He almost left her for the calm, quiet death from the smoke. Almost.
“We’re even,” he whispered as he pushed her body out the window. He braced his feet against the wall and held on with all his might. The cloth pulled tight, and he let a bit of it unspool before clamping down again. He nearly went flying out with her, he so badly underestimated the pull. About halfway down she stopped, and he hoped that was close enough. He let go of the cloth, then counted to three before looking.
A couple of onlookers were gathered around her. It appeared someone had caught her. He couldn’t hear their voices from so far, but he saw them pointing to her face, and one man beside her shook his head, his look a mixture of anger and pity. Haern sighed. The wounds, blood on her wrists, and tattered clothing told them a story they expected from such a wreckage. Now for his own safety. Haern kicked out a last few shards of glass, stood on the edge of the window, and pulled himself up to the roof.
From there he leaped to a nearby tree, slid down, and vanished amid the mob.
CHAPTER
35
The proceedings bored Torgar tremendously. The sheer amount of revelry around him only worsened his torture. A thousand gallons of alcohol flowed throughout the crowd, the sound of cheers, sex, and fighting roaring for miles, yet he was separated from it all.
“Sit up,” Taras whispered next to him. “You’re slouching.”
Torgar straightened, cracking his back as he did. Sometimes he wondered if boredom was more dangerous than actual combat. Certainly seemed as deadly an opponent. He sat at the incredibly long table set up in the pavilion atop the larger of the two hills chosen for the Kensgold. Members of all three families of the Trifect sat in the hundreds of chairs. He saw ugly cousins, distant relatives, soldiers, and merchants of all kinds. They bickered among themselves, hoping to achieve a better appearance through the sparring of their tongues or the collaborative wealth of their name.
Nonsense, all of it. Torgar knew he could kill every one of them to a man, yet they peered down at him as if their noses were a mile long and he were hard to see. At the head of the table Laurie, Leon, and Maynard talked, sometimes openly, sometimes quietly and hunched together. Taras sat beside his father, listening when it seemed appropriate. Torgar gave the boy credit: he seemed to understand plenty, and he even chipped in once or twice without earning scorn from any of the three. Leon and Maynard seemed to be enjoying themselves, but Laurie was clearly upset. The empty seat beside Torgar was the reason.
Stupid bitch, thought Torgar. Just had to go running off for her precious walls. Nursing babes are tougher to scare than that broad.
He might have said it out loud, but he’d been denied the amount of alcohol he’d wanted. Still, his master wanted him at Taras’s side, to serve as protection to both the boy and the father. Judging by the haughty grumbling about him, the only danger was from a flying plate of warm food.
“What are they discussing now?” Torgar asked Taras. He tried to whisper, but his deep voice wasn’t suited for it.
“They’ve finished their trade contracts,” Taras said, glancing back at the mercenary. “They’re discussing the thief guilds now.”
“Not much to discuss,” Torgar said. “We double up some patrols, hire a few more mercenaries, but it’s like swatting at flies buzzing around your horse’s ass.”
He caught a finely dressed woman in her thirties glaring at him from the opposite side of the table, so he shot her a wink.
“Forgive the color,” he said. “My brain is mud and my tongue is blue. I’m only here for my lord.”
She sniffed at him and turned toward a lady to her left. They began whispering, each clearly unhappy with his presence. Torgar sighed. By the gods, did he hate being there.
“They’re thinking of going to the king,” Taras said.
“Good luck with that,” Torgar said. “Got a better chance…”
He choked down another colorful comment as a priest of Ashhur walked into the pavilion.
“Who in blazes let him in here?” Torgar asked. Taras, too busy listening to his father discuss bribes, didn’t notice. The mercenary captain stood and moved to intercept the priest. The man of the cloth seemed lost amid the sea of people.
“Welcome to our gathering,” Torgar said as he grabbed the priest’s hand and shook it. The priest, a younger man with neatly trimmed hair and a shadow of growth on his chin, looked thoroughly relieved.
