Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella by David Dalglish Read Free Book Online Page A

said. “The Darkhand’s going to send us east. Our training’s over, and it’s time we prove our worth. I think he’s had his eye on Veldaren for a while now, truth be told.”
    Thren held the ring up once more, then put it into his pocket.
    “Honestly, it’s about time,” he said. “We’ll go to Veldaren, find ourselves a thief guild worthy of our talents. Won’t be too long before we make the city ours.”
    Grayson laughed.
    “Such confidence! Such gall! Is there ever a moment of doubt in your blond head?”
    Thren looked to the door, thinking of Marion’s exit.
    “Not often,” he said. “So, will your sister be coming with us to Veldaren?”
    Grayson sensed his true line of thought, and he leaned forward in his chair.
    “You’re my friend,” he said, “so I’ll give you this warning free. Marion’s off limits. If you take one more long look at my sister, touch her, kiss her, even get dirty ideas in your head just thinking about her, I will take my swords and shove them so far down your throat you’ll be shitting steel. Just so you know.”
    Thren rose from his seat, and he lifted open palms to show his surrender.
    “You’ve made your point,” he said as he headed to the door and opened it.
    “Where are you going?” Grayson asked.
    “None of your business,” Thren said, stepping out. Halfway through he paused, ducked his head back into the room. “Oh, and just so you know, I plan on marrying her one day.”
    He shut the door behind him, breathed in the fresh morning air, and laughed as he ran down the street toward the market.

Stealing Crowns
    Thren Felhorn perched atop the stone gargoyle and waited for the signal from his guildmaster to start the killing. The night was dark, thick clouds spread across the sky blotting out the stars. Below him the street was quiet but for a lone wagon rattling toward them from afar, a few crates in the back covered with a dirty blanket. The driver looked tired, his shoulders slouched, but Thren knew it was an act. It was the man’s head that gave it away, the way he was always shifting his face from side to side in search of ambushers.
    He wasn’t looking high enough.
    “This is it,” Grayson muttered beside him, using the gargoyle’s spread wings to hide his large form. “Where’s the damn signal?”
    “Jorry will want to know for certain before we act,” Thren said. “Now keep your voice down.”
    Grayson grinned at him, all dark skin and white teeth.
    “Why? Scared he’ll hear us? The moment he hears us is the moment he’s too close to get away.”
    “Trust me, the Wolf Guild did not let them travel unguarded,” Thren said, watching the wagon’s approach. Despite his words, he saw no guards, no patrols from the rival guild. Something about it felt off. Their guildmaster, Jorry the Swift, had received word of the Wolf Guild’s attempting to smuggle across town a large supply of expensive wine it had previously stolen from Lord Leon Connington. Leon, gluttonous bastard that he was, had come down hard in search of his precious wine, and the Wolf Guild was reeling from the sudden assault of mercenaries.
    “Where are the guards, then?” Grayson asked, mirroring Thren’s own worries. “Perhaps they can’t spare anyone to watch the wagon?”
    “If they get that wine out of the city and shipped west, it’ll be worth a fortune in Mordan,” Thren whispered. “They can spare someone. The question is where? And why hasn’t Jorry sent us in to find out?”
    Thren and Grayson perched on the rooftop of what had once been a temple to the priests of Karak, before they’d been chased out and the building set aflame. The stone walls remained strong and tall, a perfect vantage point for the long street below. Around the neck of the gargoyle was a rope, the length of it spooled beside Thren. Once Jorry confirmed the wagon was run by the Wolf Guild, they were to climb down and ambush it just as it passed beneath. Jorry and three others were to harass