David Dalglish - Cloak and Spider

Still Jorry was smiling. Thren didn’t like it one bit. Again he knew he was missing something, and when others of his guild pulled open the crates of the wagon, he realized what it was.

“Flour?” asked one. “What the shit we going to do with this, bake ourselves a cake?”

Thren felt his neck flush red as others began to laugh.

“Get it into the guildhouse,” Jorry ordered. “We’ll find ourselves a use for Thren’s grand score tonight somehow.”

Despite their having gathered in the middle of the street, leaving themselves open to ambush or spying, Thren’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. His blue eyes met Jorry’s brown, and within them he saw the dark amusement twinkling.

“You gave us the signal,” Thren said quietly.

“I stepped out to usher you home,” Jorry said. “Our informant was wrong. Ah well. Good thing you didn’t get hurt fighting those mercenaries.”

The guildmaster turned and, laughing, strode back into the guildhouse.

Grayson’s hand fell atop Thren’s shoulder, but Thren shook it off.

“He got us,” Grayson said as the rest of the wagon was unloaded, leaving the two alone. “No shame in that. Jorry’s a clever one. That’s how he got where he is, after all.”

“He wanted us dead,” Thren said.

“And we want him dead. It’s only fair.”

Thren shook his head.

“In that, it is only politics and power. This was mockery. I won’t have it, not with our reputation yet to be established here in Veldaren. I won’t let us become known as the flour thieves.”

Grayson shrugged.

“It’s got a unique ring to it.”

His friend was just trying to maintain his humor, especially after such a mess-up, but Thren knew he couldn’t risk such a stain remaining on his reputation.

“No, Grayson,” he said. “It’s time we took over the Spider Guild.”

Grayson laughed.

“And how will we do that?”

In answer, Thren kicked open the door to the guildhouse and marched inside. Once beyond the guarded entryway he stepped into the building’s wide single floor lit by dozens of candles and filled with members of the Spider Guild, by far the most dangerous and prosperous of Veldaren’s many thief guilds. Its various members were busy drinking and chatting with the women who would be sharing their beds that night. In the far corner Thren spotted Jorry, a woman at either side of him and a drink in the hand not busy groping their thighs.

“Thren!” shouted Jorry, seeing him enter. “Come to join me?”

In answer, Thren took out his sword and smashed it onto the center of a round table before him. The two men drinking at it looked up at him in shock, then quickly backed away. The brown drink from their spilled glasses dripped down to the floor.

“You’ve insulted me,” Thren said in the suddenly still room. “I don’t forgive insults, not lightly.”

Jorry leaned forward, and he sipped from his glass before setting it aside.

“What is it you want , Thren?” he asked. “It’s my position, isn’t it? You’ve been in my guild less than a year, yet you still eye my power. I’d call you arrogant, but it doesn’t come near far enough. I know you’re skilled with a sword, but that just makes you a killer. Last I remember, we’re a thieves guild, not sellswords.”

“And I am the better thief,” Thren said.

“A bold claim,” Jorry said. “But you’re talking to Jorry the Swift. How do you think I obtained such a title?”

“I always assumed it was from your time with the ladies,” Grayson said, striding in from the street and coming to Thren’s side. He crossed his arms, putting his fingers within easy reach of the hilts of his swords.

“So funny, so clever,” Jorry said, slowly rising to his feet. All around him Thren saw members of the Spider Guild reaching for their daggers and swords. There were over fifty crammed into that room, not counting the whores. Even if he could kill Jorry, there would be no guild for him to rule. They’d string him up and then bleed him out in the most creative ways they could imagine. But Thren wasn’t interested in killing Jorry. Well, not yet, anyway.

“I’m done with you,” said Jorry. “Your ego, your stubbornness. Whatever usefulness you’ve known has long passed.”

“You want me gone?” Thren asked. “A challenge, then. A chance for you to prove your superiority.”

Jorry tilted his head, his expression carefully guarded.

“Is that so? And why should I accept?”

“You’re the better thief,” said Thren. “Or will you cower before your own guild?”

Jorry chuckled, and he reached for his drink.

“So be it,” he said. “What is your challenge?”

Thren knew it had to be worthy, something the entire guild would remember should either he or Jorry be successful. Something the guildmaster’s pride would never let him turn down.

“A simple theft,” he said. “The first to retrieve the king’s crown wins.”

The silence around them quickly turned to a roar. Jorry laughed, as if taken aback by Thren’s audacity.

“The king’s crown it is!” he cried. “And what do I get if I win?”

“If you win, Grayson and I will toss aside our cloaks, and my family and I will never step foot in Veldaren again.”

“Be still my heart,” said Jorry. “And if you win?”

Thren shrugged.

“You step down as guildmaster, and acknowledge me the better thief. Let us swear it now, with our entire guild as witness.”

Their gazes met again, and Thren knew he had him. The risk was great, but Jorry knew that if it came to a clash of swords, there would be no victory for him. But in nighttime acquisitions? There were very few better than Jorry, and honestly, Thren did not consider himself one of them. But in this he’d have to be.

“I accept,” Jorry said, lifting his glass in a toast. “Let the contest begin!”

* * *

The following night Thren and Grayson leaned against the front of a closed shop and stared up the road leading to King Gregor Vaelor’s castle.

“I’m not sure why I have to come with you,” Grayson said.

“Because you’re banished along with me if I fail.”

“That is sort of my point.”

Thren grinned at his friend.

“You know you’d come with me on this even if I tried to stop you, so stop complaining. Besides, we have a castle to break into.”

“Speaking of,” said Grayson, gesturing to the distant edifice. “How exactly will we be going about doing just that?”

“Castles are made to hold off armies,” Thren said. “Against two men…well, that’s a different matter. Follow me, and I’ll show you a door no one ever remembers.”

Thren ran toward the eastern side of the castle, barely able to hear Grayson’s muttered complaint.

“Cocky bastard…”

There were no walls to protect the castle and its adjoining prison; for the longest time the wall surrounding the city of Veldaren had been enough. Instead the castle relied upon its thick doors and constant patrols, and neither felt insurmountable to Thren. Keeping just beyond sight of the patrols, Thren led Grayson to the far side, where the castle jutted up against the great wall. More soldiers walked along the top, well armed and carrying torches. In the shadow of that wall they approached the castle.

“So what exactly are we looking for?” Grayson whispered into his ear as Thren paused for a moment to wait for another patrol to meander by.

“I said a door,” Thren whispered back. “Have some faith.”

A foul smell grew steadily worse the closer to the castle they came, until Thren could barely stand it, and Grayson was cursing him under his breath. They were just to where the castle joined with the wall, and in the crevice they formed the ground was soft and reeked of filth. No torches shone on them there, for which Thren was thankful. Remaining hidden would have been difficult given how distracted he was. With the best dramatic reveal he could pull off with one hand covering his nose, he gestured to his entrance.