A Dance of Cloaks (30 page)

A knock on his door sent Gerand spinning, his blade cutting air. When he realized the door was still closed, and no specter had come for him, he felt incredibly foolish. He slid his rapier into his belt and put his hand on the handle.

“Who is there?” he asked.

The door blasted inward, wrenching his hand painfully. The solid oak slammed his forehead. As he fell he tried to draw his blade, but then his back smacked atop the small chest at the foot of his bed. The rapier clattered uselessly along the stone floor. He reached for it, only to have a heavy boot slam atop his fingers.

“Get up,” said a voice. Rough hands grabbed the back of his clothes, yanking him to his feet, and then flung him into his chair. Clutching his wounded hand to his chest, Gerand got his first good look at his attackers. One was a woman with raven hair tied back. The other was most certainly Thren Felhorn. Gerand had never met the man before, but he’d both heard and read many descriptions.

The woman drew one of many throwing daggers from her belt and twirled it in her fingers while Thren shut the door to the crowded room. When Gerand’s eyes flitted over to the rapier, the woman threw her dagger, piercing the chair so close to his skin it cut the cloth of his robe. She shook her head at him but said nothing.

Thren gently pushed the woman out of the way and then stood before Gerand with his arms crossed. He frowned down at Gerand. Death was in his eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” Thren asked.

“I do,” Gerand said, doing his best to sound brave. How many times had he belittled Thren to the other nobles, even the king? He took every word back. Gods damn it all, where were his guards?

“Do you know why I’m here?” Thren asked.

Again Gerand nodded.

“I do,” he said.

“Kayla, could you hand me his rapier, please?”

The woman retrieved the sword and handed it hilt-first to Thren.

“Thank you,” Thren said as he quickly inspected the blade. “Solid craftsmanship, if a bit on the self-indulgent side. I know many men and women who could live for a month on what this single ruby in the hilt would fetch them. I’ve known of you for some time, Crold. Your family line has been as decadent and pointless as the hilt of your rapier. Always aspiring to be boot lickers and ass kissers, never to be leaders.”

Thren drew one of his shortswords and held it in front of Gerand’s face.

“You see this?” he asked. “Plain, but well made. Nothing beyond the necessary. You have forgotten you are a tool, Gerand Crold, and nothing more. To pretend to be something else can lead to…dangerous circumstances. Tell me, my dear advisor to the king, which would you rather be pierced by: my shortsword, or your rapier?”

Gerand glanced between the two blades.

“My rapier,” he said.

“A good choice,” said Thren before stabbing Gerand in the chest with it. He made sure to hit nothing vital, just the meat near the shoulder. Gerand choked down his pain as blood spilled across the violet of his robes.

“People will always fear me over you,” said Thren. “That is why I am more powerful than you, more powerful than the Trifect, more powerful than even the king. I will not have you interfering in my affairs. You play games, I deal in blood, and my son is not one of your pieces!”

Son!
thought Gerand.
He’s here because of his son?

The blood drained from Gerand’s face. Suddenly there were multiple reasons for Thren to kill him. He hoped the torture would not last long.

“He looks like he’s going to pass out,” Kayla said.

Thren twisted the rapier, flaring pain in all directions throughout Gerand’s body.

“I should kill you,” Thren said. “But I won’t. You are too useful to me where you are. I want the Trifect humiliated. You are in a position to do that for me, Gerand. Your word is the king’s word in all stately matters. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Gerand nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “I hold no allegiance to the Trifect. I can do as you ask.”

Thren chuckled.

“You can, but will you? Once I’m gone, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“Hostages work wonders,” said Kayla, right on cue.

“You’re right, which is why I have already taken one.”

They both paused so Gerand could understand the meaning of their words. The advisor looked back and forth between them, the whole while his heart sinking.

“You have Martha,” he said.

“Give the man a prize,” said Kayla.

“She will be under my care for the next week,” Thren said as he pulled the rapier out of Gerand’s chest. He acted as if he were to sheath it, then instead pushed its bloodied tip against Gerand’s throat.

“You do as I say, or I’ll make sure every member of my guild has a turn with her,” said Thren, his voice dangerously cold. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” Gerand said in a voice suddenly grown raspy and weak.

“Your orders are simple,” Kayla said as Thren backed off and tossed the rapier atop the bed. “The flood of mercenaries for the Kensgold should be arriving any day now, if they haven’t already. Among them will be massive caravans of wine, food, and dancers. Tax them all. Heavily.”

“But the Trifect will be…”

Gerand stopped, realizing how stupid his complaint was. Kayla caught it and laughed.

“That’s the point,” she said. “Everyone they hire will demand more to compensate for the tax. Next, you will pass a law forbidding more than fifty mercenaries to be gathered together in any one area, event, or function.”

“Call it an attempt to secure peace,” Thren chipped in.

“Make it clear you’ll fine the mercenaries themselves,” Kayla said. “Keep them worried about their pockets.”

“I will do what I can,” Gerand insisted. “Though it won’t be easy.”

“Third,” said Kayla, “and most importantly, the Trifect has hundreds of merchants that have not paid their taxes. That money is instead going to the mercenaries, and for years you have turned a blind eye. That stops.”

“I’ll collect from them what I can,” Gerand said.

Thren shook his head.

“I don’t want them taxed. I want them arrested.”

