A Dance of Cloaks

chapter 2

The exotic fruit cost its weight in gold, but Leon Connington felt it a fair bargain. He bit into the purple skin, making a loud slurp as he sucked in the juice that ran down his chin. The pulp was so soft, he thought it better than a woman’s thigh. He moaned.

“Winter is coming,” one of his advisors said, holding a quill as he stood before an inkwell and some parchment. So far he’d only written down a few random orders involving shipping, plus Leon’s opinion of upcoming marriages between high-blood families in the Hillock west of the Kingstrip. While Leon had no official say in such matters, his opinion had meant both the creation and destruction of many engagements.

“What do I care about winter?” Leon said as he took another bite. “I have enough fat on me to hibernate with the bears. The wind can only tickle me while I laugh.”

“I more meant the fruit,” the advisor said. “Try not to get too addicted to the plums. They come all the way from Ker, and I doubt any more shipments will arrive. I’ve heard reports of an early frost.”

“A shame,” Leon said. He sucked the rest of the fruit into his mouth and chewed around the pit. “So, what word from our little puppet?” he asked, slobbering the whole while.

“Gerand Crold has taken the tutor Haern into custody, although it appears the boy, Aaron, escaped just before the soldiers stormed the home.”

“Little runt knows how to run and hide, huh?” Leon laughed. “Sounds like his father. Stung him with the venom of a sea-mantis, and he still escaped. Have our men keep an eye out for him. He’d be a lovely bargaining chip. Remember that wagon of peaches Thren ambushed on the Kingstrip? He had his men piss all over them before feeding them to herds of swine. I’d love to piss all over his little boy’s head…”

“Perhaps if the gods are kind, you will get your wish,” the advisor said in a dull tone. “We’ve also received a report from one of our cutthroats inside the Gemcroft home. Maynard has thrown his daughter, Alyssa, into the cold cells for supposedly planning to overthrow him.”

“All children plan to overthrow their parents,” Leon said as he grabbed another plum from the basket beside his enormous chair. “That’s why I never had any.”

The advisor, an elderly man from the humble Potts family, bit his tongue.

“Wise planning, my lord,” Potts said.

“This is interesting, though, most interesting. I didn’t think Alyssa was even inside Veldaren’s walls. Surely someone else had a hand in this. We must find out who. If it is just a personal grudge, perhaps we can help take that insufferable Maynard down a notch. If they are working with the guilds, or have some agenda against the Trifect, well…”

He bit into another plum.

“I’ll put some coin into the right hands,” Potts said. “No one can move against the Trifect without us knowing it.”

Leon laughed.

“Thren did, not so long ago,” the fat man said. “Look what it cost him.”

It seemed the nights had grown darker and silent over the past five years. Moonlit revelries had lost their allure, and most kept their drink and their women inside. No one wanted to be mistaken for either a member of the thief guilds or a turntail for the Trifect. Daggers and poison floated through the streets when the sun was set, and only those prepared to deal with them dared walk in the open.

Yoren Kull was competent with a blade, but that was not why he walked with his head held high. No, the reason was the man who traveled with him, dressed in the black robes and silver sash of a priest of Karak. Officially, their kind was banned from the city. Unofficially, they made sure every king knew of their presence, and of the immediate death that would follow if he tried removing them. Yoren felt quite confident no one would dare harass him with a priest at his side.

“When will we arrive at the temple,” Yoren asked. The priest responded in a soft voice honed by years of practiced control.

“I am not taking you to the temple. If I was, you’d be blindfolded.”

Yoren chuckled. He stood a bit straighter, as if insulted by the very notion. His left hand clutched his sword while his right straightened a few errant hairs hovering over his forehead. He was a handsome man, his skin smooth and bronze while his hair was a dark red. When he smiled, his golden teeth gleamed in the light of the torch the priest carried.

“Forgive me for my false assumption,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I assumed meeting disciples of Karak would involve the actual temple.”

“Our ways are best learned within our hallowed walls,” the priest said. “But discipleship to Karak involves a life immersed in the sinful world, and there are times when even the faithful go astray. Keep your sword sheathed. My presence may keep us safe, but if you draw steel, you will deal with the consequences on your own.”

Yoren had never been to Veldaren before, but so far he was hugely unimpressed. The enormous wall surrounding the city had seemed ominous, and the towering castle doubly so. The god Karak was rumored to have built them, and it seemed few argued otherwise. Inside, however, seemed to almost mock the great walls and castle. Much of the southern district had slowly died off. King Vaelor had ordered all trading caravans to enter through the west gate, where the guards were thicker and the road easier to watch. Poor slums and weather-beaten homes had greeted Yoren when he entered from the south.

The city improved near the center, but it was all wood and plaster buildings. Other than the sheer size, Yoren saw little that would make him wish to live within the walls.

“Where are we now?” he asked.

“It is better you not know,” the priest said. “It would be dangerous for you to come again without my assistance.”

After meeting in the center of the city beside some ancient fountain of an even more ancient king, the priest had led Yoren through a winding criss-cross of roads and back alleys. Yoren had long lost track of which direction he headed, though from what he saw it seemed they had traversed back into the southern slums.

“I am not the weakling babe you treat me as,” Yoren said.

“You are young. Young men are often hotheaded, foolish, and governed by their loins as often as their wits. Forgive me if I treat you like all other men of Dezrel.”

Yoren felt his face flush but bit his tongue. His father, Theo Kull, had insisted he treat the priests better than he would the king. If that meant enduring a few false comments about his nature, so be it. Yoren stood to gain much from his father’s plan. His pride could withstand a few barbs.

