A Dance of Cloaks

6

R obert Haern remembered his comment to Thren Felhorn about the cruelty of King Vaelor’s prisons, and his dry, bleeding lips cracked a smile. How prophetic those words seemed now. His arms were chained above his head, each shoulder pulled out of socket. The tips of his toes brushed the ground. Every morning, a guard came in and raised him higher, so that with the stretching of his skin and the greater pull on his dislocated joints, he still brushed the ground with his toes.

He’d come to fantasize about those toes. He wanted to feel the weight of his body on them, to flex and curl them in grass while his back lay comfortably supported on solid ground. Robert sipped soup from a spoon at midday, which was held by a small boy who went from cell to cell carrying a little wooden stool.

What madman lets such a young child work in this pit? he had wondered the first time the door opened and the dirty-haired boy stepped in. Now he didn’t wonder. Instead he tilted his head back, opened his lips, and waited for the soothing liquid.

Dreams came and went. They did so easily enough with old men, and the droning boredom only increased their vividness and frequency. There were times he thought he stood at the bedside of the king, telling humorous stories to scare away the nightmares that pierced his mind. Other times he was with his wife, Darla, who had passed away of dysentery a decade ago. She hovered before him with startling brightness, looking as she did when they first met. Light streamed through her blonde hair, and when she touched his face he pushed against it, only to have soup spill across his cheek.

“Stop it and hold still,” the boy told him, the only time he’d spoken.

Robert drank the soup while tears trickled down the sides of his wrinkled face.

Now it was night, although he only knew because of the changing shift of the guards. The bars were thick around him, and there were no windows. He marked the days by the tasting of his soup, and by his estimate, it had only been four.

“Four,” he muttered, hoping he wouldn’t cry again. He was tired of crying. “Only four.”

He remembered men Edwin had sentenced for ten, twenty, even thirty years. Often the punishments had little to do with the crime, and more to do with the look of the man and his ability to grovel convincingly. Robert wondered what his own punishment might be. No matter how much he hoped, he knew his imprisonment was until death. He was old; it wouldn’t be long.

The bars rattled, and he heard a soft bang on the door. His head tilted backward almost instinctively. Part of his mind thought it was too early for soup, but perhaps he had dreamed, or maybe he was just too hungry and thirsty to care about the time of day.

Arms wrapped around his waist. When he opened his mouth to scream, a hand rammed over it to stifle the noise.

“Silence, old man,” a deep voice rumbled in his ear. Robert opened his eyes to look, but they were full of tears. Through blurred vision he saw three strangers, cloaked and almost invisible in the darkness.

“This will hurt,” said another voice, this one feminine. Then fire erupted through every joint in his body. His shoulders felt like the center of the inferno. He might have screamed again, but if he did, he wasn’t aware. All he knew was that the giant hand across his mouth pressed tighter. The chains rattled above his head. He heard a click. A sudden lurch followed, and though his whole body flushed with pain, he felt a wonderful, delirious satisfaction in the sudden feel of his weight resting no longer on his dislocated arms but instead the chest of another.

“We don’t have much time,” said a new voice, male and not as deep as the first. “We need to go, and quick.”

“We’ve killed too many,” said the deep voice. “Thren will not be pleased.”

“As long as we’ve got Robert, he’ll keep his displeasure in check. Now hurry!”

The ache in Robert’s shoulders had begun to fade, and a dim part of his mind was aware that they were no longer dislocated. That knowledge was little comfort when he felt himself thrown over the shoulder of what must have been a giant man. The sudden movement churned his stomach, and he vomited all over the man’s back.

“Lovely,” he heard his rescuer say.

Robert clamped his teeth tight as his body bounced up and down with each hurried step. Someone was rescuing him, so screaming was bad, screaming was dangerous. Silence was golden. His muscles were aflame, his joints throbbed, but the only sound he made was a soft, quiet sob.

