A Dance of Cloaks (3 page)

The door opened. The light hurt his eyes, and during the brief blindness, his teacher slipped inside and shut the door. He held a torch in one hand and a book in the other. His smile was partially hidden behind his beard.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ve only had two students last longer, both with more muscle than sense.” His voice was firm but grainy, and it seemed to thunder in the small dark room.

“I know what you’re doing,” Aaron said.

“Come now, what’s that?” the old man asked. “My ears haven’t been youthful for thirty years. Speak up, lad!”

“I said I know what you’re doing.”

The man laughed.

“Is that so? Well knowing and preventing are two different things. You may know a punch is coming, but does that mean you can stop it? Well, your father has told me of your training, so perhaps you could, yes, perhaps.”

As his eyes adjusted to the torchlight, Aaron slowly backed into a corner. With the darkness gone he felt naked. His eyes flicked to the pail in the corner, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. If the old man was bothered by the smell he didn’t seem to show it.

“Who are you?” Aaron asked after the silence stretched longer than a minute.

“My name is Robert Haern. At one point I was the tutor of King Edwin Vaelor, but he has since gotten older and tired of my… corrections.”

“Is this my correction for not talking?” Aaron asked.

Robert looked shocked.

“Correction? Dear lord boy, no, no. I was told of your quiet nature, but that is not what your father has paid me for. This dark room is a lesson that I hope you will soon understand. You have learned how to wield a sword and sneak through shadows. I, however, walk with a cane and make loud popping noises. So tell me, what purpose might I have with you?”

Aaron shifted his arms tighter about himself. He had no idea whether it was day or night, but the room felt cold and he had nothing but his thin clothing for warmth.

“You’re to teach me,” Aaron said.

“That’s stating the bloody obvious. What is it I will teach you?”

He sat down in the middle of the room while still holding the torch aloft. He grunted, and true to his word his back popped when he stretched.

“I don’t know,” the boy said.

“A good start,” Robert said. “If you don’t know an answer, just say so and save everyone the embarrassment. Half-minded guesses only stall the conversation. However, you should have known the answer. I tutored a king, remember? Mind my words. You should always know the answer to every question I ask you.”

“A tutor,” said Aaron. “I can already read and write. What else can an old man teach me?”

Robert’s smile grew in the flickering torchlight.

“There are men trying to kill you, Aaron. Did you know that?”

At first he opened his mouth to deny it but then stopped. The look in his teacher’s eye suggested he think about what he said.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Though I convinced myself otherwise. The Trifect want all the thief guilds dead, and I myself am a member.”

“More than a member,” Robert said as he put his book down and shifted the torch to his other hand. “The heir to Thren Felhorn, one of the most feared men in all of Veldaren. Some say he is the finest thief to walk the land of Dezrel.”

“Is he?” Aaron asked.

“I don’t know enough of such matters to have a worthwhile opinion,” Robert said. “Though I know he has lived a long time, and the wealth he amassed in his younger years was legendary.”

Silence came over them. Aaron looked about the room, but it was bare and covered with shadows. He felt as if his teacher waited for him to speak, but he knew not what to say. His gaze lingered on the torchlight as Robert spat to the side.

“There are many questions you should ask, though one is the most obvious and most important. Think, boy.”

Aaron’s eyes flitted from the torchlight to the old man.

“Who are the Trifect,” he asked.

“Who is what? Speak up, I’m a flea’s jump away from deaf.”

“The Trifect,” Aaron nearly shouted. “Who are they?”

“That is an excellent question,” Robert said. “They have a saying, ‘after the gods, us.’ When Karak and Ashhur were banished by the goddess, the land was a devastated mess. Countries fractured, people rebelled, and pillagers marched up and down the coasts. Three wealthy men formed an alliance to protect their assets. Five hundred years ago they formed their sigil of an eagle perched on a golden branch, and they’ve been loyal to it ever since.”