“Here,” the priest said, stopping before a house that looked just as dilapidated as any other. “Enter through the window, not the door.”

Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, but when Yoren pushed his fingers up against the glass of the window his fingers slid through, and he realized no glass was there at all. He lifted his foot and climbed the rest of the way inside. He turned, expecting the priest to follow, but his guide had already vanished.

“Such wonderful hospitality,” Yoren muttered before turning and taking stock of his surroundings. The walls and floor had been stripped bare. Stairs led higher up, the steps rotted and broken. Through the single doorway further in, he saw shelves coated with mold. Massive piles of rat droppings covered the floor.

He took a step, and then the room darkened. He heard whispers in his ears, but every time he turned there was no one there. The words kept changing, his mind unable to lock down a meaning. Yoren reached for his sword before remembering the priest’s words. Shadows swirling all around him, the young man released his blade and stood up straight. He would not be afraid of cantrips and echoing whispers.

“You are brave, for a coward,” a serpentine voice whispered just inches from behind his neck. Yoren jumped but refused to turn around.

“That seems a contradiction,” he managed to say.

“Just as there are skinny sows and smart dogs, there are brave cowards,” said another voice, eerily similar in sound and tone. Instead of behind his head, this one seemed to sound from under his feet.

“I have done as asked,” Yoren said as the shadows thickened before him. “My sword is sheathed, and I came through the window instead of the door.”

The shadows coalesced before him into a shrouded figure. Every inch of skin was wrapped in purple and black cloth. Even the eyes were hidden behind a single strip of thin white material, obscuring her features just enough while still allowing sight. Despite the tight wrapping and modified voice, Yoren could tell by the slenderness of body and the curve of her chest that he dealt with a woman.

“Doing Karak’s will involves more than following orders,” the woman said, wisps of shadow floating off her like smoke. “You ask for aid from the faceless. For us to interfere in the squabbles of lesser men, we must be certain of your heart, as well as whatever sacrifice Karak may receive for his blessing.”

A serrated dagger curled around his throat and pressed against his flesh.

“Sacrifice,” whispered the faceless shadow behind him.

“I come with the promise of my father,” Yoren said, for once glad of his infallible sense of ego. It was the only thing that kept him from stammering. “We have no temple in Riverrun, though the priests of Ashhur have begun building one. If you aid us, then that land will become my inheritance. We shall cast out the priests of Ashhur. Karak may have the temple and the land on which it was built. Will that suffice?”

The faceless woman’s ragged cloak pooled on the floor as if it were liquid darkness, yet when she stepped back, it immediately snapped erect and covered her sides.

“It is a start,” she said. “What is it you need from Karak’s most zealous servants?”

Yoren licked his lips.

“I need you to kill Maynard Gemcroft.”

Information meant wealth, and Kayla loved both. She was not the quietest thief, and unlike many in her line of work, she did not take to the shadows like fish took to water. Her fingers lacked the dexterity for caressing locks into opening. Her ears worked well, and her eyes were sharp, and throughout her rough life she had learned that dealing with information could net her coin…although many times it nearly earned her death. Sometimes secrets were too dangerous to sell.

Watching the soldiers surround the home, Kayla debated the value of what she saw. Clearly the king, or at least one of his minions, was interfering with the shadowy war waged between the Trifect and the guilds. She shifted her weight from leg to leg, trying to make sure neither fell asleep. She lay atop a nearby home, having stalked the troops across the rooftops ever since they left the castle grounds.

She could barely see the front door, but she had long learned to analyze everything about a man, from what he wore to the way he walked, to help identify someone from a dark perch on an even darker night. Little of that skill was needed, though, for when the man stepped out of the door, his hood flapped in the wind, revealing the scarred face of Gerand Crold. He held a hand against his forehead as if he had been wounded. Suddenly he realized the mishap with his cloak, glanced about as if worried, and then pulled it back over his face.

Good luck finding me. Kayla smiled. Now this was something she could sell. Every week she met with a squat little man named Undry who ran a small shop specializing in perfumes. She would whisper to him what she knew, and then he would give her a garish over-sized bottle of what looked like perfume, though inside was filled with silver and gold coin. From there the information traveled upward until reaching Laurie Keenan, the wealthiest of the Trifect.

Kayla heard shouting. Shifting her weight, she watched as a boy leapt through a window, hit the ground with a roll, and then darted away. A single soldier was in sight, startled by the broken glass and sudden burst of movement mere feet away.

Before she knew she had reached a decision, Kayla was already moving. Her hand slipped into her belt, where over twenty thin daggers were clipped tight. Based on the shouts and frantic searching of the soldiers, they clearly wanted the boy. Whoever he was, he was valuable, and Kayla would not let such easy money slip through her fingers. If Undry would pay for rumors of newly hired mercenaries and extra-large shipments, how much might he pay for the blood relative of a Trifect, or perhaps a bastard son of the king?

She threw her dagger. The shadows might not be a second skin to her, and silence only a friend, but when it came to throwing the blade, she knew of no better. Before the soldier could give chase, a wickedly sharp point pierced his neck and ruptured his windpipe. He collapsed, unable to cry out to the others. Sheathing the second dagger she had grabbed in case she missed, she looked for the boy.

Damn, he’s fast, she thought as her breath quickened. If the boy hadn’t been so panicked, he easily would have heard her clattering across the rooftops. He darted through alleys, cutting back and forth as if to lose a pursuer. His path remained steadily east, however, regardless of how crooked and curved. Once she realized this, Kayla needed little time to catch up.

