The Shadowdance Trilogy Read online

  After he had been gone for about ten minutes, a hard knock roused her from her thoughts. Her heart leapt into her throat. She grabbed one of her throwing daggers and held it tight in her hand. If Thren wanted her, she would die fighting him. She wouldn’t let him torture her.

  Body tensed for combat, she flung open the door. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she saw Senke standing there looking baffled and worried by the dagger she held in her hand.

  14

  Aaron felt oddly exhilarated. He’d never been out at night on his own. Thren had always insisted someone accompany him on his rare excursions out of the complex. Usually the reasons involved safety, the Trifect, and rival guilds wanting to settle a million old grudges. More and more, though, Aaron thought that his father wanted to keep him from feeling a taste of freedom.

  He ran along the rooftops. With so many nearby logging towns, especially those on the northern edges of the King’s Forest, the houses were built sturdy, tall, and with mostly flat roofs. With his weight, the wood and plaster easily held him. He landed softly as he could, but he also ran fast. Bits of gray cloth trailed in the air behind him, the ties to the mask that covered his entire face. Only his blue eyes were visible.

  As he neared the western district, the going got rougher. The west was far from the wealthiest of districts, but every part of the city had its betters, and they always clumped themselves together. As the buildings grew fancier, the roofs grew more slanted, with multiple floors, odd decorations and stone creatures, as well as the sharp triangular rooftops that had been fashionable at some point. Instead of racing along, he leapt and climbed. Sweat poured across his skin, the air was devilishly cold, but through it all, Aaron smiled.

  I’m not Aaron, he thought. Haern. Haern can rebel.

  It was strange thinking like that, but it made sense somehow. Let Aaron be shy. Let Aaron cower to his father and steal as ordered. Haern would hide, and he would survive. And tonight, Haern would kill, but unlike Aaron, it’d be for good. He knew just enough about sex to know that whatever Dustin planned to do, it’d be horrific torture before he actually killed the girl. He couldn’t let her go through that, not because he didn’t have the courage to lie to his father.

  At last, he found the mansion. He was atop an even larger home on the opposite side of the street, his arms wrapped around a stone statue of what looked like a deer crossed with a man. His fingers drummed against the antlers. Despite the darkness, he could see far. The moon was bright, the clouds only wispy ghost fingers stretching across the sky.

  There was no sign of anything amiss. No windows were broken, the door was shut tight, and he saw no shadows skulking around the sides. Of course, based on what Kayla had said, he had to assume that Dustin would be a bit more subtle than just walking up to the front door and kicking it in.

  If the girl was there, she most likely wasn’t alone. Or she could be in the temple of Ashhur. Sitting there across the street, there were a million things Aaron didn’t know, and he’d find out none of them from his current perch. Tapping his dagger to give himself courage, he climbed down and approached the mansion.

  The place lacked the security of higher wealth. No worn paths circled the building from a patrol of guards. No fence surrounded it, and no dogs prowled about. Many times Senke had led him to various estates, pointed out weaknesses, and made him sneak in when the night was young. He never had to steal anything valuable, just something to prove he had gone far inside the home. From what he saw of the Eschaton mansion, Aaron thought Senke never would have given him a place so easy except as a warmup.

  Aaron slipped around back, checking each of the windows. He found one unlocked near the very back. His heart stopped as he realized that Dustin may have been the one to unlock it. Stepping back, he scanned the area, seeing no footprints. There was dirt on the outside of the window, none of it disturbed. Carelessness then, Aaron decided. Thank the gods for that.

  He slid it open, doing so quicker than he might have normally. He didn’t have time to be patient. If Dustin walked around and saw him, he’d want to know what was going on. Aaron might be able to get the jump on him if he hurried. With the window halfway open, Aaron slipped inside and onto the hardwood floor within. His landing made far more noise than he’d have liked. If any of his former teachers had been there, he’d have been given a solid, but quiet, smack to the head.

  It took him another moment to decide what to do about the window. Part of him wanted to leave it open for a quick getaway. Then he realized that if he was trying to make a quick getaway, he had already failed terribly. Better to make sure Dustin got no wind of him being there. He shut it and readjusted the curtains.

