Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella (4 page)

Thren felt ready to pass out himself, but he carried on. Just a little while longer, he told himself. Just a tiny bit more.

At last Crion slumped to the ground in the middle of the dining hall, sword limp in his right hand. Thren and Grayson stalked over to him, as if they were lions and he a wounded animal. Crion saw them coming, and he chuckled.

“Fuck you, Phillip,” he breathed.

When the boys were close he flung his sword at Grayson, but the throw was errant, the weapon not designed for such use. It clattered along the ground, leaving him helpless.

Thren leaped at him first, then pulled away when Crion tried to punch him in the face. Grayson jumped him from behind then, stabbing the man’s back repeatedly. As he screamed and tried to reach around to grab Grayson, Thren took the opening and dove in, stabbing the man’s throat as Crion screamed his denial. When he pulled the dagger free, blood poured across his hands from the gaping wound. Grayson jumped away, and together, each soaked in blood, they watched the man die.

“Last one,” Grayson said, and he looked ready to vomit.

“Not quite,” Thren said, and he met his friend’s eye. They each held a weapon, both stained with another man’s blood. Thren opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t know what to say. Grayson, however, was the better of them.

“No,” he said. “It is.”

He dropped his dagger.

Thren took a step closer, grip tightening on his own dagger. This was his chance, a way to ensure that Muzien would not be disappointed in him. But after all they’d done, all they had endured in both the streets of Mordeina and the dining hall of the Sun Guild…

Thren dropped his dagger.

“Enough!”

Together they turned around and fell to their knees as Muzien the Darkhand stepped into the room. His face was a calm mask, but his eyes seemed to shine.

“You were but a gamble and a dream,” he said as he approached. “Never did I believe you would succeed. But you did, you two did. The Sun Guild’s future has never been brighter than at this very moment.”

Thren felt something burning in his chest, and he wondered what it was. Pain? Hunger?

It felt good, though. It felt like worth. It felt like pride. It felt as if a legend had just given him meaning and purpose. When he glanced at Grayson, he saw that same understanding revealing itself as a giant grin on his dark-skinned friend’s face.

“Follow me,” Muzien said, taking them toward the exit. There seemed to be a bounce to his step, and an excitement to his voice. “You both will need to recover, and I’ll ensure you have food and drink ready for you in your rooms.”

They stepped out the door, and as they did Thren let out a gasp.

All around the door lay the bodies of dozens of men and women, all those who had left earlier. They had died the exact same way, their throats slit, no doubt denying them their dying screams. Thren looked to Muzien, and he felt growing in his addled brain an understanding of just what type of man their lives were now sworn to, of what kind of kingdom he was expected to build.

“Why?” he dared ask.

Muzien frowned at the bodies, as if he hadn’t noticed their presence until Thren asked about them.

“The door was a gift for the weak, nothing more. A man or woman unwilling to risk everything is someone I do not want in the ranks of my guild.”

He turned, knelt before the two so they might see eye to eye. His presence held Thren captive, the strength of his will a frightening portent of all to come.

“In the coming days, you will discover whatever limits your body had were merely lies,” he said. “In the coming months, I will subject you to what other men might call torture. In the coming years, you will learn to how to bring death to the invincible, how to wield a blade with the skill of a god. Every king must have his heirs, and I will have heirs worthy of my legend. You will know pain, you will know fear, and at times you will cry out for death to spare you.”

Muzien stood, beckoned them with his blackened hand.

“Never forget,” he told them, “that the door is always open. Never forget, my children, that in your time of suffering, you chose not to step through it.”

“This feels like a lot of effort for a simple party,” Marion Lightborn said as the carriage rolled through the crowded streets of Mordeina. “Will it really be as dazzling as you say?”

Kyle Garland sat opposite her in the carriage, and he gave her a patronizing smile.

“How many times must I tell you, it is not a simple party.”

Marion shifted the length of her skirt, made of a fine red silk that came to a stop just above her knee. With her sitting, it had pulled even higher, and she caught Kyle stealing glances, no doubt hoping to see beyond the dark skin of her thighs.

