A Dance of Cloaks

chapter 5

It did not exist, but if it did, the temple to Karak would have been a most impressive structure cut from black-marble and lined with pillars. A roaring lion skull would have hung above the doorway. It had no priests, but if it did, they would have been quiet, subdued men wearing black robes and long hair pulled tight behind their heads. They would have wielded powerful cleric magic, and done all in their power to further the cause of their dark god of Order. They played no part in policy of the king, but if they did, the priests would have informed the royal crown of the dangers involved in exposing their presence to the city. If war was ever waged between the priests of Ashhur and Karak, assuming the priests of Karak somehow existed, then the streets would soon be cluttered with the dead.

Maynard Gemcroft, in disguise and escorted by two of his most trusted guards, arrived at the building that did not exist. The gate opened, and inside they went.

“Pelarak will see you shortly, Gemcroft,” one of the younger priests said to them as he opened the double-doors leading into the temple. Maynard did not respond. A bit of annoyance at not being called a Lord in such a formal setting rumbled in his chest, but Pelarak had explained long ago that the priests would refer to no man as Lord other than Karak.

The hour was late, but inside the temple, routines went on as if it were midday. Younger men, boys really, traveled from corner to corner, lighting candles with thin, long punks. Purple curtains draped across hidden windows. Following their guide, they stepped into the great congregation room. Maynard had never considered himself a religious man, but the statue of Karak always made a deeply buried part of his mind wonder if he were in error.

Chiseled in ancient stone, the statue towered over those bowed before it. Its image was of a beautiful man with long hair, battle-scarred armor, and blood-soaked greaves. The idol held a serrated sword in one hand, the other clenched into a fist that shook toward the heavens. Twin altars churned violet flame at his feet, yet they produced no smoke.

Many men knelt at the foot of the purple flames, crying out heartfelt prayers for forgiveness and atonement. Any other time, Maynard would have felt the noise annoying and somewhat embarrassing to the wailer, but before that statue, it seemed perfectly natural. In awe as he was, he was glad when Pelarak approached from the middle aisle and shook his hand. With his attention diverted, the statue seemed to lose a bit of its power.

“Welcome, friend,” Pelarak said. He swung open the doors.

“After last night, it is good to hear you call me friend,” Maynard said. He didn’t know what to make of Pelarak’s puzzled expression. If the high priest was truly in the dark to the faceless women’s actions, then their talks that night would be of an unrehearsed sort. Surprise is on my side, Maynard thought. I best use it wisely.

“I’m not sure what else you would be,” Pelarak said as he led them off to the side, where his own private room was attached. “Our friendship is offered nightly, though I think it is we that should worry for you. A man’s heart and his gold sleep in the same bed, and the Gemcroft estate has been very…heartless in recent years.”

The rebuke stung, but Maynard kept his tongue in check. Let Pelarak think he was in control. When the truth of his minions came to light, those stings would be forgotten.

“Times are harsh,” he said. “Trust me, when the rogues are defeated, your coffers will fill with the gold no longer needed to fill the pockets of mercenaries and sellswords.”

Pelarak shut the door. Maynard’s two guards remained outside. The room was small and sparsely furnished. Maynard sat in a small, unpadded chair while Pelarak crossed his arms and stood beside his bed.

“You speak truth, Maynard, but you did not come here wearing that amusing wig and beard to talk to me about tithes. What is the matter, and why do you worry about Karak’s friendship?”

That was it, no dancing around the matter. No stalling left, Maynard let the truth be told while he carefully watched the high priest’s reaction.

“Last night, three of your faceless women assaulted my mansion and kidnapped my daughter.”

Maynard was in no way prepared for the cold anger that flooded Pelarak’s eyes.

“I would ask if you were certain, but of course you are,” the priest said. “You would not be here, otherwise. Women of darkness and shadow, their bodies wrapped in purple and black? Who else could they be?”

Maynard felt a bit of fear bubble up in his throat seeing how tightly the priest clenched his fists. So much for thinking he was in control, the one with all the surprises. In truth, he knew very little about the faceless women other than that they existed, and that they were deadly. He had never actually sought their aid, and knew of no one else who had, either.

“Did you know of their involvement?” Maynard asked.

“Know? Of course not,” Pelarak said. His normally smooth voice was sharp and abrupt. “They are whores and adulterers, slaves to their sex and disobedient to Karak’s commands. They live their lives outside the temple to atone for their sins. I had thought my command to remain neutral in your troublesome war sufficient, but perhaps I should have tattooed it into their flesh instead of merely asking.”

“I lost several guards,” Maynard said. “And my daughter, Pelarak, my daughter!”

Pelarak sat down atop his bed and rubbed his chin. His eyes seemed to clear, as if the clouds had parted in his mind.