“Arrested? What for?” When Thren reached for the rapier again, Gerand paled. “Very well. Tax evasion is a serious crime. Most will plead out and pay their fines within a day or two. Will that suffice?”

“That’ll do,” said Kayla. “When the Kensgold ends, we’ll send you back your wife, alive and unharmed, but only if you cooperate. Is that clear?”

It was.

Kayla slid open his door and looked out. When she saw no guards, she pulled her gray hood over her head and beckoned for Thren. Just before the guildmaster left, he knelt close and whispered into Gerand’s ear.

“I won’t kill you. I’ll chain you to the wall in a cell, your wife’s body in front of you. Once I cut off your eyelids, you’ll watch her rot until she’s nothing but bones. Pass the laws, and make sure you
enforce
them.”

Kayla dashed out the door, and Thren followed.

16

O
nce Gran calmed down, she seemed open enough to listening to what Haern had to say. Of course, she had tried to smack him with another pan until he disarmed her and physically knocked her into a chair.

“Please listen,” he said once she quit shouting for help. Delysia stood at her side, stroking her hand and doing her best to reassure her.

“Steal into my house, kill a man, then hide from the guards, and after all that you expect me to sit and listen?” said Gran. “Even for a young pup, you’re a fool.”

“Gran,” whined Delysia.

“Oh alright. What is it, boy?”

“His name is Haern,” Delysia said.

“Fine.
Haern.
” Gran spat the word out as if it was a curse. “What do you have to say?”

“Delysia is not safe in the city,” Haern said. He leaned against the pantry door. Pieces of dry leaves stuck to his outfit from when he had brushed a hanging tomato plant in the dark. He held one of the two candles Delysia had lit; Gran held the other.

“No one’s safe in the city anymore. Why is Delysia any different?”

“Thren Felhorn of the Spider Guild ordered her father dead,” Haern said. He kept his eyes on Gran, as if ashamed to look at the other girl but too proud to stare at the floor. “I was there when it happened.”

“You mean you were to take part,” Gran said. “I’m not daft. Look at the colors you’re wearing: thief guild colors. What were you, a spotter? Were you to watch for the guards, or just loot her poor father’s corpse after everyone was gone?”

Haern slammed a fist against the pantry door. The motion knocked one of the leaves free from his sleeve, and Delysia watched it fall to the floor.

“It doesn’t matter. The man I killed was sent to finish the job. With him dead, Thren will send another, and another, until the job is finished. He doesn’t leave things undone. Delysia needs to get out, as fast and secretly as possible.”

“I think he’s right, Gran,” said Delysia.

“Of course you do,” Gran said dismissively. “You’re a young girl ready to believe any story a boy tells you. How do we know Thren had anything to do with your father’s death?”

“You know damn well the Spider Guild is responsible,” Haern said.

“You watch your tongue with me, boy, or I’ll wash it out with lye!” snapped Gran.

To both their surprise, Haern shifted from foot to foot and lowered his head.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Well, at least you have some manners,” said Gran. “Though I’m worried that you’re right. That horrible murder in the street was bad enough; having a thief break in is just as bad. I may be old, but I’ve kept enough wits to know that wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Where can we go?” asked Delysia. She looked close to tears. Given how horrible her day had been, Gran couldn’t blame her.

“There’s no we in this, child,” the old woman said. “As much as it pains me to say it, we have to put you where not even the sneakiest of thieves can get you. Your father was well respected by the priests of Ashhur. I’m sure if I asked, they would accept you into their care. Once inside their white walls, you’ll be dead to the world for as long as you’re there.”

Delysia sniffed.

“But what about Tarlak? Will I ever see him again?”

Gran pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I’m sure you will. He’s off safe with that wizard teacher of his. Now we need to make sure you stay safe, otherwise he might find me and turn me into a mudskipper for letting something happen to his dear little sister.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” she said. Gran gently shook her head.

“I don’t want to leave you either, but I’ve already lost my son. I couldn’t bear to see Dezrel lose you as well. I’m old, and you’ve got no mother to watch after you. The priests and priestesses will give you a good home. I promise.”

Delysia returned the kiss, then turned. There was no one there, just a half-closed pantry door. Haern was gone.

“An odd boy,” Gran said. “I hope he keeps his mouth shut about where you’re going.”

“I trust him,” Delysia insisted.

“Trust him? Hah.” Gran laughed until she coughed. “You probably love him, too. Dashing, mysterious boy in a mask. Every damsel wants one of them to come sneaking in through their bedchamber window.”

Delysia bunched her face and poked her Gran in the side. When Gran poked back, they both broke into laughs.

“It’s good to see you smile,” Gran said. “I’ll have that one last laugh to keep with me for the end of my days. Now go pack up your things. Not much, now, just what you can carry. I dare not wait a minute longer before bringing you to the temple.”

Gran watched her hurry back into their bedroom. Gran’s face became a sorrowful mask, her lip quivering and her eyes wet. When Delysia returned, her arms full of dresses, Gran smiled away her tears, hid them with a laugh, and then led her granddaughter out the door and away.

B
y the next afternoon, by orders of the king’s advisor, Neldaren soldiers had ransacked half the merchants in the city and carried over a hundred back to overcrowded prison cells. Some had other family members or well-paid guards to protect their merchandise; most didn’t. By the time the first major wave of mercenaries arrived the day after, foodstuffs were already dangerously low. The merchants that did pay their way out of prison doubled and tripled the costs of their goods.