A Dance of Cloaks

28

W ith the first shattering of glass, Haern flung open the door to see the cause. Armored soldiers stood before the windows, swinging enormous mauls that easily bashed through the glass and layered the carpet with shards. Soldiers flowed in through the unguarded windows. The boy was torn between relief and worry. Relief, because the king’s involvement would certainly prevent his father’s plans from going as they should. Worry, because they’d kill him just as easy as any other member of the thief guilds.

Well, not as easy, he thought with a wry smile. His daggers in hand, he turned right and bolted deeper into the mansion. If there was any hope of escape, he’d try to find it in the back sections. If he was lucky, he might escape through an unwatched window like he had fleeing Robert Haern’s home.

Haern was too fast for the initial wave in the hallway to catch him, but as he burst through the door at the end he found himself in the middle of an armory. Three soldiers approached, their shields leading. Haern rolled to one side, lashing underneath the shield at the closest soldier’s ankle. His dagger struck armor and clinked off, doing no damage. When his roll ended, he kicked hard, leaping into the very center of the three. They turned on him, but their shields were large and the room small. Haern twirled like a dancer, his daggers punching through creases in armor. He jumped, kicked off a shield, and slammed into the chest of another. As they rolled to the ground Haern’s dagger cut into the man’s neck once, twice, three times. Blood splattered across his mask.

The other two soldiers, their arms and legs bleeding from several deep cuts, tried to stab Haern as he lay there. Their blades struck air. Haern rolled off and onto his knees, then kicked back. He slid between the remaining two, and this time his daggers found the open spots just above their greaves. To make sure they stayed down, he twisted the daggers when he pulled them out. One dead and two others crumpled to the ground, Haern ran out of the armory and into the corridor between.

A man dressed in the garb of the Serpent Guild nearly collided with him. His curved daggers dripped blood.

“Who the fuck are you?” the man had time to ask before Haern lunged. The Serpent was far more skilled than Haern expected. One curved blade parried his attack, the other slipping downward so that Haern would impale himself from his lunge. Twisting his body, Haern angled his knee so that when they struck, he could rebound off and away before getting harmed. When he landed beside the armory door, he had no doubt whom he fought.

“You’re Norris,” he said.

The guildmaster of the Serpents spat.

“You must be Thren’s boy. I’d heard you were getting soft. Did he send you after me, or is this your own stupid ploy?”

“Mine,” Haern said, slowly leaning forward so his cloak would hide his daggers. He swayed side to side, as if in mockery of a dancing viper. Norris saw this and smirked.

“Think you can cloak dance, boy?” He started swaying as well, his weapons well hidden. “Come try me.”

Norris swirled, his cloaks whipping out in chaotic fashion. Haern watched, fascinated. The guildmaster spun faster, faster, his cloak a blur, his hands hidden shadows of death. Waiting. Haern felt like prey mesmerized by the dance of the cobra. Deadly or not, he had to act. He stepped forward, then immediately pulled back, a curved dagger slicing just above his head.

Time was not on either of their sides, and both knew it. Haern stepped back, crouched low, and then lunged left. He hit the wall and then vaulted into the air, his legs flipping high over his head. His daggers thrust downward at the whirl of cloaks, but Norris was not fooled. He batted both aside, pulled out of his dance, and thrust where Haern landed.

Except he didn’t land. The corridor was thin enough that Haern’s feet pressed flat on the opposite side. The rest of his momentum pushed his knees down, and then he kicked. His shoulder rammed Norris in the stomach. One dagger stabbed his chest. The other tore into his groin. Norris collapsed, blood pouring out on his green trousers.

“Always wondered if I could take Thren,” he said, his voice labored and in pain. “Can’t even kill his damn kid.”

Haern stepped close, kicked a dagger out of Norris’s hand, and then looped around to do the same to the other.

“My knife or the guards?” he asked.

“A thief to a thief,” Norris said, coughing blood.

Haern saluted, then flipped the dagger in his hand and stabbed. Senke entered as he was cleaning off the blade on his cloak.

“There you are!” he shouted. “Seems like the whole damn army is here!” He stopped when he saw the body and realized who it was.

“You killed Norris?” he asked. “Damn. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on me during our spars.”

“How do we get out of here?” asked Haern.

“Follow me,” Senke said. “Going won’t be easy. The mansion has a large attic, and from there we can get to the roof.”

He smacked Haern on the shoulder.

“No matter what, I’m proud of you,” he said.

The two hurried to the end of the corridor and kicked open the door. They were within another dining hall, though smaller and most likely intended for mercenaries and servants. On the far end, smoke billowed into the room from underneath the crack of the door. Senke saw this and swore up a storm.

“They’ve set off the fires?” he wondered aloud. “Some of the Serpents must have panicked! We need out, now!”

