David Dalglish - A Dance of Blades

He looked back to the window, not wanting to see her reaction. He was a damn fool, that’s what he was. Hoping she’d leave him be, he refused to react when she stood from her chair, set her cup down, and came closer. Her hand touched his face, and reluctantly he turned to her. Tears were in his eyes.

She kissed his cheek, then pressed her forehead against his.

“Go to sleep, and try to remember that while you are not that little boy, I am no longer a little girl.”

She trudged up the sharply curved stairs to the second floor. Haern watched her go, and when she was gone, almost fled to the streets. But he remembered that feeling in the Pensfield’s home, of having a home. He felt that same thing here, though the company was on the odder side. He downed the rest of his drink, grimaced, and then set the cup aside. His chair was comfortable enough, far more than the cold street he was used to, so he crossed his arms and tried to sleep.

Footsteps coming back down the stairs opened his eyes. He didn’t think he’d slept, but he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t Delysia that had come down, though. Instead it was the wizard, her brother. He’d shed his pointy hat, though he still wore those strange yellow robes. He rubbed his goatee as he plopped down in a chair opposite Haern.

“Had some words with Senke,” he said.

“That so?”

“Well, most involved variations of ‘get out of my room so I can sleep you idiot’, but there were some more intriguing bits I dragged out of him. Most interesting was that of your father. Thren Felhorn, really? You look more like something two vagabonds might bump out on a cold, drunk night.”

“Flattered.”

Tarlak tapped his fingers together, and his mouth shifted about as if he were chewing on his words before saying them.

“Not much for talking. I get that. I like to talk, so perhaps I can make up for the both of us. Senke says you’re good, really good. What I saw out there tonight certainly confirms it. Can’t expect much less from Thren’s son, of course. You’ve established quite a reputation, too. I’ve heard plenty talk of the Watcher, usually poor thieves grumbling into their cups about how much gold you cost them. A few even thought you were Ashhur’s vengeance come down upon them for their lifestyle, though they usually had to be incredibly drunk to admit it.”

“You have a point?”

“Several, one on my nose, one on my hat, and one where the ladies love me. But that’s beside the, uh, point. It seems like, other than revenge, you don’t have much going for you. Ashhur knows those streets out there aren’t comfortable living. So how about you join my mercenaries instead? Pay isn’t the best, but with half the city employed in killing thieves, I think we could make a few coins. Besides,” his eyes lit up, “can you imagine the rates I could charge if people knew the Watcher was in my pay?”

“I’m not for sale,” Haern grumbled.

Tarlak frowned.

“Well that’s disappointing. You sure?”

“Very.”

The wizard scratched at his chin. “This a pride thing?”

“I have no use for money.”

Tarlak grinned. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I’m more thinking you feel you don’t need money. Considering all the stories of you tossing gold coins in the middle of high market, I can believe that. But there are some things you can buy with gold that you might be more interested in. Our introductions were a little haphazard, but you met Brug, right?”

“Short guy, cussed a lot, can’t fight worth shit?”

“That’s him. I didn’t hire him because of his skill with those ludicrous whatever-they-are he fights with. Obviously. You want to know why I did?”

Haern stared at him with an expression showing he didn’t think himself having a choice in whether he found out or not. Tarlak blinked.

“Right. Anyway, he’s a blacksmith, and with my help, he can create items that many would sell their souls to own. Would you like to run faster? Jump higher? Or perhaps a fancy sword or three…”

“I’m not much for bribery, either.”

“Don’t see why you shouldn’t be. You spend your nights crawling around the rooftops killing thieves. Might as well get paid for it.”

Haern turned his chair so his back was to Tarlak, and he stared out the window.

“Very well.” Tarlak stood. “I’ll leave you be. Take a nap, or vanish in the afternoon. You aren’t held prisoner here. Think about my offer, though. We may not be much now, but I think we’ve got potential.”

Haern snorted. Whether Tarlak heard or not, he didn’t react, only went up the stairs. Staring at the men and women still fighting the fire, he wondered what in the world had gotten a hold of him. That wizard was no better than anyone else, not even his father. He killed for money, except he used fire and words instead of a blade. What could have possibly possessed Senke to join them?

He closed his eyes and felt the light of the sun warm his face. Come that afternoon, he’d sneak his way out. Oh, he had no delusions of abandoning Delysia and Senke completely. He knew himself better than that. It’d be easy enough to keep an eye on them, though, keep his eyes open for a wizard in yellow, accompanied by a beautiful girl with hair like fire…

When he opened his eyes, many hours had passed. He shook his head, fighting the grogginess. His back ached, and it popped several times as he shifted his upper body side to side. Senke stood at a small counter, eating cold bread leftover from that morning. His fingers drummed the counter, the sound no doubt what had awakened Haern.

“You chew like a cow,” Haern said, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes.

“And you look like one, only worse. When was the last time you had a bath?”

“Consider that a luxury my life cannot afford.”

Senke shoved the rest into his mouth and wiped crumbs from his shirt.

“Here” he said, his mouth full. He pointed at Haern’s swords. “Been a long time since we sparred. Thought it’d be a nice way to catch up.”

“Where?” The room was cramped as is. Senke nodded toward a back exit.

“There. Come on.”

There was a small space of flat dirt out back, part of an alleyway that ran behind their group of apartments. The faint outline of a circle remained dug into it, and Senke refreshed it with his heel.

“Only person to train with has been Brug, and trust me, that’s not much of a workout. You’ll do me fine.”

Haern stretched away the rest of his drowsiness. Senke had been the better fighter when they last met, but the years had hardened Haern, granted him strength and height while his nightly excursions had honed his reflexes and skill. He touched the tips of his swords together and bowed. Senke had carried two shortswords with him, and he wielded those instead of his maces.

“Maces will be too slow for you,” he said. “So let’s try the blade.”

Eager to show how much he’d learned, Haern initiated their combat with a quick lunge. Expecting the ensuing parry, he followed up with a slash with his other weapon, using it as a distraction to allow his first thrust to pull back and thrust again. Senke, however, hadn’t been Thren’s enforcer without good reason. He shoved both attacks high, stepped closer, and feinted an elbow to Haern’s face. When Haern stepped back, trying to fall into position, Senke pressed the attack, keeping his swords out wide. The second elbow that came flying in was no feint, and it smacked into his chest with a heavy thud. Again he stepped back, but instead of chasing, Senke pointed to where he’d stepped beyond the bounds of the circle.

“Out,” he said.

Feeling his cheeks flush, Haern stepped back into the practice ring. He wasn’t focused, wasn’t analyzing Senke’s reaction like he might other opponents. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm. A nod, and they resumed.