David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“Still, my father was not weak.”

“You are wrong,” Robert insisted. “Even a weak Thren Felhorn can withstand for many years. Still, that is irrelevant. Have you ever heard that sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness?”

Aaron nodded. He had heard such a sentiment before.

“Then consider this…your father was consolidating power, but then other guilds broke away from him. While you were still in your second year, he was putting down rebellion after rebellion. Too many wanted power, and Thren’s reputation was not yet established, though he built much of it during that time, brick by brick with the blood of his would-be assassins.”

He paused, and Aaron sensed the unasked question. With the information given, he should be able to piece together the rest. He thought, his fingers pressed against his lips. He puzzled it over, and Robert did not hurry him.

“The Trifect realized how dangerous he was,” Aaron said at last. “They knew he would eventually succeed in uniting the guilds against them. So when they saw the infighting, they tried to kill him.”

“Exactly,” Robert said. A bit of a smile touched his face. “They saw Thren’s power as brittle and tried to smash it with a hammer. They did as they always did, Aaron, by striking when their opponent was weakest. But they erred, for your father erred, one of the few times in his life, but also the greatest. He purposely let one of the rebellious guilds last another month.”

“Why would he do that?” Aaron asked.

“I should ask you,” Robert said. “You should know.”

Again Aaron puzzled it over. He thought of Senke and of all the times he had let him nearly score a blow or let a slash slip through his defenses, only to fall just shy of armor.

“Father wanted to teach the guild a lesson,” he ventured.

“Wrong, but a wise guess,” Robert said, “but still wrong. Try again, and remember my words.”

He replayed the conversation again and again, and then the words struck.

Sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness.

“He was plotting against the Trifect,” Aaron said. His whole face flushed with pride at discovering the reason. “He let a weak guild that posed no threat endure so the merchants thought the infighting continued. The Trifect would not suspect an attack from the guilds, not until the rebellious members were dealt with.”

“Quite right,” Robert said.

“That was when the Trifect struck,” Aaron continued. “They thought him weak and still fighting, so they sent in their mercenaries.”

“If your father had not been so determined to strike first and without warning he would have solidified his power. If the Trifect had correctly gauged his strength, they would have bartered for peace and waited until Thren reached an age where he was too old to keep the rest in line. Instead they were assaulted, many members lost, and when Thren went to them for peace it was too late. The Trifect had tasted blood and victory. They attacked again, and that disgrace has left Thren in a hopeless position. Either he dies, or the members of the Trifect die.”

Robert pointed at a few books outside his reach, and Aaron fetched them. The old man opened them, his eyes not scanning the pages. It was if the act gave him comfort.

“The city needs an end. The few who have remained neutral, those like the king and the priests of Karak and Ashhur, they will one day take a side to end the bloodshed. Your father is too strong, Aaron. He should have lost years ago. The guilds would have fractured, some great men would have died, and then the petty theft and trade of vice and flesh would have resumed as always. But not now. Each side has lost too much. They’re like two stags staring eye to eye. The first one to blink loses…”

“Is this your advice to my son?” Thren asked from the doorway. Neither had heard his approach, nor his opening of the door. His arms were crossed and his face a mask. “My strength is a weakness; my war a mistake?”

Aaron fought an impulse to back away as if caught doing something wrong. Instead he bowed his head respectfully to both his father and his teacher.

“He has said the truth as he knows it. I need his honesty, wrong or not. Stories lying of the Trifect’s power and twisting blame to where it does not belong only risk me harm.”

Thren nodded, clearly pleased.

“Teach truthfully,” he told Robert. “Never lie to my son. He is old enough for every truth, no matter how harsh. And he was right, Aaron. I was a fool. I let an enemy live when I should have ended their existence. That ends tonight. Prepare your things. I want you with me. There are lessons that one does not learn from books and study.”

A aron did not ask where they were going, though he very much wanted to. The boy knew that his father would tell him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. They both wore the gray cloaks of their guild. Much of Aaron’s outfit was new, from the soft black leather of his boots to the faded trousers and the thick gray tunic. He was most proud of the sword that swung from his hip, a thin rapier shortened to match his height.

“Say nothing, not even if you are directly addressed,” Thren said as he led them through the dark streets. Morning was fast approaching, but until then the city was still empty and quiet. The few men about had their own businesses to keep, and hide, so they were left alone to wander.

“What if you demand it?” Aaron asked. Thren glanced back at him, his words sharp on his tongue.

“Why would I ever?” he asked.

Aaron nodded, his face flushed red.

“Listen well, my son. We approach a brothel. Do you know what is done there?”

When the boy nodded, a small frown tugged at the corner of Thren’s mouth.

“I’ll assume Senke is to blame. Remember, women are a weakness to you. I want you pure, Aaron. I want you perfect. No strong drink will touch your lips. No womanly flesh will your hands caress. No priest will sway your heart. Power is all that matters, power and the skill to keep it. You have so much to learn, but once you are older, you will learn directly from me. Men fear my name, Aaron, but they will fear yours a hundred times more.”

With morning so close, the brothel was mostly empty. The women had slipped into more comfortable clothing. No men lingered in the interior room, and the clients that remained were fast asleep. When the sun rose over the walls of the city, the ladies would prod them awake and usher them home to their wives, children, or professions.

“Welcome Thren,” said a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair and matching lipstick. “You have not graced us with your presence in far too long.”

When she noticed Aaron, she smiled.

“Is this the young Felhorn? He looks so much like his father, he does. You have brought him to the right place, Thren. I have some younger girls, and they know how to be gentle so that…”

“Shut up, whore.”

His words struck her like a slap. Her lips closed, and the joy left her eyes, replaced with a cool, calculated gaze.

“Very well. Why are you here?”

Thren pointedly ignored her. He glanced at his son to ensure he had his attention and then began lecturing.

“This is Red. She is in charge of the women here. It helps to have a woman deal with the younger girls, plus her experience makes sure that they know how to properly do their jobs. Every brothel has someone like her. They are never fools, and they are always dangerous. They hear more than anyone else in this city. Men are stupid when in bed.”

“Sometimes out of bed, too,” Red said.

Thren flashed her a dangerous smile.

“Where is Billy Price?” he asked. Red gestured toward a flight of stairs leading to an enclosed balcony.