He pressed his hood over his mouth, then winked at Haern when he saw the boy’s mask.

“Almost like you came prepared,” he said, chuckling.

Two Serpents came running out the door when they neared. Haern cut down one, Senke the other. Smoke poured in the open door, and down the hallway both saw the fires rapidly spreading.

“We can’t make it,” Haern shouted. Senke knelt and pointed so they could see underneath the smoke.

“You see where the hallway turns?” he asked. “Immediately on your left is a door. It leads up to the attic, and from there we can find a way to safety.”

He wiped sweat from his brow as he looked to the fires.

“Relative safety,” he corrected.

“Let me go first,” Haern said. “I’m faster. If the door is blocked by flame, I’ll come running.”

Senke started to object, but Haern was already dashing down the hall.

The smoke gathered along the ceiling in giant rolling clouds. Each doorway he passed the fires roared, flicking the outside of their doors, looking like tongues eager to taste more of the building. His eyes stung looking at them. The hallway was unbelievably hot. He wrapped his cloak over his mouth, his mask doing little to keep out the foul air. Cough after cough racked his body. Soon he lost his vision as his eyes watered.

Haern couldn’t believe the heat. It didn’t seem to matter that he touched no fire. The floor warmed his feet. The air sucked at the moisture of his skin, and he felt like a pastry stuck in an oven. He remembered his training, clutched it with all his mind, and forced himself to keep running. Air didn’t matter. The heat didn’t matter. One foot after the other.

His outstretched hand pressed against the wall. Feeling a bit of hope, he turned and kept his hand near, occasionally brushing it with his fingertips. When he touched a door, he felt like shouting for joy. His fingers found the doorknob, and yet again he wanted to cheer. The doorknob was cool. He flung it open and dashed up the stairs, wishing he could somehow alert Senke to follow. Smoke followed him up, and wishing there was another way, he slammed the door shut behind him.

The attic was dim, but the few windows let in enough light for him to see. Most were small, but near the back he saw a giant round circle of glass that seemed most inviting. Haern could almost imagine the cool air rushing on the outside of it, and he wanted to dive in as if it were water. Piles of discarded armor, old relics of family generations long past, filled the room. Haern weaved about them, all the while wondering when Senke would arrive.

He was halfway to the window when it shattered. A slender woman flew through the shards, landing with a roll along the floor. Haern stared, vaguely recognizing her. She wore the colors of the Ash Guild, but he couldn’t place her. She looked about, still struggling to adjust to the darkness. He thought to hide from her, but then he saw her face, her mutilated eye, and knew her name.

“Veliana?” he asked, remembering standing at his father’s side as they tried to force her to overthrow her guildmaster and take control.

At the sound of her name, the woman spun, her dagger already drawn.

“You sound too young to be one of the thieves,” Veliana said. “What is your name, child?”

“Haern,” he answered. He took a step toward her, still trying to decide if she were dangerous or not. With everyone trying to flee the mansion, it seemed odd someone would actually try to break in.

Veliana looked a bit disappointed, but then she spotted him standing behind a large crate of wrapped wool. Her whole body tensed. Her mouth curled into a sneer.

“Liar,” she said. “You’re Thren’s child. You think I’d forget a single shred of that moment?”

Haern shook his head.

“Aaron is dead. Leave me be. His sins are mine no more.”

Veliana laughed.

“The world doesn’t work that way. Your father’s killed everyone I’ve ever cared for. Turn back and die in the fire, or draw your dagger and fight me.”

Haern glanced back to the stairs. Smoke had begun pouring thick through its edges and underneath. Already the heat seeped through the wood floor. Still no sign of Senke, and Haern tried not to think of what had befallen him.

“Don’t do this,” Haern whispered. The roar of flame, the screams of battle, and Veliana’s own angry shout as she lunged drowned out his words. Her dagger thrust straight for his neck. Haern batted it aside with his own, then swept his right foot around in an arc. She leapt over it, her knee ramming forward. His head snapped backward as the knee collided with his face. Blood splattered the inside of his mask.

Staggering, his head still swimming from the smoke and heat, Haern went fully defensive. Veliana’s dagger slashed and cut, and despite any openings he might have seen, he refused to try for them. He parried and spun, slowly weaving his way about the great piles of junk. The air grew murky and gray from the smoke, much of it starting to pour out the broken window.

“Leave me be!” he shouted as he crossed his daggers and blocked a vicious downward chop. His elbows shook at the impact, and momentarily distracted by the closeness of her face and the hideousness of her eye, Veliana successfully tripped him with a kick. As he fell he rolled, avoiding her downstrike. He turned and darted throughout the attic, frantically dashing for the window.