“Let me count,” she said, putting a hand to her chin and pretending to think hard. “At least twice a day the past month you’ve bragged about how great this Kensgold thing will be, at least three times a day told me of its amazing importance. Oh dear me, I fear my little head will not be able to count that high, after all.”

Kyle shifted in his seat, never comfortable when he was being mocked no matter how lightly. He ran a hand through his long dark hair, a nervous tic of his.

“My dear, if you just want me to put your nerves at ease, I assure you that the evening will be worthwhile, even for you.”

Marion batted her eyes at him.

“What do you mean, even for me?”

“I mean that I go because it is expected,” Kyle said. The carriage hit a bump, and the jolt knocked his right elbow against the side. He sucked in air through his gritted teeth, then let it out with a curse. With his left hand he rubbed a ring on his right forefinger, one containing an enormous ruby set into an elaborate band of gold, the rubbing another nervous tic of his.

“Expected,” he resumed. “When all the families of the Trifect gather, it’s career suicide not to attend if at all possible, this one in particular. It’s the first Kensgold held west of Neldar, which means anyone with even the slightest reputation will be begging, borrowing, and stealing to make it inside. I’ll have a dozen new trade contracts for our finest leaf and wine shipping east within a week of the Kensgold’s end. Perhaps for you it’ll be…duller, but at least the food will be good, and each Kensgold has a wide variety of entertainment. Surely a juggler or storyteller…”

“A juggler!” Marion interrupted. “Praise the gods, I might get to see a juggler!”

Kyle laughed, and he pinched her knee.

“Complain all you want, but I assure you, tonight will be fun.”

Marion smiled at him.

“I hope so,” she said.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and Kyle glanced out the window.

“We’re here,” he said. “Do your best to behave.”

“Behave?” Marion asked. “And to think you always seem to be trying your best to have me
not
behave. Or is that only for the bedroom?”

The man’s neck flushed red, and he did not respond as he opened the door. After stepping out, he turned and offered her his hand. She took it, then curled her arm around his and nestled her neck against his shoulder. Her dark hair spilled down along the front of his white sleeve, a startling contrast. When she stole a glance at him, he looked so pleased his head was ready to burst. Marion knew what she was to Kyle, a pretty decoration for him to show off to his friends and colleagues, but it didn’t bother her much. Stealing a glance at her own red dress, she had to admit she made a fine decoration, one to be envious of indeed.

“Master,” said a voice behind them. “The guards are many, and the area safe, so long as you stay within the walls.”

Marion turned to see Kyle’s two private bodyguards hopping down from the driver’s seat of the carriage after a servant rushed up to take over. Both were female, and wore tightly fitted black shirts, slender pants, and thick boots of dark leather. Strapped to their sides were long curved daggers. Most disconcerting to Marion were the featureless masks covering their faces, smooth and white. Only their eyes were visible, and it was the eyes Marion used to distinguish between them. One had green eyes, the other brown. It was Green who was talking, her voice slightly muffled by her mask.

“I’m glad you approve,” Kyle told her. “Though I still want you close. The last thing I need is someone eyeing the Heart of Ker and getting sticky fingers.”

“You worry about nothing,” Marion said, squeezing his arm and urging him along. “Now come. I want to find myself a juggler.”

The three wealthy families of the Trifect all lived in the east, but they still owned many homes and businesses all throughout Dezrel. Before them was a great mansion owned by Maynard Gemcroft, the place alight with torches burning behind colored glass. The grounds between the wall and the mansion were filled with men and women talking, all in their very finest outfits. Servants flitted everywhere, carrying a seemingly endless horde of things to eat and drink. At the gate Kyle bowed to the middle-aged advisor who checked everyone’s invitations.

“I don’t need to present
my
invitation, do I, Bertram?” Kyle asked when it was their turn.

“Lord Garland,” said Bertram. “No, you do not, for I sent yours personally. It is your wine I prefer above all others when a hard day needs to be put behind me.”

