A Dance of Cloaks

7

V eliana stormed toward the back of the tavern, so mad she didn’t care if anyone saw her. An unmarked door suffered her wrath as she kicked it open. Inside, several men sat around a badly worn table. Two jumped at her entrance, simple thugs playing at guardsmen. When they reached for their blades, another of the men shook his head and slapped an open palm atop the table.

“No bloodshed,” the man said. “Put your swords away. Veliana did not come here to slit our throats.”

He saw the rage burning in her eyes and thought perhaps he was wrong, but he would not admit so openly. His thugs sat down, their hands lingering on their hilts. Veliana remained standing, though she at least had the decency to close the door behind her before she continued talking.

“What game do you play, hawk?” she asked him.

Kadish Vel, master of the Hawk Guild, smiled at the question. It was no secret he liked games; he would let the puppet of the Ash Guild explain further lest he reveal more than what she already knew. When he smiled, his teeth flashed red in the dim light. His underlings claimed it was from the blood of women he dined upon in the waning hours, though the rest of the city knew it was from his addiction to chewing crimleaf.

“I play many games,” Kadish said, winking. Veliana slammed a fist atop his table, scattering dice to the floor.

“Though you seem distraught,” he said, ignoring the outburst. “Did you lose? I must say, I don’t remember playing with you, and that is a game I feel I would remember.”

Veliana glared. Kadish had a narrow face and elongated nose. He wore an eyepatch over his right eye, though she was certain it was only for looks. The guildmaster seemed to feel himself the dashing sort, though in her opinion he looked more the castle mummer than a city pirate.

“I play no games with you,” Veliana said. “Your men have pushed into our territory. Everything south of Iron Road is ours, yet daily I find the bird’s eye scrawled over our ash.”

“You know the manner of guilds,” Kadish said, waving a dismissive hand. “The strong take from the weak. If you are so worried about the lost homes and bazaars then defend them.”

“Not here,” he added when he saw her reach for her daggers.

“That’s the game,” Veliana said. “You aren’t the stronger. We could bury you in days if war broke out between us. Why the sudden confidence? You’re as spineless as a snake. Where did this newfound courage come from?”

Veliana expected the insults to rankle the proud man, but instead he laughed as if she had tickled him.

“Courage is a funny thing,” he said. “What you see as courage I see as wisdom. You aren’t as strong as you once were. James Beren’s ego has defeated you. You would not storm in here red with rage if this were just a simple loss of a few pitiful homes and merchants. But wait! Don’t tell me, otherwise you spoil the game. The Serpents have moved in as well, haven’t they? And I bet the symbol of the wolf covers plenty of your ash in the east.”

“Every one of them is a lie,” Veliana said, her voice calming. A deadly seriousness had replaced her anger. “Soon all symbols will be the spider. You know that, don’t you?”

“You know nothing,” Kadish said, scratching the skin below his eyepatch. “And you can’t see the future. I, however, am smart enough to view the present. As long as you hold out on Thren and his Spider Guild, you are lost. We’ll take your members, your streets, and if we must, your lives. We all want this war to end; we will not suffer Beren to keep us from that finality. Tell him if he wants to have a guild by the end of the month, he needs to pledge his men to Thren Felhorn.”

“You know,” one of the men beside Kadish said, an ugly brute with scarred lips and a missing ear. “Perhaps James might be more willing if we had his pretty lady here for ransom.”

This time Veliana did draw her daggers but Kadish stood and glared at his men.

“This meeting is done,” he said to all of them. “We will not debase ourselves with such talk. The Ash Guild will see wisdom. Good day, Veliana.”

The woman spun and left, slamming the door behind her. When she was gone, Kadish rubbed his chin as his underlings snickered and made lewd comments.

“They’re vulnerable,” he said. “Rasta, take a few of your boys and have them scour the Ash Guild’s streets. Find out just how badly they’ve been pressed.”

“Planning something big?” the earless man said.

“Keep your mouths shut for now,” the guildmaster told him. “But if James has lost more than we anticipated…”

He let the threat hang in the air. Rasta stood and left while the earless brute recovered the dice from the floor, shook them in his hands, and rolled.

A aron winced as he walked down the hall, his shoulder throbbing from where Senke had struck him. Ever since the meeting, and Thren’s promise to include him in all things, his father had made him spend hours training. Most often Senke was his trainer, the wiry rogue second to only Thren in skill with a blade.