Veliana raced him back, her dagger still eager for blood. She reached the window first, but not in enough time to prepare correctly. Haern leapt, slamming his shoulder into hers. As she was pushed back, his daggers curled around her sides, slicing into flesh. Blood spilled down from her ribs, across her tunic and pants. Screaming in pain, Veliana whirled. When Haern ducked her high kick, he found a dagger waiting for him low. He twisted, but not fast enough. The dagger slashed across his shoulder, tearing open a huge gash in his shirt. Blood poured down his arm, the pain terrible, but Haern never let it slow him. His opponent had just scored her first true hit. That was when she was most vulnerable, her confidence soaring with the minor victory.

His foot whirled about him, his left arm flinging his cloak upward to hide his movements. Veliana lost her balance and fell to one knee, letting out a small cry from the harsh landing. Haern’s cloak whipped her face, and when she pushed back to see, Haern was there, his fist leading. He punched her throat with all his strength.

Gasping for air, she fell back, holding her dagger out in a meager defense. Haern cut her knuckles to weaken her grip, then slapped the dagger away. Veliana glared with her one good eye as she coughed.

“Aaron is dead,” he told her, breathing heavily as his daggers shook in his hands, one of its tips aimed straight for her throat. “Why can’t you see that?”

“You’re him,” Veliana said with a cracking voice. “You can’t hide. You’re just a coward.”

Haern shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re wrong.”

He rammed the butt of his dagger against the top of her skull, knocking her out cold. As she slumped to the ground, Haern stuck his head out the window to take a look. A massive crowd gathered about, a mixture of guards, onlookers, and desperate neighbors organizing bucket brigades to ensure the mansion’s fire didn’t spread. In that chaos, he could certainly slip away.

Behind him he heard Veliana moan softly. Haern sighed. At the side of his father, he’d left her for dead. He couldn’t do so again, not while claiming to be a better person. The fire was already crawling its way up the stairs, its smoke billowing. He had five minutes, maybe ten.

Knowing her cloak and colors would doom her, Haern stripped her down to her undergarments. He searched the crates, holding his cloak over his mouth as he did. Once he found a blanket of sufficient length he dragged it over to Veliana and tied one corner to her wrists. The other half he wrapped around his arm and prayed for the best. If Veliana was lucky, she’d survive the fall, and those who found her would assume her a frantic house servant fleeing the fire after hiding in the attic. If not, well…

He almost left her for the calm, quiet death to the smoke. Almost.

“We’re even,” he whispered as he pushed her body out the window. He braced his feet against the wall and held on with all his might. The cloth pulled tight, and he let a bit of it unspool before clamping down again. He nearly went flying out with her, he so badly underestimated the pull. About halfway down she stopped, and he hoped that was close enough. He let go of the cloth, then counted to three before looking.

A couple of onlookers were gathered around her. It appeared someone had caught her. He couldn’t hear their voices from so far, but he saw them pointing to her face, and one man beside her shook his head, his face a mixture of anger and pity. Haern sighed. The wounds, blood on her wrists, and tattered clothing told them a story they expected from such a wreckage. Now for his own safety. Haern kicked out a last few shards of glass, stood on the edge of the window, and pulled himself up to the roof.

From there he leapt a nearby tree, slid down, and vanished in the mob.

H e’d thought it’d be harder to locate a member of the Spider Guild, but it ended up rather insultingly easy. Torgar caught sight of a gray cloak while riding east through the city. The man was clearly in a hurry, so much so that he wasn’t taking any precautions to avoid being followed. Torgar laughed as he rode after him down the narrow alley. The Spider turned at the sound of hoof steps, but far too late. Torgar leapt off, cracking him atop the head with his fists. The rogue crumpled like an unhooked straw man.

Torgar dragged him further out of view from the main road, then pushed him against a wall. He pinched the man’s nose shut and then slapped him a few times until he lurched awake.

“Hush now,” Torgar said, putting a hand over the man’s mouth and then using it to shove him hard against the wall. “I don’t want to start cutting pieces off you already.”

The Spider paled a little and nodded. Torgar chuckled.

“Good,” he said, drawing his sword and resting it across his knees. “You just remember I got this, alright, and things will go well for everyone involved.”

“What do you want from me?” the man asked as Torgar removed his hand.

“Your name, first off,” Torgar said.

“Tobias.”

“Well, Tobias,” Torgar said, “now that I know your name, how about I get to know a few more things? For starters, where you were rushing off to in such a big hurry?”

Tobias shut his mouth and purposefully looked away. Torgar rolled his eyes. He struck the Spider with his fist, grabbed his arm, and then buried his sword through the palm of Tobias’s hand. As Tobias screamed, Torgar shoved his hand over his mouth and slammed his head back.