Where are you taking me? she wondered. A great cry rose up all around her. She stopped and crouched, feeling a bit of worry crawl up her chest. It seemed like the soldiers had given chase after all, but not just the few that had surrounded the home. Hundreds rushed up and down the streets in small groups.

“The boy!” they shouted. “Hand us over the boy!”

They pressed into homes, swarmed over alleyways, and pushed aside any they wished. Slowly, systematically, they were sealing off the entire eastern district.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Kayla wasn’t exactly the most wanted lady of Veldaren, but she was no friend of the law, either. A guard in a pissy mood could easily take away her daggers, and if any should make the connection to her and the fallen comrade of theirs…

“Up, down, and sideways,” she said, wondering how she’d gotten herself so messed up. She hurried from side to side, taking in the positions of the soldiers. Frantic, she ran back to the north edge, realizing she had taken her eyes off the boy. If he’d made a sudden turn, or jumped through a window, then it would be the soldiers who found him, not her.

She did know this: Undry would not be the one paying her for capturing the child. Anyone worth having the entire city guard give chase deserved a nice ransom. A king’s ransom, in fact. When she spotted the boy, she let out a soft sigh. He was a walking bag of gold, and she never would have forgiven herself if she had let him slip away.

He was limping now, though she wasn’t sure why. He was also veering to the right, and she felt a mix of feelings when she realized where. It was an old abandoned temple to Ashhur, stripped of all its valuables when their elegant white-marble temple farther north had been completed. The doors had been boarded shut, but those boards were long broken. Kayla smiled, for she knew there was no way out. She also wanted to strangle the boy, for if the guards searched inside, well…there’d be no way out.

She looked down the street, seeing no near patrols just yet. She shimmied down the side of a home. Without pause she ran across the street, kicked the door open, and rushed inside.

Where there had once been painted glass were now thick boards with even thicker nails. Where there had once been rows of benches were now splinters and grooved ruts on the floor. The entire place stank of feces and urine. She paused just inside the door to look for the boy, and that was when he struck her.

She felt a fist smash her temple, followed by a swift kick to her groin. As she staggered to one knee, she couldn’t help but smile knowing the boy had assumed a man chased after. Another punch struck her nose, but she caught his wrist before he could pull his fist back. She was not prepared for the sudden maneuver he made. His fingers wrapped around her own wrist, his body twisted, and then she was down on both knees, wincing as the bones of her arm protested in pain.

Any delusions she had of him being a normal boy vanished with her shriek of pain. Her fingernails clawed his skin, but he seemed to not care. Eye to eye they stared, and if she expected to find fear or desperation, it was not there. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle, and as the boy let go of her wrist and tried to kick her chest, she realized he was enjoying himself.

She ducked under the kick, spun around him, and then jabbed his throat with her elbow. When he collapsed, he rolled his body, avoiding the next two blows from her foot. He caught her heel on her third kick and then shoved it upward. She somersaulted with the push, snapping his chin with her other foot. As he staggered back, she landed lightly on her feet, drew two daggers from her belt, and hurled them across the room.

They stabbed into the wood at his feet, barely an inch at either side.

“Soldiers give chase, you stupid boy,” Kayla said. “Do you want to get us both killed?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Kayla drew two more daggers, twirling them in her fingers. The boy was smart, she could see that. He had to know he was beaten, yet the fact that she held back the killing blow surely should earn her some measure of trust.

“Your name,” she said. “Tell me, and I’ll hide you from them.”

“My name…” He was not at all winded from the run or their tussle, though he spoke low as if embarrassed by the sound of his own voice. “My name is Haern.”

“The Haerns are simple farmers,” Kayla said. “Stop lying to me. We both know you’ve never bent your back in a field or soiled your clothes in pig shit.”

“Haern is my first name,” the boy said, his eyes sparkling. “You haven’t asked for my last name yet.”

She glanced toward the door, expecting soldiers to come barging in at any moment.

“And what might that be?” she asked.

“Felhorn.”

And then it clicked. She would make no money from this information, nor from the ransom. Only a fool would dare ransom a child of Thren Felhorn and expect to live another year.

Unless they delivered the child to Thren himself.

“Thren’s your father,” she said flatly.

Haern nodded.

“Good. Listen to me, we don’t have much time if I’m going to get you to…”

And then the doors opened, a pair of guards with swords drawn standing at the entrance.

“Here!” one shouted, the last word he ever spoke. A throwing dagger speared his left eye. The other guard swore, and then another dagger sailed through his open mouth and jutted out the back of his neck.

“Follow me,” Kayla shouted as she grabbed Haern’s shirt. He did his best to follow, but she noticed his limp had returned.

“The door,” he said, nodding to where the dead guards lay.

“No time,” she said. “They’ll be there soon.”

On the opposite side of the temple she reached a boarded window and yanked on the boards. The wood was old and weather-beaten, but she was not the strongest of women. She tugged and pulled, but the wood refused to break.

“Give me a dagger,” Haern said.

Kayla at first thought to refuse, then decided it couldn’t possibly make things worse. She gave him one.

“Keep the pointy end away from me,” she said.

Three more guards poured through the door and shouted for them to surrender.

“Damn it,” Kayla muttered.

“You handle them,” Haern said. “I’ll get us out.”

As if completely unaware, the boy used his dagger to slice into the wood surrounding the nails. Kayla thought him crazy, but he worked the wood like an expert. In a handful of seconds, the first nail popped into his palm.