To take his mind off the pain, he tried to visualize the prison in his mind. He had been there plenty of times, usually accompanying Edwin on some morbid jaunt past all the cells. He was always mistrustful of his commands being carried out, so seeing men he had pronounced worthy of punishment actually being punished always put a smile on his face. Those trips had given Robert ample opportunity to memorize the layout.

From what he remembered, he was on the third floor. Below were two more floors, where the punishment was far more active and brutal. To get out, they’d need to pass upward two floors to the entrance. Each stairway was locked and guarded. But if he was being rescued, perhaps they had killed the guards, or rendered them…

He moaned as the man carrying him skidded to an abrupt halt. The woman cursed. When Robert opened his eyes, his awkward position disorientated his vision, and he closed them to prevent another wave of vomit. The smell of it was still strong from the first time, although compared to the stench of his cell, he figured he could endure it. Sounds of steel and drawn weapons met his ears.

“Who?” he asked. His voice seemed meek compared to the rest of the sounds around him. “Who sent you?”

“Thren,” said the big man. “Now shut your mouth.”

Robert wasn’t sure he could speak even if he wanted to. Steel rang against steel. He heard a man scream. Then they were running, his head bobbing up and down with each step. Stairs, Robert realized. They were going up a flight of stairs.

More sounds of battle. It was so strange hearing the fight without a visual accompaniment. The sound of a sword striking armor could be good or bad. Each cry of death could be one of his rescuers, or a man blocking his exit. He found that his mind was too exhausted to hope one way or another. Honestly, he hoped they failed the attempt, and that he was killed along with the rest. Because if Thren Felhorn wanted him, then the only place safer than the Golden Eternity was back in his cell.

A sound of trumpets flooded the prison. The big man carrying him swore long and loud. Robert was gently placed on the ground, ground which felt beautifully firm underneath his tucked knees. The stone was cold, but he didn’t mind. He shivered, and absently he wondered if he had a fever. No longer upside-down, Robert slowly opened his eyes and watched the battle to save his life raging around him.

A beautiful woman with raven hair twirled by a doorway leading deeper into the prison. Daggers flew from her hands, unable to score killing blows through the thick armor of the guards but stalling them nonetheless. Robert glanced the other way. Down past rows of cells made of thick stone and sealed wooden doors was the final set of stairs. Ten guards pressed their way down, with only four having made it off the steps. Two men held them back, wielding long daggers with such precision that Robert knew they were men of Felhorn. One was a thin, wiry man with blonde hair while the other looked like a dark-skinned giant. All three of his rescuers wore the gray cloaks of the Spider Guild.

Robert closed his eyes as guard after guard died. With the trumpet sound, they would come endlessly. Three against a multitude; Robert didn’t need all his wits to know the likelihood of escape. He waited for rough hands to grab his soiled clothes, or perhaps a blade to pierce his chest. Death after death he heard, their cries a chorus of blood and skill. And then rough hands grabbed him, but instead of hauling him back to his cell they flung him over the shoulder of the giant.

“Run!” boomed the man.

Up the stairs they went. When they reached the top, Robert dared open his eyes. The big man had swung around to check behind him, and as he did, Robert saw ten more soldiers blocking the way. They were not in a frantic hurry, nor did they look overly worried. They were arrayed in a diamond shape, with those at the back wielding long polearms while the front men carried shields and maces.

“Give ‘em up,” one of the macemen shouted.

“Where’s the gate?” the woman asked.

“Follow me,” the smaller man said. “As long as they don’t know…”

The three rushed down the hall toward the defensive formation, then jutted right. Robert was baffled. They approached a dead end of solid stone. The shadows across it were thick. The smaller man jumped at the wall, and just as Robert wondered what gymnastic trick he planned to perform, he slipped right through as if the wall were air. The girl followed next. Hope dared kindle in the old man’s breast.

As the guards shouted behind them, Robert and his giant leapt through the shadows of the wall. Cool fresh air blew across Robert’s skin, and feeling it, he gasped.

“Let’s take him home,” the woman said. Robert tried to smile at her, but the comfort of clean lungs was too much for him.

