Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

him. I’m taking back my heir.”
    “Thren!” shouted one of the men, climbing back up to the roof. “We found her! We found Madelyn.”
    “Excellent,” Thren said. “Get her bound. When I return, I’ll set up a safe place for our dear noble hostage.”
    Kayla could hardly believe how easily Thren’s frustration slid away upon hearing such a thing. His concern for Aaron, was it really that shallow? Kayla glanced back at the girl with the red hair as Thren leaped off the roof to join the rest of his men.
    “Damn it, Aaron,” she said. “I didn’t know!”
    Thren had ordered her to follow Aaron about. Once he’d stopped at the temple, she’d sent out a signal. And then when the girl had fled with Madelyn Keenan from the temple, Kayla could hardly believe the sight. She’d hoped Haern would stay away, would leave them alone, but he hadn’t. By the time Thren arrived, Madelyn was running off through streets she knew nothing of, an easy catch. But Haern was still with the daughter of that idiot priest Kayla had killed, his very presence dooming her.
    A presence his father had been alerted to by Kayla. The blood spilling across the roof was her fault.
    She knelt down, touched the girl’s neck, and was startled by the slow pulse she felt. The girl was alive.
    “You owe me,” Kayla whispered as she hoisted the girl onto her shoulder.
    She was being stupid. She knew she was being stupid. Her survival instincts screamed to keep her hands clean and let the girl die. But she couldn’t. If Aaron found out she was the one who had followed him, she couldn’t imagine facing the sorrow and betrayal in his eyes. He’d trusted her, and this was how she’d repaid him?
    “Stay with me,” she whispered. “If your god is real, then hopefully he’ll realize I’m down here needing all the help I can get.”
    Carefully she climbed down to the street, Delysia’s body slung over her shoulders. The whole while she did her best to ignore whatever torture awaited Aaron within the temple of the dark god.
    Thren was one of very few who knew the location of Karak’s temple. Once they were near he took Aaron into his arms and ordered the rest to return home. The coming day and night would bring the most important series of events in the past five years. His men needed to be fresh, and he was already straining them enough. All because of his son. All because of Ashhur.
    “I see through your illusions,” said Thren when he stood before the thick iron gates surrounding what looked to be a luxurious but empty mansion. The image wavered. The fence opened on its own. Thren stepped through, walking along the smooth obsidian path leading up to an enormous pillared building of darkest black. The skull of a lion hung above the door, its teeth stained with blood.
    The double doors swung open. A young man stepped out, his hair tied behind his head in a long ponytail.
    “I ask that you remain outside,” he said. “Pelarak knows of your arrival.”
    Not waiting for an answer, the man shut the door. Thren leaned Aaron’s body against one of the pillars and waited. It had been many years since he’d come to someone for aid, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to act. He had no intention of bowing before the priests, nor would he plead like a commoner. Perhaps a trade.
    The doors opened. Thren snapped to attention, his hands falling to his blades out of instinct too engrained to deny.
    “It is a strange night that grants me a visitor such as you,” Pelarak said as he stepped outside and closed the doors behind him. The priest’s eyes glanced at Aaron but he continued as if he saw nothing. “For you are Thren Felhorn, are you not? Master of the Spider Guild, puppet master of the thieves? To what do I owe this honor?”
    “I need my son cured,” Thren said.
    “We are not as skilled at the healing arts as our rivals,” Pelarak said. “Though I doubt they would aid you. I heard they ousted their former high priest after you killed one of their own.”
    Thren frowned. That was a damn shame. He had spent many months slowly working on Calvin, bribing him with every possible vice in search of the man’s weakness. Once he’d discovered his love of crimleaf, the process had been considerably easier. Must everything fall apart so close to the Kensgold?
    “You misunderstand the healing I desire,” Thren said, forcing the subject back to the task at hand. “My son has taken foolish notions into his head that I want