David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“Where’s the wolf?” Kadish asked as they stood about the fountain, looking nothing more than a group of old friends gathering before joining the festivities.

“They are already scattered about the Kensgold,” Thren explained. He kept his back to the fountain and the guildmasters to his front. “I will go to them after with the real plan.”

“Real plan?” James said, unable to hide his anger. “You sicked your pets on me just so I would agree to a false plan? Even you knew how stupid your original was, yet we suffered for it?”

The other members grumbled, none happy with being taken as fools. Thren silenced them by putting his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Enough,” he said. “What is done is done. No matter how hard I might try, I knew the plan would reach the Trifect. That was the point. We will not launch an assault on the Kensgold, especially not with them outside the city. Without our walls, our shadows, our poison, we are nothing but an outnumbered army of children.”

“Your spiders may be children, but my hawks spill blood like men,” Kadish said.

“So what’s the real plan?” asked Oligart. “I still get to break necks?”

“Their mansions are empty,” Thren said, a smile growing on his face. “They’ve taken the vast bulk of their mercenaries and helpers. Now is when we strike. We will split up, half assaulting Connington’s estate, the other half, Gemcroft’s. Kill everyone inside, and I mean everyone. Then we set our traps. When the Trifect return we assault them from the windows and roofs of their own homes. We’ll kill their family, their friends. When it is time to run, we burn their estates to the ground. They will suffer tonight, and suffer greatly. If we are lucky, we might kill Leon or Maynard during the assault.”

Thren looked to every single pair of eyes, judging their commitment. Despite their anger at being deceived, the simple but brutal plan seemed to excite their bloodlust. Five years was a long time. Suddenly an end seemed in sight.

“Who goes where?” Kadish finally asked.

“The Hawks and the Ash will take out Gemcroft. The Serpents and the Shadows will go for Connington.”

“And who will you go for?” James asked.

“My men will be split among each of you,” Thren said. “That way I show no preference and therefore no risk of betrayal. As for who I go with…that is my own damn business.”

“You can’t make us go with the Hawks,” Veliana insisted, her outburst earning her a glare from both James and Kadish.

“Come now, your lovely presence will make the proceedings all the more exciting,” Kadish said.

“No arguing,” Thren said. “No squabbles. No betrayals. We end this tonight. Understood?”

They all reluctantly agreed.

“I get to crush Connington blood,” Oligart said. He seemed tremendously happy.

“Wait until the sun has dipped below the walls,” Thren ordered. “Move in concert, and keep it quiet. Once set up, things will take time. Kill any who might return early, and wait for the main force to return. And no matter what, make sure the homes burn.”

They all scattered in various directions. Just as they were the last to arrive, James and Veliana were the last to leave.

“His men are split and he hides his own destination,” Veliana said to her guildmaster. “There is no way to betray him without betraying other guilds as well. Now we play along or make enemies of every living man and woman within Veldaren.”

“Never said he was a fool,” James said. “And you’re right. Unless Thren comes to Gemcroft’s, we’d best do as he says and hope the Trifect crumbles.”

“Then we put our faith in him,” she said. “All our plans are nothing. Thren rules this day.”

T he King was in a fouler mood than normal. From the window of a castle tower he had observed the great masses traveling west out of Veldaren. Gerand was waiting for him when he returned to the throne room. Sixteen guards flanked his majesty’s every side.

“It looks like an army gathers at our doorstep,” King Vaelor said as he sat on his throne. “And where are my subjects? Shouldn’t I have petty squabbles to settle?”

“Most have decided to join the festivities that transpire every four years rather than wait in line for a ruling they may get on any day,” Gerand explained.

“But everyone?” Vaelor wondered. “Surely there’s a few level-headed men about somewhere.”

“There were a few,” Gerand said, clearing his throat. “I sent them away. From everything we know, today should be…interesting, and I felt it best to keep you safe.”

King Vaelor rolled his eyes. As if determined to show how brave he was, he dismissed half his retainer of guards, leaving only a paltry eight watching over him. Gerand did his best not to roll his eyes in return. With the sheer amount of mercenaries gathered outside the walls, the advisor had thought it best to keep the king’s day dull. Besides, with all eyes turned to the Kensgold, there was too much risk of a silent dagger striking the other way.

“Safe,” the king muttered. “Often you have promised to keep me safe, but where are the results of your promises? What has grown from your comforting words? I was promised the head of Thren Felhorn, yet where is it?”

Gerand coughed and looked at the guards. King Vaelor realized what he wanted and dismissed the remaining eight.

“Don’t get any ideas,” the king said once they were on the far sides of the throne room. He pulled back his robe to reveal his gold sword belted at his hip. Gerand was far from impressed but didn’t dare let that show.

“As you must understand,” Gerand began, “arranging Thren’s murder is no easy feat. Men have wanted him dead for a decade, yet he remains as powerful as ever.”

“I want his head,” the king said. “Not excuses.”

“I am giving you neither,” Gerand said. “Only word of what is to come. My men have crawled about the city and spent much. We gained little in return, but all it takes is one whisper, one turncoat, and the whole fortune is worth the coin. And that is what I have: a turncoat.”

King Vaelor sat erect in his seat.

“You found a member of his guild to turn against him?” he asked, unable to hide his excitement.

“I cannot say,” Gerand insisted. “Surely you understand. I will say nothing of who he or she is, other than that the price was absurdly high. I dare not risk a single whisper reaching its way to Thren. I already know of his plans for the Kensgold, and my little bird has informed me of a few deviations. If all goes well, I will deliver his head to you on a platter by tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent,” the king said, slapping his thigh with his hand. “What will I do when you’re gone, Gerand?”

The advisor smiled. He had every intention of being around long after King Vaelor was gone, not the reverse.

“A king of your majesty and skill will always find a way to reign,” he said.

King Vaelor laughed.

“So true. But what am I to do? With no squabbles, no royal visitors, and no feasts planned, I am sorely pressed for entertainment.”

“For that, I have found a solution,” Gerand said. He clapped twice, and one of the guards at the throne room’s main entrance threw open the doors. Ten girls wearing silks that hid nothing walked into the room, bells jingling from their wrists and ankles.

“Dancers courtesy of Maynard Gemcroft,” Gerand said. “Come all the way from Ker. They are known as the Naked Bells.”

Slowly the women began their gyrations.

“Naked Bells?” King Vaelor asked, licking his lips. “Yet I see so much silk.”

“Give us time to earn our name,” one of the women said, her voice husky and foreign.