“So…how much did it all come to, anyway?”
“Twenty times the normal fare,” Laurie said with a sigh. “I know you’re not the best with big numbers, so let me keep it simple. I’d be paying an entire month’s worth of income just to walk through their bloody gate.”
“Huh,” Torgar said, guiding his horse around a giant rut in the road. “Almost makes you think twice about entering, eh?”
Laurie stopped his horse. Torgar slowed his own and then looped around, his hand on his sword.
“Something amiss?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Laurie said. “But what you said, it might make a bit of sense. Look there, at the two hills we just rode beside. Couldn’t we set up camp on their peaks?”
Torgar scratched the stubble on his jaw, thinking.
“Could put yours and Madelyn’s things on the big hill, surround the lower parts with the wagons so it’ll be easier to guard. Wouldn’t be too tough to put our men in the gaps. That smaller hill could be for your servants and soldiers, ring the lower parts with tents and then build fires at the top.”
“Could you guard it as well as you could our estate?” Laurie asked.
“As well?” Torgar asked. “Course not. Your mansion’s got spiked fences and more traps than even I know about. Out here we’ll have men and wagons. Wagons can be climbed, burned, and cut through. Men can be bought, confused, and killed. But if you’re asking if you think anything could happen out here, I say no. With as many men we’ll have ringing the camp, you’ll be safer than the king.”
“Come then,” Laurie said. “Let us tell my wife and son.”
They rode into the caravan, which had slowed considerably in speed. Apparently the drivers at the front, having seen Lord Keenan ride off to the gate, cut their pace to ensure they didn’t arrive before Laurie returned. The two weaved through the chaos until they reached the largest of the covered wagons, pulled by six gray oxen.
“I heard you left for the gate,” Madelyn Keenan said from her cushioned seat in the back. She wore what she considered an outfit designed for travel: a tightly fitting dress, high-cut with a long V across the front. The outfit exposed her slender legs, which she had stretched out from underneath the tarp in hopes of getting what little sun she could before winter arrived in fullest, along with its dim light and numerous clouds. She’d tied her brown hair into a ponytail so long that it wrapped twice about her waist before clipping into her silver-leafed belt.
Torgar had long ago learned that an errant whistle could cost him half his month’s pay, but still he felt tempted when he saw her.
“The king, may Karak curse his name, imposed a outrageously high tax on all goods entering the city,” Laurie said as he accepted his wife’s outstretched hand and kissed her fingers. “So it appears we must camp outside the walls.”
“Must we?” asked Madelyn. “You’ll deny us a roof over our heads all for a silly tax? Bribe the guards and get us through. I’ve heard quite enough of the serving girls bitching about the bumpy trip. I don’t want to imagine how they’ll whine about this.”
“Guards won’t take bribes,” Torgar said. “King’s riding them hard on this one. And if it is a roof you want, milady, we have more than enough tents for that. We’ll erect you a fine pavilion to call your own.”
Madelyn rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to her husband. She’d never liked the smelly sellsword, especially the way he looked at her. When it came to dress, attitude, and words, she knew how to drive men wild, and in doing so, control them. When it came to Torgar, though, she never felt that control. Instead, she felt like he was the one ready to dominate her, status and repercussions be damned.
“What about Maynard and that fat Connington fellow?” she asked. “Will they bring their wealth out of the walls to join us here in the wild?”
“We’re within spitting distance of the walls,” Torgar said. “This ain’t the wild, woman.”
“Remember what I said about your tongue and the ravens?” asked Laurie. “Think on that for awhile, and leave me be with my wife. Oh, and find Taras. He’s probably getting friendly with the camp followers.”
“As you wish,” Torgar said with an over-exaggerated bow.
“Must you make him so involved in your decisions,” Madelyn complained after the sellsword was gone.
“His usefulness makes up for any of his vulgarities,” Laurie said. The wagon jostled and slowed, so Laurie pulled back a bit. He looked around as he did, then swore.
“Forgive me, I must go. The wagon leaders are unaware of our change of destination.”
