David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

Aaron thought perhaps he should be in bed, but the Spider Guild was far more active at night than during the day. Far more active meant far more interesting, too. He wandered the hallway, listening for something to watch. Sometimes he’d catch several members of the guild gambling with dice, and he’d watch the twitches of their faces and the nervous movements of their hands. Aaron had gotten quite good at guessing who would win by the severity of their tells.

As he wandered, he found his spirits dropping a little. He bypassed only a couple of men, all alone and looking almost annoyed at his presence. When he passed by the front door, Aaron crossed his arms and leaned against it. So bored, he sighed.

Then he felt the door behind him shutter, as if someone was grabbing the iron handles on the other side but not yet pulling. Voices drifted inward. Aaron wasted no time. Before the door could creak open, he was already hidden in a shadowy corner.

Senke entered first, and Aaron’s initial joy at seeing him was tempered by the deep scowl across his face. Kayla followed. There was blood on their clothes, and numerous cuts across their bodies. Most might have cried out at the sight, but Aaron’s initial reaction was instead to sink further into the darkness and watch with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Will entered, an old man held in his arms. It took a moment before Aaron realized who it was: Robert Haern, the kindly teacher that had risked his life to help him escape the soldiers. His face was thinner, his hair dirtier, but enough of the man remained to clearly identify him. Aaron felt an initial inclination to reveal his presence, but he fought it down. They had entered the front door. No one was permitted to use the front door.

“He still with us?” Kayla asked, gingerly touching a gash on her forehead with her fingertips.

“He lives,” Will said. “His sleep is deep.”

“We’ll let Thren wake him up,” Senke said as he ducked his head outside, looked about, and then shut the door. “Perhaps during his questioning he’ll forget the fact that we walked through the front gate and door with the whole world watching.”

“The whole world is sleeping,” Kayla said, her voice sounding very tired.

“Not all,” Will said. “Not the part that matters to us. But the old man would not make it through the tunnel. Which order you want to disobey: the ban on the door, or the command to bring Robert here by morning?”

Their voices grew softer as they hurried deeper into the mansion. When they were far enough away, Aaron darted after.

He stopped for just a moment at his father’s study, peering around the corner of a hall. Sneaking in through the door would be tough. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, but whatever the matter, he would probably hear the dreaded ‘you’re not old enough’ speech and then be sent to his room.

Decision made, Aaron waited until the door closed before he bolted to its side, pressed his ear against a crack by the hinges, and listened.

I n his dream, he was lively and youthful. Darla was at his side, her thin arms wrapped about his body. He nuzzled his face against her neck, inhaling deeply. Instead of her normal perfume of roses, he smelled blood. Something hard struck his face, and then he opened his eyes.

Darla vanished, the arms around him gone, too. He was on his knees, stained with blood and filth. Before him, his face an unreadable mask of stone, stood Thren Felhorn.

“Welcome to my home,” Thren said, his icy voice robbing any meaning from the greeting. “I trust you’ll find it more comfortable than your last abode.”

“I take whatever comforts are afforded to me,” Robert said, dismally wishing he could be back in his dream. He wanted Darla, his beloved wife Darla, not a heartless interrogation. If he only closed his eyes, perhaps she’d be waiting for him, her face shining with light as it had in the prison…

Another blow to his face jolted his eyes awake. Will towered over him, blood on his knuckles. Robert chuckled. Compared to the pain in his shoulders, the punch was little more than an annoyance.

“I know you must be tired,” Thren said, walking out from behind the table. A hand on one knee, he knelt before Robert. “Tired, and in pain. I do not wish to add to either, old man, but I will. Tell me, what was your part in all of this?”

“My part?” Robert asked. “My part was to hang from chains. What is it you speak of?”

Thren narrowed his eyes, but he stayed his hand.

“My son,” he said, his voice quieting. “Did you have a hand in my son’s capture?”

“Capture? So he didn’t escape? I’m sorry, Thren, I tried, but he was just a boy, trained perhaps but…is he alive or dead?”

Thren only shook his head. “You were fond of this saying yourself, Robert. Do not ask questions you already know the answer to.”

The old man rubbed his chin, letting his tired, sluggish mind slowly work through the cobwebs.

“He died,” he said. “Otherwise you would already know what role I played. When the soldiers came, I helped him get out, but they must have surrounded my home too well. I was no party to his death, but that matters not. Your son is dead, and therefore my life is forfeit. I ask you make it quick. I am an old man, and have waited long enough for the mystery of the hereafter.”

He gave no indication that he lied. Thren stood, drawing one of his shortswords, the sound it made as it cleared its sheath making Robert shiver. The three who had rescued him stepped aside, leaving the matter solely to their guildmaster.

“Swear it,” Thren said as he pressed the tip of his sword against Robert’s neck. “Swear you had no involvement with the king. Speak truly, old man, so you may go into the afterlife without the weight of lies about your neck.”

Robert stood to his full height.

“Truth or lie, I die the same,” he said. “And I do not fear the fate your sword promises.”

Anger flashed across Thren’s eyes. His mouth curled downward as his frown deepened. The whole room quieted, the very air thickening with the certainty of impending death. Then the door slammed open, Aaron’s angry cry breaking the silence.

“He did nothing wrong, nothing. Don’t you kill him, don’t you…”

Will grabbed him by the neck and yanked him away from Robert. Thren watched his son, his visage not changing in the slightest. The tip of his sword still pressed against the old man’s neck.

“I see the boy lives,” Robert said. The movement rubbed the tip against his flesh, drawing a tiny drop of blood. “Yet still I face death. What crime have I committed now?”

“You still lie,” Thren said. His voice seemed torn out from a deep cavern, reluctant and heavy. “Kayla told me of Gerand’s exit. You spoke with him before the attempt on my son. I want the truth, all of it. Any more lies and I will force the heavens to wait for your arrival while you rot in a cell.”

Robert glanced at Aaron, who stood with Will’s arm wrapped around his chest. His lip quivered, but he showed no tears, and the old man felt a strange sense of pride. That was a boy worth training, he realized. One who could risk defying the will of his own father, and reveal his own inappropriate spying, all to spare a life he deemed innocent.

“Very well,” Robert said. “I speak not to save my own life, but for the sake of the boy. When you first asked me to train Aaron, I meant to say no, but Gerand found out about the proposition and went to the king. They decided I should use the opportunity to learn more about you. All we hear are half-whispers, rumors, and exaggerated tales of your amazing excellence. The chance to learn even a shred of truth about the war being waged outside the castle walls proved too alluring. I had my orders, and that was to train the boy while keeping my eyes and ears open.