“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 as we’ll have ringing the camp, you’ll be safer than the king.”
“Come then,” Laurie said. “Let us tell my wife and son.”
With its master gone to the gates, the rest of the caravan slowed its approach, which Madelyn Keenan was greatly thankful for. She sat in the back of the largest of the covered wagons, which was pulled by six gray oxen. Far too quickly, though, her husband returned, his vulgar sellsword captain at his side. The two followed after her wagon so they might talk.
“How did things fare at the gate?” Madelyn Keenan asked from her cushioned seat. She wore what she considered an outfit designed for travel: a tightly fitting dress with a plunging neckline. 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 full, 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-leaved belt.
“The king, may Karak curse his name, imposed an outrageously high tax on all goods entering the city,” Laurie said as he accepted her 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 and 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 a while, 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 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 faults,” 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 of days. The journey north from Angelport had been far from pleasant, even with the cushions and the 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 during 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 had Torgar called it? “A fine pavilion to call 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. “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 crawl spaces, basements, hidden ways, or 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, and I doubt I will be hard-pressed to find a legion of servants and working girls wishing to come with me.”
Before her husband could make such a promise, they were interrupted by the damned barbarian.
“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 of 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.
“It is only a gentle reminder to you that I’ll still be your precious child for a little while longer,” Taras said, smiling.
“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 you, Torgar. Go to both the Connington an
d Gemcroft estates 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 pigsty,” 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 had asked questions of the place without ceasing on their ride.
“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 frowned again, and this time did not try to curb his temper.
“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 rotting in the sewers, all because you’d rather camp under stars and save yourself an orc-scrap of coin.”
“Mind your tongue,” 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 one 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. The man swished his tongue from 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.
Thren 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 Merchant Way, their hands for once staying 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 fingers 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 who 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 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.
“Bread or blood!” Thren shouted as the mob reached him.
“Bread or blood!” the mob shouted in return, led by spies of the Spider Guild. The mob had meant to travel north to the castle, but through skillful prodding turned down Merchant Way instead. Stalls for bakers and meat carvers were empty and unguarded, and as the mobs passed, gray cloaks kicked and tore them apart. Given a taste of carnage, the mob wanted more.
More of Thren’s men appeared, holding lit torches and shouting angrily. More stalls were tipped over. Wagons burned. Donkeys bled out, their mournful screeches haunting the chaos. The crowd swelled in number, joined by looters, bullies, and the coldhearted who felt power in the mob. A human swarm, they tore Merchant Way to pieces. Fires spread along the houses, yet no men came rushing with buckets.
Thren personally set fire to Mafee’s house. Those pathetic trinkets were a disgrace, and even worse, he’d paid a pittance for protection compared to the money he drained from the desperate and the clueless.
“Stay safe,” Thren said, the demonic grin on his face flickering in the light of the fire.
He whistled long and loud. Their work was done. Guards had begun pouring in from the north, chasing away the looters and rioters with shield and blade. At first some resisted, but the men of the Spider Guild shouted false cries of fear and fled. When blood spilled across the streets, the rest followed. It would take several hours to put out the fires. Merchant Way looked like an army had invaded. Laurie Keenan would have his greeting, and if Thren was lucky, they’d thrash his wagons, harass his mercenaries, and steal ungodly amounts of his food.
One of his men came rushing in from the west. Thren recognized him as Tweed, a simple yet skillful man he’d appointed to watch for the Keenans’ approach.
“Problems, we gots plenty now,” Tweed said, talking with a lisp. “Keenan’s not coming inside. The rest are going out to him.”
Thren pulled him off the main road, certain he had misheard due to the horrid commotion.
“Tell me again,” Thren said. “Make it clear.”
“I’ve seen them, the Keenans, putting up big, big tents and circling their wagons,” said Tweed. “Looks like the new taxes set them off. They ain’t going to see the riots, only hear about them.”
Thren’s jaw clenched tight. He sheathed his sword and grabbed Tweed by the shoulder.
“Answer me carefully,” he said. “Did you see anyone from the caravans come inside? Anyone at all?”
“I saw some before I leaped off the wall,” Tweed said, looking a little nervous. “Not many, a soldier here, a boy there. Only large group was some women surrounded by a few guards. I thought they was just some mercs taking their whores in to look for beds and drinks.”
“You did good, Tweed,” Thren said, releasing his shoulder. “Hurry back to the gate and watch for any
other large groups. Report to me immediately if you see any.”
Thren looked about, calling over members of the Spider Guild with his hand. He wished Senke were with him, and he felt foolish for leaving such a sharp-witted man behind to baby-sit his son while important matters were afoot. There was a chance the group of women and soldiers was nothing, but his gut told him otherwise. Once he had about five men beside him, he gave his orders, trusting them to relay the message throughout the guild.
“Only alive?” one asked when Thren was done.
“Death causes anger and sadness,” Thren told them. “Capture inspires horror and desperation. Cut a single strand of her hair, and I’ll scalp you. I want Madelyn Keenan as a hostage, not a corpse.”
CHAPTER
24
They’d been inside the city for less than a minute when they saw the first sign of riots.
“Look there,” said Susan as she pointed above the houses to their right. “Is that smoke?”
“Looks like someone better be grabbing some buckets,” said Nigel, an older mercenary missing half his teeth. He’d been put in charge of seeing Madelyn safely to her estate.
“What say you, Susie? Shouldn’t you get to running?” he asked, smiling a gapped smile.
“Let their houses burn, long as they aren’t ours,” Susan said with a huff.
“Never let a fire burn, for the next home that catches could be your own,” Madelyn said, feeling light-headed. The walk from their wagons to the city had been lengthy and steep. After so long riding in wagons and on horses, the exercise was unwelcome. The sweat on her fine clothing made it stick to her body, cold and uncomfortable. She’d almost taken a litter, but Laurie had insisted the added attention would be ill-advised with so many thieves and ruffians running loose in the city.
Still, her litter had curtains and walls, something she sorely missed amid her servingwomen and house guards. Holding a hand to her face, she looked at the smoke curling into the air.
“Several fires,” she said. “Either it spread, or they were started on purpose…”
Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks Page 26
