Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

daylight instead of at night.
    “What if we’re recognized?” Aaron asked as they neared the more populous parts of the city. More and more merchants were lined up on the sides of the street.
    “We’re just two of many,” Thren said. “Don’t give anyone reason to suspect otherwise.”
    Thren wore the plain gray cloak of the Spider Guild. Because of Aaron’s age, it would seem odd for him to be ranked as anything above a cutpurse, so instead of a cloak he had a thin band of gray cloth tied around his left arm. Thren had cut Aaron’s hair short just in case some of the guards might remember what he looked like. The bounty on his son had lasted only a single night, and not at all according to the castle records. Still, being reckless was not something Thren was known for. He kept his hood low, and had charcoal smeared across his face.
    Thren had hammered into Aaron the importance of not acting scared or in a hurry. They merely went on their way, not rushing, not dawdling. They were on a job, and very few would be stupid enough to interfere.
    “I’ve never met our target,” Thren said, talking casually as if about the weather. “Watch for a tall man with red hair and beard and white robes. He’ll be attracting a crowd, most likely.”
    Aaron watched, not convinced he’d be much use considering he was shorter than his father, his view blocked by the rest of the midday traffic. He had to try, though. Even if it was hopeless, he had to throw his entire concentration behind the task.
    Then he saw Kayla staring at him from afar. She blew him a kiss. He looked away and hoped his blush would go unnoticed. Kayla was trailing after them, though he didn’t know why. Was it just for protection? Usually his father kept Senke and Will with him if he was worried about his safety. What then?
    “There,” Thren said, nodding ever so slightly to the east. Aaron followed his eyes. A crowd had gathered near a gap in the various merchant stalls. A few were jeering from the outer limits, but most were listening with rapt attention. Those closest to the center clapped and cheered.
    In the center of the crowd was their target, a middle-aged man with deep red hair and a beard of the same color. His robes were white, and clean despite the color. He seemed handsome enough. Whatever speech he was giving appeared intense, yet he smiled while giving it.
    “What’s his name?” Aaron asked when he realized his father had stopped to listen.
    “Delius Eschaton,” Thren said. “Now be silent.”
    Aaron listened to Delius as he preached, at first from simple curiosity, then more and more because of the speaker’s sheer oratory skill.
    “Night and day we bemoan the fate dealt to us,” Delius shouted. “How many of you fear walking the streets at night? How many of you bite your tongues for fear of earning poison in your wine or death inside your bread?”
    Delius pointed to a small girl behind him. She appeared no older than eleven, and she blushed at the sudden attention.
    “I fear for my daughter. I fear she might not have the life she deserves. How many of you have daughters and sons that have entangled themselves in the thief guilds’ lies? How many trade decency and conscience for a dab of food and a glut of blood? Do you mourn for them, mothers? Do you pray for them, fathers? Do you know what those prayers accomplish?”
    Someone had placed a small pail before him, and all throughout his preaching men and women tossed in small copper coins in appreciation. Delius abruptly kicked the pail, scattering the coins throughout the crowd. Only a handful stooped for them. The rest stood enraptured. They all expected an explosion of sound and rage, but instead Delius’s voice fell to a stage whisper.
    “Nothing, for we do nothing. We are afraid.”
    A murmur slipped through the crowd. Delius let it spread as he turned and accepted a drink from his daughter. He handed it back, wiped his lips, and then turned to the crowd. His boisterousness suddenly returned.
    “Afraid? Of course we’re afraid. Who wants to die? You might think me mad, but I
like
this meager existence we call living. But the only reason the guilds and the Trifect bathe our streets in blood is because
we let them
. We turn blind eyes to underhanded dealings. We keep still tongues about guards we know take bribes. We fill our own pockets with sinful gold and bloodied silver, but hard coin is an ill pillow. Can you sleep at night? Do you hear Ashhur’s voice