Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

know.”
    Again Aaron puzzled it over. He thought of Senke and of all the times he had let Aaron nearly score a blow or let a slash slip through his defenses, only for it to fall just short.
    “Father wanted to teach the guild a lesson,” he ventured.
    “A wise guess,” Robert said, “but still wrong. Try again, and remember my words.”
    He replayed the conversation again and again, and then the words struck.
    Sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness.
    “He was plotting against the Trifect,” Aaron said. His whole face flushed with pride at discovering the reason. “The Trifect would not suspect my father of doing anything drastic until the rebellion was finished.”
    “Quite right,” Robert said.
    “That was when the Trifect struck,” Aaron continued. “They thought him weak, his alliance breaking, and so they sent in their mercenaries.”
    “Your father wanted to solidify power in secret,” Robert said. “He used that rebellion to hide his strength, to make him seem weak, all so he might surprise the Trifect when he unleashed his collected power upon them. Every time someone rebelled before, Thren crushed them with brutal efficiency, but not the Mantises. That semblance of weakness unraveled all of his plans. If the Trifect had correctly gauged his strength, they would have bartered for peace and waited until Thren reached an age where he was too old to keep the rest in line. Instead they sent their mercenaries into the streets, killing thieves in their guildhouses. When your father tried for peace, it was too late. The Trifect had tasted blood and victory, and they set up a trap instead. Leon Connington nearly stabbed your father to death when Thren visited him in his mansion, and Maynard Gemcroft had his archers fire from their windows upon another of the Spider Guild’s men sent to broker peace. That betrayal left your father in a hopeless position. Either he dies, or the three leaders of the Trifect die.”
    Robert pointed at a few books outside his reach, and Aaron fetched them. The old man opened them, his eyes not scanning the pages. It was as if the act gave him comfort.
    “The city needs this fighting to end. The few who have remained neutral, like the king and the priests of Karak and Ashhur, will one day take a side to end the bloodshed. Your father is too strong, Aaron. He should have lost years ago. The guilds would have fractured, some great men would have died, and then the petty theft and trade of vice and flesh would have resumed as always. But not now. Each side has lost too much. They’re like two stags staring eye to eye. The first one to blink loses…”
    “Is this your advice to my son?” Thren asked from the doorway. Neither had heard his approach, nor his opening of the door. His arms were crossed and his face a mask. “My strength is a weakness; my war a mistake?”
    Aaron fought an impulse to back away as if caught doing something wrong. Instead he bowed his head respectfully to both his father and his teacher.
    “Robert speaks the truth as he knows it,” Aaron said. “I need his honesty, not stories lying about the Trifect’s power and twisting blame to where it does not belong.”
    Thren nodded, clearly pleased.
    “Teach truthfully,” he told Robert. “Never lie to my son. He is old enough for every truth, no matter how harsh. And he was right, Aaron. I was a fool. I let the Mantis Guild survive. I let an enemy live when I should have ended their existence. Sometimes even the most clever man can outsmart himself. You don’t build an elaborate maze to kill a roach. You crush it with your heel. Now prepare your things. I go to a man who has lied to me, and want you at my side. There are lessons that one does not learn from books and study.”
    Aaron did not ask where they were going, though he very much wanted to. The boy knew his father would tell him when he was ready, no sooner and no later. They both wore the gray cloaks of their guild. Much of Aaron’s outfit was new, from the soft black leather of his boots to the faded trousers and the thick gray tunic. He was most proud of the sword that swung from his hip, a thin rapier shortened to match his height.
    “Say nothing, not even if you are directly addressed,” Thren said as he led them through the dark streets. Morning was fast approaching, but until then the city would be still empty and quiet. The few men about them had their own business to attend to, and hide,