back.
“How long?” she asked.
“Master Jyr was my teacher,” he said. “When he left, he said I was his fastest student ever.”
Kayla shook her head.
“Not good enough. Tell me, how fast?”
Haern shrugged.
“A minute? Two if it’s expertly made.”
“Expect three minutes,” she said. Her blue-green eyes darted about. It wouldn’t be long before a servant or two headed out for the market to fetch fresh eggs and warm bread for breakfast. The sun was low … perhaps they could go unnoticed. She had seen no guards, but that meant nothing. After five years of warfare, there were always guards.
“Pick the lock as fast as you can,” she told him. “If anyone tries to stop us, I’ll kill them.”
Haern nodded.
“I’ll do my best.”
The ground wasn’t far, but Kayla worried about Haern’s leg. Once they made it to the streets, they could lose themselves in the sea of merchants, tradesmen, and common folk that always swelled in the morning hours. Until then, they’d be horribly vulnerable.
“I’ll help you down,” she said. “Hurry, but don’t injure your knee any further. An open gate does us no good if you can’t walk through it.”
She guided him down to the grass. Limping like an old man, Haern approached the closed and barred front gate. Kayla remained hidden in the tree. She was close enough to intercept any guards who might spot him, and she hoped to surprise the first few who tried to stop the boy.
When Haern reached the gate, he knelt down on his good knee, cupped the lock in his hands, and examined it. After a moment he glanced back to the tree and held up two fingers.
Two minutes, she thought. The gods are kind.
She began counting in her head. At seventeen she heard a cry of alarm. By twenty-nine she’d seen several men run around the side of the estate, all wearing brightly polished chain mail and brandishing curved swords. They were five in all, and glumly Kayla checked the daggers at her belt. She had only three left. There would be no whittling them down before they reached her, and she knew veteran killers were underneath that armor.
Not good, she thought.
“Up, down, sideways, and every way between…” she muttered. If Haern knew of their approach, he obeyed Kayla’s request and kept his back turned and his eyes focused. Twirling one of her few daggers in her fingers, the woman silently dropped to the grass. One good throw, and she could make it four to one. Her speed was good, so she might blind or wound another before they realized she was there. After that, she might distract them long enough for Haern to open the gates. Would he escape, limping on a busted knee with angry guards chasing after?
“Should have just let you run,” Kayla whispered as she began her sprint. “Easy money is never easy.”
The whole while, she had never stopped her counting.
… thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…
She chose not to throw her extra dagger. An errant throw might alert them to her presence, and surprise was the only advantage she had. Her heart pounding in her ears, she angled toward them. If she was right, she’d slam into the pack only ten feet away from Haern.
… forty, forty-one, forty-two…
She cut one across the eyes as he turned toward the sound of her charge. Another screamed and fell back, blood pouring out from underneath his arm. Better than expected, Kayla thought as she tried to twirl away. A hand latched onto her short raven hair. Now it was her turn to scream as she felt her scalp tug painfully, her momentum far too great for her to stop. The guard swore and tossed a handful of hair to the ground.
… fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…
The blinded man staggered back toward the mansion, screaming like a stuck pig the whole time. Two chased after her, slashing the air before her chest and waist with their curved swords. The other man she had stabbed collapsed to the ground, only an occasional moan escaping his pale lips. That left only one to make for Haern.
Their lives depending on it, Kayla hurled a dagger between the two guards chasing her. End over end it twirled, and when it stuck true, Kayla let out an excited cry. The man rushing for Haern collapsed, a blade embedded in his neck.
… sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…
Now able to focus solely on the two guards, she went purely defensive. Her daggers could never compete with the reach of their swords, but they had seen her throw, and that fear was strong enough for her to work with. As she twirled and dropped, she would randomly pump a hand as if to throw. Each time, one of the guards would back away and hunker down, trying to protect his exposed parts with the bulk of his armor. She never let one go, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they stopped falling for such a simple trick.
… seventy, seventy-one…
More shouts came from the house. The first five had only been a quick roundup of the outside guard. They’d expected only a young boy picking a lock. Now that they saw their own dying, the doors were flung open, and a group of at least twenty approached in an impressive collection of swords, armor, and shields.
Kayla laughed, her situation so dire she found it somehow amusing.
“Fuck, seventy-seven, me, seventy-eight, up, seventy-nine, down, eighty…”
Now her opponents stepped back, clearly knowing numbers and time were on their side. They also blocked her way to Haern. Fear clawed at her throat. Accompanying a thief guildmaster’s son into the grounds of Keenan’s estate? She might as well have spit in the Reaper’s face. They would be tortured, killed, and sent as gifts into the underworld in many different-size containers. After five years, the Trifect was desperate for any sort of victory.