“Are you ready?” Senke had asked when they first closed the door to the large, open room. Aaron had nodded but held his tongue.

“Good. Let us dance.”

And so they had danced, blunted practice swords whirling and clanging as they parried, riposted, and blocked. Of all his teachers of combat, Senke was by far the best as well as the most enjoyable to be with. He laughed, he joked, he said things about women that made Aaron blush. When it came to swordplay, though, he took the dance seriously. The joy would fade from his eyes, like a fire buried in dirt, and then he would explain an error, or detail improved reactions. Most often he smacked Aaron with his sword and let the pain do the teaching.

That day Senke had been determined to hone Aaron’s dodging abilities. The sword struck too quickly, and Aaron’s initial reaction was always to block or parry, not dodge. Other teachers might have taken away his sword, but Senke would have none of it. His student would learn to control his instincts, otherwise they would control him. Again and again the sword cracked against his shoulders, his head, and his hands. Whenever he tried to raise his sword, Senke’s other blade would shoot out, parry it away, and then slap him across the face.

Aaron rubbed his shoulder, part of him wanting to ask a servant to massage it for him. But massages meant pain, and pain meant failure, at least when it came to training with Senke. So he put it out of his mind as best he could, wiped more sweat from his face onto his sleeve, and stepped into Robert Haern’s room.

The furnishings were few but expensive. The chairs were padded and comfortable, the walls painted a soft red, and the carpet a luxurious green. Robert sat on the bed, piles of books on either side of him. Aaron wondered how he could possibly sleep on it, then wondered if the old men even slept in the first place.

“You’re here,” Robert said, smiling when he looked up. “I had begun to worry that Senke would knock all reason and wisdom out of you.”

“My ears are clogged,” Aaron said. “The wisdom stays in.”

The old man chuckled.

“Good for you, then. Sit. We have old matters to attend to.”

Aaron sat down, wondering what he could mean. Over the past week Robert had gone to great lengths describing the various guilds and their guildmasters. This went beyond recent times and into the past, beating into Aaron’s head why their colors were what they were, why each symbol had been chosen, what they looked like, how they were drawn, and every other possible fact that seemed totally irrelevant. No matter how obscure, Robert would frown deeply and reprimand whenever Aaron missed an answer.

“In the darkness I might have taken away a light,” Robert said. “But here I have nothing to take from you, so instead I do this; for every error you make, I will treat you like a child. I will tell you tales instead of truth. I will dismiss your questions like foolish inquiry, instead discussing matters that only a boy would be interested in.”

The threat had worked.

“What old matters?” Aaron asked as he sat cross-legged on the carpet.

“Do you remember that first day? I was to have an answer from you, but since forgot after my…brief stay in the dungeons. I asked you why the Trifect would declare war on your father after he had built up an alliance of guilds over the course of three years. Do you have an answer?”

Aaron had not given the matter much thought. He went with his initial guess, hoping it would be right. Robert always insisted that he would know the answer to all questions he asked, yet no other answer seemed to pop out at him.

“Thren became too powerful,” Aaron said. “He was stealing too much gold, so the Trifect forced this war with him and the guilds.”

Robert chuckled.

“A child’s answer,” he said. “Coupled with a child’s trust in his father. You couldn’t be more wrong, boy. Perhaps we should read the story about Parson and the Lion instead of discussing such adult matters.”

“Wait,” Aaron said, his voice rising above a whisper. Robert noticed this and was pleased.

“Do you have a better answer?” he asked. “Do you know why your first one is wrong?”

Aaron’s mind raced. He had to know. Anything was better than the fairy tales.

“Thren didn’t grow too strong,” he ventured, each sentence coming out as if stepping on ice to test its strength. “If he had, then the Trifect wouldn’t have openly opposed him. The Trifect weighs all options, and this war has cost them greatly. Thren would not have stolen as much in ten years as they have spent in the past five.”

“Now you’re making sense,” Robert said. “The Trifect does not take on strong foes. They weaken them, poison their insides and rot their hearts. Once their target is desperate and fearful, then they strike.”

“But the Trifect forced this war,” Aaron said. He rubbed his thumbs together, as if trying to coax the truth out from an invisible coin. “But clearly Thren was not weak. He was still getting stronger. The Trifect acted outside their normal behavior.”

