Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

expunged.”
    Pelarak scratched his chin.
    “He’s fallen for the seductive grace of Ashhur?” he asked.
    Thren nodded.
    “This will require time,” Pelarak said. “And more importantly, it will potentially ruin me. Maynard Gemcroft has threatened our very existence if I do not side with him against you, Thren. Tell me, what would you do in my place?”
    “Destroy those who threaten me,” Thren said. “Never let a man keep a sword readied above your neck.”
    “Words we cannot live by,” Pelarak said. “Ashhur’s presence here is too deeply embedded. Maynard could send mobs against us. Blood would fill the streets. Nothing of your little war with the Trifect would compare to the carnage we would unleash. But that would end our work here, which would sadden me greatly. So I have few choices.”
    Thren drew his short swords.
    “I’d tread carefully,” the guildmaster said.
    Pelarak chuckled.
    “Put those away. Even with your skill, you cannot match my power. I am Karak’s most faithful servant, save for his prophet. If I wanted you dead I would not announce or explain myself.”
    Thren lowered his swords but did not sheathe them.
    “What are your choices?” he asked.
    “I can turn you away, making you a potential enemy. In doing so, I also remain a puppet of the Trifect. However, even that option has been denied to me. Maynard Gemcroft’s daughter is missing. She was to be in my care, yet is not. For this alone Maynard will destroy us.”
    “There is another way,” Thren said, realizing what Pelarak was leading to. “There is my way. Take my son. Cure him. Burn all remnants of Ashhur from his flesh so he may be pure.”
    “Can you kill Maynard Gemcroft?” Pelarak asked. “My time has already passed. By the end of the Kensgold he will carry out his threat.”
    Thren saluted with his sword.
    “By tomorrow’s eve Maynard will be dead,” he vowed. “Can you save my son?”
    “We will take him,” Pelarak said. He banged twice on the doors. Two other priests came out. When Pelarak pointed to Aaron, they picked the boy up and carried him inside. As they did, Thren briefly described the events that had transpired, from Aaron’s prayers and his amulet of the Golden Mountain to his secret meeting with the priest’s daughter.
    “How much time will it take?” Thren asked.
    “A day or two at most, unless he resists our methods,” the priest replied.
    “Can he?” Thren asked, watching the double doors close with a groaning of wood and iron locks.
    Pelarak laughed softly.
    “Of course not. He’s just a boy.”
    Thren bowed.
    “May our endeavors aid us both,” he said.
    “Go with the true god’s blessing,” Pelarak said before returning inside.
    Thren felt lighter as he vaulted over the iron fence and raced down the streets, taking a winding path back to his safe house. Matters were out of his hands now. The priests would convert his son. Any influence Ashhur had on him would be gone. Thren would save his killer, his perfect heir, the keeper of his legacy.
    Assuming his plans for the Kensgold unfolded without error. But with Madelyn nearly gifting herself to him, he knew he’d taken a large step toward that goal. Now Thren could only hope his son would be saved in time to partake in the victory that would define the Felhorn legacy for centuries.
    Aaron’s awareness rose and fell, and as it rose he felt the pain. It stabbed into his wrists and forced him back down. Water splashed across his tongue. Dull chanting shook the rhythm of his dreams, flooding them with color that vibrated to the sound. He saw red and purple. The colors worked a sharp discomfort in his mind. More pain, this time in his ankles. Water dribbled up his lips. That didn’t make any sense. Why up?
    He opened his eyes. Expecting to be upside down, he was surprised to see a man standing before him. He was balding, with sharp eyes and a bitter frown. He wore dark robes. Hanging from his neck was a pendant shaped like the skull of a lion.
    “Where am I?” Aaron asked.
    “A room of faith,” said the priest. “My name is Pelarak, and you are in a most holy place. Here Karak is master, not the goddess of the elves, not Ashhur, not the moon or the stars or the sun. Just Karak.”
    He held out his hand. In it was a waterskin. When he pressed against it, the water traveled up instead of down, splashing across the ceiling. The sight was so strange Aaron felt a sense of vertigo. He turned to the side, vomited, and then