“Listen closely, dumbass,” Torgar said. “You ever heard of the Blood Riders? They’re stationed out of Ker, carry quite a reputation in the west?”

Tobias’s eyes widened at the mention of their name.

“Oh good, you have heard of them,” Torgar said. “You know what their favorite method of torture is? They take four of their horses, one for each arm and leg, and then tie a rope securing you from saddle to wrist or ankle. After that, it’s off to the races. You should see how much blood can splatter into the air when those ropes pull tight.”

Torgar shoved his face into Tobias’s and then grinned.

“I used to be a Blood Rider, you goathumper. See my horse over there? I may have only one, but you’d be surprised what I can do with a little bit of rope.”

Cold sweat covered Tobias’s body. Torgar ground his sword around a little, then pulled it out. Then he removed his hand and asked his question again. This time he got an answer.

“Soldiers attacked us at Connington’s,” Tobias said. “I was outside the complex when they came. I hoped to find Thren and warn him.”

Torgar glanced east where a giant plume of smoke stretched to the night sky.

“I think he might already know,” Torgar said. “Let’s try for something that I wouldn’t find out on my own in the next five minutes. Your guildmaster has someone special, very special. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

Tobias’s look showed he clearly did.

“Don’t ask,” the Spider said. “Please, don’t ask. Thren will kill me if I tell.”

“I’ll kill you twice as bad,” Torgar growled.

Tobias actually laughed.

“You think you’re more frightening than Thren?” he asked. “Go ahead. Use your damn horse. I won’t tell.”

Torgar sighed. He’d thought for a moment he’d avoided torture. Oh well. At least it was something he was good at.

All it took was ten minutes. He left Tobias holding his intestines in his hands.

“You’re right, Thren may kill you,” Torgar said as he mounted his horse. “But you really should have talked.”

He rode back to the main street and then hurried east, the clomp of his horse’s feet on the dirt a soothing pattern. The directions were simple, the safehouse plain and poorly guarded. From what Tobias had told him, Thren didn’t have any men to spare on his glorious night. Torgar snorted. Well, he’d play his part in tarnishing that old bastard’s glory. So far the smoke seemed focused on Connington’s. Hopefully his own master’s place had survived intact.

The house appeared the same as any other, with a small door in the front center, no windows, and a slanted roof of wood and clay. Torgar rode a few more houses down, dismounted, and then tied his horse’s reins to the handle of a door. The mercenary captain drew his sword, kissed the blade, and ran. He slammed into the door at full speed, throwing his shoulder into it. The wood cracked and splintered.

“Shit!” Torgar heard a man shout from within. Knowing he had little time, he flung his weight against it again. The door burst open, revealing two men of the Spider Guild standing with their daggers drawn. Madelyn lay slumped in the corner, unmoving. Another woman lay beside her. Torgar desperately hoped neither were dead. He had no intention of falling on his sword, but by the gods, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days fleeing from Laurie Keenan, either.

“Come on, then!” Torgar roared, swinging his sword in a wildly exaggerated arc. “Let’s have a fight, eh?”

One of the Spiders fell for the bait, lunging inward when Torgar should have been vulnerable. Instead a meaty fist crushed his face, his movement anticipated. When he collapsed, the longsword pierced through his shoulder and tore free, severing bone and spilling his blood across the floor. The remaining man glanced at Madelyn, clearing thinking to use her as a hostage. Torgar never gave him the time. He rushed the thief, not at all afraid of his small dagger. He had range, skill, and sheer brute strength.

Accepting a stab to the shoulder, Torgar returned the favor. His sword punched through the Spider’s chest and out his back, pinning him to the wall. The mercenary captain grabbed the man’s head with his hands, headbutted him, and then twisted violently. When he yanked his sword free, the man fell to the ground dead.

“Gyah,” Torgar said, yanking the dagger out of his shoulder and examining it. The side was serrated, and sure enough, he’d felt it. “Mean little prick,” he said, tossing the dagger back atop the body. Taking in a deep breath, he turned and lifted Madelyn’s body.

She was breathing.

“Must be my lucky night,” Torgar said. He stole a long kiss from Madelyn, then exited the home. He untied his reins, slung Madelyn over his shoulders, and then mounted his horse. Sighing, he dismounted and retrieved the other unconscious lady. She looked highborn, so he figured Laurie could puzzle out who she was. No matter what, Torgar felt confident he was ruining Thren’s plans, and that alone made it worthwhile. The stranger on his shoulder, and Madelyn curled in his lap like a child, Torgar snapped the reins and rode back toward Keenan’s wagons, hoping to catch up before they gained too much distance between them and Veldaren.

“Happy fucking Kensgold, Thren,” Torgar said as he rode out the city gates and into the night air.

“Hope you had as much fun tonight as I have.”