He fell asleep, still slung across the giant’s shoulder.

G iven the mansion’s numerous closets, secret pathways, gardens and attic space, Aaron couldn’t have been happier with his new home. He’d spent the past few days lurking far more aimlessly than normal. Since the attempt on Aaron’s life, his father had not appointed a new teacher in weaponry, stealth, or politics. With little else to do, Aaron had begun picking random workers and stalking them. He’d watched fat Olivia slaving away at the ovens for nearly four hours before she noticed his presence. Deciding a busy, unskilled person like that was no fun, he moved up in difficulty. Senke had caught him in less than four minutes; Will in less than two.

But Senke and Will were gone, as was Kayla, who he hadn’t worked up the courage to stalk yet. He’d discussed her with Senke plenty, blurting out how beautiful and skilled she was. Senke, the wily woman-lover that he was, had been more than sympathetic, though he’d also said the worst words in the world to Aaron: you’re too young. Worry about that when you’re older.

With the king sending soldiers to kill him, Aaron thought older wasn’t a guarantee. He’d spent the last two hours hiding atop an old wardrobe. Floor planks opened up nearby to one of the many tunnels leading in and out of the mansion. Aaron had watched people come and go, observing their reactions as they stepped into the light. For a few, he’d even scratched the wood with his fingers or let out a quick cough. None had noticed. Aaron found himself missing Senke even more.

Aaron thought perhaps he should be in bed, but the Spider Guild was far more active at night than during the day. Far more active meant far more interesting, too. He wandered the hallway, listening for something to watch. Sometimes he’d catch several members of the guild gambling with dice, and he’d watch the twitches of their faces and the nervous movements of their hands. Aaron had gotten quite good at guessing who would win by the severity of their tells.

As he wandered, he found his spirits dropping a little. He bypassed only a couple of men, all alone and looking almost annoyed at his presence. When he passed by the front door, Aaron crossed his arms and leaned against it. So bored, he sighed.

Then he felt the door behind him shutter, as if someone was grabbing the iron handles on the other side but not yet pulling. Voices drifted inward. Aaron wasted no time. Before the door could creak open, he was already hidden in a shadowy corner.

Senke entered first, and Aaron’s initial joy at seeing him was tempered by the deep scowl across his face. Kayla followed. There was blood on their clothes, and numerous cuts across their bodies. Most might have cried out at the sight, but Aaron’s initial reaction was instead to sink further into the darkness and watch with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Will entered, an old man held in his arms. It took a moment before Aaron realized who it was: Robert Haern, the kindly teacher that had risked his life to help him escape the soldiers. His face was thinner, his hair dirtier, but enough of the man remained to clearly identify him. Aaron felt an initial inclination to reveal his presence, but he fought it down. They had entered the front door. No one was permitted to use the front door.

“He still with us?” Kayla asked, gingerly touching a gash on her forehead with her fingertips.

“He lives,” Will said. “His sleep is deep.”

“We’ll let Thren wake him up,” Senke said as he ducked his head outside, looked about, and then shut the door. “Perhaps during his questioning he’ll forget the fact that we walked through the front gate and door with the whole world watching.”

“The whole world is sleeping,” Kayla said, her voice sounding very tired.

“Not all,” Will said. “Not the part that matters to us. But the old man would not make it through the tunnel. Which order you want to disobey: the ban on the door, or the command to bring Robert here by morning?”

Their voices grew softer as they hurried deeper into the mansion. When they were far enough away, Aaron darted after.

He stopped for just a moment at his father’s study, peering around the corner of a hall. Sneaking in through the door would be tough. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, but whatever the matter, he would probably hear the dreaded ‘you’re not old enough’ speech and then be sent to his room.

Decision made, Aaron waited until the door closed before he bolted to its side, pressed his ear against a crack by the hinges, and listened.

I n his dream, he was lively and youthful. Darla was at his side, her thin arms wrapped about his body. He nuzzled his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. Instead of her normal perfume of roses, he smelled blood. Something hard struck his face, and then he opened his eyes.