“You know who did this,” the priest said.

“I believe I do.”

“Then who?”

If it had been the thieves, Pelarak saw little recourse to joining in with their ludicrous war. Instead, it was a different name spoken, one he vaguely recognized.

“The Kulls,” Maynard said. “I have reason to believe it was the Kulls.”

“Forgive me, but I am not familiar with the name,” Pelarak said. “Are they a lesser family of Veldaren?”

“They don’t live in the city,” Maynard explained. “And lesser doesn’t describe what they are. Theo Kull is the head tax collector at Riverrun. He does all but steal from the boats traveling down the Queln River to the Lost Coast. I control much of the lands there, and it’s been a point of contention between us over who I pay taxes to. By paying here in Veldaren, I avoid the triple amount he takes in Riverrun. He knows the courts are no friend of his, at least not the ones that matter.”

“How does your daughter come into play?” Pelarak asked.

“A few months back, Theo sent in some of his mercenaries to claim all my assets in Riverrun to pay my supposed debt. I have my own mercenaries, however, and they are of far greater skill and number. The Kulls wanted my large stretches of bountiful land around the city, plus my stores of valuables. They can’t get to them, not with my guards, but if those guards were suddenly sworn to my daughter Alyssa instead of myself…”

The priest made the connection.

“They hope to use her to supplant you, and when that happens, through debt or loyalty, obtain what they desire in Riverrun.”

“Those are my thoughts,” Maynard said. “I’ve thwarted them twice now, though with the faceless aiding them, I don’t know how much longer I may last.”

Pelarak resumed his pacing. His fingers tapped against his thin lips.

“I do not know why the faceless women might have chosen to aid Theo Kull in this matter, though I suspect the land near Riverrun may be the reason. Regardless, I will punish them accordingly. Fear not; the hand of Karak has not turned against you and the Trifect.”

“Not good enough,” Maynard said, standing to his full height. He was a good foot taller than the priest, and he frowned down at him with an outward strength he struggled to match in his heart. “You have stayed neutral for far too long. Not once have I heard a valid explanation for doing so. These thieves are dangerous to the city, and they represent the total opposite of the order Karak claims to love.”

“You speak of Karak as if you were intimate with his desires,” Pelarak said. “You demand our allegiance to your war. What do we stand to gain, Maynard? Will you offer us tithes, making us no better than the mercenary dogs you employ?”

“If you will not see reason,” said Maynard, “then perhaps self-preservation will suffice.”

He pulled out a letter from his pocket and handed it over. Maynard felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but he would not let such a cowardly symptom show. This was it. He had crossed a bridge, and that letter was the torch to set it aflame.

“That letter is to be read aloud seven times a day to the people of Veldaren upon my death,” Maynard said. “And it matters not how I die, by poison, blade, Kull or Karak.”

“You would announce our existence to the people,” Pelarak said as his eyes finished skimming over the words. “You would blame their troubles on us? To force our obedience, you threaten to tell lies and half-truths to the city? We fear no mob.”

“You should,” Maynard said. “My people will be among them, and I assure you, they are excellent at inciting violence. Once people die, the king will be forced to send his soldiers. Tell me, how does one win over a city after slaughtering their peoples and their guards? Even better, how does one preach to a city after one’s death?”

Pelarak stopped his pacing and focused his eyes on Gemcroft’s face with a frightening intensity. His old voice was deep and firm as a buried stone.

“Every action has its cost,” the priest said. “Are you prepared to pay?”

“When patience ends, every man is willing to pay a little bit more,” Maynard said as he opened the door to leave. “My patience ended years ago. This war must end. Karak will help us end it. I’ll await your answer by tomorrow. I pray you make the right decision.”

Pelarak let him go. He rubbed his balding head with his fingers, his cold anger giving way to cunning.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he whispered to the empty room. “Perhaps for too long we have stayed neutral in this conflict.”

He knelt by the bed to pray, knowing only Karak’s guidance could keep him on the straight and narrow path to victory.

When they approached the guards, Nava brushed back her cloak and stood to her full height. With her dark clothing and white cloth over her face there was no doubt as to what she was.

“We see nothing,” one of the guards said, repeating the line he had been instructed to say when one of the faceless sought exit or entrance into the city.

Alyssa followed, still clutching Nava’s hand. She had no idea why they were leaving the safety of the walls, and the faceless woman had given her no explanation. Even with her father hunting for her, there had to be safe places in the city to hide.