“I must admit, I’m a bit lost,” the priest said. “I need to speak with Laurie Keenan, though I don’t know his face from the thousand others.”
“I’m head of mercenaries for Lord Keenan,” Torgar said. “He’s busy plotting and planning, so just tell me what you’d tell him and I’ll see if it’s worth interrupting him for.”
The priest didn’t ask for proof of his rank or employer or anything. Torgar felt relieved that he’d gotten ahold of the priest first before he blabbed his message to the closest curious Gemcroft relative or Connington sellsword.
“It involves his wife, Madelyn,” the priest began.
“Hrm, hold up,” Torgar said, pushing his large forefinger into the priest’s face. “Not another word. Let’s go somewhere with less ears, eh?”
The priest nodded. Torgar led them out one of the side flaps of the tent, nodding at the mercenaries stationed there as they passed.
“What’s your name?” Torgar asked as they walked.
“Derek,” said the priest. “You may call me Derek.”
“Then Derek you are!” said Torgar, laughing in an attempt to put the man at ease. Leaving the tent didn’t seem to help calm him as much as Torgar had hoped. Glancing around at the sheer decadence, Torgar realized why. He wondered how many pillars of Ashhur’s faith were being broken even as they spoke.
“Ignore the show,” Torgar said, grabbing the priest’s shoulders. “Now what is this message about?”
“We found Mrs. Keenan under attack on her way to her estate,” Derek began. “We rescued her before she could suffer any real harm. We hoped she’d stay the night in safety at our temple. Many of her guards did. Yet come the morning, it appeared she had run off.”
Torgar felt anger bubbling in his chest. While he had been escorting Taras with invitations to the Kensgold, another of his charges had been assaulted in the streets. Since he’d received no word otherwise, he’d assumed Madelyn had made it home safe. But had she actually?
“Why did you take so long to bring us word?” Torgar asked.
“We sent a priest to inform your lord of her staying at our temple.” Derek glanced about, his face twitching nervously. “The message never made it to your camp. We recently found out he was murdered. Calan, our high priest, sent members of our order to your estate to see if she were there. She’s not. Did she not come here?”
Torgar’s look was answer enough.
“Then you must tell your master,” Derek insisted. “His wife is missing, and we fear one of the thief guilds were the ones to take her.”
“If they did, she may not be alive,” Torgar said, sighing. “We’ve received no demands.”
“Actually,” Derek said, reaching out a trembling hand, “I think you have.”
Within his shaking fingers was a scroll sealed with wax. The wax itself was smooth, showing no insignia. Torgar took it, raising an eyebrow as he did.
“A man in a gray cloak stopped me on the way here,” Derek said. “He gave me the scroll and told me to deliver it to whomever I gave my message to. He swore I’d die if I opened it, or even tarried.”
He stepped back a little, as if the note might erupt and kill them all. Torgar broke the seal and unrolled it. The message was short and took him little time to read despite his terrible skill at it.
Laurie Keenan,
End the Kensgold. Leave Veldaren tonight. If not, Madelyn dies. Then Taras. Then you.
A Spider.
Torgar rolled up the note and held it so tight the paper crumpled and the wax cracked and fell to the ground in
tiny pieces.
“Listen to me, Derek,” Torgar said. “Stay here at the Kensgold. They’ll kill you on your way back, do you understand?”
“I’m not afraid to die,” Derek said, but he certainly looked fearful.
“Scared or not, there’s no point in walking back into their trap,” the mercenary captain insisted. “But go off and die if you want. I’ve got more important things to do.”
He hurried back into the pavilion, honestly not caring whether or not the priest remained. Laurie was laughing loudly when he arrived, either not noticing or not caring about Torgar’s absence.
“Milord,” Torgar said, kneeling down beside Laurie’s ear. “We need to talk.”
“Just a moment,” Laurie said, patting the mercenary on the shoulder. “Leon here was just telling a wonderful story about…”
“Now,” Torgar insisted. The mood soured immediately. Leon gave him a glare that said in no uncertain terms that he’d be joining Will as game for the gentle touchers if he were Leon’s mercenary. Laurie looked at Torgar for a moment, seeing the urgency in his eyes, and then turned to the others.