He paused and rubbed his beard. The torch switched hands.

“A question for you, boy: why do they want the thief guilds dead?”

The question was not difficult. The sigil was the answer.

“They never let go of their gold,” Aaron said. “Yet we take it from them.”

“Precisely,” Robert said. “To be sure, they’ll spend their gold, sometimes frivolously and without good reason. They never give it away willingly, not ever. They tolerated the thief guilds for many centuries as their three families grew in power. Now they control nearly all of Neldar with their wealth. For the longest of times they viewed the guilds as a nuisance, nothing more. That changed. Tell me why, boy; that is your next question.”

This one was tougher. Aaron went over the words of his master. His memory was sharp, and at last he remembered a comment that seemed appropriate.

“My father amassed a legendary amount of wealth,” he said. He smiled, proud of figuring out the answer. “He must have taken too much from the Trifect and was no longer a nuisance.”

“He was a threat,” Robert agreed. “And he was wealthy. Worse, though, was that his prestige was uniting the other guilds. Mostly your father tempted the stronger members and brought them into his fold, but about eight years ago he started making promises, threats, bribes, and even assassinations to bring about the leaders he needed. As a united presence, he thought the Trifect would not be strong enough to bring them down.”

The old man opened his book, which turned out to not be a book at all. The inside was hollow, containing some hard cheese and dried meat. It took all of Aaron’s willpower to keep from lunging for the food. From his time with his teacher, he knew such a rash, discourteous action would be rebuked.

“Take it,” Robert said. “You have honored me well with your attention.”

Aaron didn’t need to be told twice. The old man rose to his feet and walked to the door.

“I will return,” he said. His fingers brushed over a slot in the wall too fast for Aaron to see. He heard a soft pop, and then a tiny jut of metal sprung outward. Robert slid the torch through the metal, fastening it to the wall.

“Thank you,” Aaron said, thrilled to know the torchlight would remain.

“Think on this,” Robert said. “Eight years ago, your father united the guilds. Five years ago, war broke out between them and the Trifect. What caused your father’s failure?”

The door opened, bright light flooded in, and then the old man was gone.

T
hren was waiting for Robert not far from the door. They were inside a large and tastefully decorated home. Thren leaned against the wall, positioned so he could see both entrances to the living room.

“You told me the first session was the most important,” Thren said, his arms crossed over his chest. “How did my son perform?”

“Admirably,” Robert said. “And I do not say so out of fear. I’ve told kings their princes were brats with more snot than brains.”

“I can hurt you worse than any king,” Thren said, but his comment lacked teeth.

“You should see Vaelor’s dungeon, sometime,” Robert said. “But yes, your son was intelligent and receptive, and most importantly he held no anger for being subjected to the room’s darkness. At least, not when he found out it wasn’t a punishment. A few more torches and I’ll give him some books to read.”

“The smoke won’t kill him, will it?” Thren asked as he glanced at the door.

“There are tiny vents in the ceiling,” Robert said as he hobbled toward a chair. “I have done this a hundred times, guildmaster, so do not worry. After so long in isolation, his mind will be craving my knowledge. Hopefully when his time with me is done, he will remember this level of focus and concentration and mimic it in more chaotic environments.”

Thren pulled his hood over his face and bowed.

“You were expensive,” he said. “As the Trifect grows poorer, so do we.”

“Whether coin, gem, or food, a thief will always have something to steal.”

Thren’s eyes seemed to twinkle at that.

“Well worth the coin,” he said.

The guildmaster bowed, turned, and then vanished into the dark streets of Veldaren. Robert tossed his cane aside and walked without limp to the far side. He poured himself a drink. With a grunt of pleasure, he sat down and gulped down half of the liquid.

He expected more time to pass, but it seemed people had gotten more impatient as Robert grew older. Two thumps against the outside of the door were his only warning before the plainly-dressed man with only the barest hints of gray in his hair entered the living room. His simple face was marred by a scar curling from his left eye to his ear. He did his best to hide it with the hood of his cloak, but Robert had seen it many times before and knew it was there.

