David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

Alyssa stifled a smirk. If she’d meant to incite anger, she’d done exceedingly well. She’d never heard of the Kulls attempt on her father’s safehouses in Riverrun. If she had, she’d have seen Yoren’s courting in a whole new light.

“My lord, a visitor requests an audience,” said a guard as he poked his head in through the flap.

“What’s his name?” asked Theo.

“Her,” the guard said, looking a little flustered. “And she says she has no name.”

Theo let out a humorless chuckle.

“Send her in.”

Alyssa felt a bit of hope as one of the faceless women entered. She was fully clad in her black and purple wrappings, her face a mask of white cloth. By her build, she didn’t appear to be Eliora. She wasn’t sure which of the other two, though.

“I am Zusa,” the woman said, clearing that right up. “I have come to listen.”

“Listen?” asked Theo. “To what?”

“She means she needs orders,” Yoren said. He watched as shadows seemed to curl off her firm body and fade away like smoke. He shifted uncomfortably, not feeling confident or safe even though he was in the center of his own camp.

“Yes, well, we’d have those ready for you if we weren’t always being interrupted by bothersome women,” Theo said. “First Alyssa, now you. Well, since we’re all here, let us get down to business. Maynard’s got to go. Before he does, we need to find a way to reinstate Alyssa as the lawful heir to the Gemcroft estate.”

“Wills covered with blood are rarely followed,” Zusa said.

“I know that,” Theo said. “I’m a Kull, not an idiot.”

Alyssa thought they were one and the same and had to feign coughing to hide her laughter.

“There is another way,” Yoren said. “The rest of the Trifect won’t dare let one of its members appear weak for very long. If we kill Maynard and then march en force to the mansion, the others will make sure the matter is settled quickly and quietly. Who’ll give a fuck if he wrote her out of his will? She’s his own daughter, the last of his flesh and blood. There’s a thousand ways they could discredit his death wishes.”

“A good plan, though almost insulting in its simplicity,” said Theo. “I have only a hundred swords here in my name. When could we possibly storm the estate successfully? We number only a fifth of his house guards. Who knows how many mercenaries he also has on retainer?”

“When the head is gone, the body can only thrash for so long,” said Zusa.

“We have a philosopher,” Yoren said dryly.

“Is that an offer?” Theo asked. Zusa shrugged.

“We promised to do so once. We can do so again.”

“You also failed once,” said Theo. “Can you do that again?”

The shadows flared around her body. Alyssa wished she could back away from the two men. The faceless were dangerous, and to insult their professional pride and ability seemed beyond rash.

“We will not fail,” Zusa said. “Tell me when you will strike and I will tell my sisters.”

Theo scratched his chin.

“There’s only one time I can think of that we can catch the old goat unaware.”

“When?” asked Alyssa, unable to stop herself.

Theo’s grin belonged on a bear more than a human.

“The Kensgold,” he said.

A aron was getting good at choking down his curiosity. Any time he went somewhere with his father, he was never told where they were going or for what purpose. This particular task he followed his father on was already different. They moved in daylight instead of at night.

“What if we’re recognized,” Aaron asked as they neared the more populous parts of the city. More and more merchants lined up across the sides of the street.

“We’re just one of many,” Thren said. “Don’t give anyone reason to suspect otherwise.”

Thren wore the plain gray cloak of the Spider Guild. Because of Aaron’s age, it would seem odd for him to be ranked anything higher above a cutpurse, so instead of a cloak he had a thin band of gray cloth tied around his left arm. Thren had cut Aaron’s hair short just in case some of the guard’s might remember what he looked like. The bounty on his son had lasted only a single night, and not at all according to the castle records. Still, being reckless was not something Thren was known for. He kept his hood low, and had charcoal smeared across his face.

Thren had hammered Aaron over the importance of not acting scared or in a hurry. They merely went on their way, not rushing, not dawdling. They were on a job, and very few would be stupid enough to interfere.

“I’ve never met our target,” Thren said, talking casually as if about the weather. “Watch for a tall man with red hair and beard and white robes. He’ll be attracting a crowd if my information is correct.”

Aaron watched, not convinced he’d be much use considering he was shorter than his father, his view blocked by the rest of the midday traffic. He had to try, though. Even if hopeless, he had to throw his entire concentration behind the task.

Then he saw Kayla staring at him from afar. She blew him a kiss. He looked away and hoped his blush would go unnoticed. Kayla was trailing after them, though why he didn’t know. Was it just protection? Usually he kept Senke and Will with him if he was worried about his safety. What then?

“There,” Thren said, nodding ever so slightly to the east. Aaron followed his eyes. A crowd had gathered near a gap in the various merchant stalls. A few were jeering from the outer limits, but most were listening with rapt attention. Those closest to the center clapped and cheered, too random to be staged.

In the center of the crowd was their target, a middle-aged man with deep red hair and a beard of the same color. His robes were white, and clean despite the color. He seemed handsome enough. Whatever speech he was giving appeared intense, yet he smiled while giving it.

“What’s his name?” Aaron asked when he realized his father had stopped to listen.

“Delius Eschaton,” Thren said. “Now be silent.”

Aaron listened to Delius as he preached, at first from simple curiosity, then more and more because of the speaker’s sheer oratory skill.

“Night and day we bemoan the fate dealt to us,” Delius shouted. “How many of you fear walking the streets at night? How many of you bite your tongues for fear of earning poison in your wine or death inside your bread?”

Delius pointed to a small girl behind him. She appeared no older than nine, and she blushed at the sudden attention.

“I fear for my daughter. I fear she might not have the life she deserves. How many of you have daughters and sons that have entangled themselves in the thief guilds’ lies? How many trade decency and conscience for a dab of food and a glut of blood? Do you mourn for them, mothers? Do you pray for them, fathers? Do you know what those prayers accomplish?”

Someone had placed a small pail before him, and all throughout his preaching men and women tossed in small copper coins in appreciation. Delius abruptly kicked the pail, scattering the coins throughout the crowd. Only a handful scooped for the coins. The rest stood enraptured. They all expected an explosion of sound and rage, but instead Delius’s voice fell to a stage-whisper.

“Nothing, for we do nothing. We are afraid.”

A murmur slipped through the crowd. Delius let it spread as he turned and accepted an offered drink from his daughter. He handed it back, wiped his lips, and then turned to the crowd. His boisterousness suddenly returned.

“Afraid? Of course we’re afraid. Who wants to die? You might think me mad, but I do like this meager existence we call living. But the only reason the guilds and the Trifect bathe our streets in blood is because we let them. We turn blind eyes to underhanded dealings. We keep still tongues about guards we know take bribes. We fill our own pockets with sinful gold and bloodied silver, but hard coin is an ill pillow. Can you sleep at night? Do you hear Ashhur’s voice whispering for something better, something more?