David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“They won’t do that,” she said.

“They will. You’re not safe. You have to get out of the city, Delysia. When my…when Thren realizes Dustin failed, he’ll send another after you. He won’t stop until you’re dead.”

She wanted to believe he was lying. If he was, he was really good at it.

“Who is Thren?” she asked.

A soft chuckle echoed from within the pantry.

“You really don’t know? Thren Felhorn, leader of the Spider Guild. He’s dangerous. He’s the one who killed your father. You should have died when he did, but the other killer…”

His voice trailed off. Delysia’s hands trembled like little birds. In every corner, she imagined the man from the hallway. He held a dagger in his hand, his pale face lit with a grin.

“I don’t know where to go. Dad’s will gave all his farms to the workers. We have money, but Gran won’t listen. She never listens to me. Can’t we just hire some guards?”

Another soft laugh within.

“Guards? You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Her anger flared.

“Well, at least I’m not the one stuck in a pantry!”

He didn’t seem to have a comeback for that. A minute passed in brooding silence. Haern cracked first, and that alone made Delysia feel a little better.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “How old are you, Delysia?”

She puffed out her chest, even though he couldn’t see it.

“I’m ten, almost eleven.”

“I’m only thirteen,” said Haern. “I don’t think either of us know anything, do we?”

She almost took it as an insult, then let it drop. Sitting there, scared and alone and wishing her Gran was back, she found it a little hard to argue.

“You really think someone else will come for me and Gran?” Delysia asked.

“Yes, I do.”

Delysia sighed. She felt like crying some more, so she did. Again Haern waited patiently for her to finish. She wondered how much time had passed. Surely her Gran should be back with guards by now?

“Why are you here?” she asked after wiping her face with the hem of her shift.

“I said already, to protect you.”

“But that’s stupid,” she said. “You’re barely older than me!”

“The man in the hallway is dead, isn’t he?”

The way he said it gave her another chill. Delysia curled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She stared at the pantry, oddly curious as to what the boy’s face looked like underneath his mask.

“The guards won’t really kill you when they get here, right?” she asked. “You’re just saying that so I let you out.”

“They know who I am. That alone will earn me death.”

Again she thought of his mask.

“You know who is after us,” Delysia said. “That means you can help us. Can you? I know you’re young, but you stopped that man before. Can you do it again?”

“I don’t know,” she heard Haern say. “Maybe you should leave me for the guards.”

That seemed to stoke a bit of fire in her.

“If you can help me then say so! I won’t have you dying in there because of who you are. Daddy says…daddy always said to judge someone by what they do, not by their name or what they say.”

“Some names are so bloody they must be judged,” Haern said quietly.

Delysia shook her head. Her father had hammered home certain things in his lectures, and that was one.

“Grace is stronger than blood,” she said.

On the far side of the house, the door opened. Delysia’s heart jumped, but then she heard Gran shouting at the top of her lungs.

“Del? I’m here, sweetie! It’s Gran, and I’ve got the guard!”

She looked to the hallway, then to the pantry. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him to die.

Even though she was still young, she was as tall as Gran was. It wasn’t because she was extraordinarily tall, more that Gran had never been tall to begin with, and her back had bent with age. Delysia climbed atop the chair and stretched for the dagger lodged in the lock. On the second tug it broke free, showering a few splinters atop her head.

“Say something, hun, you’re scaring me!” Gran shouted.

“I’m in here,” Delysia shouted back as she pulled the chair away and then flung the door open. Haern stood waiting for her, his mask pulled tight around his face. Blood had soaked it throughout. For a brief moment she expected him to attack her. He didn’t. He only stared at her with the strangest of expressions.

“Don’t stand there,” she whispered. “Hide!”

When Gran arrived, accompanied by two gruff looking men in the brown armor of the city guard, Delysia was sitting in the chair facing the pantry. She looked up and smiled at Gran, but her eyes were wild with fear.

“Are you alright?” Gran asked as she scooped her granddaughter into her arms. The guards had stopped to examine the body in the hallway. When Delysia didn’t respond, Gran glanced at the pantry door and saw it slightly ajar.

“Did he hurt you?” she asked, her eyes suddenly widening with fear.

“I’m fine,” she said. “He got away is all. He wasn’t dangerous.”

“Wasn’t dangerous? Wasn’t…did you even see what he did to that man? He cut his damn throat, you stupid girl!”

By this point one of the guards entered, looking around with a distant, tired expression.

“Where’d you say the boy was?”

“Um, er, he’s…” stammered Gran.

“He got away,” Delysia said. “He kicked open the door and ran.”

“Hrm,” muttered the guard. “You see what he looked like?”

“He had a mask,” Gran said, finally composing herself. “I didn’t think to remove it.”

“Can’t do much about that, then. What do you reckon happened to the thief back there? Those cuts don’t look like a boy made them.”

“I’ve told you what I know,” said Gran.

The guard shrugged and left the kitchen. They examined the body a few minutes longer, then gave the estate a lazy search, finding nothing. When a third guard showed up with a wagon for the body, they picked it up and carried it outside.

“I’d reckon you should get yourselves some mercenaries,” one of them said to the women before leaving. “Place like this, it looks like you should be able to afford a sellsword or two.”

Delysia stayed in her seat the whole while, not once getting up to leave the kitchen. Gran wandered about before dismissing the guards. When she returned to the kitchen, her face was a lively red.

“Well that was embarrassing enough,” she said. “I tell them stories of a dangerous young boy locked in my pantry, and all I can show them is dust bunnies and some rotted cabbage!”

Gran caught Delysia’s eyes drifting over her shoulder and turned to look. Sitting on top of the counter, a cabinet door open below him, was Haern. Delysia winced as her Gran screamed bloody murder.

T he third safehouse was the correct one. Veliana glanced around to make sure no one watched, then pushed aside a false brick in the giant wall surrounding the city. When she did, a lever snapped inward, unseen gears turned, and the dirt below her shifted as a circular sheet of metal lifted upward. Replacing the brick, Veliana climbed down a small ladder, and then returned the lid. It would be visible under close inspection for a day or two until the dust settled over it and a few walked across it.

Not that it mattered. If Gileas really had told Thren its location, they had less than an hour to get out.

In the darkness that overcame her when she replaced the lid, Veliana had to feel around to get her bearings. There was only one direction to go, a cramped tunnel leading back toward the city. She squirmed on her belly, elbows tucked tight against her sides. About twenty feet in, the tunnel started sloping upward. Another twenty feet and she bopped her head against a solid piece of wood.