Madelyn watched him ride around the wagon and out of sight. She tucked her legs underneath her knees, realizing she would see more of the fading sun than she’d prefer over the next couple days. The journey north from Angelport was far from pleasant, even with the cushions and company of her servant girls in the giant wagon. They were so excited by arriving at the city that she’d forced them away so she could have a moment of peace.
The lady gazed around at the multitude of gently sloping hills covered with grass that grew up to the thigh. Hopefully that thick a bed of grass would soften the rocks that seemed to lurk everywhere just below the soil. She and Laurie had made love once on the grass in their journey north, and her back had ached for days because of it. She’d rather be bedded on a plank of nails. At least that way the pain would be uniform across her body.
She felt unease growing in her stomach. Seeing the many hills, void of walls, lampposts, and guards, seemed to have awoken an old fear within her. It was one thing to trust her guards; it was another to lock her door and bar it with a thick plank of wood. Here she would have…what did Torgar call it? ‘A fine pavilion of her own.’ She couldn’t lock a pavilion. By the Abyss, they didn’t even have doors to shut, just thick flaps.
“They’ve been told,” Laurie said as he came back, startling her a little. “Something amiss?” he asked when he saw her jump.
“No, only thinking. Are you sure this is wise? With the thief guilds still trying so hard to survive, wouldn’t it be safer in our estate?”
Laurie settled his horse into a gentle trot that matched the wagon’s speed.
“Truth be told, I think we’ll need to be diligent no matter where we hold the Kensgold. But do you know what I see when I look at those hills? I see no rooftops for assassins to hang from. I see no shadows in which to hide. I see no crawlspaces, basements, hidden ways and forgotten doors. Whatever traps Thren and his pets have planned for me, I know damn well they weren’t made with wide open fields in mind.”
“I’d much rather have my room, our room, in our mansion safely tucked in city walls,” Madelyn insisted.
“Do you desire tight spaces so strongly?” he asked, frowning.
Madelyn sighed.
“I don’t know. Perhaps when your camp is made I’ll change my mind. Just promise me, if I desire to return to the city, you will let me go? I can take some of the sellswords with me, and I doubt I will be hard pressed finding a legion of servants and working girls wishing to come with me into the city.”
“I’ve found the boy,” Torgar shouted as he rode up from the south.
“A boy no longer,” Laurie said, turning to greet them. Taras Keenan rode beside Torgar, looking more the son of the sellsword than the thin noble. He was on the cusp of his seventeenth birthday, and had spent every day of their slow trek to Veldaren practicing with the mercenaries. More annoying to Madelyn, he had grown rather fond of Torgar and chosen him as his favored teacher and sparring partner.
“Until I fight a man in honest combat, I’ll still be a boy,” said Taras.
“That sounds like Torgar talking,” Madelyn said, her tone disapproving.
“Just a gentle reminder to mother that I’ll still be her precious child for a little while longer,” Taras said.
“Good to know you have your mother’s tongue instead of Torgar’s, at least,” Laurie said. “But now I have something a bit more important for y
ou, Torgar. Go to both Connington and Gemcroft and invite them to our lovely hills. Do your best to convince them. Remind them it is my year to host, and they cannot refuse a place given once I have tables down and food to eat.”
“Mention food and we’ll get Leon down here, even if it’s in the middle of a pig sty,” Torgar said with a deep laugh. “Heard he’s having a hard time getting his delicacies with all the guilds running amok. Shall I bring the boy with me on my duties, milord?”
Madelyn’s glare was a clear no, and that was enough to make up Laurie’s mind.
“Aye, you should,” he said. “Remember, Taras, I have given Torgar charge in these matters, not you, so do not contradict him unless absolutely necessary.”
Taras could hardly contain his excitement. He hadn’t been to Karak’s city of stone since he was nine, and his memories had long faded into worthless patches of images.
“Come,” he shouted to Torgar. “The city’s waiting for us!”
He galloped off, the sellsword dashing after. Madelyn scowled and looked away. When Laurie saw this, he felt anger growing in his chest.