… eighty-five, eighty-six…
She heard Haern shout her name. The guards must have seen her own shocked look, and they spared a quick glance. Haern stood before the gates, lock in hand. Men charged after him from the estate, murder on their minds, yet the boy only smiled and hurled the heavy metal contraption toward Kayla’s attackers. When they glanced back, she had already thrown her daggers.
She didn’t wait to see how badly she’d hurt them. At full run she dropped to one leg, sliding between the group, rolling to preserve her momentum coming out on the other side. And then she was on her feet, heart pounding, legs churning. Haern had pushed open the gate for her by the time she arrived. She grabbed his arm as she passed, never slowing. He cried out in pain, but his leg moved as fast as it could go, which was not fast enough.
The guards poured out of the gate, sure to catch them.
For a moment she thought of ditching the boy to save her own skin. In the end she laughed the thought away. They’d made it this far. To run like a coward now just felt pathetic. Besides, she could count at least three tim
es now she’d thought them doomed and they had survived. Why not try for four? Kayla had hoped to lose herself in the crowd, but the crowd gave way instead, wanting no part of the bloody affair. Swearing, Kayla spun to face the guards, determined to die fighting rather than in the torture cells of Laurie Keenan’s mansion.
A small quarrel shot into the nearest guard’s throat. Several others fell back as more crossbow bolts whizzed through the air. Kayla grabbed Haern and pulled him down, cradling his head against her breast as she held him tight. Another volley of bolts tore into the guards. The common folk screamed and fled, even the few who had desired a bit of spectacle. A single errant shot was all it’d take to change their role from spectator to dead participant.
Men wearing tattered green cloaks and wielding crossbows surrounded Kayla and Haern. Several others held long dirks, and grinning feral grins they dared the remaining guards to attack. In their indecision, more crossbow bolts shot at gaps in the guards’ armor. Whoever remained their leader, for a good many were dead, raised his arm and shouted a command. The guards turned tail and fled back to the Keenan mansion.
“Stand up, girl,” one of the green cloaks said to her.
Kayla glanced up to see a bearded ruffian smiling at her. His eyes were green, and covering both cheeks were tattoos of snakes, one red, one emerald. When she tried to pull Haern along, they closed ranks, blocking the way with their dirks.
“We have no business with the Serpents,” she told the man, doing her best to add a hard edge to her voice. It was the voice she used when someone offered to pay far less than her information was worth, or even worse, refused to pay at all.
“The Serpent Guild chooses its business. Now move your ass. We have places to go.”
There were eight of the Serpents, and with their crossbows loaded they searched up and down the street, which was slowly returning to its normal hum of voices and trade. Kayla started to ask where they were to go, but then the bearded man struck her with his fist. Rough hands grabbed her wrists. Another pinned Haern’s arms behind him and pushed him along.
“Hope he’s worth it,” another of the Serpents said.
“Someone both the king and Laurie Keenan wants?” the bearded man said. “He’s worth it.” He turned to his two captives. “Keep your mouths shut and your feet moving, or you’ll find out just how much venom a Serpent can spit.”
Kayla was in no shape to argue. Through the street they marched, the green cloaks encircling and protecting their recent acquisition. They took a winding path through the streets, but the general direction was west. When she realized this, Kayla perked up, her eyes searching the blur of faces they passed. Haern had said his guild’s hideout was in the west. Perhaps, just perhaps, one of those blurs might be reporting their location…
The bearded man led them on an abrupt turn to their left, passing between two vendors selling apples and pears. The Serpents’ crossbows fidgeted in their hands, and their eyes seemed to be more alert. They hurried along, jabbing Kayla harder in the back, one helping Haern due to his obvious limp. She assumed they passed through enemy territory. Whose, she did not know, considering she wasn’t affiliated with any of the guilds. She’d rather sell information in her own quiet way and avoid the death warrant that joining one almost always entailed. No intelligent person could say the Trifect was winning its little war, but it certainly had eliminated a large portion of Veldaren’s underworld. The thieves recruited with promises of wealth and murder, while the wealthy nobles handed over real coin. Kayla knew which one she preferred to accept as payment.
A shrill whistle rang out above them. To either side of the group were giant homes, four stories tall, each one crammed tight with families barely able to scrape together a living. A few of the green cloaks looked up, but saw nothing.
Kayla, however, had much sharper eyes than they, and what she saw was the barest hint of a gray cloak leaping across a building. She felt her heart race, and though it was a gamble, she had to take it. The men looked far too worried. If there was to be a rescue, it’d be now.
“Keep going,” the bearded man said. Kayla let her body slacken, and she acted as if a fainting spell were coming over her.