  Aaron could only guess to the layout of the mansion. Thick curtains covered the windows, making the rooms far darker inside than out. He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust, then worked his way toward the back. When his feet touched carpet, he smiled. Off of the hard surface, he’d make much better time.

  He had entered in a long hallway with three windows facing out. The direction he’d guessed led him to a small kitchen. It was small by rich men’s standards, anyway, though it appeared well-stocked. Aaron slipped on through, drawing his knife as he exited into a short hallway ending at a door. He pried it open, cringing at the noise the hinges made. An alert guard might have heard, but inside he saw only a large bed. An elderly lady slept on the side closest to him, her mouth open, drooling. Her hair was completely gray. Lying beside her was Delius’s daughter.

  Aaron couldn’t believe it. Her father murdered that morning, by the Spider Guild, no less, and no one thought to give her a guard? Not even a man of the house? Instead, she was with an aunt or a Grany. Helpless.

  That’s what I’m for, Aaron thought as he scanned the area. The room inside only had one door. If Dustin was to get to them, he had to go through the kitchen, followed by the short hallway. Knowing his time was short, Aaron scanned the area. When Dustin arrived, he was determined to have surprise on his side.

  You’re sure that’s where she is?” Dustin asked, dancing a copper piece along his knuckles.

  “Yeah,” said the drunken man opposite him. “Delysia’s not old enough to be by herself, not with her brother off being trained to be some kind of mage or whatnot. Her Grany’s with her. Stupid old bag, I’d have slapped her a dozen times if she wasn’t so quick and eager to call her son to save her.”

  “I don’t care about her,” Dustin said. “Why wouldn’t they take Delysia elsewhere?”

  The other man shrugged. He looked ready to pass out. When Dustin had begun asking around the bars about the Eschaton, he’d been given blank looks until, at the fifth bar, a man had pointed to the corner.

  “Ask for Barney,” he’d been told. “Guy worked for him, guard or something.”

  Barney had actually been a gardener, though he had often implied himself to be an actual guard when asked what he did. Dustin had been worried about loyalties to his employer, worries that quickly died when he found out Barney had been fired earlier in the day.

  “Windbag thinks they can’t afford me,” Barney grumbled. “Show her. Bet that Delius bastard had a ton stored away. No one just gives their shit to the poor. They’ll say they do, but they never do.”

  Dustin had already bought the man three drinks. He tossed him the copper, not caring that it rolled off the table and to the floor. For a moment, it didn’t look like Barney even noticed.

  “What you want them for anyway?” he asked after a lengthy belch.

  “Unfinished business,” said Dustin as he walked out of the bar.

  The Eschaton estate wasn’t very far. It appeared Barney liked to drink close to home. Dustin kept to the shadows as he approached, his hand casually resting on the hilt of his mace. With its solid round head, it was more of an iron club than a mace. A good blow could smash a man’s skull like a pumpkin. Dustin always got a much bigger thrill breaking bones than by spilling blood. People bled all the time. Cuts were on the outside. Bone
s were inside, and the way people howled when he mangled their fingers or obliterated their kneecaps…it gave him shivers just thinking about it.

  There was also one extra benefit to having the mace over a sword. He slipped around to the back, found the first window on the eastern side facing away from the street, and then smashed it in with his mace. Barney had made it quite clear that it was just Delysia and her grandmother, and that they had no guards. Even if they did awake to the sound of broken glass, what would they do? Fight back?

  Dustin chuckled. He hoped so. He wasn’t much for old ladies, but Delysia was supposed to be nine or so. Hearing her plead and struggle would be damn exciting.

  Once inside, Dustin pushed his back against the wall beside the doorway. If someone came to investigate the noise, he’d have an easy blow to the back of their head. No one came. He shook his head. Whoever these Eschatons were, they were a stupid lot. He walked silently into a modest kitchen, careful not to disturb anything. He had been sloppy with the window, he knew that, but making too much ruckus searching for the girl would be pushing his luck. Besides, if they tried to flee, he wanted to make sure he heard them.

