delay for even a few hours, that 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 will 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 love to have Taras with him, but the risks were already too great. He would work alone, and he’d work both bloody and fast.
He swung by the rest of his mercenaries, appointing another in charge and informing them of the Kensgold’s disbandment. Once that was done, he took a horse from their stable 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.
28
W ith the first shattering of glass, Haern flung open the door to see the cause. Armored soldiers stood before the windows, swinging enormous mauls that easily bashed through the glass and layered the carpet with shards. Soldiers flowed in through the unguarded windows. The boy was torn between relief and worry. Relief, because the king’s involvement would certainly prevent his father’s plans from going as they should. Worry, because they’d kill him just as easy as any other member of the thief guilds.
Well, not as easy, he thought with a wry smile. His daggers in hand, he turned right and bolted deeper into the mansion. If there was any hope of escape, he’d try to find it in the back sections. If he was lucky, he might escape through an unwatched window like he had fleeing Robert Haern’s home.
Haern was too fast for the initial wave in the hallway to catch him, but as he burst through the door at the end he found himself in the middle of an armory. Three soldiers approached, their shields leading. Haern rolled to one side, lashing underneath the shield at the closest soldier’s ankle. His dagger struck armor and clinked off, doing no damage. When his roll ended, he kicked hard, leaping into the very center of the three. They turned on him, but their shields were large and the room small. Haern twirled like a dancer, his daggers punching through creases in armor. He jumped, kicked off a shield, and slammed into the chest of another. As they rolled to the ground Haern’s dagger cut into the man’s neck once, twice, three times. Blood 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 corridor between.
A man dressed in the garb of the Serpent Guild nearly collided with him. His curved daggers dripped blood.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man had time to ask before Haern lunged. The Serpent was far more skilled than Haern expected. One curved blade parried his attack, the other slipping downward so that Haern would impale himself from his lunge. Twisting his body, Haern angled his knee so that when they struck, he could rebound off and away before getting harmed. When he landed beside the armory door, he had no doubt whom he fought.
“You’re Norris,” he said.
The guildmaster of the Serpents spat.
“You must be Thren’s boy. I’d heard you were getting soft. Did he send you after me, or is this your own stupid ploy?”
“Mine,” Haern said, slowly leaning forward so his cloak would hide his daggers. He swayed side to side, as if in mockery of a dancing viper. Norris saw this and smirked.
“Think you can cloak dance, boy?” He started swaying as well, his weapons well hidden. “Come try me.”
Norris swirled, his cloaks whipping out in chaotic fashion. Haern watched, fascinated. The guildmaster spun faster, faster, his cloak a blur, his hands hidden shadows of death. Waiting. Haern felt like prey mesmerized by the dance of the cobra. Deadly or not, he had to act. He stepped forward, then immediately pulled back, a curved dagger slicing just above his head.
Time was not on either of their sides, and both knew it. Haern stepped back, crouched low, and then lunged left. He hit the wall and then vaulted into the air, his legs flipping high over his head. His daggers thrust downward at the whirl of cloaks, but Norris was not fooled. He batted both aside, pulled out of his dance, and thrust where Haern landed.
Except he didn’t land. The corridor was thin enough that Haern’s feet pressed flat on the opposite side. The rest of his momentum pushed his knees down, and then he kicked. His shoulder rammed Norris in the stomach. One dagger stabbed his chest. The other tore into his groin. Norris collapsed, blood pouring out on his green trousers.
“Always wondered if I could take Thren,” he said, his voice labored and in pain. “Can’t even kill his damn kid.”
Haern stepped close, kicked a dagger out of Norris’s hand, and then looped around to do the same to the other.
“My knife or the guards?” he asked.
“A thief to a thief,” Norris said, coughing blood.
Haern saluted, then flipped the dagger in his hand and stabbed. Senke entered as he was cleaning off the blade on his cloak.
“There you are!” he shouted. “Seems like the whole damn army is here!” He stopped when he saw the body and realized who it was.
“You killed Norris?” he asked. “Damn. Starting to think you’ve been holding out on me during our spars.”
“How do we get out of here?” asked Haern.
“Follow me,” Senke said. “Going won’t be easy. The mansion has a large attic, and from there we can get to the roof.”
He smacked Haern on the shoulder.
“No matter what, I’m proud of you,” he said.
The two hurried to the end of the corridor and kicked open the door. They were within another dining hall, though smaller and most likely intended for mercenaries and servants. On the far end, smoke billowed into the room from underneath the crack of the door. Senke saw this and swore up a storm.
“They’ve set off the fires?” he wondered aloud. “Some of the Serpents must have panicked! We need out, now!”
He pressed his hood over his mouth, then winked at Haern when he saw the boy’s mask.
“Almost like you came prepared,” he said, chuckling.