“Did Thren leave pleased?” the man asked as he sat down opposite Robert.

“Indeed,” Robert said, letting a bit of his irritation bleed into his voice. “Though I think that pleasure would have faded had he seen the king’s advisor sneaking into my home.”

“I was not spotted,” the man said with an indignant sniff. “Of that, I am certain.”

“With Thren Felhorn you can never be certain,” Robert said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now what brings you here, Gerand Crold?”

The advisor nodded toward a door. Beyond it was the room Aaron remained within.

“He can’t hear us, can he?” Gerand asked.

“Of course not. Now answer my question.”

Gerand wiped a hand over his cleanly shaven face and let his tone harden.

“For a man living by the king’s grace alone, you seem rather rude to his servants. Should I whisper in his ear how uncooperative you’re being in this endeavor?”

“Whisper all you want,” Robert said. “I am not afraid of that little whelp. He sees spooks in the shadows and jumps with every clap of thunder.”

Gerand’s eyes narrowed.

“Dangerous words, old man. Your life won’t last much longer carrying on with such recklessness.”

“My life is nearing its end whether I am reckless or not,” Robert said before finishing his drink. “I whisper and plot behind Thren Felhorn’s back. I may as well act like the dead man I am.”

When Gerand laughed, his opinion was clear. “You put too much stock in that man’s abilities. He’s getting older, and he is far from the demigod the laymen whisper about when drunk. But if my presence here scares you so, then I will hurry along. Besides, my wife is waiting for me, and she promised a young red-head for us to play with to celebrate my thirtieth birthday.”

Robert rolled his eyes. The boorish advisor was always bragging about his exploits, a third of which were probably true. They were Gerand’s favorite stalling tactic when he wanted to linger, observe, and distract his companions. What he was stalling for, Robert didn’t have a clue.

“We Haerns have no carnal interests,” Robert said, rising from his chair with an exaggerated wince of pain. Gerand saw this and immediately took the cup, offering to fill it instead.

“We just pop right out of our mud fields,” Robert continued. “Ever hear that slurp when your boot gets stuck and you have to force it out? That’s us, making another Haern.”

“Amusing,” Gerand said as he handed Robert the glass. “So did you come from a nobleman’s cloak, or perhaps a wise-man’s discarded sock?”

“Neither,” Robert said. “Someone pissed in a gopher hole, and out I came, wet and angry. Now tell me why you’re here, or I’ll go to King Vaelor myself and let him know how displeased I am with
your
cooperation in this endeavor.”

If Gerand was upset by the threat, he clearly didn’t show it.

“Love red-heads,” he said. “You know what they say about them? Oh, of course you don’t, mud-birth and all. So feisty. But you want me to hurry, so hurry I shall. I’ve come for the boy.”

“Aaron?”

Gerand poured himself a glass of liquor and toasted the old man from the other side of the room.

“The king has decided, and I agree with his brilliant wisdom. With the boy in hand, we can force Thren to end this annoying little war of his.”

“Have you lost your senses?” asked Robert. “You want to take Aaron hostage? Thren is trying to end this war, not prolong it.”

Then the old man realized why Gerand had stalled. His eyes had swept every corner of the room, as well as peered through the doorways, his attentive ears hearing no other signs of life.

“You have troops surrounding my home,” Robert said.

“We watched Thren leave,” Gerand said. He downed his drink and licked his lips. “He was here alone, and now there are none. You can play your little game all you want, Robert, but you’re still a Haern, and lack any true understanding of matters. You say Thren doesn’t want this war of his to end. You’re wrong. He doesn’t want to lose, and therefore he won’t let it end. The Trifect won’t bow to him, not ever. This will only end when one side is dead. Veldaren can live without the thief guilds. Can we live without the food, wealth, and pleasures of the Trifect?”