Still, many nails and many boards remained. Kayla drew two more daggers and faced the guards. Pressed into the corner with Haern at her back hampered her style, so she ran to the side, hurling dagger after dagger to keep their attention. A couple glanced off their mail, another ricocheted off the flat edge of a blade, but one sank deep into the flesh of a soldier’s thigh. He swore and pulled it out while the other two rushed closer.

Kayla dodged and rolled, her lithe body narrowly avoiding the swings. Once she was on the far side, she turned and sprinted, rolling past the two nearer soldiers and straight for the wounded man. Down on one knee clutching his wound, he only had time to look up and curse again before she stabbed a dagger in his eye. She yanked it out as she passed, wincing at the eyeball lodged halfway up the slender blade.

When she reached Haern, she leapt into the air and spun, her hands a blur as the daggers flew. The two guards crossed their arms to block their faces, but she had anticipated such a basic defense. Sharp points dug into their legs, hands, and feet. Blood poured across the faded floor.

“Hurry,” she heard Haern shout. She turned to see him toss her dagger back, hilt first. Three boards lay by his feet. He climbed up and out the window, not pausing to see if she followed. Kayla blew the wounded soldiers a kiss, then sprang after him.

“How fast can you run?” she asked Haern when she landed outside. The drop from the temple was farther than it looked, and she felt her knees ache.

“Not fast enough.”

“Limp if you have to,” Kayla said, grabbing his arm. “But we’re still going to run, even if it’s on one foot.”

He hesitated only a brief moment before looping his arm around her neck and running alongside. Shouts echoed behind them, and Kayla felt her heart thud in her ears. She had killed a second soldier, as well as wounded two more. There would be no jail cell waiting for her if they were caught, just a short fall from a taut rope.

They hobbled down the road, Kayla desperate to add distance between them and the guards. She asked questions in a rapid-fire manner as they ran, hoping against hope for a plan to emerge in her mind.

“Where is Thren’s hideout?” she asked.

Haern refused to answer at first, but then she cuffed him on the side of his head.

“I’m trying to save your life, and mine, so tell me where we’re going.”

“The western district,” Haern said, elaborating no further.

“No good,” Kayla said. She knew she couldn’t take Haern there anyway, not until they lost their pursuers. Leading half the city’s soldiers to Thren Felhorn’s secret hideout was another good way to end up dead, regardless of her somewhat noble intentions.

“Any other safehouses?” she asked.

“None I know of.”

“Friends that can hide us?”

“Friends are dangerous.”

Kayla rolled her eyes.

“Are you useful in any way?”

Haern shocked her by blushing.

“Not yet. But I will be. I’ll kill as well as you, milady.”

She laughed, even as a pair of soldiers turned into the alley ahead of them. She wished she hadn’t killed earlier; then she might have been able to turn Haern over and save her own life. Daggers twirling, she accepted her only other recourse. Haern let go of her to free up her movements.

“Keep your eyes open for a place to hide,” she said.

Two more guards stepped out behind them, shouting for them to surrender. Haern grabbed a dagger from Kayla’s belt and kissed the blade.

“Your name?” he asked.

“Kayla,” she replied.

“If we separate, I’ll find you. As long as I draw breath, I’ll ensure my father rewards you well.”

Back to back, they faced the approaching guards. At first it seemed they would wait for more to arrive, but when Kayla flung several daggers through the air, one sinking into the flesh above a man’s knee, the soldiers decided subduing the unarmored woman and the hapless boy would be easier than dodging an angry barrage of steel. Kayla felt worried knowing Haern faced two, but she remembered how he had fought back at the temple. Maybe he could survive long enough for her to finish her own and switch over to help him.

The first soldier slashed his sword at her chest. She parried it with the dagger in her left hand, stepped in closer, and then cut across his face with her right. Blood spilled across her arm, and he howled as the tip hooked the underside of his eye. His companion lunged, forcing Kayla back and preventing a killing blow. The wounded man clutched his face with his free hand, glaring with his good eye. The other man struck again, a weak thrust that revealed just how green he was. She batted it aside, slashed his wrist, and then hurled her dagger. Deadly accurate from over fifty yards, the man had no chance standing mere feet away. The dagger struck just above his gorget.

She heard shouts behind her, followed by a cry of pain. Knowing her time was short, she pressed an attack on the wounded soldier. He parried a couple of her stabs, but he was woozy from the loss of blood, and his movements awkward from still clutching his face with his other hand. Kayla curled about him, always drifting to his wounded side, and then one of his blocks came in too soon. Her daggers sunk into the flesh of his throat and stomach. Gasping, he fell and died.

Feeling certain the boy was dead, she spun around and brought her daggers up to defend herself. Instead, she saw Haern dancing between the two soldiers, his dagger a blur of steel. Both soldiers were bleeding, and one in particular was soaked with blood from a gash underneath his arm. She watched as the boy ducked a sideways slash, spun on his heels, and then lunged to the side of a thrust. The sword pierced the air inches from his face, but he seemed not to care how close he came to death. His dagger punched underneath the breastplate, slicing open the flesh and spilling intestines to the cold dirt of the alley.

He never hesitated, not even after such a cruel killing. The other soldier’s strike would have severed his spine, but instead it clacked against the ground. Haern slashed his wrist, danced about, stabbed his side, and then as the guard turned he continued dancing, continued twirling. His dagger buried into flesh, finding two more exposed slits in the armor. Blood ran freely, and when the boy kicked out his knees, the guard fell without the strength to return to a stand.

