“Come on, then!” Torgar roared, swinging his sword in a wildly exaggerated arc. “Let’s have a fight, eh?”
One of the thieves fell for the bait, lunging inward when Torgar should have been vulnerable. Instead a meaty fist crushed his face, his movement anticipated. When he collapsed, Torgar’s long sword pierced through his shoulder and tore free, severing bone and spilling blood across the floor. The remaining man glanced at Madelyn, clearing thinking to use her as a hostage. Torgar never gave him the time. He rushed the man, not at all afraid of his small dagger. He had range, skill, and sheer brute strength.
Accepting a stab to the shoulder, Torgar returned the favor. His sword punched through the Spider’s chest and out his back, pinning him to the wall. The mercenary captain grabbed the man’s head with his hands, head-butted him, and then twisted violently. When he yanked his sword free, the man fell to the ground dead.
“Gyah,” Torgar said, yanking the dagger out of his shoulder and examining it. The blade was serrated, and sure enough he’d felt it. “Mean little prick,” he said, tossing the dagger back atop the body. Taking in a deep breath, he turned and lifted Madelyn’s body.
She was breathing.
“Must be my lucky night,” Torgar said. He stole a long kiss from Madelyn, then exited the home. He untied his reins, slung Madelyn over his shoulders, and then mounted his horse. Madelyn curled in his lap like a child, Torgar snapped the reins and rode back toward Keenan’s wagons, hoping to catch up before they gained too much distance from Veldaren.
“Happy fucking Kensgold, Thren,” Torgar said as he rode out the city gates and into the night air. “Hope you had as much fun tonight as I have.”
CHAPTER
36
Thren had seen the smoke rising as he and Kayla returned from watching the Kensgold to ensure its disbandment. By the time they reached the city, there was no questioning its source. The Connington estate was on fire.
“What would have made the damn fools start so early?” Thren wondered, his voice carrying a hard edge. “Leon isn’t anywhere near the city!”
“Perhaps they encountered more resistance than we did at Maynard’s?” Kayla asked.
Thren shook his head.
“Whatever the reason, we need to hurry to the Gemcroft estate. If Leon’s is already burning, there’s little we can do there. Damn it! I had such wonderful plans to make him pay for Will’s death. At the very least, I need Maynard to die tonight.”
He didn’t say why, of course. He’d never admit the danger hanging over his head from the priests of Karak because they had aided his son.
They ran side by side, both panting from the exertion. When they reached the mansion, he saw a few of the Wolf Guild scattered about, keeping an eye on the roads. Cynric stood in one of the windows of the nearby homes. He cupped his hands to his mouth and howled.
“That man needs his head nailed tighter to his neck,” Thren mumbled. The two of them hurried through the door to find the guildmaster waiting.
“We’ve seen the smoke,” Cynric said. “Do you know anything about it? We hoped for a runner or two to clarify, but no one’s showed.”
“We know as little as you then,” Thren said. “Damn. At least the mansion is destroyed. Have you seen anything here?”
“Not a hint of prey,” Cynric said. “Rather boring, really. We almost went to join the feast at Leon’s. Hopefully you’ll remember that when the killing starts. We deserve our share.”
Thren left the house, Kayla trailing after him. He walked through the open gate and into the mansion. Kadish was waiting for them.
“I was wondering when you’d return,” the man said. “I’ve been wanting a straight answer about what to do with him.”
He pointed to where James Beren lay slumped against a wall, his arms and legs bound tight. His eyes were open, but his mouth was gagged. Thren tilted his head as he thought.
“Is the Ash Guild broken?” he asked.
“We’ve killed all but a few,” Kadish said. “We’ll hunt down who we can, but most will just sign on with other guilds, including mine. They’re done.”
“Good.” Thren turned to James and drew his sword. Kneeling down, he removed the gag from his mouth and smiled.
