Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

by David Dalglish

  Gerand glanced between the two blades.

  “My rapier,” he said.

  “A good choice,” said Thren before stabbing Gerand in the chest with it. He made sure to hit nothing vital, just the meat near the shoulder. Gerand choked down his pain as blood spilled across the violet of his robes.

  “People will always fear me over you,” said Thren. “That is why I am more powerful than you, more powerful than the Trifect, more powerful than even the king. I will not have you interfering in my affairs. You play games, I deal in blood, and my son is not one of your pieces!”

  Son! thought Gerand. He’s here because of his son? Not his plan for the Kensgold?

  The blood drained from Gerand’s face. Suddenly there were multiple reasons for Thren to kill him. He hoped the torture would not last long.

  “He looks like he’s going to pass out,” Kayla said.

  Thren twisted the rapier, flaring pain in all directions throughout Gerand’s body.

  “I should kill you,” Thren said. “But I won’t. You are too useful to me where you are. I want the Trifect humiliated. You are in a position to do that for me, Gerand. Your word is the king’s word in all stately matters. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Gerand nodded.

  “I understand,” he said. “I hold no allegiance to the Trifect. I can do as you ask.”

  Thren chuckled.

  “You can, but will you? Once I’m gone, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “Hostages work wonders,” said Kayla, right on cue.

  They both paused so Gerand could understand the meaning of their words. The advisor looked back and forth between them, the whole while his heart sinking.

  “You have Martha,” he said.

  “So he can think after all,” said Kayla.

  “I have not taken her yet,” Thren said as he pulled the rapier out of Gerand’s chest. He acted as if he were about to sheath it, then instead pushed its bloodied tip against Gerand’s throat.

  “But I know where you hid her. I’ll have eyes on her every day until the Kensgold ends. You try anything, to sneak her out, or bring extra guards, and I’ll make you suffer. You do as I say, or I’ll make sure every member of my guild has a turn with her. Doesn’t matter how hard you try to hide her, or protect her. In time she will be ours. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Perfectly clear,” Gerand said in a voice suddenly grown raspy and weak.

  “Your orders are simple,” Kayla said as Thren backed off and tossed the rapier atop the bed. “The flood of mercenaries for the Kensgold should be arriving any day now, if they haven’t already. Among them will be massive caravans of wine, food, and dancers. Tax them all. Heavily.”

  “But the Trifect will be…”

  Gerand stopped, realizing how stupid his complaint was. Kayla caught it and laughed.

  “That’s the point,” she said. “Everyone they hire will demand more to compensate for the tax. Next, you will pass a law forbidding more than fifty mercenaries to be gathered together in any one area, event, or function.”

  “Call it an attempt to secure peace,” Thren chipped in.

  “Make it clear you’ll fine the mercenaries themselves,” Kayla said. “Keep them worried about their pockets.”

  “I will do what I can,” Gerand insisted. “Though it won’t be easy.”

  “Third,” said Kayla, “and most importantly, the Trifect has hundreds of merchants in their employ that have not paid their taxes. That money is instead going to the mercenaries, and for years you have turned a blind eye. That stops.”

  “I’ll collect from them what I can,” Gerand said.

  Thren shook his head.

  “I don’t want them taxed. I want them arrested.”

  “Arrested? What for?” When Thren reached for the rapier again, Gerand paled. “Very well. Tax evasion is a serious crime. Most will plead out and pay their fines within a day or two. Will that suffice?”

  “That’ll do,” said Kayla. “When the Kensgold ends, we’ll leave her be.”

  “I’ll even give my word to never again threaten harm to her,” Thren said. “But only if you cooperate. Is that clear?”

  It was.

  Kayla slid open his door and looked out. When she saw no guards, she pulled her gray hood over her head and beckoned for Thren. Just before the guildmaster left, he knelt close and whispered into Gerand’s ear.

  “I won’t kill you. I’ll chain you to the wall in a cell, your wife’s body in front of you. Once I cut off your eyelids, you’ll watch her rot until she’s nothing but bones. Pass the laws, and make sure you enforce them.”

