Cloak and Spider: A Shadowdance Novella by David Dalglish Page A

weapons drawn, cloaks fluttering behind them. The few who saw them coming fled quickly out of the way. No doubt many were in league with the Scorpions, but the Spiders ran too fast, too straight. No one would beat them. Thren wouldn’t let them. Heart pounding, he let the blood coursing through his veins push away his thoughts of Marion, of the betrayal in Grayson’s eyes. The chill of the night was a bitter kiss on his skin as the sweat ran down his neck.
    They turned a corner, Thren still in the lead. The Raven’s Claw tavern was in sight, a two-story construction lurking over the nearby homes. Lights shone through gaps in the curtains of the upper floors. Three burly men leaned against the front and side, looking bored. Guards, Thren knew, disguised as vagrants or drunkards. There was no disguising their panic when they saw the mass of gray cloaks come storming toward them.
    “Never slow, never stop,” Thren shouted as he drew his swords. “Faster than the night. Faster than the dead. Let the blood flow!”
    The guards had fled inside by their arrival, but Thren wasn’t worried. His mind had no space for worry. They’d come too fast, too hard. Carr couldn’t outthink Thren at a game Thren was no longer playing. Arms crossed before his face, Thren slammed into the door, using his weight and momentum to smash it inward. As wood splintered around him he rolled, dodging frantic swings of swords by men on either side of the door. Pulling up from his roll, he lashed out, slicing out the throats of two men unlucky enough to be drinking at the table beside him. As they collapsed, Thren jammed his elbow onto the curved table, tipping it over as he fell once more. Arrows thudded into the table above him, fired by three men on the stairs with crossbows.
    “Move!” Thren screamed at the door behind him. Glass shattered as his men smashed in through windows, others lunging through the doorway with their daggers drawn. The guards there were quickly overrun, and as the rest of the patrons drew their own weapons, Thren let out a laugh. What were they to him? Nothing, absolutely nothing.
    The men on the stairs were busy reloading when several Spiders flung their daggers, killing one and wounding the two others. Thren saw this while glancing around the table, and with their threat over, he returned to his feet, short swords held out at either side of him. Behind the bar was another door, and pouring through it came members of the Scorpion Guild, all carrying long daggers or maces. Thren met their eyes as they leaped over the bar, trying to overwhelm the Spiders. This was the best they could do? The first to near him offered a clumsy thrust in an attempt to disembowel him, but Thren slapped it aside, stepped closer, and rammed his sword through the man’s stomach.
    “That’s how you gut someone,” Thren whispered into the man’s ear, as if he were a dying lover. A twist, a yank, and the sword came free.
    The rest of his guild clashed with the Scorpions, but these were Grayson’s handpicked best, and they made short work of the frantic defenders. Blood spilled across the counter, and from every direction came screams. Thren reached behind the counter, grabbing several bottles, and then smashed them into a single puddle. That done, he grabbed a rag, soaked it with some of the liquid, and then dipped it into the fire as all around him men died. When the rag caught fire, he tossed it into the puddle, setting it aflame.
    “Carr must be upstairs,” Senke said, sliding up to him. His arms were caked with blood, as was his mace, and along his left cheek ran a weeping gash.
    “Come with me,” Thren said. “Send the rest outside to circle the place. No one escapes.”
    Senke shouted out the order as Thren climbed the stairs. At the top waited a trio of men, all wielding swords, their faces hidden behind the deep yellow of their cloaks and hoods. Behind them Thren caught a glimpse of an open door at the far end of the hall, and