But why hide? The thought slapped her like a wet cloth. Her claim to the Gemcroft line was most certainly severed. She had been gone so long, little within her family’s organization would welcome her over her father. Perhaps she could flee to safety with one of the foster families she had stayed with the past couple years. The Pensleys would surely welcome her, thought they might also report her whereabouts to Maynard. And of course, there were the Kulls…

They exited the western gate. The road leading southwest was packed tight from all the daily wagons and caravans of trade. Off the path, the tall grass was a deep green and grew as high as Alyssa’s knees. The tug on her wrist giving her little choice, Alyssa followed Nava into the wide fields. They traveled north, curling around the walls and toward the King’s Forest. As they neared the forest, the grass grew shorter in height, and by the time they walked through the rows of thick trunks, it gave way to carpets of fallen leaves.

“Why are we here?” Alyssa asked, rubbing her shoulder with her free hand as if she were cold. She had spent many nights listening to her maids tell ghost stories of the King’s Forest, with its faithless maidens lost for eternity, chivalrous knights who had wandered astray, and scores of evil robbers and rogues eagerly awaiting a man foolish enough to enter alone. Of course, the stories were just to keep the children away from the forest, where poaching was a serious enough offence to warrant death. Knowing this did little to fight back the ghostly chill that gave her goosebumps.

“Do not ask questions when you should know the answer,” Nava said. “Why else would we enter the forest?”

They would kill her, Alyssa realized. Cut her throat and hide her body so when Yoren asked what happened, they would tell him she was already dead when they found her, her blood spilled across the floor and rats gnawing on her insides…

Alyssa waited until Nava tugged on her wrist, and then after her initial stumble forward, she jerked her entire arm to the side. The sudden pull back surprised the faceless woman, and Alyssa’s thin hand slipped free. She bolted the opposite direction, praying she had not gotten turned around inside the forest. Branches lashed at her face, and bushes they had easily walked around seemed to suddenly spring up and claw at her legs and ankles. Her attire was silky and thin, a poor guard against the grasping fingers of the forest.

She heard no shout behind her, but she knew the faceless woman would give chase. She imagined Nava holding a serrated dagger in her left hand, her right reaching for her hair or the neck of her dress. One tug, just one tug, and she’d stumble and fall.

Her heart soared when she saw the forest’s edge. The trees spaced further and further apart, and she ran easier. When she dared look behind her, the faceless woman was gone. Then she looked back, and a large, masculine shape stepped directly in her path.

Alyssa cried out, and as rough hands grabbed her arms, she felt her legs weaken at the thought of being raped by a lowborn ruffian.

“Alyssa?” she heard the man shout, and for a moment she ceased her thrashing. Her eyes opened (she never realized she shut them) and then she saw who it was that held her: Yoren Kull, sporting a fresh set of scratch marks on his face.

Relief broke her tension. She flung her arms around his neck and sobbed against his chest, all the while mumbling incoherently about robbers and ghosts and faceless women.

“She’ll kill me,” Alyssa shouted once she regained a bit of her whereabouts. She spun and pointed to where Nava approached from the forest, no longer running but instead flowing around the bushes and trees as if her muscles were liquid.

“Kill you? Why?” Yoren glanced over to the faceless woman, and his right hand drifted to his sword hilt.

“Do not be a fool,” Nava said. She pointed to Alyssa. “I was taking her to your camp, but she fled like a child.”

“Your camp?” asked Alyssa. Her cheeks flushed. She felt a fool.

“Yes, my camp,” Yoren said. He smiled at her, and she felt her flush grow bolder. Gingerly, she touched the scratches she had made, and when she felt no blood she kissed them.

“Forgive me,” she said. She disentangled herself from his arms and curtseyed in her dirty, torn dress. Her hair was a mess, and no quick wipe from the back of her hand could hide her tears.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Yoren said, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. “All is safe now. All is safe.”

Her sobbing began anew. After the long days and nights in the cells, shivering in the cold and desperate for conversation, to hear comfort and concern in his voice was more than she could bear. If he was embarrassed, he did not show it. She felt his arms tighten around her. With her face buried against his neck, she did not see the cold glare he shot to Nava, who only sheathed her dagger and glided back into the woods.

I expected all three of you back sooner,” Yoren explained once they were deep in the woods. Alyssa sat next to him, the warmth of the fire divine on her cold flesh. Nava sat opposite them, keeping her distance from the flame.

“There were complications,” Nava explained.

“If Alyssa is here with me, I can imagine so,” Yoren said. “She should be the ruler of the Gemcroft estate, not a runaway outcast. Tell me how you erred so horrendously.”

“They were ready,” Nava said. “When Eliora and Zusa return, they will tell you the same thing. Hundreds of mercenaries were hidden within the walls. You fooled no one with your request, Kull, only in your choice of aid. We should all be dead.”

