David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

Thinking over his life, Haern felt embarrassed to say. He’d never once discussed it with anyone, only acted out his vengeance. Still, strange looking or not, there was Senke, the closest to a friend he’d ever had. The time melted away. He told it all, of his escape from the fire and living on the streets, always keeping his hair messed and unevenly cut, his skin a blanket of dirt and scabs. He stole food to live, and lived to kill those of the thief guilds. He felt keen shame admitting that, though he wasn’t sure why. In his heart he felt justified.

“How’d you end up at our caravan?” Senke asked as his story neared its end.

“Investigating the Serpent Guild and their newfound gold. Was on my way back when I stumbled upon your attack.”

“I must admit, Aaron, I thought it was actually Thren who’d come to our aid. The way you just charged in, then danced and weaved, it seemed so familiar…”

“I said it’s Haern now.”

Senke lifted his hands to show he meant no offense.

“Forgive me, just habit. Why so strict?”

Haern felt a chill coming on, and he wrapped his blankets tight about him.

“Because that’s not who I am anymore. I refuse everything of my father, including his name. I won’t be what he wants me to be.”

“Wanted,” Senke said. “He thinks you’re dead now. And instead of being your father’s pet killer, you instead spend every night killing. A neat trick, that.”

“Don’t you dare judge me!”

“No judging, just stating the obvious. Well, guess it’s my turn. Not nearly as interesting. I fled the city for the first few years. Always wanted out, think I told you that, but Thren wasn’t one to take such requests too well. That fire seemed as good an opportunity as any to make a new life. Spent some time down in Woodhaven, cutting lumber. After awhile, got bored, took some odd jobs more favorable to a dagger than an ax. All the sudden, I had a slow but steady stream of mercenary work. About a year ago I came back to Veldaren, going by the name of Stern and hoping for a bit more lucrative employment. Before you start thinking it, I wasn’t exactly falling into that same old trap. I chose my contracts carefully, and while I wasn’t always working for the nicest of people, I wasn’t killing innocents or torching the homes of the poor, either.

“Anyway, eventually met with my current employer. Even joined up with him as a permanent member of his mercenaries. Seems like he went through twenty guys, trying to find one who was…well, not scum. Lucky me, eh?”

Haern smiled but said nothing. He was still trying to wrap his head around everything. Here was someone he could talk to, could trust. After half a decade of silence and loneliness, it all came crashing to an end because of a single poorly-timed ambush. For all the many times he felt overlooked by Ashhur, he wondered just how unnoticed he really was. While he thought, he ate, figuring it a good excuse not to talk. All his confidence had flown out the window with Senke’s arrival. If anyone made him feel like the confused thirteen year old boy he’d once been, it was him.

“I see your eyes drooping,” Senke said when Haern finished his meal. “Let me send in Delysia to swap out some clean bandages and then you can rest, ponder over this craziness.”

“Delysia?” he asked. “Is she…is her last name Eschaton?”

Senke raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, but how would you…wait a minute. You did know a Delysia. Is she her, the one you killed Dustin to protect and…shit, that is her, isn’t it?”

Haern nodded, and was totally unprepared for Senke’s eruption of laughter.

“Looks like she returned the favor. She’s the one that kept you from bleeding out like a stuck boar. Damn, this is too funny. You never told me she became a priestess. Always wondered how she hid from Thren so well.”

“I never told anyone,” Haern mumbled. “Kayla told me the night of the Kensgold.”

Senke’s face saddened at the mention of her name. “She was a pretty lass. What I heard, Thren killed her for aiding you. Such a shame. Didn’t pay much to help you out, did it?”

The comment stung deeper than Senke intended, and at the pained look crossing Haern’s face, he immediately started trying to take it back.

“I’m sorry, Haern, you know I don’t mean that. It wasn’t your fault, any of it. Your father’s just a bastard, still is, though his influence is slowly dwindling, thank Ashhur.”

“Senke, I…I’m not ready to see her yet.”

“She’s seen plenty of you.”

He blushed a fierce red but remained adamant. “Please, just let me rest. Meeting you again is too much as is. Let me think, all right?”

Senke shrugged. “I guess you’ll survive, though if those cuts get infected, it’s your own damn fault. Sleep tight, Haern.”

“Thanks.”

Even after Senke left, his words echoed in Haern’s head.

Didn’t pay much to help you out, did it?

How many had died because of him? Robert died by his hand. His father killed Kayla, again for helping him. Senke had nearly died in the fire. Delysia had been forced into hiding. And now, when every thief guild in the city would gladly string him up by his thumbs and let the entire underworld have a go at him, the two had brought him into their home and given him succor. Were they mad? He was a monster, a beacon of chaos and murder. The streets were where he belonged. Their gutters had room for the blood.

Besides, he couldn’t face her. He just couldn’t. The last image he had of Delysia was her gasping in his arms as the bolt pierced her back. She’d looked so shocked, so betrayed, and then to see his own father approaching, crossbow in hand, he’d felt such guilt…

He tightened his belt and held back a grimace at the pain in his stomach. His cloaks were folded up beside his bed, as were his tattered clothes. Again he blushed a bright red as he remembered Senke’s comment, and he prayed that it had been anyone but Delysia who had changed him into what he wore now, a plain white shirt and brown pants. Quietly he changed into his old clothes. In their dirt and dried blood he felt all the more wretched and eager to be gone. Everything about him was filthy, even the task he’d devoted his life to. Was he really any better than his father? At least Thren had developed an empire, however fleeting. All Haern was doing was destroying it all.

He shook his head, trying to banish such thoughts. He needed to concentrate. Drowsiness still tugged at his eyes, and that soft warm bed tempted him more than any woman had. Deciding it was now or never, he crept open the door and looked about.

Whatever building he was in was small in space but attempting to make up for it by being two stories tall. He saw a second door across from him, and a few feet away, stairs curling downward at sharp angles to the bottom floor. He heard muffled talking from the other door. Feeling like a trespasser, he hurried along as fast as his wounds allowed him to go. The bottom floor was blessedly empty. Sparsely furnished, he saw a table, an oak desk in the corner, and a modest pile of books atop it. At the door, he removed the bolt and stepped out into the street.

He looked around a moment, taking in his surroundings. The sun was rising, still low enough to hide behind the city’s walls. There was an inn not far away, Prather’s if he read the sign right, and that meant he was on…Crimson Alley, deep in southern Veldaren. He felt muted horror at the realization. Senke and Delysia lived on the Crimson, one of the most dangerous places in the city? No wonder he never saw either of them when he patrolled the night. They’d certainly keep their doors locked and windows bolted. How often had he passed right on by when scouring for isolated members of the guilds?