A Dance of Cloaks Read online

  “You forget your place!” Maynard said. “It is true we have much more than they, but therein lies our danger. We pay a fortune for mercenaries and guards while they bring in men off the street. We have our mansions and they have their hovels, and you tell me which is easier to hide? They are like worms. We cut off a head only to have two more grow from the parts.”

  “They don’t fear you,” Alyssa said. “None of you. Spineless men, you will lose everything but what you hold in your hands, hands that shrink with each passing day. Do you know how many of your own mercenaries give a portion of their coin to the guilds?”

  “And how would you know?” Maynard asked. He leaned back in his chair. His shoulders felt heavy and his arms made of stone. So many times he had heard this same argument from reckless fools. It saddened him to realize his daughter was now one of them. A bit of anger kindled in his heart. If Alyssa had such thoughts, he doubted they were originally her own. She had been out of the city for far too long to be so aware. Someone had fed her information twisted to fit their scheme.

  “How I know doesn’t matter,” Alyssa said a bit too quickly.

  “It is all that matters,” Maynard said. He rose from his chair and clapped for his servants. “Yoren Kull has been whispering in your ear, hasn’t he? I forbid Lord Pensley from allowing him contact with you, but where there’s walls there’s rats, isn’t that right?”

  “I’ve had many fosters.” Her voice was losing a bit of her certainty. She did fine when on the offensive. Now that his eye was on her, she faltered. “And what does it matter? I stayed with Lord Kull during the winter months. His castle is closer to the ocean where it’s warm.”

  “Lord Kull?” Maynard laughed. “He collects taxes from Riverrun. My servants live in a better home. Tell me, did he seduce you with whispers of power and a glass of wine?”

  “You’re avoiding my…”

  “No,” Maynard said, his voice growing stern. “You’ve been tainted with lies. We are still feared, but the guilds are feared even more. They are desperate. They kill without abandon. They have someone whispering in the ear of King Vaelor to convince him of our blame in all these matters. I have had as many men executed by the royal noose as killed by daggers in the night. Those who side with us gag on their food or have their children vanish from their bedchambers. Besides, we may have our wealth, but they have Thren Felhorn.”

  He clapped again. Servants crowded around all of them. Alyssa felt uncomfortable by their presence, and then the guards arrived.

  “Take her,” Maynard said.

  “You can’t!” she shouted as rough hands grabbed her arms and pulled her flailing from the table.

  He forced himself to watch her dragged away but refused to say a thing. There was too much chance he’d reveal his pain.

  “What do you want us to do with her?” asked his keeper of the guard, a simple-minded man made useful by his muscles and sheer devotion to his work.

  “Put her in one of the cells,” Maynard said as he sat at the table and picked up a fork.

  “The gentle touchers would make her talk sooner,” said the guardkeeper. Maynard looked up, appalled.

  “Under no circumstances,” he said. “She is my daughter. Give her time to cool underneath the stone. Once she’s ready, I can show her just how bloody this war has gotten. I should have brought her back to me, I see that now. She says she is a woman grown, and of that I have no doubt. Let us hope her cunning surpasses even my own. I will not have my wealth stolen from me by a pathetic tax collector.”

  Aaron sat alone. The walls were bare wood. The floor had no carpet. There were no windows and only a single door, locked and barred from the outside. The silence was heavy, broken only by his occasional cough. In the far corner was a pail full of his waste. Thankfully, he had stopped smelling it after the first day.

  His new teacher had given him only one instruction: wait. He had been given a waterskin, but no food, no timetable, and worst of all, nothing to read. The boredom was far worse than his previous instructor’s constant beatings and shouts. Gus the Gruff he had called himself. The other members of the guild whispered that Thren had lashed Gus twenty times after his son’s training was finished. Aaron hoped his new teacher would be outright killed. Out of all his teachers over the past five years, he was starting to think he was the cruelest.

  So far he didn’t even know his name. He looked like a wiry old man with a gray beard curled around his neck and tied behind his head. When he led Aaron to the room, he had walked with a cane. Aaron had never minded isolation, so at first the idea of a few hours in the dark sounded rather enjoyable. He had always stayed in corners and shadows, greatly preferring to watch people talk than take part in their conversation.

  Suddenly Aaron realized what was going on. He walked to the door and sat down. For a little while light had crept in underneath the frame, but then someone had stuffed a rag across it, completing the darkness. Using his slender fingers he pushed the rag back, letting in a bit of light. He had not done so earlier for fear of angering his new master. Now he couldn’t care less. They wanted him to speak. They wanted him to crave conversation with others. Whoever the old man was, his father had surely hired him for that purpose.

  “Let me out!” he tried to shout. The words came out as a raspy whisper, yet the volume startled him. He had meant to boom the command at the top of his lungs. Was he really so timid?

  “I said let me out,” he shouted, raising the volume tremendously.

  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 ki
ng, 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.

  Thren 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.