David Dalglish - Cloak and Spider

He sheathed his sword, stalked back toward his corner.

“Only five,” Thren whispered as he closed his eyes, leaning his weight against Grayson. “Now just five…”

When he woke an hour later to Grayson jabbing him in the side, he wished he could sleep longer. His stomach hurt, his head hurt worse, and he’d have begged on his hands and knees for a drink of water for his dry, sticky tongue. But he thought it best to put that aside when he heard his friend speak.

“Now four,” he said. “Nolan killed Uriah while he slept.”

“Why’d he sleep?” Thren asked, rubbing at his eyes.

“Don’t think he did all night,” Grayson said, shrugging. His brown eyes were locked on the far left wall, where Uriah’s body lay slumped, throat cut, blood lazily dripping down his neck and onto his pale-yellow shirt. The little food the man had stored up was now in Nolan’s pile, which was shrinking rapidly as he wolfed down what he had.

“Going to give yourself a stomachache,” said one of the remaining four, a thin man with a badly scarred face. Thren recognized him from before being recruited by Muzien: he was a soft-spoken man named Logan. Logan was one of a dozen fences throughout Mordeina, and whenever Thren stole something particularly expensive, and therefore hard to sell, it was to Logan he went. Didn’t matter if its previous owner’s blood was still wet upon the merchandise, Logan would buy it. He always seemed happy enough, but Thren had learned quickly from the other boys to stay away and reject any offers of a meal. Logan’s tastes ran young, and according to the whispers, it was rare for one of his boys to return to the streets afterward.

“Better from food than a sword in the gut,” Nolan said. “Isn’t that right, Uriah? Uriah! Oh, right, dead. I forgot.”

“Just shut up,” Crion said. “You aren’t as funny as you think.”

“And you’re not as good as you think,” Nolan said, lifting a cracked muffin into the air as a toast. “To your amazing skills, Crion, and to your soon ignoble death. May you as a corpse be more entertaining than you were in life.”

“You all laugh,” said the fourth man. He had long red hair, a scar that ran across the bridge of his nose, and hardly any teeth. His name was Phillip. “But you’ve missed the real joke. It ain’t us four that is going to win.”

“Then who will?” Crion asked, rubbing at his face, which had long dark circles beneath the eyes.

“Yes, please tell us,” Nolan said. “I hate not being in on a joke.”

In answer, Phillip pointed right at Thren and Grayson. Thren felt his insides tighten. The last thing he wanted was attention.

“Those two,” Phillip said. “They been hiding out the whole time, sleeping when we can’t, grabbing food we’ve left behind. They’ll outlast all of us, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Logan said. “Two kids outlast the four of us? The lack of drink is getting to you, my friend.”

Phillip laughed at the word friend .

“Perhaps,” he said. “But here we are, six of us if we include them, and how many before them are gone? Twenty? Thirty?”

All four were looking at the boys now. Thren slowly rose to his feet, feeling his throat constrict. Grayson stood likewise, and Thren could tell by the look on his face that his plan was simple: whichever way Thren fled, Grayson would flee the other.

“This is stupid,” Crion said, grabbing his sword and slipping around his wall of tables. “Nolan, they embarrassed you once, so do us both a favor and kill whoever slips around either side of me. It may sting going into the Abyss knowing one of you three will inherit the Sun Guild, but I sure as shit won’t let it be these two little snots.”

Thren took a breath, and he looked to either side. They were against the windows along the long wall, with Nolan directly across from them in the middle, and Logan to their right. Crion approached from their left, tapping his sword against his pant leg as he walked. The other two stepped closer, readying their own weapons. It seemed whatever good humor they’d just shown was gone, a tired resolve coming over them. Thren’s eyes kept bouncing among the three, trying to figure out whom he could slip by most easily.

“We’re only here because Muzien ordered us to stay,” Thren said, hoping maybe to stall them. “That’s all.”

“You want to live, you go run out that door,” Crion said, still advancing. “Otherwise stand still and die like a man. It’ll hurt less that way.”

“Run past him at the same time,” Grayson whispered. “He can’t get us both.”

It was the only plan Thren could think of with his exhausted mind. Convinced he was about to die, he sucked in a breath, watching for the moment when Crion moved to strike so he could dive out of the way and then flee.

He never had the chance. Nolan let out a gasp, jerked forward.

“Ah fuck,” he said as blood ran down his chest, a point of steel poking out between his ribs. He collapsed, revealing Phillip standing behind him with the bloodied blade. He stared at Crion, his face an emotionless mask. Crion froze at the display, then took a step back as both Logan and Phillip approached.

“I’m not one to share power,” Phillip said. “But for Logan, I think I’d be willing to try. A fortune split in half is still a fortune. Three ways, though?”

“Three ways is no good,” Logan said, holding high his own dirk. Thren watched them pass by before him, forgotten once more. He and Grayson had merely been a distraction to use against Crion and Nolan, he knew, and he was too tired to decide if he was flattered or annoyed that they’d ever been considered a threat, however momentarily.

Crion continued backing up, stopping only after he’d slipped through the gap between two of the tables of his meager fortification. Phillip and Logan stood side by side as they neared, weapons at the ready. Thren looked over, caught Grayson staring, and knew they had to act fast.

“Come on,” he said, elbowing his friend and pointing. “We don’t have much time!”

As Thren moved, he kept the three in the corner of his eye, cheering on Crion. If he could at least kill one of the other two, then there might still be a chance…

The fight began without a word spoken among them. Phillip took a step forward, putting him just within arm’s reach, and stabbed. He did it without breaking stride, with Logan still at his side. As Crion brought his sword up to block, Logan leaped over the table, attempting to clear its top. He misjudged the height, banging his shins on the side. As he toppled forward Crion hit once, twice against Phillip’s blade, forcing an opening, and then dove to the ground. He landed with his elbow slamming against Logan’s throat, all his weight driving down on it. After that he rolled, avoiding a desperate lunge by Phillip over the wall.

And then he was back on his feet, a wolfish grin on his dirty face. There was victory in his eyes, and no doubt Phillip saw it. The table still between them, they engaged once more, swords flashing, but Crion was the better. When his sword pierced Phillip’s throat, and the blade fell from the dying man’s hand, it sounded as if he almost tried to sigh.

After that, Crion walked back over to where Logan lay, still futilely gasping for air, and drove his sword into his side.

“About fucking time,” Crion said.

When he turned their way, Thren and Grayson had armed themselves from Nolan’s now abandoned stash. They held their slender knives before them, up and ready for the attack. Crion saw them and laughed.

“You two?” he asked, gesturing around the dining hall. There were bodies everywhere, the smell of them rank and coupled with the smell of piss and shit from so many forced to make do without anywhere to defecate. Tables were overturned, food lay smashed into the hard floor, and seeming to cover everything was the blood of the dead. The only clean place was before the exit to the room, and its open door. “Do you really think I’m scared of you two, after all this?”