David Dalglish - A Dance of Cloaks

“Aaron is dead,” he told her, breathing heavily as his daggers shook in his hands, one of its tips aimed straight for her throat. “Why can’t you see that?”

“You’re him,” Veliana said with a cracking voice. “You can’t hide. You’re just a coward.”

Haern shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re wrong.”

He rammed the butt of his dagger against the top of her skull, knocking her out cold. As she slumped to the ground, Haern stuck his head out the window to take a look. A massive crowd gathered about, a mixture of guards, onlookers, and desperate neighbors organizing bucket brigades to ensure the mansion’s fire didn’t spread. In that chaos, he could certainly slip away.

Behind him he heard Veliana moan softly. Haern sighed. At the side of his father, he’d left her for dead. He couldn’t do so again, not while claiming to be a better person. The fire was already crawling its way up the stairs, its smoke billowing. He had five minutes, maybe ten.

Knowing her cloak and colors would doom her, Haern stripped her down to her undergarments. He searched the crates, holding his cloak over his mouth as he did. Once he found a blanket of sufficient length he dragged it over to Veliana and tied one corner to her wrists. The other half he wrapped around his arm and prayed for the best. If Veliana was lucky, she’d survive the fall, and those who found her would assume her a frantic house servant fleeing the fire after hiding in the attic. If not, well…

He almost left her for the calm, quiet death to the smoke. Almost.

“We’re even,” he whispered as he pushed her body out the window. He braced his feet against the wall and held on with all his might. The cloth pulled tight, and he let a bit of it unspool before clamping down again. He nearly went flying out with her, he so badly underestimated the pull. About halfway down she stopped, and he hoped that was close enough. He let go of the cloth, then counted to three before looking.

A couple of onlookers were gathered around her. It appeared someone had caught her. He couldn’t hear their voices from so far, but he saw them pointing to her face, and one man beside her shook his head, his face a mixture of anger and pity. Haern sighed. The wounds, blood on her wrists, and tattered clothing told them a story they expected from such a wreckage. Now for his own safety. Haern kicked out a last few shards of glass, stood on the edge of the window, and pulled himself up to the roof.

From there he leapt a nearby tree, slid down, and vanished in the mob.

H e’d thought it’d be harder to locate a member of the Spider Guild, but it ended up rather insultingly easy. Torgar caught sight of a gray cloak while riding east through the city. The man was clearly in a hurry, so much so that he wasn’t taking any precautions to avoid being followed. Torgar laughed as he rode after him down the narrow alley. The Spider turned at the sound of hoof steps, but far too late. Torgar leapt off, cracking him atop the head with his fists. The rogue crumpled like an unhooked straw man.

Torgar dragged him further out of view from the main road, then pushed him against a wall. He pinched the man’s nose shut and then slapped him a few times until he lurched awake.

“Hush now,” Torgar said, putting a hand over the man’s mouth and then using it to shove him hard against the wall. “I don’t want to start cutting pieces off you already.”

The Spider paled a little and nodded. Torgar chuckled.

“Good,” he said, drawing his sword and resting it across his knees. “You just remember I got this, alright, and things will go well for everyone involved.”

“What do you want from me?” the man asked as Torgar removed his hand.

“Your name, first off,” Torgar said.

“Tobias.”

“Well, Tobias,” Torgar said, “now that I know your name, how about I get to know a few more things? For starters, where you were rushing off to in such a big hurry?”

Tobias shut his mouth and purposefully looked away. Torgar rolled his eyes. He struck the Spider with his fist, grabbed his arm, and then buried his sword through the palm of Tobias’s hand. As Tobias screamed, Torgar shoved his hand over his mouth and slammed his head back.

“Listen closely, dumbass,” Torgar said. “You ever heard of the Blood Riders? They’re stationed out of Ker, carry quite a reputation in the west?”

Tobias’s eyes widened at the mention of their name.

“Oh good, you have heard of them,” Torgar said. “You know what their favorite method of torture is? They take four of their horses, one for each arm and leg, and then tie a rope securing you from saddle to wrist or ankle. After that, it’s off to the races. You should see how much blood can splatter into the air when those ropes pull tight.”

Torgar shoved his face into Tobias’s and then grinned.

“I used to be a Blood Rider, you goathumper. See my horse over there? I may have only one, but you’d be surprised what I can do with a little bit of rope.”

Cold sweat covered Tobias’s body. Torgar ground his sword around a little, then pulled it out. Then he removed his hand and asked his question again. This time he got an answer.

“Soldiers attacked us at Connington’s,” Tobias said. “I was outside the complex when they came. I hoped to find Thren and warn him.”

Torgar glanced east where a giant plume of smoke stretched to the night sky.

“I think he might already know,” Torgar said. “Let’s try for something that I wouldn’t find out on my own in the next five minutes. Your guildmaster has someone special, very special. Do you know who I’m talking about?”

Tobias’s look showed he clearly did.

“Don’t ask,” the Spider said. “Please, don’t ask. Thren will kill me if I tell.”

“I’ll kill you twice as bad,” Torgar growled.

Tobias actually laughed.

“You think you’re more frightening than Thren?” he asked. “Go ahead. Use your damn horse. I won’t tell.”

Torgar sighed. He’d thought for a moment he’d avoided torture. Oh well. At least it was something he was good at.

All it took was ten minutes. He left Tobias holding his intestines in his hands.

“You’re right, Thren may kill you,” Torgar said as he mounted his horse. “But you really should have talked.”

He rode back to the main street and then hurried east, the clomp of his horse’s feet on the dirt a soothing pattern. The directions were simple, the safehouse plain and poorly guarded. From what Tobias had told him, Thren didn’t have any men to spare on his glorious night. Torgar snorted. Well, he’d play his part in tarnishing that old bastard’s glory. So far the smoke seemed focused on Connington’s. Hopefully his own master’s place had survived intact.

The house appeared the same as any other, with a small door in the front center, no windows, and a slanted roof of wood and clay. Torgar rode a few more houses down, dismounted, and then tied his horse’s reins to the handle of a door. The mercenary captain drew his sword, kissed the blade, and ran. He slammed into the door at full speed, throwing his shoulder into it. The wood cracked and splintered.

“Shit!” Torgar heard a man shout from within. Knowing he had little time, he flung his weight against it again. The door burst open, revealing two men of the Spider Guild standing with their daggers drawn. Madelyn lay slumped in the corner, unmoving. Another woman lay beside her. Torgar desperately hoped neither were dead. He had no intention of falling on his sword, but by the gods, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days fleeing from Laurie Keenan, either.

“Come on, then!” Torgar roared, swinging his sword in a wildly exaggerated arc. “Let’s have a fight, eh?”