David Dalglish: A Dance of Blades

“Get out of here,” Mensk said. “And I should only pay you three for something that worthless.”

“If I’m right, you know I should get a hundred silver,” Haern said as he limped along. “But I like you Serpents. Always treated me fair, helped find me roofs to put over my head. I sure hope that Watcher didn’t disrupt anything important. Would hate for him to put you in a bad bind…”

“I said get out,” Mensk said, revealing his dagger. “Those shipments’ll continue no matter what that bastard does. Now get your ass out of my sight before I decide to take back my coin.”

Haern fled, and once he reached the main merchant road, he abandoned the limp and started trudging north. In the light of the stars, he pondered over what he’d learned. Every time he sold information, he always managed to sneak out with a little bit more. That shipment of gold hadn’t been a one-time deal. Obviously they were important, and the Serpent Guild wanted them to continue. Originally he’d thought them just lucky robbers of the Gemcroft mines, but now…

Now he was intrigued.

But of course he still had plenty of misinformation to spread. This time he wound his way to the territory of the Hawks, putting a scowl over his face and adopting a new persona, just another hardworking peasant hoping to eke out enough copper for a few extra drinks. He went to their headquarters, a tavern where their leader, Kadish Vel, no doubt played cards in a private room in the back. Again his contact waited by the door, a big man whose name he didn’t know, only his nickname: ‘Fists.’ In working his way into the man’s trust, Haern had had to endure a few beatings that showed where that nickname came from.

“It’s late for someone weak as you,” said Fists as Haern approached.

“Never too late for a good drink,” he said.

Fists smirked at that. “Good drink? You won’t find that here. What you have to tell me?”

“I saw a shipment coming in over the wall, and I think the Serpents were…”

He saw the attack coming long before Fists did. Haern dove to the side as arrows thudded into the tavern. He heard Fists groan, and a glance back showed two arrows in his belly. Haern raced around the building, out of reach of the tavern’s torchlight. As he turned the corner he slammed into a cloaked man with daggers at ready. Haern rolled along, separating their bodies. He leapt to his feet, his swords in hand. With the greater reach, he had the advantage, and his opponent knew it. The thief lunged in, hoping for a strike before Haern could prepare.

But the lunge was too slow. Haern twisted so the dagger brushed his side without drawing blood, then slashed around with his swords. One cut deep into his opponent’s extended arm, the other kept the other dagger out of position. As the thief cried out in pain, Haern pulled his swords back and then stabbed. The man tried to block, but he was unbalanced, his arms poorly placed. Haern yanked out his blades and kicked the body. He frowned at the color of the cloak. He’d first thought the Serpents had followed him for knowing about the gold, but instead this man wore the gray of the Spider Guild.

He heard the sound of a bowstring drawing tight, and he dove on instinct. The arrow plinked the stone beside him, poking a hole in his cloak but doing no damage. His attacker was on the roof, readying another arrow. Haern spun, flinging his cloaks into a confusing display, and then leaping the opposite direction. Again the arrow missed. By now he’d raced around the corner, cursing his bad luck. Why had the Spider Guild come now? What reason did they have to war with the Hawks?

His flight took him back to front of the tavern. Several Serpents had come out to fight, but nearly all bore crimson stains on their green cloaks. The Spiders moved in, outnumbering them two to one. Haern took in the combat as quick as he could, searching for a safe route. Underneath the awning over the tavern entrance he was safe from the archer, but in plain view of the rest of the thieves. They’d set up a perimeter, but he trusted himself to break through. He was the Spider Guild’s champion, after all, their greatest creation and most disappointing failure. That, and they all thought he was dead, a belief he didn’t want to change. He’d grown much over the past five years, but still, someone might recognize him underneath the dirt…

One of the Spiders saw him there, saw the blood on his swords. When he started to attack, Haern met his charge with a vicious assault of his own, surprising his opponent with sudden, overwhelming fury. He batted away a pair of daggers, cut open his throat, and then bolted to the street. Two more moved to stop him but Haern slide-kicked between them, scraping his leg along the hard ground. He cut the thigh of one and curled his sword around to hamstring the other. As they fell screaming, he ran, hoping they would not chase. None did, but he didn’t go far.

Knowing he was being stupid didn’t stop Haern from doing it. He hurried back to the Hawk headquarters. The perimeter had closed in, and it seemed most of the fighting had stopped. Various members of the Spider Guild stood near the entrance, most keeping watch while a few rifled through the bodies.

And then he saw him: Thren Felhorn, leader of the Spider Guild. His father.

“Why?” Haern asked as he watched the man walk into the tavern as if it were his own, accompanied by four of his men. “What did they do to you?”

He resolved to find out, but not now. He turned and headed back toward the city’s center, realizing for the first time he was limping. After stealing a bottle from a man laying face down in the ditch (whether dead or unconscious, he didn’t know), he took a momentary reprieve to clean his scraped leg and splash some alcohol across it. After the pain subsided, he continued on.

He had two possible avenues to pursue. He could discover the reason for the Hawks’ and Spiders’ squabble, or he could look into the mystery of the Serpents’ gold. Doing his best to convince himself it had nothing to do with any fear of his father, he resolved to look into the gold. Guilds fought all the time; he had no proof this was any different. Shipments from the Gemcroft mines, however…

After breaking into another shop and stealing a few supplies, he found one of the quieter stretches along the great wall surrounding the city of Veldaren, climbed the steps, and then scaled down the wall with a rope he tied at the top. Once out, he trekked northeast, following the main path around the King’s Forest toward Felwood Castle. Beyond that were the Crestwall Mountains and the many villages around the Gemcroft mines. Out there he might find some information. If he could hurt one of the guilds, really hurt their wealth, perhaps he could end their war with the Trifect.

He laughed as he walked. End the war. It seemed nothing would. It had continued for ten years and seemed ready for another ten. But at least he might make things uncomfortable for a while. He’d done his part to weaken and bleed the guilds, to punish them for the bloodshed he’d witnessed firsthand. Senke, his friend, Robert Haern, his mentor, Kayla, his first crush, and Delysia…

His father had shot her with an arrow for daring to love him. He still relived that moment in his nightmares, sitting on a rooftop with her bleeding over his hands. He’d thought her dead, but Kayla had later told him she lived with the priests of Ashhur. And then Thren had killed Kayla. As for Senke, he’d heard he died in the fire at Connington’s estate during the Bloody Kensgold.

“Maybe I am afraid,” he whispered to the stars as he pulled his cloaks tighter about him to keep in his warmth. “Gods forgive me, but maybe I really am afraid.”

He continued along the path, part of him hoping he might be ambushed along the way. The adrenaline, bloodshed, and excitement would have felt a thousand times better than the dread the memories of his childhood brought.