Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

years, however. If diplomacy and bribes did nothing for them, it was time to try threats and brute force.
    “Look for a moment from my perspective,” Pelarak said. “Let’s assume I agree with you: the rogues need to be put in line, and this nonsensical war ended. But if I join now after you hold a sword over our heads, what prevents us from being puppets of the Trifect instead of servants to our god? We have killed kings for making the same threats you made.”
    Maynard felt a bit of his hotheadedness leave him. Something very dangerous was about to happen. Pelarak did not make threats lightly, and Maynard’s assumption of safety seemed to be arrogance in hindsight. The priests could kill him with a wave of their hands. All his power and gold meant nothing if they felt Karak wanted his head.
    “Rudely put, perhaps,” Maynard said, falling deeper into his political persona, “but you do speak a bit of truth. We need your aid, Pelarak. For if you are not with us, then I fear the actions of your female assassins place you against us.”
    “I will deal with them in time,” Pelarak said. “I told you, they do not represent us. Karak is our lord, and I am his closest servant. He wishes this war over. How, though, is where you and I will disagree.”
    “Presumptuous,” Maynard said. “How will we disagree?”
    Pelarak stood, smoothing out his black robe as he did. One hand rubbed his balding head. Maynard did not like this at all. The high priest was very rarely hesitant. This was bad. Very bad.
    “We will aid you, but only under the condition that you give us someone into our safekeeping, someone to join our order. Someone you will remember the next time you wave a sword over our necks.”
    Maynard felt his heart sink.
    “Who do you want?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
    Pelarak might have smiled or gloated, but that was not the man he was.
    “Two of the faceless sisters came to me last night to inform me of their actions. I did not reprimand them, not yet. They have your daughter, Alyssa. She must join our order.”
    Maynard felt his world tear and twist in chaotic ways inside his mind. Alyssa, a priestess of Karak? She would be safe from the Kulls, perhaps, and certainly no threat to his estate. But would he ever see her again? And when he did, would she still be the same free-spirited girl he loved? Could that spirit survive cloistered within the walls, battered daily with Karak’s rhetoric of order and obedience?
    Then he saw the danger right before him. If the faceless women had Alyssa, then they could do to her whatever they wished. If he refused their offer…
    “I must accept,” he said.
    “Good,” Pelarak said, a smile spreading across his face. “I am glad we could reach an agreement. We aid one another, as friends, not master and servant.”
    “Of course. You speak most wisely,” Maynard said, the lie bitter on his lips.
    When he turned to leave, Pelarak stopped him with a word.
    “Maynard,” the high priest said. “Make sure she is still heir to your estate. If you render her worthless, we will do the same.”
    A shard of ice grew inside Maynard’s heart.
    “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said.
    “Good,” said Pelarak. “Go with Karak’s blessing.”
    He did, though if he could have, he’d have tossed any blessing of Karak’s into the foulest open sewer and leave it to rot. If he could have, he’d have had Pelarak suffer the same fate.
    “Forgive me, Alyssa,” he said as he left the temple, giving one last look to the priests and priestesses bowed before the giant statue of Karak, their heartfelt wails reaching to the ceiling. He thought of Alyssa on her knees beside them, and the image twisted the ice in his heart.
    Alyssa was already dressed and sitting beside the fire when Yoren awoke. It blazed healthily as she tossed on a few extra branches so she could watch them burn.
    “Good morning, love,” Yoren said.
    “Morning,” Alyssa replied, her voice dull. She might have been talking to a rock.
    Seeming not to notice, Yoren hopped up, stepped behind a tree, and began urinating. When he finished, he stepped back around and only then caught the stare Alyssa was giving him.
    “Something the matter?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” she said, turning her gaze back to the fire. “Only nothing.”
    He grunted but let her cryptic comment pass.
    “Stay here, and keep that fire roaring,” he told her. He retrieved his small bow and bundle of arrows from his tent and