“Do you see what happens when you resist me?” he asked. James nodded, his face bruised and purple. Thren stood and looked to the many members of both the Spider and Hawk Guilds standing about. “Do you all see what happens when you resist me?”
They nodded. In response, Thren turned and rammed his short sword through one of James’s eyes. His face locked in a vicious snarl, Thren twisted the blade and then yanked it free. Gore splattered across the floor.
“Do you see now?” he asked them.
He cleaned the blade, sheathed it, and then turned to Kadish.
“Get your men ready,” he said. “The Wolf Guild will surround them and cut off any retreat once they’re within the outer gate. We’ll crush them between us, all of them. We end this tonight!”
Kayla followed him back outside as he walked toward the gate’s exit.
“Where are you going now?” she asked.
“To get my son,” he said. “The priests should be done with him. I want him to watch our victory.”
“But Maynard might be on his way already,” Kayla insisted. “We don’t have time for you to go looking for him.”
Thren snapped to a halt and turned. Something about her words, the way she was trying to stall…
“Why would I need to go looking?” he asked. “Or do you know of some reason he would have left their compound?”
The way Kayla stood there, mouth slightly open, told him all he needed to know. Lies grew and died on her tongue, unable to endure his glare. When she’d joined his guild, he’d seen great promise, someone willing to endure so much for the safety of his son, someone willing to kill and bleed just to join his guild. But now he saw weakness. Now he saw a heart not made for the night.
“Aaron broke out,” she said at last. “He resisted their attempts and met with me on the rooftops.”
Thren stepped closer toward her. His hand subtly shifted toward the sword strapped to his hip.
“And you never told me this why?” he asked.
“He’s dead to you,” she said. “He told me so. You’ll never see him again.”
“Why did you not tell me!” he screamed, not caring that the different guilds were watching.
“Because he deserves better,” she whispered. “Better than what you would make him be.”
“Better?” asked Thren. “Every living man and woman would soon quake in fear of his name. He would be a killer even greater than I. He was so close to perfect, so close, but now he’s gone. Not your place, Kayla. It was never your place.”
She dropped to one knee as he swung, drawing daggers free from her belt. They were slender, curved, designed for throwing instead of close melee. Thren knew that, and he kept closer, punching with his swords so that she must twist and parry instead of trying a throw. But despite her skill she was nothing, not to him. Just a girl who threw knives.
One such knife whirled through the air, a single desperate attempt by Kayla. It missed Thren’s cheek by a hair’s width. And then he was upon her, thrusting his swords through her stomach. She gasped, her hands opening and closing, her dagger belt torn, her daggers clanging off the ground. Her knees buckled, and she fell to her back.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, blood dripping down her lips. “He’s free of you, Thren. Free…”
Thren stood over her body, his shoulders slumped and his jaw trembling, as he watched her die. Everything was crumbling. The fire at Leon Connington’s. His son’s betrayal. So far no news had come from the castle about the Naked Bells’ attempt on the king, and he still had a chance of killing Maynard Gemcroft. The night wasn’t a total loss, not yet.
He returned to the mansion to wait. There was no point in searching for Aaron, not then. When things calmed, he’d scour the city, search u
nder every rock and look into every hole if he must. But not yet.
“What in Karak’s name did she do?” Kadish asked when Thren returned.
“She hid things from me,” Thren said. “Now see to your men. The Kensgold ended not long ago. They should return within the hour.”
Kadish shrugged.
“All right, then. Shame about that bitch, though. She was a cute one.”
Remembering how that cuteness had helped corrupt his son, Thren snarled and struck the wall with his fist.
“Or not,” Kadish said before going from Hawk to Hawk ensuring their readiness for the ambush.
Maynard Gemcroft knew something was afoot when Laurie disbanded the Kensgold early, but he wasn’t sure what exactly. Madelyn’s absence was conspicuous, but that wasn’t something he could know about for certain. Leon had no shortage of grumblings and complaints, calling Laurie every possible name for a bad host, plus a few more that he probably made up on the spot.
