Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

whispering for something better, something more?
    “We deny righteousness in fear of our own safety, and in doing so forfeit the future of our children. We let them live in a dead tomorrow because we fear bleeding for it today. Ashhur has called you! He longs to forgive you! Will you accept it? Will you help remove the darkness from our city and let in the blessed light?”
    As men and women surged forward, crying out for healing and prayers, Thren shook his head.
    “He is too dangerous to live,” he said, glancing down at his son. “This city needs to be warned what this high-minded drivel will earn them. Faith has its place, and that place is far from us. I’ve waited too long as it is to kill him, so this message must be a strong one. Consider this your first real test, Aaron. No games. No training. We’re spilling real blood.”
    He tilted his head and scratched at the side of his nose. Kayla saw from afar and closed the distance between them. Instead of talking, though, she moved right past without saying a word. She bullied through the gathered throng to the front. Thren knelt down so Aaron could hear him over the rising volume of prayers and shouts.
    “Kayla will handle Delius,” he said. “Kill his girl. Return to the safe house when you escape.”
    Thren slipped deeper into the crowd, nearing the front while staying on the opposite side of Kayla. Delius was kneeling near the center, his hands on the sides of an elderly woman. Both were crying. The scene felt strange and alien to Aaron. He had never been to any religious ceremony before, let alone a spontaneous one broken out in the streets. The fervor of the people’s prayers was shocking.
    He saw the girl standing behind her father. A hard knot grew in his stomach. Fingering the dagger Thren had given him, he eased his way around the back. The crowd was thinnest there, arranged single file with their backs to a wall. Aaron crossed his arms and watched the proceedings. He could see Kayla slowly working her way toward where Delius prayed with the others. Thren remained where he was, one row back on the opposite side.
    Not sure what signal he should wait for, Aaron decided to be patient. The professional part of his mind knew the easiest time to kill Delius’s daughter would be in the chaos after Thren and Kayla struck. The Haern part of him only looked at the young girl in horror. She was so pretty, with red hair as fiery as her father’s. Whenever she smiled, huge dimples grew on her cheeks.
    Aaron remembered Kayla returning to his room, the earrings in her hand. Rejected, and why? Because his father wanted him kept pure of women. Staring at the girl, he had an inkling as to why.
    “Father,” he heard Kayla shout. “Father, please, pray with me!”
    She was directly next to Delius. The man smiled at her and took her hands. He knelt beside her, and Kayla bent her head as if in prayer. They were huddled together, seeming somehow intimate and private although a massive crowd was gathered around them. Delius’s body shuddered. His head snapped back. Kayla was already running through the crowd before anyone realized what had happened. Delius collapsed on his side, the hilt of a dagger sticking out of his chest.
    Shocked screams of two nearby women alerted the rest. The whole crowd fumed. Men turned this way and that, shouting for the guilty party, asking who had seen what. It was chaos, and if a few souls had seen what Kayla had done, they were not heard above the rest of the din.
    Thren chose that moment to leap to the front, standing on a small stool that Delius had sat upon at times when he preached. He was already a tall man, and the stool made sure that the guildmaster towered over the rest. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply. More gasps filtered through the crowd as people realized who he was.
    Aaron did not watch him. He was still staring at the girl and the horrified expression on her face. Twin paths of tears ran down her cheeks. When her lower lip quivered, he felt the cold stone in his gut turn into a blade. Though he had done nothing, only watched, Aaron felt guilt creeping around his shoulders, wrapping tightly about his neck.
    “This fate,” Thren shouted, gesturing to the dead body, “belongs to any who dare turn against the rightful rulers of this city. Keep your righteousness out of our shadows. It has no place there.”
    And then he turned and jumped. His hands caught the top of the wall and flipped him over,