He beckoned for them to pass through the soldiers guarding the gate, and together the group of four passed. Once they were inside, Marion saw Kyle’s eyes begin to wander. At first they went to the older men scattered about, wealthy traders who had built vast empires across the land of Dezrel. After that to the many women wearing silken outfits that more often than not enhanced, and hid little of, their curvaceous bodies. They clung to the arms of their men, mouths closed, eyes alight, as if being in their very presence was a blessed gift. It made Marion sick to think that she was one of them.

“Is this where we part ways?” Marion asked as Kyle led her to a group of five men standing about the lawn, drinking wine from tall glasses.

“Are you sure?” Kyle asked, looking her over. She could tell he wasn’t sure she’d been at his side long enough for her to be easily labeled as his, but she did not care.

“Yes,” she said, gently slipping from his arm. “Enjoy your talks and deals. I need a bit of wine in my stomach before I will enjoy my time.”

She made her way through the crowd, careful not to brush against anyone. The last thing she wanted was for someone to initiate conversation with her. Finding the nearest platter of wine carried by a servant, she snagged a glass and then looked for a table somewhere. There were dozens set about, mostly occupied, but she found one in the corner with only two seats, both empty. Sitting in one with her back to the wall of a garden, she sipped her wine. It was weaker than she’d expected, but at least it tasted phenomenal. Distant music of violins and cellos wafted over her, and she closed her eyes to try to relax.

“Is this seat taken?” a man’s voice interrupted her thoughts to ask.

“Perhaps,” she said, opening her eyes, “depending on who is seeking to claim it.”

Before her was a well-dressed man with short blond hair and intense blue eyes. He was young, seventeen, perhaps eighteen at most. His vest was slightly open, and she could tell through the thin white shirt beneath that he was fit. At his waist was a short sword, its sheath tied shut with a comically oversized white ribbon.

“It’s not the chair I’m hoping for,” he said, still standing. His voice was deep, commanding. “But the company instead.”

“Then have the chair,” she said. “We’ll decide on the company as we go along.”

He slid into the seat, then leaned back. The man openly stared at her, and she realized she’d not been told his name.

“Will you not introduce yourself?” she asked.

“My name is Thren,” he said. “Of a family of no importance, I assure you, but at the same time the importance of my being here is of the utmost. So here I am.”

“Marion Lightborn,” she said, and she caught how Thren’s eyes sparkled at the name. “I’m here with Kyle Garland.”

“Such a shame,” said Thren. “I was hoping you’d come alone.”

“Don’t fret,” she told him. “Pretty blue eyes like yours, you should find many women eager to vanish into one of Maynard’s rooms for a quick, private conversation.”

Thren chuckled.

“I could take one of those women as easily as I take this seat. But it’s not the seat I want, remember?”

Despite herself, she blushed.

“Indeed,” she said.

Thren looked over his shoulder, scanning the surrounding groups that chatted nearby. Their voices were like a buzz amid the music, which sadly was not loud enough to drown them out.

“Is that him?” Thren asked, gesturing toward a pack of six. Marion sipped her glass of wine.

“That it is,” she said. “The one in white, dark hair, gold on the cuffs. Such a
fine
dresser, my date.”

“The devotion you show your lover is one bards would sing of for years, should they ever spend time in your presence.”

Marion laughed.

“He is not my lover. I am willing to do much for wealth, but not that. Not him.”

Thren leaned toward her, and his smile widened at that.

“You impress me more and more,” he said.

“You give me too much credit. I’m still a whore. I’m just more selective about it is all. Besides, so far I’ve been given weeks of fine food, drink, and clothes to wear, and I haven’t had to spread my legs once. All I’ve had to do is
promise
to spread my legs come a day that is always soon, always just on the horizon.”

“That gem on his finger,” he said. “Is that the Heart?”

Marion finished her drink.

“Kyle’s pride and joy. The Heart of Ker, supposedly dug from the sands not long after the black spire crumbled and the sands were swallowed by the grasslands. Yes, that’s it. He keeps it with him always. The only things that stay closer to him are his bodyguards.”

