David Dalglish - Cloak and Spider

“Very sorry,” she whispered.

Kyle cleared his throat, looked to his bodyguards.

“Thren’ll come back when it’s dark,” he said. “Either that, or try to strike now while there’s so many people milling about. We’ll hunker down here until morning, then find Bertram.”

“I could go now,” Green said. “Thren is but a young fool. We do not need two of us to protect you from him.”

“No,” Kyle said as Marion slipped from his arms and walked to the window. “No, I will not leave myself vulnerable for even a second.”

Marion undid the latch holding the windows shut and then pushed them open. A sudden gust of warm air blew against her, and she let out a sigh as it teased her hair.

“Much better,” she said.

She thought Kyle might protest, and she heard him turn at the sound of the opening window, but he was given no time. Her eyes drifted upward, and hanging from the roof not two rooms over, with a smile on his face, was Thren Felhorn.

“He’s here!” she screamed, suddenly flinging herself back from the window.

“Who? Where?” asked Kyle.

“On the roof!” Marion said, calming herself down so her next words came out only urgently instead of in an undignified screech.

“Then let us abandon hiding,” Brown said, drawing one of her daggers. “I’ll bring you his head, my master.”

“Wait!” Kyle cried, but she ignored him. The bodyguard put a foot on the windowsill, spun, and then leaped to the rooftop, grabbing hold and pulling herself beyond Marion’s line of sight. Now trembling, Marion clutched Kyle’s arm to her, pressing her body against his.

“He won’t kill us, will he?” she asked. “He just wants the Heart, he won’t kill us, he doesn’t need to kill us…”

At the door came a single solitary knock. The force of it made the hinges rattle.

“Lord Garland?” asked a deep voice. “That you in there, Kyle?”

Green put herself between the two of them and the door, and she drew her blades.

“Stay behind me,” she said. “I will keep you both safe.”

The door suddenly burst open, and Marion let out a soft gasp as she took a step backward. Standing there was an enormous man with dark skin and a shaved head. Several hoop earrings dangled from his ear. At his hips were buckled two swords.

“Stay…stay back,” Kyle said, trying not to sound terrified. “I’ll have no bloodshed here!”

The man tilted his head, and he smirked at the bodyguard, who remained crouched in a defensive stance, clearly expecting him to attack.

“Bloodshed?” asked the man. “Why, how rude. I’m not here for bloodshed.”

Kyle licked his lips.

“Then what are you here for?”

The man gestured past him, toward Marion.

“I just came here to say hello to my sister, that’s all.”

And then he was gone, as was Marion, already diving out the open window to the room, using the rope left for her by Thren to guide her to the ground. Once on her feet, she brushed off her dress, lifted the Heart of Ker up so Kyle could see it clearly, and then hid it in the ample cleavage her dress created. Smiling, she blew him a kiss.

Kyle started to curse, but he pulled back into the room with a cowardly yell as the body of Green fell mere inches from his head, crumpling dead at Marion’s feet.

Marion was gone long before the crowds could gather at the sight of the mangled corpse and wonder what was going on.

* * *

Thren sat in one of two wooden chairs in his meager apartment, legs crossed, the Heart of Ker raised high so the light from the window could set it to sparkling.

“Honestly thought it’d be tougher than that,” said Grayson, plopping into the chair opposite him. His friend grinned, and he reached out for the Heart. Thren tossed it over to him, let the dark-skinned man twirl the enormous ruby in his fingers.

“You underestimate our training,” Thren said, leaning his head on his fist.

“And my womanly persuasions,” said Marion, coming in from the other room. She’d washed her face clean of all the powders and pampering she’d received, and instead of a red dress she now wore a tightly fitted pair of pants and a cotton shirt.

“My dear,” Thren said, smiling at her, “I doubt I will ever underestimate your womanly persuasions.”

Marion kissed her brother on the cheek even as he delivered a subtle glare Thren’s way.

“I’ll snag us something to eat,” she said, heading to the door. “After such a score, I think all three of us deserve to celebrate.”

The door shut, and as it did, Grayson tossed back the ring.

“You know what happens next,” he said. “The Darkhand’s going to send us east. Our training’s over, and it’s time we prove our worth. I think he’s had his eye on Veldaren for a while now, truth be told.”

Thren held the ring up once more, then put it into his pocket.

“Honestly, it’s about time,” he said. “We’ll go to Veldaren, find ourselves a thief guild worthy of our talents. Won’t be too long before we make the city ours.”

Grayson laughed.

“Such confidence! Such gall! Is there ever a moment of doubt in your blond head?”

Thren looked to the door, thinking of Marion’s exit.

“Not often,” he said. “So, will your sister be coming with us to Veldaren?”

Grayson sensed his true line of thought, and he leaned forward in his chair.

“You’re my friend,” he said, “so I’ll give you this warning free. Marion’s off limits. If you take one more long look at my sister, touch her, kiss her, even get dirty ideas in your head just thinking about her, I will take my swords and shove them so far down your throat you’ll be shitting steel. Just so you know.”

Thren rose from his seat, and he lifted open palms to show his surrender.

“You’ve made your point,” he said as he headed to the door and opened it.

“Where are you going?” Grayson asked.

“None of your business,” Thren said, stepping out. Halfway through he paused, ducked his head back into the room. “Oh, and just so you know, I plan on marrying her one day.”

He shut the door behind him, breathed in the fresh morning air, and laughed as he ran down the street toward the market.

Thren Felhorn perched atop the stone gargoyle and waited for the signal from his guildmaster to start the killing. The night was dark, thick clouds spread across the sky blotting out the stars. Below him the street was quiet but for a lone wagon rattling toward them from afar, a few crates in the back covered with a dirty blanket. The driver looked tired, his shoulders slouched, but Thren knew it was an act. It was the man’s head that gave it away, the way he was always shifting his face from side to side in search of ambushers.

He wasn’t looking high enough.

“This is it,” Grayson muttered beside him, using the gargoyle’s spread wings to hide his large form. “Where’s the damn signal?”

“Jorry will want to know for certain before we act,” Thren said. “Now keep your voice down.”

Grayson grinned at him, all dark skin and white teeth.

“Why? Scared he’ll hear us? The moment he hears us is the moment he’s too close to get away.”

“Trust me, the Wolf Guild did not let them travel unguarded,” Thren said, watching the wagon’s approach. Despite his words, he saw no guards, no patrols from the rival guild. Something about it felt off. Their guildmaster, Jorry the Swift, had received word of the Wolf Guild’s attempting to smuggle across town a large supply of expensive wine it had previously stolen from Lord Leon Connington. Leon, gluttonous bastard that he was, had come down hard in search of his precious wine, and the Wolf Guild was reeling from the sudden assault of mercenaries.