Darla vanished, the arms around him gone, too. He was on his knees, stained with blood and filth. Before him, his face an unreadable mask of stone, stood Thren Felhorn.

“Welcome to my home,” Thren said, his icy voice robbing any meaning from the greeting. “I trust you’ll find it more comfortable than your last abode.”

“I take whatever comforts are afforded to me,” Robert said, dismally wishing he could be back in his dream. He wanted Darla, his beloved wife Darla, not a heartless interrogation. If he only closed his eyes, perhaps she’d be waiting for him, her face shining with light as it had in the prison…

Another blow to his face jolted his eyes awake. Will towered over him, blood on his knuckles. Robert chuckled. Compared to the pain in his shoulders, the punch was little more than an annoyance.

“I know you must be tired,” Thren said, walking out from behind the table. A hand on one knee, he knelt before Robert. “Tired, and in pain. I do not wish to add to either, old man, but I will. Tell me, what was your part in all of this?”

“My part?” Robert asked. “My part was to hang from chains. What is it you speak of?”

Thren narrowed his eyes, but he stayed his hand.

“My son,” he said, his voice quieting. “Did you have a hand in my son’s capture?”

“Capture? So he didn’t escape? I’m sorry, Thren, I tried, but he was just a boy, trained perhaps but…is he alive or dead?”

Thren only shook his head. “You were fond of this saying yourself, Robert. Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”

The old man rubbed his chin, letting his tired, sluggish mind slowly work through the cobwebs.

“He died,” he said. “Otherwise you would already know what role I played. When the soldiers came, I helped him get out, but they must have surrounded my home too well. I was no party to his death, but that matters not. Your son is dead, and therefore my life is forfeit. I ask you make it quick. I am an old man, and have waited long enough for the mystery of the hereafter.”

He gave no indication that he lied. Thren stood, drawing one of his shortswords, the sound it made as it cleared its sheath making Robert shiver. The three who had rescued him stepped aside, leaving the matter solely to their guildmaster.

“Swear it,” Thren said as he pressed the tip of his sword against Robert’s neck. “Swear you had no involvement with the king. Speak truly, old man, so you may go into the afterlife without the weight of lies about your neck.”

Robert stood to his full height.

“Truth or lie, I die the same,” he said. “And I do not fear the fate your sword promises.”

Anger flashed across Thren’s eyes. His mouth curled downward as his frown deepened. The whole room quieted, the very air thickening with the certainty of impending death. Then the door slammed open, Aaron’s angry cry breaking the silence.

“He did nothing wrong, nothing. Don’t you kill him, don’t you…”

Will grabbed him by the neck and yanked him away from Robert. Thren watched his son, his visage not changing in the slightest. The tip of his sword still pressed against the old man’s neck.

“I see the boy lives,” Robert said. The movement rubbed the tip against his flesh, drawing a tiny drop of blood. “Yet still I face death. What crime have I committed now?”

“You still lie,” Thren said. His voice seemed torn out from a deep cavern, reluctant and heavy. “Kayla told me of Gerand’s exit. You spoke with him before the attempt on my son. I want the truth, all of it. Any more lies and I will force the heavens to wait for your arrival while you rot in a cell.”

Robert glanced at Aaron, who stood with Will’s arm wrapped around his chest. His lip quivered, but he showed no tears, and the old man felt a strange sense of pride. That was a boy worth training, he realized. One who could risk defying the will of his own father, and reveal his own inappropriate spying, all to spare a life he deemed innocent.

“Very well,” Robert said. “I speak not to save my own life, but for the sake of the boy. When you first asked me to train Aaron, I meant to say no, but Gerand found out about the proposition and went to the king. They decided I should use the opportunity to learn more about you. All we hear are half-whispers, rumors, and exaggerated tales of your amazing excellence. The chance to learn even a shred of truth about the war being waged outside the castle walls proved too alluring. I had my orders, and that was to train the boy while keeping my eyes and ears open.

