Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella (3 page)

Too bad
, thought Thren.

“He almost got you twice,” Grayson said as Thren slumped against the wall beside him.

“Almost don’t count,” Thren said.

Grayson laughed, elbowed him in the side.

“Your turn. I got this.”

More than relieved, and with his head pounding from hunger, thirst, and exhaustion, Thren closed his eyes and did his best to sleep.

Except he couldn’t. He felt Grayson tense up beside him, and he reopened his eyes to see Crion was on the hunt. The man was calmly walking about the dining hall, judging everyone’s reactions. Several backed away, sliding in the opposite direction. Only Nolan remained where he was, twirling his dirk in his left hand.

“Don’t test me,” Nolan said to Crion. “I’m in a pissed-off mood as it is.”

“You could always leave,” Crion said, walking around him as if Nolan were a mad dog on a leash. “As our brilliant leader said, the door is always open.”

Crion veered to the side, purposefully putting his back to Nolan as if daring him to throw his dirk. For a moment Thren thought he would, but then Nolan backed down. Instead Crion approached another man, this one heavyset and bearded. Thren struggled to remember his name, but then Crion spoke it aloud.

“You’ve always been a good friend, Jarvis,” Crion said to the bearded man. “So why do you stay so far away from me?”

Jarvis scratched at his rust-colored beard. In his other hand he held up a thick short sword.

“Been a good friend to you because it paid to be your good friend,” Jarvis said, his voice carrying a thick Kerran accent. “But not now, not anymore. We all started out equal in here, and one of us is walking out a king. And you know what, Crion? I sure as shit don’t want to see it be you that comes out on top.”

“You won’t see it,” Crion told him. “Because you’ll be dead first.”

Jarvis had been ready for the attack, Thren had no doubt about that. But being ready for it and being able to survive it were two very different things, as Jarvis found out. Crion took a step closer, then jammed his arm forward as if to thrust. Jarvis flung his short sword around to parry, but Crion was too fast. He sidestepped, pulling his sword back and out of the way of the parry. Jarvis’s sword continued without any steel for it to hit, and as it smacked against the rough wood floor it let out a loud thunk, the sound broken only by the scream Jarvis made when Crion’s sword thrust deep into his chest.

Crion twisted once, pulled the blade free, then glanced to the others.

“Fucking cowards,” he said, seeing not a one had dared make a move on him. “It’s only a matter of time.”

He sheathed his sword, stalked back toward his corner.

“Only five,” Thren whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning his weight against Grayson. “Now just five…”

When he woke an hour later to Grayson jabbing him in the side, he wished he could sleep longer. His stomach hurt, his head hurt worse, and he’d have begged on his hands and knees for a drink of water for his dry, sticky tongue. But he thought it best to put that aside when he heard his friend speak.

“Now four,” he said. “Nolan killed Uriah while he slept.”

“Why’d he sleep?” Thren asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“Don’t think he did all night,” Grayson said, shrugging. His brown eyes were locked on the far left wall, where Uriah’s body lay slumped, throat cut, blood lazily dripping down his neck and onto his pale-yellow shirt. The little food the man had stored up was now in Nolan’s pile, which was shrinking rapidly as he wolfed down what he had.

“Going to give yourself a stomachache,” said one of the remaining four, a thin man with a badly scarred face. Thren recognized him from before being recruited by Muzien: he was a soft-spoken man named Logan. Logan was one of a dozen fences throughout Mordeina, and whenever Thren stole something particularly expensive, and therefore hard to sell, it was to Logan he went. Didn’t matter if its previous owner’s blood was still wet upon the merchandise, Logan would buy it. He always seemed happy enough, but Thren had learned quickly from the other boys to stay away and reject any offers of a meal. Logan’s tastes ran young, and according to the whispers, it was rare for one of his boys to return to the streets afterward.

“Better from food than a sword in the gut,” Nolan said. “Isn’t that right, Uriah? Uriah! Oh, right, dead. I forgot.”

“Just shut up,” Crion said. “You aren’t as funny as you think.”

“And you’re not as good as you think,” Nolan said, lifting a cracked muffin into the air as a toast. “To your amazing skills, Crion, and to your soon ignoble death. May you as a corpse be more entertaining than you were in life.”