  He was not prepared for what he saw when he reached the other side of the kitchen. A boy dressed in Spider Guild grays knelt next to a door at the end of a short hallway. Dustin stopped, unhidden in the middle of the doorway, and wondered if he had somehow entered the wrong house.

  So far the boy’s back was to him. Dustin glanced around, saw a crumb of hardened bread crust, and flung it. It smacked the boy in the ear. His tiny body jumped, and Dustin winced at the noises he made. They weren’t loud, but he guessed a bedroom was on the other side of the door.

  “What the bloody abyss are you doing here?” Dustin whispered fiercely once the boy was with him in the kitchen. The boy looked back, only his eyes visible through the mask over his face. Dustin figured he was one of their younger thieves, but he didn’t have a clue who.

  “What’s with the mask,” he whispered.

  “I’m correcting a mistake,” the boy whispered back.

  Dustin gestured to the door, then made a circular motion with his finger beside his head, showing what he thought of that plan.

  “You’re a kid, now go home,” Dustin said. “I have work to do.”

  When he tried to push him aside, the boy grabbed his wrist and held firm.

  “She was my kill first,” he whispered far too loudly. The hairs on the back of Dustin’s neck stood on end. Something was wrong here. Those eyes seemed so familiar.

  “Aaron?” he asked, tugging his arm free.

  “No,” said the boy. “My name is Haern.”

  Pain spiked into Dustin’s side. He spun on reflex, only dimly aware that the boy had stabbed him. His spin forced the dagger out, flinging blood across the lower drawers of the kitchen. He swung his mace, grunting as it broke the doorframe. Haern rolled underneath the blow, kicked off the table, and then lunged with his dagger.

  Dustin parried with the length of his mace, stepped his left foot closer, and then swung back, hoping Haern would trip when dodging. Instead, the boy ducked underneath, looped his own leg around Dustin’s foot, and stabbed his dagger into his calf.

  Choking down a scream, Dustin swung his mace back down. One good hit and he’d splatter Haern’s brains across the floor. Problem was, the boy was too fast. He darted side to side, barely avoiding every swing. How the noise had not attracted attention, Dustin didn’t have a clue. On his fourth swing, Haern parried the mace to the side, then cut back quick enough to slice a thin gash along Dustin’s hand.

  The older thief abandoned all pretense at silence. Any underestimations of Haern’s skill were gone. He stepped back, hoping to go on the defensive to see if Haern made a mistake. Instead, Haern lunged, his sudden aggressiveness startling him. More dagger cuts lined his legs, which already throbbed with pain.

  “Have her,” Dustin said, backing toward the window he’d entered. “You can have her, just fucking kill her afterward, alright?”

  This only seemed to enrage Haern further. Dustin turned to run, knowing the boy would never let him leave. He took only two steps, and then spun. His knee slammed into Haern’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Before the boy could dart away, he followed it up with a vicious elbow to the side of his face. He felt grim satisfaction at the sight of blood spurting across the carpet, blood that wasn’t his.

  “What is your problem,” Dustin said as he knelt down. Haern was on his stomach, his dagger laying several inches out of reach in the kitchen. He grabbed Haern’s leg and pulled him closer, determined to remove the mask. He had his suspicions about the boy being Aaron, but he had to know for sure. If it was Aaron, he’d leave and let Thren dole out whatever punishment he felt right. If it wasn’t, well…

  He readied the mace in his other hand.

  “Let’s take a look, eh?” Dustin said as he spun Haern onto his back. When Haern rolled, his leg shot upward, kicking Dustin in the chin with his heel. Haern used the momentary confusion to continue his roll, breaking free of Dustin’s grip. The mace missed and struck the carpet, breaking the wood floor underneath. The boy lunged for the dagger, scooped it up in his hands, and then whirled.

  Dustin’s jaw dropped as the dagger whirled through the air and buried into his chest. Before he could react, Haern was already chasing it, his foot slamming into Dustin’s throat. Dustin retched for air as he fell. His mace smacked the floor twice, never once hitting flesh. Haern straddled him, his knees pressing in against his elbows. He felt the dagger yank free of his chest, then press against his throat.