Then they saw the smoke and knew the thief guilds had chosen that night to play. From its direction, he guessed the fire to be at Leon’s home. The fat man stood outside the giant pavilion, swearing up a blue storm at the sight.
“They torched my home?” he asked after a minute to compose himself. “Those … those … imbeciles torched my home? I’ll gut them all. I’ll piss on their heads, rape their ears, feed their pricks to swine, and have them rape them too.”
“Go to your home, and go well protected,” Maynard told him. “The streets are not safe for us, no matter how many soldiers walk with us.”
With six hundred armed men at his side, Maynard still felt insecure on his march home. Trailing after the six hundred was a tail of several hundred more, servants and dancers and singers wanting their pay or some beds to rest in. Maynard knew that many more wagons would come throughout the night, carrying whatever remained of his goods to sell, along with a handsome amount of gold. He’d left another two hundred to guard the wagons, but he wasn’t worried about theft. It was fire that worried him.
When they reached the mansion, Maynard felt his heart sink. The outer gate was open. All throughout the yard were massive holes from the trap spells he’d had a trio of wizards cast. No bodies remained, though he was certain from the wreckage that many must have died.
“What are your orders?” Maynard’s mercenary captain asked him.
“They must have looted while we were gone,” Maynard said. “The same probably happened to Leon. Yet why did they not burn it down like his?”
“A trap,” the mercenary said. “That is all that makes sense.”
Maynard glanced back at the rest of his men. He had the makings of a small army with him. What would they say if he fled, all in fear of a few rogues in his own house? His reputation had already suffered greatly from the war with the thief guilds. Whatever they had planned, he would not back down.
“Take four hundred of your men and scour my home,” Maynard ordered. “Leave the rest to protect me and my servants.”
“As you wish,” said the mercenary captain before turning and relaying the orders in loud, barking yells. Maynard stayed with the remaining two hundred at the gate entrance. He might not run from a trap, but he had no intention of walking into it either.
The mercenaries had reached the door when the first men appeared at the windows of the mansion. Arrows rained down upon them, fired by men of the Hawk and Spider Guilds. Maynard saw this and swore. His mercenaries rushed the door, knowing getting inside would greatly reduce the threat of the archers. Something prevented it, though he could not see what. He heard screams coupled with horrific sounds of battle. Stopped at the door, his mercenaries started to turn and make their way back to the gate.
“Behind!” several shouted. Maynard spun, then felt himself pushed to his knees. Mercenaries stood above him, holding shields high as dozens of arrows rained down. Fear lumped in his throat. Swords rang as men assaulted them from the back. Mailed hands grabbed his shoulders, and under the cover of shields Maynard slowly shifted within the ring of guards.
“We’re pressed on both sides,” one said.
“They’re flooding out of the mansion,” said another.
Maynard tried to look but he was surrounded by flesh and armor. He smelled sweat and blood. The air whistled with arrows, followed by the wooden thumps as they hit shields, or screams when they hit something softer.
Stupid, thought Maynard. Even knowing, I walked right into their trap.
With attackers on both sides, and archers firing from so many windows, he knew their hope was slim. He pushed aside a soldier, determined to see how dire his situation truly was. As if he had taunted the gods, an arrow sailed through the gap he’d made and slammed into his chest. He collapsed to his knees, his hands clutching the shaft as warm blood flowed across his hands. Around him his mercenaries swore and crowded closer together.
“So stupid,” he chuckled. “Oh, Alyssa, if you could only see your father now.”
Thren led the initial assault from inside the mansion, feeling like a hundred killings would not quench his bloodlust. He and his men crashed into the first of Maynard’s men to reach the door, keeping them bottled up and unable to use their superior numbers to their advantage. The soldiers, frantic to avoid the arrows, were unprepared for the fury of his assault. He knocked aside swords, danced between thrusts, and slashed throat after throat. Bodies piled at the door, and although Kadish and his Hawks stood ready to aid him, Thren needed no help. After the first few the mercenaries had to climb over bodies to reach the door. That momentary loss of solid footing was all it took for a master swordsman like Thren Felhorn.