“He must learn responsibility in these matters,” he said. “Dealing with the other members of the Trifect will do him good.”
“It’ll do him dead,” Madelyn said. “You send your own son into Veldaren with a single mercenary to guard his back? We’ll find them tossed aside in the street, rotting in the sewers, all because you’d rather camp under stars and save yourself an orc-scrap of coin.”
“Mind your tongue, woman,” Laurie said.
For a minute they rode in silence, Laurie’s horse trotting slowly behind the wagon as Madelyn sat with crossed arms atop her cushions. When the wagon halted suddenly, Laurie veered to side. They’d come to the first of the hills, and slowly the lead riders were heading off into the high grass, moving carefully with men on foot scouting ahead to make sure no holes or sudden dips threatened their wagon wheels.
“We’re here,” Laurie said. “We’ll have a comfortable camp set up for you in no time.”
“No you won’t,” Madelyn said. “I’m going home. Our real home.”
When Laurie glared, she glared back.
“You promised,” she reminded him.
The man swallowed, swishing his tongue side to side as if swallowing something distasteful.
“I will miss you dearly,” he said. “But go to the city if you must. I’ll get you an escort. Two armed men traveling together may not appeal much to the mob, but a gaggle of servant girls and a noble lady in her litter will prove a different matter entirely.”
He rode away in a far fouler mood than when he’d returned from the gate.
E thric had been involved in many riots, but he’d never seen one created so spontaneously out of so little. He walked down the middle of the open street, almost euphoric at the chaos. Karak, being a god of order before his banishment by Celestia, should have frowned upon such activities, but Ethric felt them lift his heart. The only thing worse than chaos was false order, the kind established by faithless kings and the worshippers of Ashhur. Let chaos burn down the falsehood like fire upon a crumbling home. From the ashes, he and his kind would build anew.
At the western gate he came across a filthy beggar sitting beside the road. He was blind, and before him was a clay pot. Ethric watched as a chubby merchant wearing red and purple silks atop his tunic tossed in a handful of coins. Before the merchant could escape, the dark paladin was there, grabbing his arm while stabbing his sword into the pot.
“Let go of me,” the merchant shouted as he tried to wrench his arm away. Ethric’s grip did not release. When he pulled the sword out of the pot, the sharp tip had pierced through the center of one of the coins.
“What charity is this?” Ethric asked as black fire surrounded the blade.
“Help for those less fortunate,” said the chubby man as he looked around for someone to aid him. There were none. Everyone recognized Ethric’s black armor, the dark flame of his blade, and the white lion skull painted on his breastplate. Just like the priests of Karak, the paladins were forbidden from entering Veldaren, but when inside they were never seen. Better to safely ignore the darkness than call it out and risk death.
“Shall you buy your way into eternity?” asked Ethric. The coin slowly melted, the copper dripping down the length, bubbling and popping. “If copper to a blind man saves your soul, imagine your rewards if you threw gold to the feet of a truly holy man.”
“You’re evil,” the merchant said. Ethric felt impressed by his courage.
“Evil?” he asked. He ripped the silks from the man’s tunic and held them aloft. “You parade before a blind man in wealth that could feed him for years while tossing him a pittance you will never miss. That is not piety. That is disgusting.”
He turned and rammed the silk into the blind man’s pot. The merchant stood with his hands shaking, his eyes torn between the dark paladin and the silk.
“No fighting, have mercy. A kindness is a kindness no matter the size,” the blind man said, trying to defuse the situation. Ethric only smiled and gestured to the pot. His sword still burned with fire.
“What is more important to you?” he asked. “Your wealth, or your supposed bribes to the fates?”
When the merchant reached down for the silk, Ethric cut him down. With two vicious hacks, he separated the head and dumped it atop the pot. The blood poured freely, ruining the silk and drenching the few coins within.
“Gifts are always repaid in blood,” Ethric said to the blind man. “Mercy is a delusion. Grace is weakness masked in lies.”