“Gerand, however, had other plans. The Trifect has gotten to the king somehow. Troops surrounded my home after you left. When Gerand informed me of his plan, I struck him with my cane and then released Aaron. That is my tale. I am an old advisor doing the will of his king, and though you may call me a traitor to your name, I was betrayed all the same. Do to me what you will.”

Robert and Thren stared eye to eye, neither flinching. Aaron watched the clash of wills with a growing feel of anxiety. He had never felt so helpless. It wasn’t like Robert had been exceedingly kind, but he had known things, and out of all his teachers, he had been the one to truly treat him like an adult. Robert had expected greatness. He had tested him with the darkness of his room, not frustrated him with beatings and curses like some of his teachers.

Aaron wanted to say this, but he knew his father would not be swayed by pity or requests for mercy. He would do what was best for the guild; he always did. Thren looked from the teacher to the student, and all there could see he had reached his decision.

“While in my services, you betrayed information about me and my son. I have killed men for less.”

The words hung in the air. Aaron fought down an impulse to shout in denial. Something about the way his father stood, without any anger or fury, hinted at something more. Thren looked far too pleased with himself.

“However,” he continued, “you also saved the life of my son knowing the punishment you would receive in turn. So now I face a dilemma, for anyone who saves the life of my son I reward greatly. How do I reward a man whose life is forfeit?”

Robert sensed the opening being given and took it.

“Let me swear what little remains of my life to you,” he said. “I shall be your slave and do whatever tasks you set before me, however difficult or demeaning.”

Senke winked at Kayla. Aaron saw it and felt his heart soar.

“A worthy suggestion,” Thren said. “For the sake of my son, I grant your request. You will have food and lodging here in my estate, and you shall train my son when you are not aiding with various duties that Senke will set up for you.”

Robert bowed low.

“Thank you,” he said.

“To your feet,” Senke said. “I’ve got a room near Aaron’s that should do nicely. Clothing might be a bit rough, but the former occupants left a few extra outfits they couldn’t cram into their wagons, so we’ll make do.”

Aaron turned to follow them as they left, but Thren cleared his throat. At the sound, the boy paused.

“Leave us,” Thren said to Will and Kayla. The two quickly obeyed. Thren shut the door behind them, then turned and crossed his arms over his chest. Aaron fought an impulse to lower his head. He was with his father; he would not show fear or weakness.

“You wish to speak with me?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

“You spied on our proceedings,” his father said.

“It is what you train me for.”

“You misdirect me with your answer,” Thren said, his eyes narrowing. “Trained or not, that does not explain your actions. Why did you listen in? Is it because of Robert? You were with him only a day. He cannot mean enough to risk my wrath.”

“I want to know,” Aaron blurted, his voice no longer a whisper. He pressed on before he lost his nerve. “What we do, what we are. I train and train, but I am still treated as a child. I know so little of the city, and if it weren’t for Kayla, I’d be in a dungeon, or dead, father.”

“That still does not give you permission to spy on my activities!”

Thren expected his son to cower. Grown men felt the pale touch of death when he shouted in his full anger. Aaron blinked, tilted his head, and then spoke so softly.

“But spying on you is how I saved your life.”

The battle-hardened guildmaster was struck by the simple pronouncement. He looked at the young man before him and remembered when he had been just a child, a child that could stab a man with a dagger to protect his father.

He killed so young, Thren thought. Yet I coddle him from the bloodshed raging around us. I fear for his safety, yet he is fearless before death, before injury, before even me…

“Though you disappoint me with your trespass, perhaps part of the blame is mine,” the elder Felhorn said. “From now on, you will be at my side at all times. My life is not safe, Aaron, and you will soon know that. But know that regardless the risk, I will bring you with me.”

“I’m not scared,” Aaron said.

“A foolish boast. Even I am sometimes afraid, as will you often be.”

The boy let a smile creep at the corners of his mouth.

“Scared or not,” he said, “I’ll never show it.”

Thren believed him.