A Dance of Cloaks (16 page)

“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?”