By now a crowd had surrounded him, shouting and pointing angrily. The dark paladin smiled, and when he stretched out his sword, the people made him a path. With so many swarming the streets, it took a good while for the city guard to arrive. The guards, hearing his description, put up only a token search before returning to their patrols. They would cross no swords with a dark paladin of Karak, not without an army at their back.
Despite the delay, Ethric’s mood remained good. He had very little to work with in his search for the faceless women, but Pelarak had given him one tangible lead. On the inside of the wall, about half a mile north of the western gate, Pelarak had told him of a crack. It was wide, running perpendicular to the stones of the wall like a lone bolt of lightning. If he ever needed to contact the faceless women in urgency, he would have an apprentice leave a note in the crack while the stars were bright. By morning, it’d be gone.
Ethric found the crack, looking exactly as it’d been described to him. The street was quiet, modest homes with immodest fences on either side. They appeared new, most likely built after Thren’s little war had started. He removed his glove and put his hand against the deepest part of the crack.
A smile lit up his face. His lengthy training had taught his body to become attuned to all things magical, both clerical and wizardly in nature. Deep inside the crack was a simple alert spell, one that would send warning to the caster whenever the ward was tripped. The faceless women would never need to check, yet would always know when they had a message and could retrieve it before the dawn. Seeing such beauty in its simplicity, Ethric reminded himself to treat his foes with greater respect.
Deciding to treat simplicity with simplicity, he found a large rock and shoved it into the crack, tripping the ward. Now the only question that remained was how long it’d take one of the women to arrive. Since he’d placed the ‘message’ in the middle of the day, they’d certainly know something was amiss.
“Patience serves the wise,” Ethric said, finding himself a seat beside a fence. He leaned his back against the bars. He was out of sight from any travelers on the road, and he doubted the owner of the home would be stupid enough to call him out from his position. All he had to do was watch and wait.
T hren led the way, the rest of his guild following, minus Aaron and Senke who were still busy cleaning blood off the floor. They weaved through the Merchant Way, for once their hands st
aying out of foreign pockets. The riots would soon be there. Thren had personally started two fires, and his men had started three more. They did not burn homes. They torched the storehouses, rendering food all the more precious. Butcher after butcher retreated into his shop, persuaded through either coin or dagger. Bakers fared no better. They either shut their ovens down for a day, or shut them down forever.
“The tradesmen will point their finger at you once this day is done,” Kayla said as she traveled beside him. Thren only laughed.
“After this day is done, I don’t care. Today we need hunger and riots.”
With quick hand gestures, Thren positioned his men up and down the road. In every corner, in every stall, the Spider Guild occupied Merchant Way. Thren stood at the intersection with Castle Road, the main throughway that led north to south from the wall to the castle. A few of his most trusted men had discarded their cloaks and joined the hungry, complaining masses in the south. If they did their jobs, the riots would surge north at a frightening pace.
For twenty minutes, they waited. Thren kept his hood pulled low, and he smiled at those that noticed him. He felt unafraid. Only a full troop of mercenaries would give him concern. Beside him was a modest jeweler selling baubles in preparation for the Kensgold. Accompanying Laurie Keenan’s return to Veldaren would be a host of camp followers, not to mention the many servant girls, dancers, and singers. Every one of the jeweler’s trinkets was sold with the promise of irresistible allure to those women.
“My things are safe?” the bald jeweler asked him at one point. Thren nodded.
“You’ve been good to me, Mafee,” the guildmaster said. “When I draw my sword, take your merchandise and go.”
More minutes crawled by. The only tense moment was when a squad of mercenaries marched through. They didn’t give the gray cloaks a second look, instead hurrying on toward the castle. Thren scratched at his chin, his signal to leave them be.
A chorus of shouts rose from the south. Thren looked down Castle Road and was pleased at the sight. Over four hundred made up the first wave. He recognized one of their shouts as an anthem Senke had devised. ‘Bread or blood,’ they shouted. One or the other, they’d have it, and Thren knew which one he preferred. He drew his sword and placed the tip by his right foot. All down Merchant Way, gray cloaks did the same. Mafee saw it, shoved his cheap jewelry into a burlap sack, and bolted into his home directly behind his stall.
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