David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

Son! thought Gerand. He’s here because of his son?

The blood drained from Gerand’s face. Suddenly there were multiple reasons for Thren to kill him. He hoped the torture would not last long.

“He looks like he’s going to pass out,” Kayla said.

Thren twisted the rapier, flaring pain in all directions throughout Gerand’s body.

“I should kill you,” Thren said. “But I won’t. You are too useful to me where you are. I want the Trifect humiliated. You are in a position to do that for me, Gerand. Your word is the king’s word in all stately matters. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Gerand nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “I hold no allegiance to the Trifect. I can do as you ask.”

Thren chuckled.

“You can, but will you? Once I’m gone, how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“Hostages work wonders,” said Kayla, right on cue.

“You’re right, which is why I have already taken one.”

They both paused so Gerand could understand the meaning of their words. The advisor looked back and forth between them, the whole while his heart sinking.

“You have Martha,” he said.

“Give the man a prize,” said Kayla.

“She will be under my care for the next week,” Thren said as he pulled the rapier out of Gerand’s chest. He acted as if he were to sheath it, then instead pushed its bloodied tip against Gerand’s throat.

“You do as I say, or I’ll make sure every member of my guild has a turn with her,” said Thren, his voice dangerously cold. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” Gerand said in a voice suddenly grown raspy and weak.

“Your orders are simple,” Kayla said as Thren backed off and tossed the rapier atop the bed. “The flood of mercenaries for the Kensgold should be arriving any day now, if they haven’t already. Among them will be massive caravans of wine, food, and dancers. Tax them all. Heavily.”

“But the Trifect will be…”

Gerand stopped, realizing how stupid his complaint was. Kayla caught it and laughed.

“That’s the point,” she said. “Everyone they hire will demand more to compensate for the tax. Next, you will pass a law forbidding more than fifty mercenaries to be gathered together in any one area, event, or function.”

“Call it an attempt to secure peace,” Thren chipped in.

“Make it clear you’ll fine the mercenaries themselves,” Kayla said. “Keep them worried about their pockets.”

“I will do what I can,” Gerand insisted. “Though it won’t be easy.”

“Third,” said Kayla, “and most importantly, the Trifect has hundreds of merchants that have not paid their taxes. That money is instead going to the mercenaries, and for years you have turned a blind eye. That stops.”

“I’ll collect from them what I can,” Gerand said.

Thren shook his head.

“I don’t want them taxed. I want them arrested.”

“Arrested? What for?” When Thren reached for the rapier again, Gerand paled. “Very well. Tax evasion is a serious crime. Most will plead out and pay their fines within a day or two. Will that suffice?”

“That’ll do,” said Kayla. “When the Kensgold ends, we’ll send you back your wife, alive and unharmed, but only if you cooperate. Is that clear?”

It was.

Kayla slid open his door and looked out. When she saw no guards, she pulled her gray hood over her head and beckoned for Thren. Just before the guildmaster left, he knelt close and whispered into Gerand’s ear.

“I won’t kill you. I’ll chain you to the wall in a cell, your wife’s body in front of you. Once I cut off your eyelids, you’ll watch her rot until she’s nothing but bones. Pass the laws, and make sure you enforce them.”

Kayla dashed out the door, and Thren followed.

O nce Gran calmed down, she seemed open enough to listening to what Haern had to say. Of course, she had tried to smack him with another pan until he disarmed her and physically knocked her into a chair.

“Please listen,” he said once she quit shouting for help. Delysia stood at her side, stroking her hand and doing her best to reassure her.

“Steal into my house, kill a man, then hide from the guards, and after all that you expect me to sit and listen?” said Gran. “Even for a young pup, you’re a fool.”

“Gran,” whined Delysia.

“Oh alright. What is it, boy?”

“His name is Haern,” Delysia said.

“Fine. Haern. ” Gran spat the word out as if it was a curse. “What do you have to say?”

“Delysia is not safe in the city,” Haern said. He leaned against the pantry door. Pieces of dry leaves stuck to his outfit from when he had brushed a hanging tomato plant in the dark. He held one of the two candles Delysia had lit; Gran held the other.

“No one’s safe in the city anymore. Why is Delysia any different?”

“Thren Felhorn of the Spider Guild ordered her father dead,” Haern said. He kept his eyes on Gran, as if ashamed to look at the other girl but too proud to stare at the floor. “I was there when it happened.”

“You mean you were to take part,” Gran said. “I’m not daft. Look at the colors you’re wearing: thief guild colors. What were you, a spotter? Were you to watch for the guards, or just loot her poor father’s corpse after everyone was gone?”

Haern slammed a fist against the pantry door. The motion knocked one of the leaves free from his sleeve, and Delysia watched it fall to the floor.

“It doesn’t matter. The man I killed was sent to finish the job. With him dead, Thren will send another, and another, until the job is finished. He doesn’t leave things undone. Delysia needs to get out, as fast and secretly as possible.”

“I think he’s right, Gran,” said Delysia.

“Of course you do,” Gran said dismissively. “You’re a young girl ready to believe any story a boy tells you. How do we know Thren had anything to do with your father’s death?”

“You know damn well the Spider Guild is responsible,” Haern said.

“You watch your tongue with me, boy, or I’ll wash it out with lye!” snapped Gran.

To both their surprise, Haern shifted from foot to foot and lowered his head.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Well, at least you have some manners,” said Gran. “Though I’m worried that you’re right. That horrible murder in the street was bad enough; having a thief break in is just as bad. I may be old, but I’ve kept enough wits to know that wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Where can we go?” asked Delysia. She looked close to tears. Given how horrible her day had been, Gran couldn’t blame her.

“There’s no we in this, child,” the old woman said. “As much as it pains me to say it, we have to put you where not even the sneakiest of thieves can get you. Your father was well respected by the priests of Ashhur. I’m sure if I asked, they would accept you into their care. Once inside their white walls, you’ll be dead to the world for as long as you’re there.”

Delysia sniffed.

“But what about Tarlak? Will I ever see him again?”

Gran pulled her close and kissed her cheek. “I’m sure you will. He’s off safe with that wizard teacher of his. Now we need to make sure you stay safe, otherwise he might find me and turn me into a mudskipper for letting something happen to his dear little sister.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” she said. Gran gently shook her head.

“I don’t want to leave you either, but I’ve already lost my son. I couldn’t bear to see Dezrel lose you as well. I’m old, and you’ve got no mother to watch after you. The priests and priestesses will give you a good home. I promise.”

Delysia returned the kiss, then turned. There was no one there, just a half-closed pantry door. Haern was gone.