Kayla shook her head in amazement. He would not one day learn to kill as well as her. He already did.

Haern sheathed the dagger and joined her side.

“Your limp,” she said, realizing he had shown no hint of the injury during battle.

“I hurt it worse,” he said, wrapping his arm around hers. “But I’ve been shown how to ignore such things. Better to live torn and in pain than die in perfect health.”

He spoke as if the saying were memorized, and the gasps of pain he made with each step of his wounded leg seemed to mock him.

“We’ll never escape,” she said as they turned down a small alley between rows of houses that stank more like a sewer. “Not leaving a trail of bodies behind us.”

“We just need to keep going,” he said. “It doesn’t matter where.”

“Why not,” she asked.

“Because my father’s eyes are in all places. Once we are seen, he’ll come for us.”

Kayla smirked.

“Can’t rely on your father like that. He’s not the Reaper, able to see out of all shadows and end your life with a kiss of his scythe. The night is deep, the soldiers are about, and if we’re to see the dawn we’ll need to hide.”

Haern looked upset at her dismissal of his father, but he refused to argue the point.

Kayla scanned the houses she passed, hoping to recognize one. Considering how she prided herself on information, she realized just how little she knew her surroundings. She was friends with the scum of the streets, but the eastern district was home to the rich and influential. She might know her way around, and list many names useful to blackmail, but not one could she count as a friend. Out of all of Veldaren, this was most definitely farthest from home.

“Wait,” Haern said as they passed by a wide mansion surrounded by a thick fence. Its bars were made of dark iron, their spiked tops over ten feet tall. Behind them, oak trees with interlocking branches surrounded the building, giving privacy to the mansion with their beauty.

Haern pointed. “We can hide here.”

It took a moment for Kayla to realize where they were, but when she did her eyes widened.

“Are you daft, boy? This is Keenan’s estate.”

“Exactly,” Haern said, a bit of a smile curling his lips. “The one place no one would dare look for us.”

The reasoning was sound, but looking at those enchanted bars, she wondered how in the world they would cross.

“Follow me,” Haern said. Instead of climbing the bars, though, he turned and shimmied up the wall of a much more modest dwelling on the opposite side of the road. He clearly favored his right leg, bracing his weight on it as often as he could. It seemed there was no way up, but his feet and hands found crevices, windowsills, and indents in the plaster.

Kayla knew she was good at climbing, but she doubted her ability to follow. Still, the shouts of guards chased after them, so she had no choice but to try. She made it halfway up before her foot slipped. The windowsill cracked and broke. Her hands flailing wildly, she grabbed the first thing she could: Haern’s leg. The boy hung from the roof by his hands, and though his grip seemed like iron, she could hear his grunts of pain. She swung her foot further to the side, on what remained of the windowsill. When she let go of his leg, she heard him exhale slowly, as if he fought to control his pain. A moment later, he was back atop the roof and gone from her sight.

The rest of the way up was easy, and when she got there she found Haern lying on his back, tears running down the sides of his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We can hide here, surely the guards won’t look…”

“They will,” Haern said. “They can see us from the street. Even if it takes all night, they’ll find us.”

Kayla sighed. He was right, of course. The roof was not perfectly flat, but instead sharply angled, with sharp triangles rising up to make a space for windows. If they hunkered down, they might go unnoticed, but any searching eyes would eventually spot them. Slowly, Haern shifted all his weight to his left leg and tried to stand. Kayla gently put her hands underneath his elbows and helped him.

“I’ll scream when I jump,” he said. “Ignore it. I’ll be fine.”

And then he was off, showing no sign of his injury. The roof, while angled, was still wide and offered plenty of room for a running start. In between the spikes of the gate were thick stripes of the dark iron, and it was for them he dove like a swan. With both hands he latched on, and when his body swung downward, he kicked off the bars with his good leg. Feet in the air, he vaulted over the spikes and landed on the smooth carpet of grass on the other side.

True to his word, he screamed in pain the whole while.

Kayla felt her lips tremble at the display. Perhaps it would be better to remain on the rooftop, hoping the guards would miss her. They weren’t searching for her, after all, just the boy. The strange, incredibly trained teenage boy who fought like an assassin. She couldn’t possibly mimic his act, could she?

She made her decision. With her longer legs, perhaps there was another way…

In a single quick motion she unbuckled her belt, counted to three, and then ran off the side of the house. When the fence neared, she looped the belt around one of the spikes and then did her best to hold in a shout of pain as her body rammed into the bars. She started to fall, but then the belt tightened. Using a similar technique, she kicked off the bars and somersaulted. Her breath caught in her throat as she passed over the incredibly sharp tips. She pictured herself impaled, her corpse upside-down like some grotesque ornament.

Then she was over, and the blessed ground met her feet. She rolled along, then scrambled toward the nearest tree. Compared to the house, it made easy climbing with its many shoots and branches. Haern was waiting for her among the leaves.

“Keep quiet,” he whispered. Tears ran down his face, but he kept the sobs out of his voice. With a slender hand, he pointed through a gap in the leaves where the street was visible to them both. Soldiers ran past, torches in hand. They scoured the area, but not once did they inspect the land behind the walls.

“Laurie Keenan’s property might as well be a foreign nation,” Kayla whispered. “A smart call, though you have the courage of a lion to leap like you did. If your knee had buckled…”

“It didn’t,” Haern said. “Not until I landed.”