“Bodyguards?”

Marion searched, gestured to one of them lurking along the wall.

“The women in the white masks.” She turned back, shook her head. “I wish you could see them sparring sometime. If they weren’t fucking Kyle every night, I wouldn’t think they were human.”

Thren let out another chuckle, and he rose from his seat.

“I think your lover has spotted me,” he said, bowing low. As he did, Kyle strode over, an unpleasant look on his face.

“Marion, my dear,” he said, kissing her cheek. His eyes never left Thren’s face. “I see you have made a new friend.”

Thren grinned.

“I wouldn’t call me a friend,” he said. “Good day, Lord Garland. Oh, and nice ring. Wouldn’t mind having one like that for myself.”

He sauntered off, as if amused by Kyle’s jealous reaction. Kyle slipped into the other seat, still glaring at Thren’s back.

“Who was that man?” he asked.

Marion let a small smile spread on her lips.

“He said his name was Thren.”

The blood drained from Kyle’s face. Up from his chair he bolted, forcefully grabbing her hand as he stared into the crowd.

“Thren?” he hissed. “As in Thren
Felhorn
?”

“Perhaps, why?”

Kyle looked down at his ring, then clenched the hand into a fist.

“That man’s the Darkhand’s apprentice,” Kyle said, craning his neck. “He’s robbed several of my caravans already, and…damn it, I can’t see him anymore!”

His two bodyguards, who’d been lurking against the side of the mansion so their master could bargain and banter in privacy, saw his distress and hurried over.

“What is the matter?” asked Green.

“Thren’s here,” said Kyle.

“Bertram let him in?” asked Brown.

“Or he climbed the wall,” said Green.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyle said. “We have to leave, now. He made his intentions quite clear. He wants my ring. He wants the Heart of Ker!”

“Calm down,” Marion said, pulling her hand free of his. “You don’t know that. He just said it was a nice ring. Even if that was Thren, and he’s here to rob people, there’s hundreds here whose purses he might take instead.”

“He was
mocking
me, you stupid woman,” Kyle said. “What do we do, what do we do?”

“We should leave,” Green said.

“There are two days left, I can’t leave yet,” Kyle said. “Safe, we have to get somewhere safe until I can talk to Bertram in private, let that idiot know his security isn’t doing its damn job.”

“To your room then,” said Brown.

Marion was more dragged than led through the party toward the main entrance of the mansion. The doors were propped open, and inside the halls she saw plenty more people scurrying about. Stairs immediately before her led to the higher floor, and Kyle took them without hesitating. At the top, an older man and his wife were coming down. Kyle paused for a moment to smile and intrude into their conversation.

“Bartholomew, old friend,” said Kyle. “Forgive my hurry, but I’d love to talk later. Tell me, which room is yours so I may visit when things calm down later tonight?”

“First on your left once you reach the end of the hall,” said the gray-haired man. “And try not to come too late. Once these old bones get a bit of alcohol into them, sleep doesn’t lurk far behind.”

Kyle laughed, and Marion did her best to put on a pleasing face.

“Come on,” Kyle said once they were past. Down the hall they walked, then turned left. At the first in a sea of doors they stopped, and Kyle checked the knob.

“Locked,” he said, stepping aside so one of his bodyguards could slide forward. She pulled two thin wires from her pocket and, kneeling down, inserted both into the lock.

“We’re breaking into the old man’s room?” Marion asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d rather think of it as switching rooms until I can be assured of my safety,” Kyle said.

With a click the lock tumbled, and the bodyguard pushed open the door. Together they stepped into a well-furnished room, the grand bed covered with seemingly endless number of blankets, great curtains furled before two large windows. Marion wrinkled her nose as behind her Green shut the door and relocked it.

“Smells like…something,” she said. “Like dusty clothes in a dustier closet.”

“For once will you stop complaining!” Kyle yelled, whirling on her. Marion took a step back, and she averted her gaze.