David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“Well painted, if a bit dramatic,” Ethric said.

“They are the faceless,” Pelarak said, his eyes going distant. “Theron knew that to welcome the traitors back without penalty could weaken us. He also knew that their devotion could be of great use, but only if the traitor-priests were forever reminded of their failure. So he wrapped them in cloth and ordered them to never reveal the flesh of their skin until the end of their days. They slept separate from the rest, dined away from the rest, and eventually attended their own sermons.”

“This is fascinating, Pelarak, but I’d swear you had a point. I’d love to be patient, but it is too damn cold down here, and the warmth of your soup is wearing thin.”

Pelarak laughed, but his voice lacked any mirth.

“My point is that we do not actively recruit faceless. They are a punishment, not an honor. We have only three now, women who let their sex control their actions. Their dissatisfaction with the separation was…most deplorable. Their faith in Karak, however, remained strong, so we left them alone.”

“They’ve done something,” Ethric said, figuring where the story was going. He looked at the seven in the painting, their bodies bathed in blood and darkness. “They’ve gone feral, haven’t they?”

“Putting our entire temple in danger,” Pelarak said as he clutched the painting with his burning hand. “They have told me lies and half-truths. They seek to increase their number with recruits, as if it were a privilege to be a faceless. Too many times I have given them orders and watched them disregarded entirely.”

“You want them killed,” Ethric said. It was not a question.

“I do,” Pelarak said. The fire on his hand changed from purple to red. The painting began to burn. “I want their bodies nailed from the city gates. They have a captive by the name of Alyssa Gemcroft. She is to be under our watch, but instead Eliora and her sisters have kept her hidden. Find the faceless women and kill them. Alyssa must remain alive. All our plans are naught otherwise.”

Ethric watched as the fire spread across the painting, not at all bothered by the smoke that washed over his face. When the flame reached his bare hand, he flexed his arm. Black fire swarmed over his fingers. The frame broke, crumpling into ash in his fingers. In one giant whoosh, the painting and its frame were consumed. As the ash rained down to the floor, Ethric drew his sword and made his vow.

“Until my death, I will hunt them,” he whispered. “No child of Karak is greater than his master.”

T hren hadn’t felt this good in ages. So far two riots had broken out in southern Veldaren. It wouldn’t be long before the poor and hungry made their way north into the rest of the city. If his spies outside the walls were correct, Laurie Keenan and his family would be making their grand return to the city sometime that afternoon. Hunger riots, jobless sellswords, and overeager castle soldiers demanding taxes was one fantastic greeting.

Laurie would get the message immediately; Thren controlled the city, not him. If everything went according to plan, their Kensgold would send an even stronger message.

“Sir,” shouted Kayla hurrying after him. He was on his way to his son’s room, wanting the boy to accompany him on a routine collection of protection money from the merchants still active amid the riots. Given the circumstances, he was certain they’d be eager for all the protection they could get.

“I am no sir,” Thren said as he turned. “I am no knight, and no noble.”

“Sorry,” Kayla said as she slowed to a quick walk. “I’m not sure what to say that would be seen as respectful.”

Thren gave her a look of honest confusion.

“What could be more respectful than my own name?” he asked.

“Right,” Kayla said. “Anyway, we still have no word from Will.”

“He’s been gone far too long,” Thren said as he resumed his walk down the hall. “Taking Gerand’s wife shouldn’t have been difficult. I doubt any mercenaries could capture him, not alive anyway. If he’s in hiding, he has a reason, and I’m sure he’ll…”

He opened the door to his son’s room and took a step inside. Aaron was on his knees, his hands clasped together underneath his chin. His elbows rested on the side of his bed. His eyes were closed, though they snapped open at Thren’s sudden entrance.

Thren’s jaw dropped. Hanging from a silver chain looped around Aaron’s fingers was a golden pendant of Ashhur.

Before anyone could react, Thren slammed the door shut, spun, and knocked Kayla out with his fist. As she slumped to the ground, he shouted for his men. The mansion was large, but even so, gray cloaks rushed toward him in seconds.

“Where’s Senke?” he shouted as the men stared with a mixture of confusion and curiosity at Kayla slumped on the floor.

“Here,” Senke said, pushing his way to the front of the men.

“Find Cregon,” Thren said. “I’ll need his spells. And you two,” he said, pointing, “find Robert Haern and bring him to my room. Kayla too. I want them bound tight.”

Thren reopened the door to Aaron’s room. Aaron sat on the bed. The amulet lay beside him, as if he knew hiding it was a pointless gesture. Thren stepped inside, grabbed the amulet, and then beckoned his son to follow.

A aron walked down the halls a step behind his father, feeling his heart race. His stomach roiled as he tried to think of what punishment awaited him. Robert had given him the pendant. Kayla had encouraged him to rebel. There was also the matter of Delysia and Dustin. While he had run off to protect Delysia, Thren had sent for him. So far, he had not demanded an explanation for his absence. Now, it looked like the matter would soon explode in his face.

“Keep your mouth shut until I ask you a question,” Thren said as they walked.

If there was anything Aaron was good at, it was keeping silent. He nodded.

They took a long, looping path toward Thren’s room. Aaron realized his father was buying time, most likely wanting whatever he had prepared ready by the time they entered. The thought was hardly comforting. He felt like throwing up. He’d made a mistake, a stupid one at that. Only twice before had he prayed to Ashhur, and both times he’d felt a combination of silliness and embarrassment. Afterward, he remembered the way Delysia had prayed when he stood unseen before her. Whatever he was doing was not the same, he felt it in his gut.

So he’d tried again, this time because he’d heard no word either way on whether or not she’d lived. And now he might have endangered her life. If Thren tortured him, he’d talk. He held no delusions about that. Once Thren knew where she was, she would die. Gods damn it all, how could he have messed up so badly?

“Remember, I do this for your own good,” Thren said when they finally arrived at his room. Two men stood guard before it, bowing respectfully as they passed through.

Inside the room, Senke had cleared away the chairs of the table. Robert Haern knelt at one end. Kayla knelt on the other, a large bruise spreading across her cheek. Senke stood between them, his hands on the hilts of his swords. Cregon leaned against the bedpost of the extravagant bed, his arms crossed.

“Stand here,” Thren ordered, pointing beside Senke. When the guildmaster walked over to Cregon and began talking, Senke whispered down to Aaron.

“What the fuck did you do?” he asked.

“I prayed,” Aaron whispered back.

“Shit,” Senke said, then clammed up. Thren was returning with the mage.

“Stay still,” Cregon said. “All of you. If my concentration breaks, I won’t be able to try again until tomorrow.”

Aaron entertained shouting out a bizarre stream of cusswords to disrupt the mage, but decided otherwise. Instead, he watched Cregon cast his spell. The man was a poor mage, in both money and abilities, hence his easy recruitment into the Spider Guild. He spent most his days sequestered apart from the rest of the men, reading books and pretending to advance his skills while in reality doing his best to drink the days away.