survived against the Trifect. We’ve killed many of them, and thwarted every attempt to defeat us.”
“Not every attempt,” Robert said. “Must I get out the children’s rhymes? Your father has suffered many casualties, and his coffers are near empty. This war taxes both sides. Never think you are invincible and your opponent a whipping boy. Rarely do matters work out that simply.”
“Still, my father was not weak.”
“You are wrong,” Robert insisted. “Even a weak Thren Felhorn can withstand for many years. Still, that is irrelevant. Have you ever heard that sometimes the appearance of weakness is just as dangerous as true weakness?”
Aaron nodded. He had heard such a sentiment before.
“Then consider this…your father was consolidating power, but then other guilds broke away from him. While you were still in your second year, he was putting down rebellion after rebellion. Too many wanted power, and Thren’s reputation was not yet established, though he built much of it during that time, brick by brick with the blood of his would-be assassins.”
He paused, and Aaron sensed the unasked question. With the information given, he should be able to piece together the rest. He thought, his fingers pressed against his lips. He puzzled it over, and Robert did not hurry him.
“The Trifect realized how dangerous he was,” Aaron said at last. “They knew he would eventually succeed in uniting the guilds against them. So when they saw the infighting, they tried to kill him.”
“Exactly,” Robert said. A bit of a smile touched his face. “They saw Thren’s power as brittle and tried to smash it with a hammer. They did as they always did, Aaron, by striking when their opponent was weakest. But they erred, for your father erred, one of the few times in his life, but also the greatest. He purposely let one of the rebellious guilds last another month.”
“Why would he do that?” Aaron asked.
“I should ask you,” Robert said. “You should know.”
Again Aaron puzzled it over. He thought of Senke and of all the times he had let him nearly score a blow or let a slash slip through his defenses, only to fall just shy of armor.
“Father wanted to teach the guild a lesson,” he ventured.
“Wrong, but 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. “He let a weak guild that posed no threat endure so the merchants thought the infighting continued. The Trifect would not suspect an attack from the guilds, not until the rebellious members were dealt with.”
“Quite right,” Robert said.
“That was when the Trifect struck,” Aaron continued. “They thought him weak and still fighting, so they sent in their mercenaries.”
“If your father had not been so determined to strike first and without warning he would have solidified his power. 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 were assaulted, many members lost, and when Thren went to them for peace it was too late. The Trifect had tasted blood and victory. They attacked again, and that disgrace has left Thren in a hopeless position. Either he dies, or the members 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 if the act gave him comfort.
“The city needs an end. The few who have remained neutral, those like the king and the priests of Karak and Ashhur, they 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?”