“I was told you never failed,” Yoren said. He had tied his blonde hair behind his head, giving his face a stretched, dangerous look. “I was told even Thren Felhorn would quake if he knew you came for him; so how did some fool-headed merchant defeat you so easily?”

“If you had come,” Nava said, her voice cold enough to freeze water, “then you might have seen for yourself. You’d have died, but at least you’d have your answer.”

Alyssa thought he might reach for his sword, but before he could, the rest of the faceless women arrived. Nava greeted the others with curt nods. They sat side-by-side near the fire, facing Yoren and Alyssa.

“Why are you alone out here?” Eliora asked him. “Shouldn’t you have retainers and servants? These are no conditions for one of Alyssa’s birth.”

“Have you thought that perhaps I’m hiding here?” Yoren asked. “I can survive on my own. Only one hunter has spotted my fire, and I paid him well enough to leave us alone.”

“Then he will only be the richer when he sells your secret for twice the amount,” Eliora replied. “Don’t be a fool. You must move elsewhere.”

Again Alyssa expected an angry reaction, and again she was surprised by how docile her lover reacted.

“If you think it wise,” he said. His arms wrapped tighter around her, and sighing contently, she let him tuck her head underneath his chin. Her breath blew across his neck.

“It may not be too late,” Nava suggested. “If we kill Lord Gemcroft before he can appoint a new successor, by law Alyssa inherits his wealth and business transactions.”

“No,” Alyssa said as she pulled away from Yoren’s arms. “I don’t want him killed. Whatever he’s done to me doesn’t deserve that. I worry for my family, my father included. These thief guilds will destroy everything my family has worked for. I can’t allow that. That’s why I must take over.”

“She is the last,” Eliora said. “Maynard may not remove her from his will, for if he does, the Gemcroft line dies with the stroke of his pen.”

“Stop it,” Alyssa said. “All of you. I will not let you kill him. He will not banish me, not forever. I know my father. Given time, he will accept me back.”

“Time you may not have,” Eliora said darkly.

“Ladies, I believe my lovely needs a rest,” Yoren said. “If you might give us some privacy? Perhaps tomorrow morning we’ll have a reasonable plan prepared. For now, I think we’re all a bit upset over how things fell apart.”

The faceless women slipped through the trees, with only Eliora glancing back. She said nothing, though Alyssa felt her eyes peering at her through the thin white cloth.

“I’m sorry,” Alyssa said as she sat back down by the fire. She wasn’t sure what for, but guilt weighed heavy on her shoulders. Whether by her own actions or not, she felt she had failed so many people. Yoren put his hand on her shoulder, and she was thankful for his kindness.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Yoren said. He paced behind her, and the silence she hoped he’d end stretched out longer and longer.

“I couldn’t bear to see him dead,” she said. Yoren’s pacing made her nervous. What was troubling him so badly?

“Sometimes good men must die to further the cause of something greater,” Yoren said.

“Yes, but I--”

She felt a hand grab her shoulder. Before she could scream, another was around her throat. Yoren lifted her up and flung her against a tree. She whimpered, the sound muffled against his gloved fingers as her back pressed hard against the rough bark. When she looked into his eyes, she saw that same fire that had always aroused her lust and called her to his bed. This time anger mixed with the lust. She felt she looked into the eyes of a stranger.

“Listen well, girl,” Yoren said. He was trying to remain calm, and he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from shouting. “We have gambled everything on your ascension. Do you understand that? You are an outcast and a bloody fool if you think your father will not write you out of his will this very night. You are dead to him. He might as well be dead to you.”

He paused as if waiting for her to answer. She weakly nodded her head.

“Good. You understand. Since you’re in a listening mood, let’s get a few things straightened out. You serve me now. When I am not near, you serve my family. We will do everything to put you back into power, and I mean everything, you stupid girl. I expect our loyalty repaid. Our children will inherit the Gemcroft fortune. Our grandchildren will dance in the mines your father chokes with axes and slaves.”

He slowly removed his hand from her mouth. Her whole body quivered. When he kissed her, she fought down an impulse to throw up.

“The Gemcroft name is doomed,” he said. “We Kulls will replace its glory. Everything of Maynard’s will be mine.”

He stroked her hair.

“Everything…”

He undid his trousers and took her there, pressed against the tree. As her back bled across the bark, she swore to make him pay. As his hands fumbled across her breasts, her tears running down her face, she swallowed her anger and shame and let it burn away her self-illusions. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know when, but come her ascension to the estate that was rightly hers, she would not let a dog like Yoren have a single taste of its power.

Yoren is right, she thought as he grunted louder. I am such a stupid girl. But that girl dies tonight.

Yoren would be the next to die, and unlike her, he would not be reborn wiser, stronger. He’d just stay dead.