“Did they really? You say Thren was clearly not weak. How do you know?”

Aaron paused, and his head leaned back a little as if he had smelled a bad smell.

“How could he be weak?” Aaron asked. “We’ve survived against the Trifect. We’ve killed many of them, and thwarted every attempt to defeat us.”

“Not every attempt,” Robert said. “Must I get out the children’s rhymes? Your father has suffered many casualties, and his coffers are near empty. This war taxes both sides. Never think you are invincible and your opponent a whipping boy. Rarely do matters work out that simply.”

“Still, my father was not weak.”

“You are wrong,” Robert insisted. “Even a weak Thren Felhorn can withstand for many years. Still, that is irrelevant. Have you ever heard that sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness?”

Aaron nodded. He had heard such a sentiment before.

“Then consider this…your father was consolidating power, but then other guilds broke away from him. While you were still in your second year, he was putting down rebellion after rebellion. Too many wanted power, and Thren’s reputation was not yet established, though he built much of it during that time, brick by brick with the blood of his would-be assassins.”

He paused, and Aaron sensed the unasked question. With the information given, he should be able to piece together the rest. He thought, his fingers pressed against his lips. He puzzled it over, and Robert did not hurry him.

“The Trifect realized how dangerous he was,” Aaron said at last. “They knew he would eventually succeed in uniting the guilds against them. So when they saw the infighting, they tried to kill him.”

“Exactly,” Robert said. A bit of a smile touched his face. “They saw Thren’s power as brittle and tried to smash it with a hammer. They did as they always did, Aaron, by striking when their opponent was weakest. But they erred, for your father erred, one of the few times in his life, but also the greatest. He purposely let one of the rebellious guilds last another month.”

“Why would he do that?” Aaron asked.

“I should ask you,” Robert said. “You should know.”

Again Aaron puzzled it over. He thought of Senke and of all the times he had let him nearly score a blow or let a slash slip through his defenses, only to fall just shy of armor.

“Father wanted to teach the guild a lesson,” he ventured.

“Wrong, but a wise guess,” Robert said, “but still wrong. Try again, and remember my words.”

He replayed the conversation again and again, and then the words struck.

Sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness.

“He was plotting against the Trifect,” Aaron said. His whole face flushed with pride at discovering the reason. “He let a weak guild that posed no threat endure so the merchants thought the infighting continued. The Trifect would not suspect an attack from the guilds, not until the rebellious members were dealt with.”

“Quite right,” Robert said.

“That was when the Trifect struck,” Aaron continued. “They thought him weak and still fighting, so they sent in their mercenaries.”

“If your father had not been so determined to strike first and without warning he would have solidified his power. If the Trifect had correctly gauged his strength, they would have bartered for peace and waited until Thren reached an age where he was too old to keep the rest in line. Instead they were assaulted, many members lost, and when Thren went to them for peace it was too late. The Trifect had tasted blood and victory. They attacked again, and that disgrace has left Thren in a hopeless position. Either he dies, or the members of the Trifect die.”

Robert pointed at a few books outside his reach, and Aaron fetched them. The old man opened them, his eyes not scanning the pages. It was if the act gave him comfort.

“The city needs an end. The few who have remained neutral, those like the king and the priests of Karak and Ashhur, they will one day take a side to end the bloodshed. Your father is too strong, Aaron. He should have lost years ago. The guilds would have fractured, some great men would have died, and then the petty theft and trade of vice and flesh would have resumed as always. But not now. Each side has lost too much. They’re like two stags staring eye to eye. The first one to blink loses…”

“Is this your advice to my son?” Thren asked from the doorway. Neither had heard his approach, nor his opening of the door. His arms were crossed and his face a mask. “My strength is a weakness; my war a mistake?”

Aaron fought an impulse to back away as if caught doing something wrong. Instead he bowed his head respectfully to both his father and his teacher.

“He has said the truth as he knows it. I need his honesty, wrong or not. Stories lying of the Trifect’s power and twisting blame to where it does not belong only risk me harm.”

Thren nodded, clearly pleased.

“Teach truthfully,” he told Robert. “Never lie to my son. He is old enough for every truth, no matter how harsh. And he was right, Aaron. I was a fool. I let an enemy live when I should have ended their existence. That ends tonight. Prepare your things. I want you with me. There are lessons that one does not learn from books and study.”

