Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

James. “But we’ve entered the fifth year. We’ve tried hurting their wealth, and the gods know we have, but it’s like bailing water out of a river. It all just runs back. We steal from the Trifect, and then our men spend it on wine, food, clothes, and petty trinkets, and who do you think supplies every one of those?”
    “But all of us?” James asked. “This plan, this assault during the Trifect’s Kensgold, will certainly result in bloodshed, but I fear the bulk of it will be ours, not our enemy’s. Does Thren really think with all the thief guilds combining together that someone won’t leak word to the Trifect? His plan requires an almost impossible level of secrecy. One errant word and we’re all hanging from nooses … if we’re lucky.”
    “If he’s only contacted the guildmasters,” Veliana said, “it is possible to keep silence, at least as long as necessary.”
    “And those guildmasters will tell advisors or close friends, just as I have told you. And then they will tell their close friends, and then one of them will leak word to a turncoat for Connington or Keenan, and then we’re all fucked.”
    Veliana laughed.
    “Then tell him no,” she said. “Stop asking for delays.”
    “Do that and I become just another body at Thren’s feet,” James said. He sounded tired. “I didn’t live this long, clawing and climbing my way past friends and enemies, just to watch it all vanish in smoke and ash.”
    “Ash is what we are,” Veliana said, tossing the note from Thren Felhorn into the fireplace and watching it be consumed. “And ash is what Veldaren will be soon. Do what you think is best, regardless of whether I agree or not, but at least make sure you do
something
. Waiting for Thren or the Trifect to act will get us killed.”
    “You’re right,” James said after a length. “Either we aid him, or stop him. He is either friend or enemy. The question is, can we afford Thren as anything other than a friend?”
    “That,” Veliana said, “is a very dangerous question, and worse is the answer. Thren doesn’t have friends, James. He only has men he hasn’t yet sacrificed.”
    Her guildmaster let out a sigh.
    “Then we stand firm, regardless of the wrath Thren brings down on us,” he said. “Hopefully his plan erupts in his face, freeing all of Veldaren from the bastard’s presence. But what do we do until the Kensgold?”
    Veliana smiled at him.
    “What we’ve always done,” she said. “Whatever is necessary to survive.”
    Gerand wound his way through the halls of the castle with an expertise acquired over fifteen years of serving the Vaelor family. Servants scuffled past him, and he listed off their names silently. Every new scullery maid and errand boy had to be vetted by Gerand personally. If something seemed the least bit off, he sent them away. Ever since the thief war had begun, King Edwin Vaelor had feared poison, a death that could come from even the youngest of hands. Personally, Gerand found the whole ordeal exhausting. Edwin jumped at shadows, and it was Gerand’s duty to hunt them down. It never mattered that he always revealed dust gremlins and empty corners. The monsters would come back, acid dripping down their chins and dried blood on their dagger-like claws.
    The bruise on Gerand’s forehead pulsed with every beat of his heart. He touched it gingerly, wishing Edwin had listened to his advice and outright killed Robert Haern instead of imprisoning him. The Felhorn whelp had escaped because of the meddlesome old man. But Edwin’s spine seemed more akin to fat than bone, and he had been unable to execute his former teacher, no matter how estranged they might have become. Still, Gerand would find ways to punish Robert for the blow his cane had struck him. He’d never say so, but Gerand felt the castle was his, not Edwin’s, and he would command its workers and soldiers right underneath the king’s nose if he must.
    Up the circling stairs of the southwest tower he climbed, ignoring the creaking of his knees. The night was dark, and although the lower portions of the castle were alive with men cutting meat and women tossing flour and rolling dough, the upper portions were blessedly deserted. At the very top of the stairs Gerand paused to catch his breath. He leaned before a thick wooden door bolted from the outside. Tired, he lifted the latch and flung it open. Inside had once been a spytower, but the strange contraption of mirrors and glass was long