  Kayla dashed out the door, and Thren followed.

  CHAPTER

  20

  Once Gran calmed down she finally offered to listen to what the young thief had to say. Of course, that was only after her attempt to beat him with a pan had failed, and he’d knocked her into a chair.

  “Please listen,” he said once she quit shouting for help. Delysia stood at her side, stroking her hand and doing her best to reassure her.

  “You stole into my house, killed a man, hid from the guards, and then expect me to sit still and listen?” Gran asked. “Even for a young pup, you’re a fool.”

  “Gran,” whined Delysia.

  “Oh all right. What is it, boy?”

  “His name is Haern,” Delysia said.

  “Fine. Haern.” Gran spat the word out as if it were a curse. “What do you have to say?”

  “Delysia is not safe in the city,” Haern said. He leaned against the pantry door. Pieces of dry leaves stuck to his outfit from when he had brushed a hanging tomato plant in the dark. He held one of the two candles Delysia had lit; Gran held the other.

  “No one’s safe in the city anymore. Why is Delysia any different?”

  “Thren Felhorn of the Spider Guild ordered her father dead,” Haern said. He kept his eyes on Gran, as if ashamed to look at the girl but too proud to stare at the floor. “I was there when it happened.”

  “You mean you were to take part,” Gran said. “I’m not daft. Look at the colors you’re wearing: thief guild colors. What were you, a spotter? Were you to watch for the guards, or just loot her poor father’s corpse after everyone was gone?”

  Haern slammed a fist against the pantry door. The motion knocked one of the leaves free from his sleeve, and Delysia watched it fall to the floor.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Haern said. “The man I killed was sent to finish the job. With him dead, Thren will send another, and another, until the job is finished. He doesn’t leave things undone. Delysia needs to get out, as fast and secretly as possible.”

  “I think he’s right, Gran,” said Delysia.

  “Of course you do,” Gran said dismissively. “You’re a young girl ready to believe any story a boy tells you. What if he’s wrong, and Thren had nothing to do with your father’s death?”

  “You know damn well the Spider Guild is responsible,” Haern said.

  “You watch your tongue with me, boy, or I’ll wash it out with lye!” snapped Gran.

  To both their surprise, Haern shifted from foot to foot and lowered his head.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Well, at least you have some manners,” said Gran. “Though I’m worried that you’re right. That horrible murder in the street was bad enough; having a thief break in is just as bad. I may be old, but I’ve kept enough wits to know that wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “Where can we go?” asked Delysia. She looked close to tears. Given how horrible her day had been, Gran couldn’t blame her.

  “There’s no we in this, child,” the old woman said. “As much as it pains me to say it, we have to put you where not even the sneakiest of thieves can get you. Your father was well respected by the priests of Ashhur. I’m sure if I asked, they would accept you into their care. Once inside their white walls, you’ll be dead to the world for as long as you’re there.”

  Delysia sniffed.
<
br />   “But what about Tarlak? Will I ever see him again?”

  Gran pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I’m sure you will. Your brother’s off safe with that wizard teacher of his. Now we need to make sure you stay safe, otherwise he might find me and turn me into a mudskipper for letting something happen to his dear little sister.”

  “I don’t want to leave you,” she said. Gran gently shook her head.

  “I don’t want to leave you either, but I’ve already lost my son. I couldn’t bear to see Dezrel lose you as well. I’m old, and you’ve got no mother to watch after you. The priests and priestesses will give you a good home. I promise.”

  Delysia returned the kiss, then turned. There was no one there, just a half-closed pantry door. Haern was gone.

  “An odd boy,” Gran said. “I hope he keeps his mouth shut about where you’re going.”

  “I trust him,” Delysia insisted.

  “Trust him? Hah.” Gran laughed until she coughed. “You probably love him too. Dashing, mysterious boy in a mask. Every damsel wants one of them to come sneaking in through their bedchamber window.”

  Delysia scrunched her face and poked Gran in the side. When Gran poked back, they both broke into laughs.