“You all laugh,” said the fourth man. He had long red hair, a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, and hardly any teeth. His name was Phillip. “But you’ve missed the real joke. It ain’t us four that is going to win.”

“Then who will?” Crion asked, rubbing at his face, which had long dark circles beneath the eyes.

“Yes, please tell us,” Nolan said. “I hate not being in on a joke.”

In answer, Phillip pointed right at Thren and Grayson. Thren felt his insides tighten. The last thing he wanted was attention.

“Those two,” Phillip said. “They been hiding out the whole time, sleeping when we can’t, grabbing food we’ve left behind. They’ll outlast all of us, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Logan said. “Two kids outlast the four of us? The lack of drink is getting to you, my friend.”

Phillip laughed at the word
friend
.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But here we are, six of us if we include them, and how many before them are gone? Twenty? Thirty?”

All four were looking at the boys now. Thren slowly rose to his feet, feeling his throat constrict. Grayson stood likewise, and Thren could tell by the look on his face that his plan was simple: whichever way Thren fled, Grayson would flee the other.

“This is stupid,” Crion said, grabbing his sword and slipping around his wall of tables. “Nolan, they embarrassed you once, so do us both a favor and kill whoever slips around either side of me. It may sting going into the Abyss knowing one of you three will inherit the Sun Guild, but I sure as shit won’t let it be these two little snots.”

Thren took a breath, and he looked to either side. They were against the windows along the long wall, with Nolan directly across from them in the middle, and Logan to their right. Crion approached from their left, tapping his sword against his pant leg as he walked. The other two stepped closer, readying their own weapons. It seemed whatever good humor they’d just shown was gone, a tired resolve coming over them. Thren’s eyes kept bouncing among the three, trying to figure out whom he could slip by most easily.

“We’re only here because Muzien ordered us to stay,” Thren said, hoping maybe to stall them. “That’s all.”

“You want to live, you go run out that door,” Crion said, still advancing. “Otherwise stand still and die like a man. It’ll hurt less that way.”

“Run past him at the same time,” Grayson whispered. “He can’t get us both.”

It was the only plan Thren could think of with his exhausted mind. Convinced he was about to die, he sucked in a breath, watching for the moment when Crion moved to strike so he could dive out of the way and then flee.

He never had the chance. Nolan let out a gasp, jerked forward.

“Ah fuck,” he said as blood ran down his chest, a point of steel poking out between his ribs. He collapsed, revealing Phillip standing behind him with the bloodied blade. He stared at Crion, his face an emotionless mask. Crion froze at the display, then took a step back as both Logan and Phillip approached.

“I’m not one to share power,” Phillip said. “But for Logan, I think I’d be willing to try. A fortune split in half is still a fortune. Three ways, though?”

“Three ways is no good,” Logan said, holding high his own dirk. Thren watched them pass by before him, forgotten once more. He and Grayson had merely been a distraction to use against Crion and Nolan, he knew, and he was too tired to decide if he was flattered or annoyed that they’d ever been considered a threat, however momentarily.

Crion continued backing up, stopping only after he’d slipped through the gap between two of the tables of his meager fortification. Phillip and Logan stood side by side as they neared, weapons at the ready. Thren looked over, caught Grayson staring, and knew they had to act fast.

“Come on,” he said, elbowing his friend and pointing. “We don’t have much time!”

As Thren moved, he kept the three in the corner of his eye, cheering on Crion. If he could at least kill one of the other two, then there might still be a chance…

The fight began without a word spoken among them. Phillip took a step forward, putting him just within arm’s reach, and stabbed. He did it without breaking stride, with Logan still at his side. As Crion brought his sword up to block, Logan leaped over the table, attempting to clear its top. He misjudged the height, banging his shins on the side. As he toppled forward Crion hit once, twice against Phillip’s blade, forcing an opening, and then dove to the ground. He landed with his elbow slamming against Logan’s throat, all his weight driving down on it. After that he rolled, avoiding a desperate lunge by Phillip over the wall.

And then he was back on his feet, a wolfish grin on his dirty face. There was victory in his eyes, and no doubt Phillip saw it. The table still between them, they engaged once more, swords flashing, but Crion was the better. When his sword pierced Phillip’s throat, and the blade fell from the dying man’s hand, it sounded as if he almost tried to sigh.

After that, Crion walked back over to where Logan lay, still futilely gasping for air, and drove his sword into his side.

