A Dance of Cloaks (Shadowdance 1)
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The Underworld rules the city of Veldaren. Thieves, smugglers, assassins... they fear only one man.
Assassin or protector; every choice has its consequences.
- A Dance of Cloaks
- A Dance of Blades
- A Dance of Mirrors
- A Dance of Shadows
- A Dance of Ghosts
- A Dance of Chaos
but Thren recognized those sharpened canine teeth. “Your disguise trumps my own,” Thren said. “I was to be here longer than you,” said Cynric, guildmaster of the Wolves. A pungent dye covered his gray hair with a layer of brown, the dirt on his face hiding his pale skin and ritual scars. For a moment each held their tongue, staring up the hill at the elite of the Trifect. Neither sensed watching eyes or attentive ears around them so they continued. “I’ve thirty men throughout the crowds,”
hideout?” she asked. Haern refused to answer at first, but then she cuffed him on the side of his head. “I’m trying to save your life, and mine, so tell me where we’re going.” “The western district,” Haern said, elaborating no further. “No good,” Kayla said. She knew she couldn’t take Haern there anyway, not until they lost their pursuers. Leading half the city’s soldiers to Thren Felhorn’s secret hideout was another good way to end up dead, regardless of her somewhat noble intentions. “Any
splattered across his mask. The other two soldiers, their arms and legs bleeding from several deep cuts, tried to stab Haern as he lay there. Their blades struck air. Haern rolled off and onto his knees, then kicked back. He slid between the remaining two, and this time his daggers found the open spots just above their greaves. To make sure they stayed down, he twisted the daggers when he pulled them out. One dead and two others crumpled to the ground, Haern ran out of the armory and into the
that perhaps this was one of those times. “Tell me what you know, and quickly, otherwise Edwin will soon believe me to be one of his lurking phantoms.” The Worm tapped his fingers, and Gerand did his best to suppress a shudder. For whatever vile reason, the man had no fingernails. “My ears are often full of mud,” the ugly man began, “but sometimes I hear so clearly, I might believe myself an elf.” “No elf could be so ugly,” Gerand said. Gileas laughed, but there was danger in it, and the
each other up in the corner. Gileas would have preferred them all gone, but he couldn’t afford to be choosy. With Veliana still alive, his days were numbered. He sat in the opposite corner of the lovers. He leered at them, enjoying the sight of the woman’s thigh. When she finally glanced over and saw him, she flipped a finger at him and then returned her attention to her man. Gileas noticed the man entering the tavern but pretended not to. He kept his head down, staring at the table as if stuck