David Dalglish - Cloak and Spider

“We’re not scared of you ,” Grayson said. Thren’s heart pounded, but for the first time since everything had started, he felt in control of matters.

“And you don’t have to be afraid of us,” Thren said. “You just need to die.”

Crion approached them, weaving his way around the tables. Grayson and Thren shared a look, then stepped apart. When Crion closed in on Thren, Grayson drifted around to the side, putting himself behind the older man and out of his line of sight. Crion sensed the tactic, and he looked none too pleased.

“Think you’re going to surround me?” he asked. “I’ve killed dozens of men far faster and better than you.”

Thren didn’t waste his breath arguing. When Crion moved to attack him, instead of attempting to fight him, he only turned and fled as fast as his legs could carry him. He dove into a roll, kicking out of it to curl around one of the tables, and then ran to the far side of the room. Crion tried to chase, but he was bigger, older, and the obstacles were far more of an annoyance to him. Thren put his back to the wall, sweat running down his neck and his stomach sick, but he’d gained space on his attacker.

“Slippery devils, aren’t you?” Crion asked. He turned, saw Grayson shadowing him. “But you can’t run away from me forever.”

We’ll see about that , thought Thren.

This time Crion went after Grayson, whirling on his feet in an attempt to surprise him. But Grayson had spent the past few years surviving based on his ability to flee from angry merchants, and he knew how to move, how to roll underneath a bench, how to keep his head low and his feet moving regardless of how slick the ground was from spilled blood and food. Crion lost him, and he stood alone in the center of the dining hall, with Thren and Grayson each on the far side.

“Muzien!” Crion shouted, spinning in place. “I know you can see us! End this madness already! You know who your winner is.”

No answer.

Swearing, Crion turned back to Thren, paused. A grin spread across his face, revealing his ugly black teeth, and he went to one of the many weapon caches scattered about the room and picked up several knives.

“Come on then,” he said, readying one. “You might run fast, but how well can you dodge?”

Thren tensed as the gray-haired man took careful steps closer, one hand holding his sword, the other readying a knife to throw. Thren watched, watched, and then dove to his knees one way, only to immediately roll the other. The knife thudded against the wall beside him, the wooden handle cracking and breaking. Then he was running, and he heard Crion’s footsteps behind him, heard his heavy breathing. Relying on his instincts, he dove to the side at the first table, rolling underneath as yet another knife clacked against the ground.

To Grayson he ran, nearly throwing himself against the wall beside his friend. Spinning around, he dared let out a laugh.

“This isn’t a game!” Crion screamed, grabbing one of the knives.

“If it is,” Thren said, struggling to catch his breath, “I think we’re winning.”

Crion hurled the dagger at Grayson, who dodged left into Thren’s side. Luck was with him, for the throw had anticipated his movement, except to the right. Both sprinted away, Thren trailing behind Grayson. Crion swung his sword, missed, and Thren saw his opening. Instead of fleeing he dove straight at Crion, jamming upward with his slender dagger. The tip cut into Crion’s side, tearing flesh. Thren released the weapon so he could run, ducking underneath a frantic blow.

A smile on his face, Thren reached the other side of the dining hall. Grayson saw the smile, knew what it meant.

“You got him?” he asked.

Thren turned, nodded.

“I did,” he said.

Crion held his side, trying to stem the blood. The cut wasn’t too deep, but Thren knew there’d be no way for the man to bandage it. They wouldn’t give him the time. Crion released his hand, held it up bloody before them, and let out a primal cry. He charged them, but this time there were no games, no letting him get close so they might look for an opening. They stayed on the opposite side no matter where he went. Crion stumbled, he bumped into tables, he slipped once on a pool of spilled wine left by some nameless member of the Sun Guild. All the while his weakened body lost blood.

Thren felt ready to pass out himself, but he carried on. Just a little while longer, he told himself. Just a tiny bit more.

At last Crion slumped to the ground in the middle of the dining hall, sword limp in his right hand. Thren and Grayson stalked over to him, as if they were lions and he a wounded animal. Crion saw them coming, and he chuckled.

“Fuck you, Phillip,” he breathed.

When the boys were close he flung his sword at Grayson, but the throw was errant, the weapon not designed for such use. It clattered along the ground, leaving him helpless.

Thren leaped at him first, then pulled away when Crion tried to punch him in the face. Grayson jumped him from behind then, stabbing the man’s back repeatedly. As he screamed and tried to reach around to grab Grayson, Thren took the opening and dove in, stabbing the man’s throat as Crion screamed his denial. When he pulled the dagger free, blood poured across his hands from the gaping wound. Grayson jumped away, and together, each soaked in blood, they watched the man die.

“Last one,” Grayson said, and he looked ready to vomit.

“Not quite,” Thren said, and he met his friend’s eye. They each held a weapon, both stained with another man’s blood. Thren opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t know what to say. Grayson, however, was the better of them.

“No,” he said. “It is.”

He dropped his dagger.

Thren took a step closer, grip tightening on his own dagger. This was his chance, a way to ensure that Muzien would not be disappointed in him. But after all they’d done, all they had endured in both the streets of Mordeina and the dining hall of the Sun Guild…

Thren dropped his dagger.

“Enough!”

Together they turned around and fell to their knees as Muzien the Darkhand stepped into the room. His face was a calm mask, but his eyes seemed to shine.

“You were but a gamble and a dream,” he said as he approached. “Never did I believe you would succeed. But you did, you two did. The Sun Guild’s future has never been brighter than at this very moment.”

Thren felt something burning in his chest, and he wondered what it was. Pain? Hunger?

It felt good, though. It felt like worth. It felt like pride. It felt as if a legend had just given him meaning and purpose. When he glanced at Grayson, he saw that same understanding revealing itself as a giant grin on his dark-skinned friend’s face.

“Follow me,” Muzien said, taking them toward the exit. There seemed to be a bounce to his step, and an excitement to his voice. “You both will need to recover, and I’ll ensure you have food and drink ready for you in your rooms.”

They stepped out the door, and as they did Thren let out a gasp.

All around the door lay the bodies of dozens of men and women, all those who had left earlier. They had died the exact same way, their throats slit, no doubt denying them their dying screams. Thren looked to Muzien, and he felt growing in his addled brain an understanding of just what type of man their lives were now sworn to, of what kind of kingdom he was expected to build.

“Why?” he dared ask.

Muzien frowned at the bodies, as if he hadn’t noticed their presence until Thren asked about them.

“The door was a gift for the weak, nothing more. A man or woman unwilling to risk everything is someone I do not want in the ranks of my guild.”