She pulled up his pant leg and looked. His knee had already turned a shade of blue, with the very center an ugly brown. When she touched it gently with her fingers, she could tell it was badly swollen.

“We need it wrapped and iced,” she whispered. “And you need to give it rest.”

Haern nodded.

“How long can we hide here?”

Kayla shrugged. “We pressing our luck as is, but if we stay away from the mansion we should be safe. I hear all his traps are within its halls.”

Haern leaned his head against a branch and closed his eyes.

“Don’t let me fall,” he said. “Please?”

“Sleep if you must,” she said, reattaching her belt. “I’ll keep us safe.”

Several hours passed. If she had any doubt to the boy’s identity, the tenacity of the soldiers’ search erased them. Carefully she pushed the blonde hair off his face and looked at his soft features.

There was no doubt he was Aaron Felhorn, and by his actions and his skill, he was most certainly his father’s son.

When the sun finally began to creep above the city walls, Kayla nudged him awake. He snapped his eyes open and stared at her without a word. It was as if now the danger was passed, he had grown inward and shy.

“Come, Aaron,” she said. “Let us get you home.”

“Haern,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “Call me Haern.”

“Why?” Kayla asked. “I know who you are; there is no need for pretenses.”

“Because when I am Haern…” He stopped and looked away. “When I am him, he is everything I am not.”

She wasn’t sure she understood, but she had a lot more pressing things to worry about than what name the Felhorn whelp wanted to be called.

“Should we head west?” she asked. He nodded. “I thought so, but we have a slight problem. How do we get over the gate?”

He didn’t know. It seemed when the hounds were at his heel, he was a fountain of ideas, but when things quieted down, the fountain ran dry. She almost smacked him upside the head and threatened to cut his throat if he didn’t produce an idea, but the thought was so absurd she laughed.

“I guess we wait,” Kayla said. Her stomach was rumbling, and she badly wanted someone to look at Aaron’s knee…Haern’s knee, she corrected. When she glanced about, she had little faith in the tree’s cover once the sun reached its fullest. If discovered, she would probably wish for the comfort of the noose. Keenan’s cruelty was legendary throughout not just Veldaren but all of Dezrel. Inside his compound, he ruled, not the king.

“What if someone else opens the gate?” Haern whispered. “Maybe we can run through.”

“Maybe,” she said absently. Maybe if whoever it was didn’t notice them hiding in the tree. Maybe if they weren’t stopped by guards on their frantic dash to the street. Maybe if archers located in windows didn’t feather them dead. If they were to do something, she realized, she needed to do it before the rest of the estate began their daily routines. If spotted, they didn’t have a beggar’s chance of convincing anyone they weren’t pawns of the thief guilds, sent to kill yet another lackey of the Trifect.

Kayla looked to Haern and held in a smile. Maybe if they were found, the boy might reveal another amazing skill. The kid could pull out nails with a thin knife and vault over fences like a mummer’s monkey. Who knew what he could do when cornered behind a locked gate.

Locked?

“Haern, look at me,” she said. “Can you pick a lock? Not some apprentice’s creation, I mean a true smith’s lock. I’ve never had the fingers for it, but could you?”

He looked away from her, angling his head so the sun no longer reached through the leaves to light his face. In the shadows, he seemed to grow more confident.

“Your daggers are thin, and I could try. I’d need something else, though, something even thinner.”

She handed him a dagger, then reached into her belt and pulled out a small spyglass. She used it when she needed to be absolutely certain who a person was, when guesswork and reliance on body structure, walk, and clothing would not be enough…or when naming the wrong name could get her killed by all parties involved.

The spyglass wasn’t what she wanted, though. What she wanted was the cord of wire wrapped around the middle to reinforce the fragile creation. Haern saw and nodded happily. He snatched the spyglass from her hands, unwound the wire, and handed the spyglass back.

“How long?” she asked.

“Master Jyr was my teacher,” he said. “When he left, he said I was his fastest student ever.”

Kayla shook her head.

“Not good enough. Tell me, how fast?”

Haern shrugged.

“Two minutes? Three if it’s expertly made.”

“Expect three minutes,” she said. Her blue-green eyes darted about. It wouldn’t be long before a servant or two headed out for the market to fetch fresh eggs and warm bread for when their master broke his fast. The sun had barely risen, perhaps they could go unnoticed. She had seen no guards, but that meant nothing. After five years of warfare, there were always guards.

“Pick the lock as fast as you can,” she told him. “If anyone tries to stop us, I’ll kill them.”

Haern nodded.

“I’ll do my best.”

The ground wasn’t far, but Kayla worried about Haern’s leg. Once they made it to the streets, they could lose themselves in the sea of merchants, tradesmen, and common folk that always swelled in the morning hours. Until then, they’d be horribly vulnerable.

“I’ll help you down,” she said. “Hurry, but don’t injure your knee any further. An open gate does us no good if you can’t walk through it.”

She guided him gently down to the grass. Limping like an old man, Haern approached the closed and barred front gate. Kayla remained hidden in the tree. She was close enough to intercept any guards that might spot him, and she hoped to surprise the first few that might try to stop the boy.

When Haern reached the gate, he knelt down on his good knee, cupped the lock in his hands, and examined it. After a moment, he glanced back to the tree and smiled.

Two minutes, she thought. The gods are kind.

She began counting in her head. At seventeen, she heard a cry of alarm. By twenty-nine, she saw several men run around the side of the estate, all wearing brightly-polished chainmail and brandishing curved longswords. They were five in all, and glumly Kayla checked the daggers at her belt. She had only three left. There would be no whittling them down before they reached her, and she knew veteran killers were underneath that armor. Not good, she thought.

