David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

Faster and faster she ran, praying no guild caught sight of her desperate run. Her guild was dying, and the scent of blood would bring every last cutpurse down on their heads.

W hen Aaron arrived in his father’s room, Kayla was already there, waiting.

“As I was telling Kayla, this was a perfect hit,” Thren said to his son. “Delius is dead, in the middle of a crowd in daylight, no less. No one saw the killer. We’ve heard confused reports already claiming it was a man instead of a woman. No court will find a guilty member, yet the entire city knows we were responsible. That is how you send a message, my son. That is how you frighten a population, by showing that even with common knowledge of our guilt, their justice will never reach us.”

“Yes, father,” Aaron said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Thren noticed his subdued nature, something his son had been steadily growing out of, and then rubbed his chin. He stared into Aaron’s eyes, trying to decipher the reason.

“The girl,” he asked. “Did you kill her?”

Aaron shook his head. He almost lied. He wanted to claim she’d died, and the trauma of killing a young girl in cold blood had left him ill. But he couldn’t. His entire insides chilled at the very thought of his father finding out he spoke a lie.

“No,” he said, stealing a glance at Kayla. “She ran away while the crowd was still gathered. I failed.”

Thren caught the glance and turned his attention to Kayla. She only shrugged as if she didn’t understand.

“No matter,” Thren said, storing the information in the back of his mind. “Kayla, go fetch me one of our cutpurses. I don’t care who.”

Aaron waited with his eyes downcast. His father never said a word.

“You called for me?” asked a clean-shaven man with thick circles underneath his eyes. His black hair was cropped and pulled back into a ponytail.

“I did. Dustin, this is my son. Have you met him before?”

Dustin looked at Aaron, his mouth locked into a frown.

“Don’t think I have.”

“Look at him,” Thren said to his son. “And listen carefully. Instead of spending time thieving, assaulting caravans, or working the streets, he will instead track your failed target. He will spend our money bribing men and women to find out the girl’s name and location. He’ll risk his life in these endeavors, to both rival thief guilds as well as the Trifect’s men. Coin, time, and manpower, all wasted because you couldn’t do one simple job.”

Aaron’s downcast eyes finally looked up to Thren’s, and a bit of life sparkled inside them, as if he had just learned a secret.

“I understand,” he said.

“Good.” Thren turned to Dustin. “Her last name is Eschaton, daughter of a priest who died earlier today. Find and kill her.”

“Am I allowed to have any fun with her beforehand?” asked Dustin.

“I want my message hammered home,” Thren said. “Do as you please. Make sure she dies afterward.”

Dustin’s grin was ear to ear.

“Be a pleasure. I’ll leave her bits on Ashhur’s temple door.”

Aaron felt his neck flush. He desperately hoped his father wouldn’t notice. But of course, he did.

“You have plenty of growing up to do,” Thren said to him. “You wanted to be at my side, and now you are. Start living up to your expectations.”

“Yes, father,” said Aaron.

“Be gone,” he said, waving a dismissive hand.

Aaron didn’t go to his room. Instead, he went to Robert Haern’s.

“Come in,” the old man said after Aaron knocked. The boy crept the door open, slipped inside, and then shut it. When he turned around, Robert was staring at him.

“What is it that troubles you?” Robert asked.

Aaron bit his lower lip. He so badly wanted to ask a question, but he knew the potential danger. What he wanted to know, his father would disagree with. But he had to know.

“I saw a priest today,” he said. “He wore a symbol, like this, around his neck.”

Aaron drew a single line in the air with his finger. It looked like an ‘M’ with one side much higher and sharper than the other. Robert picked up his cane and walked over to his desk.

“Did it look something like…this?”

Robert opened a drawer and pulled out a gold medallion hanging from a silver chain. It also had the strange line. Aaron nodded.

“That line is the Golden Mountain,” Robert explained. “It has two peaks. The lower one represents Dezrel, and the height we can ascend to in our lives. The higher one represents the Golden Eternity. As you can see, nothing on this world can ever make one rise as high as in the afterlife.”

“Who is Ashhur? And why do people pray to him?”

Robert raised an eyebrow.

“Where have you heard people praying to Ashhur?” he asked.

A brief memory flashed before Aaron’s eyes, that of the red-haired girl sobbing in front of him as she called out to Ashhur.

“Nowhere,” he said.

“Hrmph. Ashhur is brother to Karak, who I’m sure you know a little bit more about, considering who your friends and associates are. He represents Justice, Mercy, Grace…things that most would consider the finer parts of mankind. That is why someone would pray to him. They seek comfort, or forgiveness, or protection.”

Robert went to put the amulet back into the drawer, then paused. He saw how Aaron was looking at it, and his curiosity kindled.

“What is going on, boy?” he asked. “Why do you come in here asking about gods?”

He didn’t want to answer, but Robert was his master. If he refused, then the next time he came in asking questions, he might get only silence.

“Kayla killed a priest of Ashhur today. I was to kill his daughter, but I failed.”

“Failed?” asked Robert. “Or refused?”

Aaron felt his cheeks flush. If his father had read him as clearly, then their conversation might have taken a very different turn when scolding him for his failure.

“She was crying,” he whispered. “She didn’t even know I was there. Her father, killed right in front of her. I’ve killed before, I’ve, but she’s not like us, not like, not…”

Tears swelled in his eyes. Aaron couldn’t believe it. He wiped them away, the blush in his cheeks fierce. He felt so stupid, so young.

“I’m an embarrassment,” he said.

“No,” Robert said, putting his hands on Aaron’s shoulders. His beard wasn’t tied behind his head like normal, and with it loose it stretched down to his waist. It made him look older, less controlled and more grandfatherly. His whole face seemed to sag a little, as if he had dropped a layer of armor from his flesh.

“Listen to me, Aaron,” he said. “Your father is raising you to be something terrible. He’ll deny you everything, even his love, to make you into what he wants. Do you know what that is, boy?”

Aaron went to say no, but he remembered what Robert had always said: any question he asked, he should already know the answer. And Aaron did know the answer. It scared the abyss out of him.

“A killer,” Aaron said, his voice once more a whisper.

“The perfect killer,” Robert gently corrected. “He’ll starve you of love, affection, friends, faith…everything but the blade and the shadows.”

Aaron sniffed and rubbed his nose against his sleeve.

“What should I do?”

Robert handed him the amulet. The boy took it as if it might burn him. His eyes were wide as he traced a finger over the gold.

“Pray, Aaron. Pray for anything and everything. We live in a harsh world. One day your father will place you at the edge of a cliff. I’ve heard the stories about you. I know you killed your brother when you were but a child. You can jump down that ravine, or you can stand tall and refuse him.”