Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella (13 page)

“We Haerns have no carnal interests,” Robert said, rising from his chair with an exaggerated wince of pain. Gerand saw this and immediately took the cup, offering to fill it for him.

“We just pop right out of our mud fields,” Robert continued. “Ever hear that slurp when your boot gets stuck and you have to force it out? That’s us, making another Haern.”

“Amusing,” Gerand said as he handed Robert the glass. “So did you come from a nobleman’s cloak, or perhaps a wise man’s discarded sock?”

“Neither,” Robert said. “Someone pissed in a gopher hole, and out I came, wet and angry. Now tell me why you’re here, or I’ll go to King Vaelor myself and let him know how displeased I am with
your
cooperation in this endeavor.”

If Gerand was upset by the threat, he didn’t show it.

“Love redheads,” he said. “You know what they say about them? Oh, of course you don’t, mud-birth and all. So feisty. But you want me to hurry, so hurry I shall. I’ve come for the boy.”

“Aaron?”

Gerand poured himself a glass of liquor and toasted the old man from the other side of the room.

“The king has decided so, and I agree with his brilliant wisdom. With the boy in hand, we can force Thren to end this annoying little war of his.”

“Have you lost your senses?” asked Robert. “You want to take Aaron hostage? Thren is trying to end this war, not prolong it.”

He thought of Gerand’s stalling, of the way his eyes had swept every corner of the room and peered through all the doorways. A stone dropped into his gut.

“You have troops surrounding my home,” Robert said.

“We watched Thren leave,” Gerand said. He downed his drink and licked his lips. “Trust me when I say you’re alone. You can play your little game all you want, Robert, but you’re still a Haern, and lack any true understanding of these matters. You say Thren wants this war of his to end? You’re wrong. He doesn’t want to lose, and therefore he won’t
let it
end. But the Trifect won’t bow to him, not now, not ever. This will only end when one side is dead. Veldaren can live without the thief guilds. Can we live without the food, wealth, and pleasures of the Trifect?”

“I live off mud,” Robert said. “Can you?”

He flung his cane. The flat bottom smacked through the glass and struck Gerand’s forehead. The man slumped to the floor, blood dripping from his hand. The old man rushed through the doorway as shouts came from the entrance to his home, followed by a loud crack as the door smashed open.

Robert burst into Aaron’s training room. The boy winced at the sudden invasion of light. He jumped to his feet, immediately quiet and attentive. The old man felt a bit of sadness, realizing he would never have a chance to continue training such a gifted student.

“You must run,” Robert said. “The soldiers will kill you. There’s a window out back, now go!”

No hesitation. No questions. Aaron did as he was told.

The floor was cold when Robert sat down in the center. He thought about grabbing the dying torch to use as a weapon, but against armored men, it would be a laughable ploy. A burly man stepped inside as others rushed past, no doubt searching for Aaron. He held manacles in one hand and a naked sword in the other.

“Does the king request my tutelage?” Robert asked, chuckling darkly.

Gerand stepped in beside him, hand wrapped in a cloth to soak up the blood. A bruise was already growing on his forehead.

“Stupid old man,” the advisor muttered, and he nodded to the soldier.

Robert closed his eyes, not wanting to see the butt of the sword as it came crashing down on his forehead, knocking him out cold.

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