“Up, down, sideways, and every way between…” she muttered. If Haern knew of their approach, he obeyed Kayla’s request and kept his back turned and his eyes focused. Twirling one of her few daggers in her fingers, the woman silently dropped to the grass. One good throw, and she could make it four to one. Her speed was good, so she might blind or wound another before they realized she was there. After that, she might distract them long enough for Haern to open the gates. Would he escape, limping on a busted knee with angry guards chasing after?

“Should have just let you run,” Kayla whispered as she began her sprint. “Easy money is never easy.”

The whole while, she had never stopped her counting.

…thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine…

She chose not to throw her extra dagger. An errant throw might alert them to her presence, and surprise was the only advantage she had. Her heart pounding in her ears, she angled toward them. If she was right, she’d slam into the pack only ten feet away from Haern.

…forty, forty-one, forty-two…

She cut one across the eyes as he turned toward the sound of her charge. Another screamed and fell back, blood pouring out from underneath his arm. Better than expected, Kayla thought as she tried to twirl away. A hand latched onto her short raven hair. Now it was her turn to scream as she felt her scalp tug painfully, her momentum far too great to stop. The guard swore and tossed a handful of hair to the ground.

…fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…

The blinded man staggered back toward the mansion, screaming like a stuck pig the whole time. Two chased after her, slashing the air before her chest and waist with their curved swords. The other man she had stabbed collapsed to the ground, only an occasional moan escaping his pale lips. That left only one to make for Haern.

Their lives depending on it, Kayla hurled a dagger between the two guards chasing her, through the air, and toward Haern’s attacker. The dagger struck true. The man collapsed, a blade embedded in his neck.

…sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four…

Now able to focus solely on the two guards, she went purely defensive. Her daggers could never compete for reach with the swords, but they had seen her throw, and that fear was strong enough for her to work with. As she twirled and dropped, she would randomly pump a hand as if to throw. Each time, one of the guards would back away and hunker down, trying to protect his exposed parts with the bulk of his armor. She never let one go, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they stopped falling for such a simple trick.

…seventy, seventy-one…

More shouts came from the house. The five they had sent had only been a quick roundup of the outside guard. They had expected only a young boy picking a lock. Now that they saw their own dying, the doors flung open, and a group of at least twenty approached in an impressive collection of swords, armor, and shields.

Kayla laughed, her situation so dire she found it somehow amusing.

“F*ck, seventy-seven, me, seventy-eight, up, seventy-nine, down, eighty…”

Now her opponents stepped back, clearly knowing numbers and time were on their side. They also blocked her way to Haern. Fear clawed at her throat. Accompanying Thren Felhorn’s son into the grounds of Keenan’s estate? She might as well have spat in the Reaper’s face. They would be tortured, killed, and sent back to the Spider Guild in many different sized containers. After five years, the Trifect was desperate for any sort of victory.

…eighty-five, eighty-six…

She heard Haern shout her name. The guards must have seen her own shocked look, and they spared a quick glance. Haern stood before the gates, lock in hand. Men charged after him from the estate, murder on their minds, yet the boy only smiled and hurled the heavy metal contraption toward Kayla’s attackers. When they glanced back, she had already thrown her daggers.

She didn’t wait to see how badly they hurt them. Haern had pushed open the gate for her by the time she arrived. She grabbed his arm as she passed, never slowing. He cried out in pain, but his leg pumped fast as it could go, which was not fast enough.

The guards poured out of the gate, sure to catch them.

For a moment, she thought of ditching the boy and saving her own skin. It would do her no good. Kayla knew she would spend the rest of her life, or at least Thren’s life, waiting for a poisoned dart to jab her neck while she slept. Too many had seen her during their flight. Even if it took years, Thren would find out who she was and deal with her. Some fools might think Thren would have more on his mind while waging war with the Trifect, but Kayla knew better. If you crossed Thren Felhorn, you died. There were never, ever exceptions.

Kayla had hoped to lose herself in a crowd, but the crowd gave way instead, wanting no part of the bloody affair. Kayla spun to face the guards, determined to die fighting rather than in the cells of Keenan’s mansion.

A small quarrel shot into the nearest guard’s throat. Several others fell back as more crossbow bolts whizzed through the air. Kayla grabbed Haern and pulled him down, cradling his head against her breast as she held him tight. Another volley of bolts tore into the guards. The commonfolk screamed and fled, even the few who had desired a bit of spectacle. A single errant shot was all it’d take to cross their role from spectator to dead participant.

Men in tattered green cloaks and crossbows in hand surrounded Kayla and Haern. Several others held long dirks, and grinning feral grins they dared the remaining guards to attack. In their indecision, more crossbow bolts shot at gaps in their armor. Whoever remained their leader, for a good many were dead, raised his arm and shouted a command. The guards turned tail and fled back to Keenan’s mansion.

“Stand up, girl,” one of the green cloaks said to her.

Kayla glanced up to see a bearded ruffian smiling at her. His eyes were green, and covering both cheeks were tattoos of snakes, one red, one emerald.

“The Serpents have no business in this,” she told him, doing her best to add a hard edge to her voice. It was the voice she used when someone offered to pay far less than her information was worth, or even worse, refused to pay at all.

“The Serpent Guild chooses its business,” the man said. “Now get off your ass. We have places to go.”