  “It’s good to see you smile,” Gran said. “I’ll have that one last laugh to keep with me for the end of my days. Now go pack up your things. Not much, now, just what you can carry. I dare not wait a minute longer before bringing you to the temple.”

  Gran watched her hurry back into their bedroom. Gran’s face became a sorrowful mask, her lip quivering and her eyes wet. When Delysia returned, her arms full of dresses, Gran smiled away her tears, hid them with a laugh, and then led her granddaughter out the door and away.

  Pelarak was furious. For two days he had waited for Zusa and her faceless to return with Alyssa, and for two days he had not heard a word. He hurried through his morning sermon. He never lost his place or misquoted a scripture, but his mind was elsewhere and his faithful knew it. Anger crept into his words, and his call for penance and the destruction of chaos was particularly moving. Afterward he knelt before the great statue of Karak, letting the purple light bathe him.

  “Something troubles you,” said a man as he joined him on his knees.

  “The world is a troublesome place,” said Pelarak. He opened his eyes, and then smiled when he realized who was with him.

  “Ethric, so good to see you!” Pelarak stood and hugged the man. “Your arrival here is so well-timed Karak himself must have had a hand in it.”

  Ethric smiled. He was a tall man, and the only reason Pelarak could throw his arms around his shoulders was that Ethric had remained on his knees. He still wore his dark black plate mail, having arrived so recently he’d had no time to remove it. A two-handed blade hung from a sheath on his back. He was completely shaven. Across his bald head and face were a myriad of tattoos dyed in a dark purple ink. They looped and curled in an ill pattern.

  “Your priests make their way to Ker less and less,” said Ethric. His voice was rich and pleasant to the ear. “Carden hurried me off to see how things were going. The troubles between the Trifect and the guilds have lasted so long we’ve heard of it all the way across the rivers.”

  “Come,” Pelarak said. “Are you hungry? Join me in a meal.”

  Deep in the recesses of the temple was a rectangular room bare of decorations. A long table stretched along the center with wooden stools for seats. A mere look from Pelarak sent the staff running, young priests still in training in their devotion to Karak.

  “It is hard remembering you were such as these boys,” Pelarak said. “I’ve seen so many grow up and take their armor or their robes. Many aspire to greatness, but so few reach it.”

  “I wonder which I will be,” said Ethric as he sat opposite him at the table.

  “A dark paladin every pup of Ashhur learns to fear, if Karak is kind,” Pelarak said.

  Children surrounded them, carrying bowls, spoons, and a large pot of soup. Once they were served, both bowed their heads and prayed silently for near a minute. Ethric dug in afterward with a healthy appetite, while Pelarak only sipped occasionally.

  “I must confess, I come here with reasons beyond your warm words and food,” Ethric said when his bowl was half finished. “Though Karak knows I needed both. Haven’t had a solid meal since the Stronghold, and that feels like a thousand miles away after so many months of travel.”

  “Did you encounter any trouble on the road?”

  “A foolish brat thought he could slay me to earn admittance to the Citadel.” Ethric chuckled. “I’d hardly call that trouble, though. More of a nuisance. I was almost to Kinamn, where the pathway winds through all those rocky hills. Imbecile was hiding among the rocks shooting arrows whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. I’m sure he planned a more heroic tale for when he brought my head to the Citadel doors.”

  “At least he had more fight in him than Ashhur’s paladins have had as of late,” Pelarak said, dropping his spoon. “Though I fear we have too much of that fight in our own ranks here in Veldaren.”

  “Which is why I am here,” insisted Ethric. “You told Carden you were troubled. Tell me what it is so I may scorch it with fire and cut it with blade.”

  “Do you know of the faceless?” asked Pelarak.

  Ethric furrowed his brow as he thought.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve not heard of them.”

  “Come,” Pelarak said as he stood. “Let me show you.”

  He led him into the deep recesses of the temple, down a flight of stairs, and into a large but cramped storage room. Crates were piled this way and that, huddled against the walls or the many pillars that supported the ceiling. Pelarak lifted his hand. Purple fire surrounded his fingers, giving them light.

