David Dalglish - Cloak and Spider

The rest of his guild clashed with the Scorpions, but these were Grayson’s handpicked best, and they made short work of the frantic defenders. Blood spilled across the counter, and from every direction came screams. Thren reached behind the counter, grabbing several bottles, and then smashed them into a single puddle. That done, he grabbed a rag, soaked it with some of the liquid, and then dipped it into the fire as all around him men died. When the rag caught fire, he tossed it into the puddle, setting it aflame.

“Carr must be upstairs,” Senke said, sliding up to him. His arms were caked with blood, as was his mace, and along his left cheek ran a weeping gash.

“Come with me,” Thren said. “Send the rest outside to circle the place. No one escapes.”

Senke shouted out the order as Thren climbed the stairs. At the top waited a trio of men, all wielding swords, their faces hidden behind the deep yellow of their cloaks and hoods. Behind them Thren caught a glimpse of an open door at the far end of the hall, and Carr running inside it.

“Do you smell the smoke?” Thren asked the men. “How well does a scorpion burn, I wonder?”

The first slashed with his sword, but it was a feint. The two others lunged as the man suddenly pulled back. Thren lifted his blades, and he could not keep the look of contempt off his face. He’d seen the other two tense, seen the way their feet shifted for their lunges, and the feint could not have been more obvious, for even if Thren had not blocked, the angle was such that the blow would have missed anyway.

If these were the best Carr had, Thren was sorely disappointed.

With his left hand he blocked one attack, and the other he parried aside so he could step closer, pull his sword around, and double-thrust for the man’s stomach. Except instead of gaining an easy kill, he found his prey leaping away. The other two men converged simultaneously, one striking high, the other low. Thren let out a cry, and he fell back toward the stairs while batting aside the lower hit. Pain spiked across his chest, his shirt ripped and his chest bleeding from a shallow wound. Despite the pain, Thren let out a laugh. Perhaps Carr had at least one more trick left up his sleeve.

But now Thren knew the level of his foes. More importantly, he had help coming from the stairs. He rushed them headlong, swords a blur. They tried to cut him as he passed, but he shifted, angled his run so he flew through them, cloak hiding the bulk of his movements. Skilled they were, but Thren felt his mind sharpened, its focus magnified by the corpse of his beloved Marion. With every step, every hit, he felt his rage growing. Bleeding from more shallow cuts along his arms and legs, Thren landed on a shoulder, rolled to his back, and then kicked up to his feet.

“Not good enough,” he said, spitting blood. From the stairs ran Senke, the way no longer blocked by Thren. Attackers on both sides, the three Scorpions tried to divide their attention, two to Thren, one to Senke. Neither had a chance. Senke was as skilled with his mace as any man could be with a weapon. He swung wide for the man’s chest, but when he made to block, Senke had stepped in close, left leg sweeping out the man’s knees. When the Scorpion fell, Senke’s mace followed him to the ground, blasting in his ribs with an audible crunch.

Thren’s two died just as easily, one sword finding throat, the other piercing lung. Yanking his blades free, Thren turned down the hall as smoke began to billow up the stairs.

“At my side,” Thren said, ignoring the other doors as he ran. Finding the one on the far end, the one he’d seen Carr enter, he tested the handle and found it unlocked. Eyes narrowing, he turned the handle, kicked the door open, and then dodged to the side. An arrow shot through the center of the door, embedding into the opposite wall. Thren stepped inside, showing no hurry. Carr stood in a small but well-furnished bedroom. By the window stood Carr’s wife, Lenore, and his ten-year-old son, Reed. Seeing Thren, the guildmaster lowered his empty crossbow.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Carr said as Thren approached.

“I know,” Thren said. “And I don’t care.”

* * *

They dragged all three through the street, their wrists bound together with rope. Of the fifteen Spiders who had come, only four had died, compared to the twenty Scorpions Thren’s men had killed. No doubt more Scorpions lurked throughout the city, but Thren walked with his sword pressed against their leader’s throat. None would dare interfere, not anymore. If anything, they’d all be looking for new guilds to take them in.

Thren said nothing to them, as did Carr. Lenore wept, the pretty little thing, but she kept her mouth shut. Only the child dared say anything, but his questions were ignored, and eventually he fell silent.

Arriving at Thren’s hideout, a simple unmarked warehouse, they entered, Thren leading the way.

“Take them to the dark room,” Thren ordered. “Tie them to the wall, but don’t harm them needlessly.”

As Thren watched the men carry out his orders, he glanced to the stairs leading to the upper floor. Waiting on them, watching quietly, were his sons. Aaron was barely visible over the bannister, his blond hair and blue eyes poking out. Beside him Randith leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. He seemed so much more serious than his ten years should have allowed.

“Where’s Mom?” Randith asked, his voice piercing the din.

Thren swallowed, tried to think of a way to answer.

“Dead,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Randith winced, but he put on a show of remaining strong. It made Thren proud of him, sick as his stomach was from the finality of the words he’d spoken. Aaron, however, teared up immediately.

“No,” the younger brother murmured. “No, she can’t, she…”

“Take him back upstairs,” Thren said. “Now. I have work to do.”

Not wanting to see them any longer, to see their pain both hidden and obvious, he pushed his mind to the matters at hand. In the back of his warehouse was the dark room, unfurnished and lacking any windows. Thren stepped inside, taking a torch with him. Hooking it on the wall just below a small vent to allow the smoke to escape, he returned to the door and shut it. The sound it made echoed and echoed in the cramped space.

“Thren,” Carr whispered, his features shadowed in the flickering torchlight. “Please, do whatever you want to me, but let them go. They had nothing to do with it, you know that. You know that!”

Tied to the opposite wall were Carr’s wife and son, and they both sniffled, crying from fear and uncertainty. Thren never looked their way. Instead he stood before Carr, let him see his body shaking with rage, let him see his control about to shatter.

And then Thren collapsed to his knees. He let his hardness break, let the anguish come pouring forth. As Carr watched in stunned silence, Thren beat against his legs, crying out Marion’s name again and again. Stumbling to his feet, he flung himself against a wall and smashed his fists against it, then slammed it with his forehead. He thought of Marion’s smile, her dazzling eyes. He remembered her body against his, every curve, every secret, all replaced by the ghost of a memory stolen away in Grayson’s hands. Thren never bothered to wipe away his tears, just let them flow down his face, down his chin.

At last his composure came to him, almost unwillingly. Using his sleeve, he brushed the snot from his nose, then walked over to Carr. The man sat on his rear, with his hands tied above him, and Thren knelt so they might stare eye to eye.

“Listen well,” Thren said after clearing his throat. “Tonight marks the end of your guild. Every Scorpion will die. Even those who left your guild to fly a cloak of a different color, they will die. Anyone who dares utter your name, or the name of your guild, will die. Twenty years from now, should a man be foolish enough to start a guild with the emblem of a Scorpion, I will crush his guild into the ground before it can last a week. Tonight you, and everything you accomplished, will cease to exist. Do you understand me, Carr?”