A aron did not ask where they were going, though he very much wanted to. The boy knew that his father would tell him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. They both wore the gray cloaks of their guild. Much of Aaron’s outfit was new, from the soft black leather of his boots to the faded trousers and the thick gray tunic. He was most proud of the sword that swung from his hip, a thin rapier shortened to match his height.

“Say nothing, not even if you are directly addressed,” Thren said as he led them through the dark streets. Morning was fast approaching, but until then the city was still empty and quiet. The few men about had their own businesses to keep, and hide, so they were left alone to wander.

“What if you demand it?” Aaron asked. Thren glanced back at him, his words sharp on his tongue.

“Why would I ever?” he asked.

Aaron nodded, his face flushed red.

“Listen well, my son. We approach a brothel. Do you know what is done there?”

When the boy nodded, a small frown tugged at the corner of Thren’s mouth.

“I’ll assume Senke is to blame. Remember, women are a weakness to you. I want you pure, Aaron. I want you perfect. No strong drink will touch your lips. No womanly flesh will your hands caress. No priest will sway your heart. Power is all that matters, power and the skill to keep it. You have so much to learn, but once you are older, you will learn directly from me. Men fear my name, Aaron, but they will fear yours a hundred times more.”

With morning so close, the brothel was mostly empty. The women had slipped into more comfortable clothing. No men lingered in the interior room, and the clients that remained were fast asleep. When the sun rose over the walls of the city, the ladies would prod them awake and usher them home to their wives, children, or professions.

“Welcome Thren,” said a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair and matching lipstick. “You have not graced us with your presence in far too long.”

When she noticed Aaron, she smiled.

“Is this the young Felhorn? He looks so much like his father, he does. You have brought him to the right place, Thren. I have some younger girls, and they know how to be gentle so that…”

“Shut up, whore.”

His words struck her like a slap. Her lips closed, and the joy left her eyes, replaced with a cool, calculated gaze.

“Very well. Why are you here?”

Thren pointedly ignored her. He glanced at his son to ensure he had his attention and then began lecturing.

“This is Red. She is in charge of the women here. It helps to have a woman deal with the younger girls, plus her experience makes sure that they know how to properly do their jobs. Every brothel has someone like her. They are never fools, and they are always dangerous. They hear more than anyone else in this city. Men are stupid when in bed.”

“Sometimes out of bed, too,” Red said.

Thren flashed her a dangerous smile.

“Where is Billy Price?” he asked. Red gestured toward a flight of stairs leading to an enclosed balcony.

“Leave your swords here,” she said. “You don’t need them if you’re on business.”

That dangerous smile on Thren’s face never changed, not even when he grabbed her throat and slammed her against a table. Thren drew one of his swords and pressed it against her throat.

“You are not one to give orders to me,” he said. “And death by the sword is always my business.”

Aaron was surprised by how calm Red remained. She stared at Thren, not at all worried. The boy realized that she must be threatened often to be so calm. Either that, or she held very little regard for her life.

“Upstairs then,” she said. “You may keep your blades if you so desire. I only repeat what Billy tells me. You should know that.”

Aaron followed his father up the stairs. Red fixed her clothes, straightened her hair, and then went back to work.

Billy was a fat man, astonishingly so for how short he was. When the Felhorns entered, the man stood, his gut swishing like it was made of curdled milk. His hair was cut short at the ear and dyed a pale brown. When he smiled, his two missing teeth made him look like a gaping schoolchild. Aaron wondered how in Dezrel a man like that could run a brothel. If he had not been commanded against speaking, he would have asked.

“Welcome, welcome,” Billy said, clapping his hands as if excited. He had been seated in a chair woefully small compared to his body. Behind him was a thick ornate railing, and beyond that, a spectacular view of the city. “So good of you to join me in my humble establishment. The Bloodshot rarely gets company of your esteem, my great and powerful master of guilds.”

The compliments flowed like honey from his tongue and sounded as natural as running water. Aaron felt like part of his question had been answered.

“We come on business,” Thren said, his hands resting on the hilts of his swords. He leaned forward just enough so that the sides of his cloaks hid the movements of his hands.

“Yes, of course, why else would such a noble man bother yourself with a worm such as I? Why else would you dirty your hands with the doorknob of my wretched abode? Sit, please, I will not have you stand. Your son as well.”