  “About two hundred years ago the priests of Ashhur succeeded in a massive conversion of our brethren. It was then that our presence in Veldaren weakened, and our kind were banished from the city. We fought them bitterly, as you can imagine, and with heavy hearts. A score of priests repented, sneaking away from Ashhur’s temple and throwing themselves at our temple doors in Kinamn.”

  The whole time he talked, Pelarak led them through the maze of old armor, racks of swords, crates of cloth, and jars upon jars of food. He stopped, scratched his chin as he thought, then turned toward a stack of paintings propped against each other. Each of them was rectangular, the length of a man lying on his side.

  “We tested their faith,” Pelarak said as he looked through the paintings. Even though his hand swirled with purple fire, it did not burn the material. “Those that lived were admitted into the priesthood, but not entirely. The high priest at the time was a brilliant man named Theron Gemcroft.”

  “I know of him,” Ethric said, watching the elaborately framed paintings flip forward one after another. He saw mostly portraits of former high priests, though among them were scenes of warfare, battles between angels of Karak and Ashhur, and even serene depictions of nature. “Forfeited his fortune to devote his life to Karak? Carden was particularly fond of his sayings, and used them often in his sermons.”

  “How is that old goat?” Pelarak asked.

  “Hard as nails and brutal as a mailed fist,” Ethric said with a small smile. “What are we looking for, my priest?”

  “This,” Pelarak said as he lifted up one of the paintings. Ethric grabbed a corner to help. Together they held the picture and stared. It showed seven men and women, their bodies wrapped in black cloth. Only their eyes were visible through cuts in the wrapping. They held daggers, staves, and swords in hands hidden by waves of shadow that rolled off their bodies like smoke from a fire. At their feet lay over twenty dead paladins of Ashhur.

  “Well painted, if a bit overdramatic,” Ethric said.

  “They are the faceless,” Pelarak said, his eyes going distant. “Theron knew that to welcome the traitors back without penalty could weaken us. He also knew that their devotion could be of great use, but only if the t
raitor-priests were forever reminded of their failure. So he wrapped them in cloth and ordered them to never reveal their skin until the end of their days. They slept separate from the rest, dined away from the rest, and eventually attended their own sermons.”

  “This is fascinating, Pelarak, but I’d swear you had a point. I’d love to be patient, but it is too damn cold down here, and the warmth of your soup is wearing thin.”

  Pelarak laughed, but his voice lacked any mirth.

  “My point is that we do not actively recruit faceless. They are a punishment, not an honor. We have only three now, women who let their sex control their actions. Their faith in Karak, however, remained strong. So we put them separate from us, let them live and operate outside the temple. For years they remained obedient, performing tasks to further the cause of Karak. But now…”

  “They’ve done something,” Ethric said, figuring where the story was going. He looked at the seven in the painting, their bodies bathed in blood and darkness. “They’ve gone feral, haven’t they?”

  “Putting our entire temple in danger,” Pelarak said as he clutched the painting with his burning hand. “This spat between the Trifect and the thieves benefits no one, certainly not us. We gain nothing siding with either, and only risk revealing ourselves to the public at large. This cannot happen. Yet they have acted out on their own, struck against a lord of the Trifect, all while telling me lies and half-truths. Now one comes to me, seeking to increase their number, as if it were a privilege to be a faceless. Too many times I have given them orders, only to watch them be disregarded entirely.”

  “You want them killed,” Ethric said. It was not a question.

  “I do,” Pelarak said. The fire on his hand changed from purple to red. The painting began to burn. “I want their bodies sacrificed before the statue of Karak. Their very order is one of shame and disobedience, and now they have gone too far to be useful any longer. What good is a servant that will not obey? These three faceless sisters have a captive by the name of Alyssa Gemcroft. She was supposed to be brought here, to be placed under our watch, but instead Zusa and her sisters have kept her hidden. Find the faceless women and kill them. Alyssa must remain alive. All our plans mean nothing otherwise.”