A Dance of Cloaks - By Dalglish, David Page 0,19
as she held him tight. Another volley of bolts tore into the guards. The commonfolk screamed and fled, even the few who had desired a bit of spectacle. A single errant shot was all it’d take to cross their role from spectator to dead participant.
Men in tattered green cloaks and crossbows in hand surrounded Kayla and Haern. Several others held long dirks, and grinning feral grins they dared the remaining guards to attack. In their indecision, more crossbow bolts shot at gaps in their armor. Whoever remained their leader, for a good many were dead, raised his arm and shouted a command. The guards turned tail and fled back to Keenan’s mansion.
“Stand up, girl,” one of the green cloaks said to her.
Kayla glanced up to see a bearded ruffian smiling at her. His eyes were green, and covering both cheeks were tattoos of snakes, one red, one emerald.
“The Serpents have no business in this,” she told him, doing her best to add a hard edge to her voice. It was the voice she used when someone offered to pay far less than her information was worth, or even worse, refused to pay at all.
“The Serpent Guild chooses its business,” the man said. “Now get off your ass. We have places to go.”
There were eight of the Serpents, and with their crossbows loaded, they searched up and down the street, which was slowly returning to its normal hum of voices and trade. Kayla started to ask where they were to go, but then the bearded man struck her with his fist. Rough hands grabbed her wrists and yanked her to her feet. Another grabbed Haern and hoisted him up.
“Hope he’s worth it,” another of the serpents said.
“Someone Keenan wants?” the bearded man said. “He’s worth it.” He turned to his two captives. “Keep your mouths shut and your feet moving, or you’ll find out just how much venom a serpent can spit.”
Kayla was in no shape to argue. She squeezed Haern’s hand, and he squeezed back. For a moment, she thought of telling the serpents who they had in their possession, but a sudden fear filled her. They might kill her so they could pretend ignorance until after selling the boy to the highest bidder. Yet while the boy lived, she was a valuable asset in discovering his name and true worth. She kept her mouth shut. Until her life seemed in immediate danger she would keep her mouth shut and wait.
Through the street they marched, the green cloaks encircling and protecting their recent acquisition. They took a winding path through the streets, but the general direction was west. When she realized this, Kayla perked up, her eyes searching the blur of faces they passed. Any one of them might be reporting to Thren.
The bearded man led them on an abrupt turn to their left, passing between two vendors selling apples and pears. The serpents’ crossbows fidgeted in their hands, and their eyes seemed to be all the more alert. They hurried along, jabbing Kayla harder in the back. She assumed the entrance to the Serpent Guild’s hideaway was near. Where it was, she didn’t know, considering she wasn’t affiliated with any of the guilds. She’d rather sell information in her own quiet way and avoid the death warrant that joining one almost always entailed. No intelligent person could say the Trifect was winning their little war, but they certainly had eliminated a large portion of Veldaren’s underworld. The thieves could recruit with promises of wealth and murder, while the wealthy nobles had to hand over real coin. Kayla had an idea which one would run out first.
A shrill whistle rang out above them. To either side of the group were giant homes, four stories tall, each one crammed tight with families barely able to scrape together a living. A few of the green cloaks looked up, but saw nothing.
Kayla, however, had much sharper eyes than they, and what she saw was the barest hint of a gray cloak leaping across a building. She felt her heart race, and it took all her will to keep a smile off her face.
“Keep going,” the bearded man said. Kayla let her body slacken, and she acted as if a fainting spell was coming over her.
“What is your--aw shit, someone grab her,” she heard one of them say. Acting weak wasn’t a tough chore. She hadn’t eaten anything for at least eight hours, and between fighting guards, leaping over gates, climbing trees, and running