“A moment, if you will,” he said, standing. Taras followed unasked.
“What is so damn important that I must appear subservient to my own mercenary?” Laurie asked once they were outside the tent. In answer Torgar handed him the scroll. Laurie read it, swore, then threw it to the ground and stomped on it with his heel.
“Where’s Madelyn?” he asked.
“She never made it home,” Torgar explained. He summarized what the priest of Ashhur had told him. When finished, he stepped back and crossed his arms, wondering what his master would do.
“We don’t know if she’s dead or alive,” Laurie said, his face red with anger. “And even if I do what they say, there’s no guarantee they’ll let her live.”
“And the threat on your life, and your son’s?”
Laurie glanced at Taras, who had remained quiet.
“I have received a hundred of these every year for the past five,” Laurie said. “Why should I treat this one any different?”
Torgar shrugged his shoulders.
“How badly do you want her back?” he asked.
“That’s not the point,” Laurie said.
“That is the point. It’s the only damn point. You want to remain powerful in the eyes of the Trifect, then stay. You want to keep your own ego intact, then stay. But if you want her back, then say the word. Pack up all our servants, our food, and our ale, and we go. What will it matter? We’ve had our feast. You’ve made your plans.”
Laurie looked furious enough to kill. His hand moved to the jeweled dagger hanging from his belt. Torgar refused to move. He’d spoken out of line, but there was one last thing he had to say.
“Give me time,” he insisted. “I can find her on my own. I’ll bleed these cowards, find where she is, and bring her back safely. Give them what they want. What they ask for is so little. Either way they might kill her, but even a few hours’ delay may decide whether I find a prisoner or a corpse.”
Laurie drew the dagger. He pointed its blade at Torgar’s throat. The hand shook.
“He’s right,” Taras said. “Either way they’ll kill her. This gives us a chance.”
The dagger lowered.
“Kneel,” Laurie said. Torgar did as told. He didn’t even wince when his master grabbed his neck and cut a thin line of blood across his forehead.
“Swear upon your blood,” Laurie said, his voice soft and shaking with intensity.
Torgar put his hands to his forehead, feeling the warmth flowing across his palms. After a count of ten, he pulled them back and lifted his hands to the night sky.
“I swear upon my lifeblood that I will bring her back.”
Laurie wiped the dagger clean with a cloth and then sheathed it.
“Almost,” he said. “But not quite. You’ll bring her back alive, Torgar. If not, I call your honor false. I call your wisdom foolishness, and my retreat a great jape against my name. If you find her dead, then fall upon your sword, because that death will be far better than the one I give you.”
He stormed back into the pavilion, shouting orders. Cries of disappointment followed. The Kensgold was over.
“Let me come with you,” Taras said once his father was gone.
“Stay here,” Torgar said. “I have enough on my shoulders. I won’t have you dying on me while I find your mother.”
“I can fight,” Taras insisted.
“Follow me outside the camp and I’ll kill you myself,” Torgar threatened. That seemed to jolt the boy a little. Reluctantly he turned and joined his father in the tent. Torgar shook his head. In truth, he’d have loved to have Taras with him, but the risks were already too great. He would work alone, and he’d work both bloodily and fast.
He swung by the rest of his mercenaries, putting another in charge and informing them of the Kensgold’s disbandment. Once that was done he took a horse from Laurie’s collection and rode like a demon to the walls of Veldaren. On his way there he rode past a body lying in the grass, its white robes stained crimson with blood.
He’d thought it’d be harder to locate a member of the Spider Guild, but it ended up rather insultingly easy. Torgar caught sight of a gray cloak while riding east through the city. The man was clearly in a hurry, so much so that he wasn’t taking any precautions to avoid being followed. Torgar laughed as he rode after him into a narrow alley. The Spider turned at the sound of hoofbeats, but far too late. Torgar leaped off, cracking him atop the head with his fists. The rogue crumpled like an unhooked straw man.
