Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

men he had left. The soldiers had grouped together, and their expert formations were far superior to those of men used to attacking from shadows. Even worse, a strange woman in dark wrappings vaulted through his men, slaying them as if they were no more dangerous to her than toys.
    They’d left ropes in the back of the mansion just in case they had to make a quick getaway. The last of the Hawks and Spiders turned and fled. In the red haze of his anger, Thren realized he had sent no one in to ignite the fires. The mansion would stand. The failure of it burned in his gut. He’d been so confident of victory he’d never prepared for defeat. So unlike him. So stupid.
    The mercenaries gave chase, but they wore heavy armor and carried shields. They slaughtered a dozen that still remained at the ropes, but the rest scattered on the other side of the gate and into the night. Thren led them, wishing so desperately for a way to redo the night.
    “Take him,” Alyssa said once the guilds were gone and Zusa had returned to her side. Bodies lay everywhere, and the yard stank of battle. Two soldiers lifted Maynard’s corpse in their arms. They must have known him well, Alyssa realized, for they showed true sadness at his passing. She shook her head, wishing for a moment of privacy so she might shed her tears. But she was the ruling member of the Gemcroft family and one of the three lords of the Trifect. There was too much to do.
    Her father in her escort’s arms, she approached the mansion, a lost heir come home.
    Home. No matter how sad the moment, the word still felt achingly comfortable in her heart.

EPILOGUE
    D eep inside his safe house, Thren talked with two men newly appointed as his advisors. Neither had the strength of Will, the cunning of Kayla, or the skill of Senke. They were sycophants, pure and simple, but he needed them now. He had little else.
    Their news was grim. The assassination attempt on the king had failed despite the incredible money he’d paid one of the Naked Bells. The men stationed at Leon Connington’s had suffered horrible casualties, eventually setting fire to the mansion before frantically fleeing. Somehow Madelyn Keenan had been found and rescued. His own son was missing, and some one-eyed woman was spreading rumors that she’d killed Aaron and left him to die in the fire at the Connington mansion. Worst of all was his defeat at the Gemcroft estate.
    “The priests of Karak have sworn no ill will for the acts of your son against them,” one of the sycophants said. “At least Maynard died, and you kept your word to them.”
    Thren shook his head.
    “Get out,” he said. The men quickly obeyed. In silence Thren brooded. His mystique, his prestige, his years and years of respect, had all vanished in a single night. Every aspect of his plan had collapsed. Every single guild in the city had taken massive casualties. Whatever bloody trust he’d earned he’d now lost. The other guilds would start poaching on his territory. The Trifect was already coming down hard, swarming the streets with their troops. Priests of Ashhur roamed the alleys as well, putting a halt to many of his enterprises.
    Thren drew a sword and slashed his palm. He raised a clenched fist to the ceiling and bared his teeth.
    “This isn’t over,” he swore. “Not now. Not ever. Not until every lord and lady of the Trifect lies rotting in their grave.”
    He kissed his fist, tasting the blood on his lips. He had no son. No heir. Death would be his legacy.
    The man paced nervously before the wreckage. Despite the massive amount of ash and rubble, he felt certain some juicy remnants still hid within the remains of the Connington estate. The castle guards walked by every so often, but soon they’d switch shifts and he’d have his chance.
    He backed away from the gate a bit, slinking farther into the shadows. As he did he felt something sharp poke against his back.
    “Spider?” he heard a boy’s voice ask.
    “Serpent,” the man said, his hand slowly dropping to his dagger.
    “They’re all one and the same.”
    The man whirled, but not fast enough. The dagger flew from the boy’s hand. Something sharp pierced his belly. As the pain doubled him over, a blade slashed his face. Through the blood in his eyes he saw a blurry image of a young man standing before him, his face covered by a thin gray cloth. Quiet, unmoving, the young man watched him die, then vanished into the night.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
    So this is a