  “You can’t kill her,” Haern said.

  “Your father will figure out, Aaron,” said Dustin, hoping his guess was right and the boy’s real name would startle him.

  Instead, Haern’s whole face darkened, a frightening gleam in his eye.

  “I’m not Aaron,” he said. “Not when I have a choice.”

  The dagger stabbed downward, and then Dustin saw the gleam no more.

  Haern sheathed his dagger and tightened his mask. His nose was bleeding from where Dustin had elbowed him and, with nowhere else to go, it was seeping into the mask and running down his lips. His stomach felt like it had a terrible cramp from being kneed there. Sniffling, he stood up and held in a shiver.

  Now he’d actually killed Dustin, he had no clue what to do with the body. He thought about leaving it there for the old lady to clean up. Surely she knew some younger men to help deliver it to proper gravemen.

  Haern frowned. That wouldn’t do. If Thren found out one of his men had died on the job, he’d send another to finish it. He never left things undone. He needed Dustin gone, that way he could claim the kill for himself and act as if Dustin had never shown. Thieves went missing all the time for a million reasons. Surely he could think of one that sounded convincing.

  Something blunt struck the back of his head. His vision swam with dots, and his whole body lurched to one side. He spun as he fell, just in time to see something large and black come swinging in at his face. Right before he was knocked out cold, he wondered how many days until his father forgot he ever existed.

  “Stay back, Delysia,” said the older woman, holding a heavy iron pan. “These vermin are dangerous even at a young age.”

  “Don’t be silly, Gran,” said Delysia. “You hurt him bad.”

  Gran stood over both bodies, wielding the pan with both hands as if it were an ancient weapon of legend. She gently prodded the boy’s body with her bare foot before stepping back into the kitchen.

  “He dead?” Delysia asked.

  “Don’t look like it,” said Gran. “Maybe if I were twenty years younger I’d have sent his brains flying out his ear, but looks like I just rung his bell a little.”

  “What do we do?” asked Delysia. “Tie him up?”

  “Don’t have the rope for that. Here, help me drag him into the pantry. We’ll just lock him up in there for now.”

  She stepped around and grabbed th
e boy’s feet.

  “Ugh,” she said. “Blood all over the carpet.”

  “Gran!”

  The old lady looked up at her granddaughter.

  “What?” she asked.

  Delysia’s face was pale, and with a limp hand, she pointed to Dustin’s lifeless body. Gran, whose real name she hadn’t gone by for at least fifteen years, turned around and looked.

  “Keep forgetting how sheltered you’ve been,” Gran said. “Delius did a good job of that, at least. If he had let you go to market on your own once in awhile you’d have seen plenty sights worse than this lying in the gutters.”

  Delysia’s eyes teared up at her father’s name. Gran saw this quietly muttered a curse to herself.

  “I’m sorry, girl. It’s been a rough day, and this ugly business is so much more than you deserve. Your father was a good man, and I’m sure he was doing what he thought was best for you.”

  Delysia nodded and wiped away some of her tears. Trying to be brave, she grabbed the boy’s hands and helped lift him off the floor. They dragged him to the pantry door, then dropped him so Gran could remove the dagger from the boy’s belt.

  “Most likely we’ll let the guard’s have him,” Gran said as she put the dagger on one of the tables.

  The pantry was large enough for three people standing side by side, so one unconscious boy easily fit. Gran dropped her end unceremoniously on the floor. Delysia lowered hers a bit more gently, not wanting to hurt his head. They shut the door, leaving him sprawled across the floor.

  “Bring the candle closer so I can see,” Gran said. Delysia promptly obeyed. They had two candles lit, one for each of them when they had sneaked out of their bedroom to see what was going on. Delysia put one on the counter next to the pantry and left the other one on the table beside the dagger.

  “Need a lock,” Gran said as she examined the pantry door. “Give me that chair. No, darling, the other one, the one that didn’t cost your father ten farms worth of dairy milk.”