Thren remained standing, but he nodded at Aaron, who obediently sat down.

“I have looked over your books,” Thren said. His face was a cold mask. “Something is odd about them, Billy. Perhaps you know what?”

“Odd?” Billy said. His smile was grand, and he wasn’t even sweating, an impressive feat for a man his size. Aaron watched him for all the signs of guilt he had been taught to look for. So far, he saw none.

“Of course things should be a little odd,” the fat man continued. “I run an odd place where men ask for odd things, gross things I wouldn’t dare discuss in front of your boy. But my payments are in full. I dare not cheat, not when dealing with a man as skilled in blade as you.”

“It is your coin that intrigues me,” Thren said. “And how much you have paid.”

“What could possibly be the matter?” Billy asked. “At risk of sounding proud, I pay you more than any other brothel in this city! I know, for I hear the other owner’s whining, but I smile and think that I spend my money well for Thren’s protection.”

“That is exactly the matter,” Thren said.

Aaron saw a tiny twitch at the right corner of Billy’s mouth. His father had finally struck a chord.

“How is that the matter?” Billy asked.

“How does a pathetic little brothel like The Bloodshot manage to outperform much grander places like The Silk or The Dandycushion? Your women are no prettier, your beds certainly not cleaner. Tell me, do you have an answer?”

A drop of sweat. Aaron grinned. Billy had no answer for the question. Before he could begin a wave of groveling and worship, Thren held up a hand and continued talking.

“For the past week I have had your building under watch. Most brothels have their men come to them, but you send out your girls to other places, drab places owned by men of no worth. But the men who own those places, or have loaned money to them…”

Aaron tried to make the connection. He had an idea what his father was getting at, but something was missing, some piece. Billy, however, clearly knew what the matter was. Aaron saw him grab at a dagger strapped to his belt, then stop. He must have decided, wisely, to not fight if things went poor. He did not look like a man who could last long in swordplay.

“I strictly forbid selling whores to the Trifect,” said Thren. “All the others have agreed. The influx of mercenaries has kept them afloat. But you…your vaults overflow with gold.”

“I charged them triple,” Billy said. All false affection and worship was gone. He was pleading now. “I’m practically stealing from them. All that money I send to you, to help you. Gold spent on my girls is gold not spent on swords!”

Not even Aaron saw the next movement coming. Thren’s hand caught Billy by his fat throat and flung him back. He slammed into the railing, which groaned in protest. A kick knocked him to one knee. Before he could cry out, the blade of a sword pressed against his breast.

“When I give an order I expect it obeyed,” Thren said. “You broke your word to me. You succumbed to easy coin.”

“I gave it all to you!” shouted Billy. “Please, the girls needed work, and the Trifect was desperate! All of it I’ve given to you, I’d never cross you, I’d never…”

Thren grabbed Billy’s hand, pressed it against the railing, and then slammed his sword down. The sound the flesh made as it tore reminded Aaron of a butcher shop. As Billy screamed, Thren tossed the hand off the balcony.

“I checked your books,” Thren said. “And I compared that to what my men saw coming and going. You did give nearly everything to me, the rest to the girls. That is why you live, Billy. Now you listen closely. Are you listening?”

Billy nodded. He sat on his enormous rump, his hand pressed tight against the folds of his fat to stem the bleeding.

“I want the Trifect starved. I want them without drink, without drug, and without whores. They have made my life miserable, and I will do the same to them. Coin gains me nothing, Billy. Their suffering is all I want. Will you remember that the next time they send for your girls?”

“Yes, my lord,” Billy said. His jowls jostled as he nodded. “I’ll tell Red. I’ll remember.”

“Good.” Thren cleaned his blade on Billy’s shoulder and then turned to go.

“Thank you,” Billy called out as Aaron stepped in line behind his father. “Thank you!”

“Remember this,” Thren said as they descended the stairs. “I cut off his hand, yet he thanks me for not doing worse. That is the power you must one day command. Let them think every breath of theirs is a gift, not from the gods but from you. Do this, and you will become a god among them.”

Because of his father’s order, Aaron could not reply. If he could, he would have mentioned that brief flash of anger he saw in Billy’s eyes when his father turned to go. He would have spoken of the dogged determination lining the fat man’s pained face. But he could not, so he let the matter go.

Power was hurting a man without fear of retribution. That was the lesson Aaron learned.