“About fucking time,” Crion said.

When he turned their way, Thren and Grayson had armed themselves from Nolan’s now abandoned stash. They held their slender knives before them, up and ready for the attack. Crion saw them and laughed.

“You two?” he asked, gesturing around the dining hall. There were bodies everywhere, the smell of them rank and coupled with the smell of piss and shit from so many forced to make do without anywhere to defecate. Tables were overturned, food lay smashed into the hard floor, and seeming to cover everything was the blood of the dead. The only clean place was before the exit to the room, and its open door. “Do you really think I’m scared of you two, after all this?”

“We’re not scared of
you
,” Grayson said. Thren’s heart pounded, but for the first time since everything had started, he felt in control of matters.

“And you don’t have to be afraid of us,” Thren said. “You just need to die.”

Crion approached them, weaving his way around the tables. Grayson and Thren shared a look, then stepped apart. When Crion closed in on Thren, Grayson drifted around to the side, putting himself behind the older man and out of his line of sight. Crion sensed the tactic, and he looked none too pleased.

“Think you’re going to surround me?” he asked. “I’ve killed dozens of men far faster and better than you.”

Thren didn’t waste his breath arguing. When Crion moved to attack him, instead of attempting to fight him, he only turned and fled as fast as his legs could carry him. He dove into a roll, kicking out of it to curl around one of the tables, and then ran to the far side of the room. Crion tried to chase, but he was bigger, older, and the obstacles were far more of an annoyance to him. Thren put his back to the wall, sweat running down his neck and his stomach sick, but he’d gained space on his attacker.

“Slippery devils, aren’t you?” Crion asked. He turned, saw Grayson shadowing him. “But you can’t run away from me forever.”

We’ll see about that
, thought Thren.

This time Crion went after Grayson, whirling on his feet in an attempt to surprise him. But Grayson had spent the past few years surviving based on his ability to flee from angry merchants, and he knew how to move, how to roll underneath a bench, how to keep his head low and his feet moving regardless of how slick the ground was from spilled blood and food. Crion lost him, and he stood alone in the center of the dining hall, with Thren and Grayson each on the far side.

“Muzien!” Crion shouted, spinning in place. “I know you can see us! End this madness already! You know who your winner is.”

No answer.

Swearing, Crion turned back to Thren, paused. A grin spread across his face, revealing his ugly black teeth, and he went to one of the many weapon caches scattered about the room and picked up several knives.

“Come on then,” he said, readying one. “You might run fast, but how well can you dodge?”

Thren tensed as the gray-haired man took careful steps closer, one hand holding his sword, the other readying a knife to throw. Thren watched, watched, and then dove to his knees one way, only to immediately roll the other. The knife thudded against the wall beside him, the wooden handle cracking and breaking. Then he was running, and he heard Crion’s footsteps behind him, heard his heavy breathing. Relying on his instincts, he dove to the side at the first table, rolling underneath as yet another knife clacked against the ground.

To Grayson he ran, nearly throwing himself against the wall beside his friend. Spinning around, he dared let out a laugh.

“This isn’t a game!” Crion screamed, grabbing one of the knives.

“If it is,” Thren said, struggling to catch his breath, “I think we’re winning.”

Crion hurled the dagger at Grayson, who dodged left into Thren’s side. Luck was with him, for the throw had anticipated his movement, except to the right. Both sprinted away, Thren trailing behind Grayson. Crion swung his sword, missed, and Thren saw his opening. Instead of fleeing he dove straight at Crion, jamming upward with his slender dagger. The tip cut into Crion’s side, tearing flesh. Thren released the weapon so he could run, ducking underneath a frantic blow.

A smile on his face, Thren reached the other side of the dining hall. Grayson saw the smile, knew what it meant.

“You got him?” he asked.

Thren turned, nodded.

“I did,” he said.

Crion held his side, trying to stem the blood. The cut wasn’t too deep, but Thren knew there’d be no way for the man to bandage it. They wouldn’t give him the time. Crion released his hand, held it up bloody before them, and let out a primal cry. He charged them, but this time there were no games, no letting him get close so they might look for an opening. They stayed on the opposite side no matter where he went. Crion stumbled, he bumped into tables, he slipped once on a pool of spilled wine left by some nameless member of the Sun Guild. All the while his weakened body lost blood.