When Maynard’s mercenaries pulled back, Thren signaled the charge. Over a hundred men in cloaks rushed through the windows, slashing with their daggers and swords. Thren nimbly leaped over the bodies, stabbed a soldier in the back, and then shouted to the rest.
“Run, run! Kill them, and Maynard with them!”
He watched the arrows rain down from the Wolf Guild stationed in the houses. The mercenaries had plenty of shields, lessening the effect of the bowmen. No bother. Even though their numbers were equal, Thren had them pressed on both sides. And besides, no one could match him in skill.
Thren lunged into the sea of metal, spinning, cutting, and slashing with a wild rage that filled him with pleasure. This was what he was meant for. He belonged on a field of battle. Perhaps once the city was under his control, he might fulfill his potential, becoming a warrior general of a massive criminal empire.
Thren was pushing his way through the soldiers, making his inevitable approach toward Maynard, when he heard the trumpets call.
Alyssa Gemcroft stood in the center of her troops, Zusa at her side. She’d marched through the city like a returning conqueror, knowing that her father had already returned moments before her. She was done with their quarrel. Her plan was to kneel before Maynard and apologize for following the Kulls’ stupidity, and then pay back that stupidity with the heads of Theo and Yoren. Instead she came upon a great battle being waged before her very gates.
“Hurry,” she told her mercenaries. “Kill the cloaks! Save my father and I will reward you greatly!”
Beside her a mercenary captain raised a horn to his lips and blew. The clear call rang throughout the city. With a great shout her troops rushed the gates. A few split off into the houses with the archers. Not long after, the barrage of arrows halted. Now crushed between two sides, the Wolf Guild pulled back, turning tail and running in a manner appropriate to their name.
“May I join in?” Zusa asked as the mercenaries turned on the remaining threat within the gates.
“Go right ahead,” Alyssa said. Zusa flicked her hair over her shoulder and then dashed into the fray. Alyssa approached, still flanked by ten men. No arrows were being fired, but she felt safer with them there nonetheless. In the middle of the gateway she found her father lying on his side, an arrow in his chest.
“Alyssa?” he said when he saw her. His voic
e was weak.
Alyssa felt her heart harden at the sight of him. He’d thrown her in the cold cells. He’d insulted her, made her an outcast…
No, she thought. I did those things myself. With my foolishness. With my pride.
“Father,” she said, kneeling down beside him and wrapping her arms around his neck. Tears welling in her eyes, she kissed his forehead and held him close.
“Daughter,” he said, a smile creasing his bloodstained lips. “You were right.”
He coughed. More blood spilled across his mouth. The arrow was in his lung, there was little doubt about that.
“No,” she said. “Please forgive me. I’ve come home. I’ve come back for you, Father, to pledge myself to…”
“Quiet, girl,” Maynard said. He relaxed in her arms. “My daughter. My heir.”
His voice failed him. His eyes grew distant. He died in her arms, his eyes closed by her fingers, his forehead bathed with her tears. All around them stood Maynard’s mercenaries, men of power and influence within the household.
“We heard his words,” one of them said. “Give us your orders, Lady Gemcroft.”
Alyssa looked up at them as if they should be obvious.
“Slay every last one of them that killed your lord,” she said.
Everything was falling apart. Thren fought to the very limits of his skill. Men fell like wheat under a scythe, yet still it was not enough. He watched the Wolf Guild scatter, and in his heart he could not blame them. He’d have done the same thing in their situation.
“Fall back,” Thren shouted. Further fighting would only sacrifice whatever good men he had left. The soldiers had grouped together, and their expert formations were far superior to those of men used to attacking from shadows. Even worse, a strange woman in dark wrappings vaulted through his men, slaying them as if they were no more dangerous to her than toys.
Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 39