Torgar dragged him farther out of view of the main road, then pushed him against a wall. He crouched down, pinched the man’s nose shut, and then slapped him a few times until he lurched awake.
“Hush now,” Torgar said, putting a hand over the man’s mouth and then using it to shove him hard against the wall. “I don’t want to start cutting pieces off you already.”
The Spider paled a little and nodded. Torgar chuckled.
“Good,” he said, drawing his sword and resting it across his knees. “You just remember I got this, all right, and things will go well for everyone involved.”
“What do you want from me?” the man asked as Torgar removed his hand.
“Your name, first off,” Torgar said.
“Tobias.”
“Well, Tobias,” Torgar said, “now that I know your name, how about I get to know a few more things? For starters, where were you rushing off to in such a big hurry?”
Tobias shut his mouth and purposefully looked away. Torgar rolled his eyes. He struck him with his fist, grabbed his arm, and then buried his sword through the palm. As Tobias screamed, Torgar shoved his hand over his mouth and slammed his head back.
“Listen closely, dumbass,” Torgar said. “You ever heard of the Blood Riders? They’re stationed out of Ker, carry quite a reputation in the west?”
Tobias’s eyes widened at the mention of their name.
“Oh good, you have heard of them,” Torgar said. “You know what their favorite method of torture is? They take four of their horses, one for each arm and leg, and then tie a rope securing you from saddle to wrist or ankle. After that, it’s off to the races. You should see how much blood can splatter into the air when those ropes pull tight.”
Torgar shoved his face into Tobias’s and then grinned.
“I used to be a Blood Rider, you goathumper. See my horse over there? I may have only one, but you’d be surprised what I can do with a little bit of rope.”
Cold sweat covered Tobias’s body. Torgar twisted his sword around a little, shifting bone, and then pulled it out. That done, he removed his hand and asked his question again. This time he got an answer.
“Soldiers attacked us at Leon’s place,” Tobias said. “I was outside the complex when they came. I hoped to find Thren and warn him.”
Torgar glanced east, where a giant plume of smoke stretched to the night sky.
“I think he might already know,” Torgar said. “Let’s try for something that I wouldn’t find out on my own in the next five minutes. Your guildmaster has someone special, very special. Do you know who I’m talking about?”
Tobias’s look showed he clearly did.
“Don’t ask,” the Spider said. “Please, don’t ask. Thren will kill me if I tell.”
“I’ll kill you twice as bad,” Torgar growled.
Tobias actually laughed.
“You think you’re more frightening than Thren?” he asked. “Go ahead. Use your damn horse. I won’t tell.”
Torgar sighed. He’d thought for a moment he’d avoided lengthy torture. Oh well. At least it was something he was good at.
All it took was ten minutes. He left Tobias holding his intestines in his hands.
“You’re right, Thren may kill you,” Torgar said as he mounted his horse. “But you really should have saved us both the trouble.”
He rode back to the main street and then hurried east, the clomp of his horse’s feet on the dirt a soothing pattern. The directions were simple, the safe house plain and poorly guarded. From what Tobias had told him, Thren didn’t have any men to spare on his glorious night. Torgar snorted. Well, he’d play his part in tarnishing that old bastard’s glory. So far the smoke seemed focused on the Conningtons’ place. Hopefully his own master’s mansion had survived intact.
The house appeared the same as any other, with a small door in the front center, no windows, and a slanted roof of wood and clay. Torgar rode a few more houses down to maintain surprise, dismounted, and then tied his horse’s reins to the handle of a door. The mercenary captain drew his sword, kissed the blade, and ran. He slammed into the safe house door at full speed, throwing his shoulder into it. The wood cracked and splintered.
“Shit!” Torgar heard a man shout from within. Knowing he had little time, he flung his weight against the door again. It burst open, revealing two men of the Spider Guild standing with their daggers drawn. Madelyn lay slumped in the corner, unmoving. Torgar desperately hoped she wasn’t dead. He had no intention of falling on his sword, but by the gods, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his days fleeing from Laurie Keenan either.
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