A Dance of Cloaks - By Dalglish, David Page 0,146

back to the stairs. Smoke had begun pouring thick through its edges and underneath. Already the heat seeped through the wood floor. Still no sign of Senke, and Haern tried not to think of what had befallen him.

“Don’t do this,” Haern whispered. The roar of flame, the screams of battle, and Veliana’s own angry shout as she lunged drowned out his words. Her dagger thrust straight for his neck. Haern batted it aside with his own, then swept his right foot around in an arc. She leapt over it, her knee ramming forward. His head snapped backward as the knee collided with his face. Blood splattered the inside of his mask.

Staggering, his head still swimming from the smoke and heat, Haern went fully defensive. Veliana’s dagger slashed and cut, and despite any openings he might have seen, he refused to try for them. He parried and spun, slowly weaving his way about the great piles of junk. The air grew murky and gray from the smoke, much of it starting to pour out the broken window.

“Leave me be!” he shouted as he crossed his daggers and blocked a vicious downward chop. His elbows shook at the impact, and momentarily distracted by the closeness of her face and the hideousness of her eye, Veliana successfully tripped him with a kick. As he fell he rolled, avoiding her downstrike. He turned and darted throughout the attic, frantically dashing for the window.

Veliana raced him back, her dagger still eager for blood. She reached the window first, but not in enough time to prepare correctly. Haern leapt, slamming his shoulder into hers. As she was pushed back, his daggers curled around her sides, slicing into flesh. Blood spilled down from her ribs, across her tunic and pants. Screaming in pain, Veliana whirled. When Haern ducked her high kick, he found a dagger waiting for him low. He twisted, but not fast enough. The dagger slashed across his shoulder, tearing open a huge gash in his shirt. Blood poured down his arm, the pain terrible, but Haern never let it slow him. His opponent had just scored her first true hit. That was when she was most vulnerable, her confidence soaring with the minor victory.

His foot whirled about him, his left arm flinging his cloak upward to hide his movements. Veliana lost her balance and fell to one knee, letting out a small cry from the harsh landing. Haern’s cloak whipped her face, and when she pushed back to see, Haern was there, his fist leading. He punched her throat with all his strength.

Gasping for air, she fell back, holding her dagger out in a meager defense. Haern cut her knuckles to weaken her grip, then slapped the dagger away. Veliana glared with her one good eye as she coughed.

“Aaron is dead,” he told her, breathing heavily as his daggers shook in his hands, one of its tips aimed straight for her throat. “Why can’t you see that?”

“You’re him,” Veliana said with a cracking voice. “You can’t hide. You’re just a coward.”

Haern shook his head sadly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re wrong.”

He rammed the butt of his dagger against the top of her skull, knocking her out cold. As she slumped to the ground, Haern stuck his head out the window to take a look. A massive crowd gathered about, a mixture of guards, onlookers, and desperate neighbors organizing bucket brigades to ensure the mansion’s fire didn’t spread. In that chaos, he could certainly slip away.

Behind him he heard Veliana moan softly. Haern sighed. At the side of his father, he’d left her for dead. He couldn’t do so again, not while claiming to be a better person. The fire was already crawling its way up the stairs, its smoke billowing. He had five minutes, maybe ten.

Knowing her cloak and colors would doom her, Haern stripped her down to her undergarments. He searched the crates, holding his cloak over his mouth as he did. Once he found a blanket of sufficient length he dragged it over to Veliana and tied one corner to her wrists. The other half he wrapped around his arm and prayed for the best. If Veliana was lucky, she’d survive the fall, and those who found her would assume her a frantic house servant fleeing the fire after hiding in the attic. If not, well…

He almost left her for the calm, quiet death to the smoke. Almost.

“We’re even,” he whispered as he pushed her body out the window. He braced his