“What is your—Aw shit, someone grab her,” she heard one of them say. Acting weak wasn’t a tough chore. After a night spent fighting guards, leaping over gates, climbing trees, and running for her life, she was plenty exhausted. Someone grabbed her arms and another her neck, but a clever twist of her body pulled her free. Like a dead fish she flopped to the dirt, biting down hard on her tongue upon landing. When she coughed, blood flecked across her lips.
“Get her up,” the bearded man ordered. “Quick, I said get her up!”
Another whistle from above. Now all the Serpents looked up, and a few saw the gray cloaks. Hands reached underneath her armpits to yank her to her feet. She thought she might resist, but then two sharp whistles stopped them.
“Let her go, Galren,” a voice shouted from down the street. Kayla felt a slight gasp escape her throat. She had heard that voice once before, only once, but that was enough for her to forever remember its hard tone.
“This is no concern of yours,” said the bearded man, apparently Galren.
A man stepped out from an alley, his face hidden by the hood of his cloak.
“It is my concern,” he said. “And you’re a damn fool if you think otherwise. Veldaren is my city, Serpent, mine, and I know more of your guild than you do. Did you think you could kidnap and sell my son without my knowing?”
“Your son?” Galren sounded like he might wet himself.
Kayla contained her shock no better. The boy, the strange boy she’d thought to capture and sell … was Aaron Felhorn, Thren’s son? She felt caught between horror and hysterics. The moment she’d tried to demand a ransom, Thren would have hunted her down and executed her in as brutal a manner as possible. But then again, everything she’d done had kept the boy alive. That would protect her. Galren and his Serpents, however, were dead men. It was that simple.
Thren had come for what was his.
“Yes,” Thren said, approaching with his bare hands hovering just above his short swords. His next words came out almost a whisper. “My son.”
Gray cloaks descended from the rooftops. Arrows shot from windows. Death came upon them swiftly, and only Galren remained standing after the sudden assault, his arms pinned behind him, a waiting present for Thren as he approached. Without a word the guildmaster slashed open the bearded man’s throat, then quickly stepped aside to avoid blood splashing across his clothes. A little stained his hands, but he wiped them clean on a cloth provided by one of his men.
Haern stood and bowed to his father.
“You have much to tell me,” Thren said, motioning for him to stand. He then pointed to Kayla, who had gotten to her knees and lowered her eyes in respect. “But first I must know what her role was in all of this.”
Haern answered without hesitation, and to his father’s surprise he did not whisper.
“She saved my life,” he said. “And not just once, but many times.”
Thren sheathed his sword and offered a hand to Kayla. She took it, her mouth hanging slack.
“I do not know your name, nor who you might have sworn your life to,” he said. “But I offer you a place at my side, so that I might one day repay you for the kindness you have shown my son.”
She thought of the coin rattling inside the perfume jars and how it was a pittance compared to Thren’s wealth. Accepting might mean death, but the position was an incredible honor … as well as potentially lucrative in a way she could only have dreamed of.
“I accept,” she said while bowing. “Humbly, and undeserving, I accept.”
Thren’s hideout was not far, and though she needed rest, and though Thren insisted they talk soon, she had one matter she had to handle first. For years she’d indirectly sold information to Laurie Keenan. Should anyone find out—more important, should Thren find out…
After
grabbing what few things of hers she had at her old rented home in the deep south of the city, Kayla hurried back to the merchant district. She walked by Undry’s perfume shop, opened the door, and then continued without even slowing. Undry collapsed on the counter, scattering bottles of perfume and raising a horrendous stench. Deep in his fat breast lodged a dagger.
When she returned to her room in Thren’s hideaway, she found a yellow rose lying on her pillow. Below it, formed out of twelve stones arranged just so, was the letter H.
CHAPTER
5
It seemed the nights had grown darker and silent over the past years, as the war between the thieves and the Trifect claimed more than its share of innocent casualties. Moonlit revelries had lost their allure, and most kept their drink and their women inside. No one wanted to be mistaken for either a member of the thief guilds or a turntail for the Trifect. Daggers and poison floated through the streets when the sun was set, and only those prepared to deal with them dared walk in the open.
Yoren Kull was competent with a blade, but that was not why he walked with his head held high. It was because of the man who traveled with him, dressed in the black robes and silver sash of a priest of Karak. Officially, their kind was banned from the city. Unofficially, they made sure every king knew of their presence, and of the immediate death that would follow should he try to remove them. Yoren felt quite confident no one would dare harass him with a priest at his side.
“When will we arrive at the temple?” Yoren asked. The priest responded in a soft voice honed by years of practiced control.
Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 5