There were eight of the Serpents, and with their crossbows loaded, they searched up and down the street, which was slowly returning to its normal hum of voices and trade. Kayla started to ask where they were to go, but then the bearded man struck her with his fist. Rough hands grabbed her wrists and yanked her to her feet. Another grabbed Haern and hoisted him up.

“Hope he’s worth it,” another of the serpents said.

“Someone Keenan wants?” the bearded man said. “He’s worth it.” He turned to his two captives. “Keep your mouths shut and your feet moving, or you’ll find out just how much venom a serpent can spit.”

Kayla was in no shape to argue. She squeezed Haern’s hand, and he squeezed back. For a moment, she thought of telling the serpents who they had in their possession, but a sudden fear filled her. They might kill her so they could pretend ignorance until after selling the boy to the highest bidder. Yet while the boy lived, she was a valuable asset in discovering his name and true worth. She kept her mouth shut. Until her life seemed in immediate danger she would keep her mouth shut and wait.

Through the street they marched, the green cloaks encircling and protecting their recent acquisition. They took a winding path through the streets, but the general direction was west. When she realized this, Kayla perked up, her eyes searching the blur of faces they passed. Any one of them might be reporting to Thren.

The bearded man led them on an abrupt turn to their left, passing between two vendors selling apples and pears. The serpents’ crossbows fidgeted in their hands, and their eyes seemed to be all the more alert. They hurried along, jabbing Kayla harder in the back. She assumed the entrance to the Serpent Guild’s hideaway was near. Where it was, she didn’t know, considering she wasn’t affiliated with any of the guilds. She’d rather sell information in her own quiet way and avoid the death warrant that joining one almost always entailed. No intelligent person could say the Trifect was winning their little war, but they certainly had eliminated a large portion of Veldaren’s underworld. The thieves could recruit with promises of wealth and murder, while the wealthy nobles had to hand over real coin. Kayla had an idea which one would run out first.

A shrill whistle rang out above them. To either side of the group were giant homes, four stories tall, each one crammed tight with families barely able to scrape together a living. A few of the green cloaks looked up, but saw nothing.

Kayla, however, had much sharper eyes than they, and what she saw was the barest hint of a gray cloak leaping across a building. She felt her heart race, and it took all her will to keep a smile off her face.

“Keep going,” the bearded man said. Kayla let her body slacken, and she acted as if a fainting spell was coming over her.

“What is your--aw shit, someone grab her,” she heard one of them say. Acting weak wasn’t a tough chore. She hadn’t eaten anything for at least eight hours, and between fighting guards, leaping over gates, climbing trees, and running for her life, she had used up whatever bit of energy she might have had left. Someone grabbed her arms, and another her neck, but a clever twist of her body pulled her free. Like a dead fish, she flopped to the hard dirt, biting down hard on her tongue upon landing. When she coughed, blood flecked across her lips.

“Get her up,” the bearded man ordered. “Quick, I said get her up!”

Another whistle from above. Now all the serpents looked up, and a few saw the gray cloaks. Hands reached underneath her armpits to yank her to her feet. She thought she might resist, but then two sharp whistles stopped them.

“Let her go, Galren,” a voice shouted from down the street. Kayla felt a slight gasp escape her throat. She had heard that voice once before, only once, but that was enough to forever remember its deep power and unyielding authority.

“This is no concern of yours,” said the bearded man, apparently Galren.

A man stepped out from an alley, his face hidden by the hood of his cloak.

“It is my concern,” he said. “And you’re a damn fool if you think otherwise. Veldaren is my city, serpent, mine, and I know more of your guild than you do. Did you think you could kidnap and sell my son without my knowing?”

“Your son?” Galren sounded like he might wet himself. Kayla stifled a laugh.

Thren had come for what was his.

“Yes,” Thren said, approaching with his bare hands hovering just above his shortswords. His next words came out almost a whisper. “My son.”

Gray cloaks descended from the rooftops. Arrows shot from windows. Death came upon them swiftly, and only Galren remained standing after the sudden assault, his arms pinned behind him, a waiting present for Thren as he approached. Without a word, the guildmaster slashed open the bearded man’s throat, then quickly stepped aside to avoid blood splashing across his clothes. A little stained his hands, but he wiped them clean on a cloth provided by one of his men.

Haern stood and bowed to his father.

“You have much to tell me,” Thren said, motioning for him to stand. He then pointed to Kayla, who had gotten to her knees and lowered her eyes in respect. “What was her role in all of this?”

Haern answered without hesitation, and to his father’s surprise, he did not whisper.

“She saved my life,” he said. “And not just once, but many times.”

Thren nodded. He sheathed his sword and offered a hand to Kayla. She took it, her mouth hanging slack.

“I do not know your name, nor who you might have sworn your life to,” he said. “But I offer you a place at my side, so that I might one day repay you for the kindness you have shown my son.”

She thought of the coin rattling inside the perfume jars and how it was a pittance compared to Thren’s wealth. Accepting might mean death, but the position was an incredible honor.

“I accept,” she said while bowing. “Humbly, and undeserving, I accept.”

They took them to Thren’s hidden hideaway. Though she needed rest, she sneaked out to handle one quick matter first.

She walked by Undry’s perfume shop, opened the door, and then continued on without even slowing. Undry collapsed on the counter, scattering bottles of perfume and raising a horrendous stench. Deep in his fat breast lodged a dagger.

When she returned to her room in Thren’s hideaway, she found a yellow rose lying on her pillow. Below it, formed out of twelve stones arranged just so, was the letter H.