“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. 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 arrows rained down. Fear lumped in his throat. Swords rang as men assaulted them from the back. Mailed hands grabbed his shoulders, and under cover of shield 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 shield, 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 the windows and houses, he knew their hope was slim. He pushed aside a soldier, determined to see how dire his fate 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 his 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.”
T hren led the initial assault, feeling like a hundred killings would only lessen his anger, not sate it. The soldiers, frantic to avoid the arrows, were unprepared for the fury of his assault. He knocked aside swords, danced between thrusts, and slashed out 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 out through the windows, slashing with their daggers and swords. Thren nimbly leapt 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, they 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 have a chance to become a warrior general and fulfill his potential.
Thren was pushing his way through the soldiers, making his inevitable approach toward Maynard, when he heard the trumpets call.
A lyssa 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 had been 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 waging before her very gates.
“Hurry,” she told her mercenaries. “Kill the cloaks! Save my father and I will reward you tenfold!”
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 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 voice 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 it should be obvious.
“Slay every last one of them that killed your Lord,” she said.
E verything was falling apart. Thren fought to the very limits of his skill. Men fell like wheat to 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. Fighting further would only sacrifice whatever good men he had left. The soldiers had grouped together, and their expert formations were far superior to 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.
They’d left ropes in the back of the mansion just in case they had to make a quick getaway. The last of the Hawks and Spiders turned and fled. In the red haze of his anger, Thren realized he had sent no one in to ignite the fires. The mansion would stand. The failure of it burned in his gut. He’d been so confident of victory he’d never prepared for defeat. So unlike him. So stupid.
The mercenaries gave chase, but they wore heavy armor and carried shields. They slaughtered a dozen that still remained at the ropes, but the rest scattered on the other side of the gate and into the night. Thren led the way, wishing for some way to gain the night over again.
T ake him,” Alyssa said once the guilds were gone and Zusa had returned to her side. Bodies lay everywhere, and the yard stank of battle. Two soldiers lifted Maynard’s into their arms. They must have known him well, Alyssa realized, for they showed true sadness at his passing. She shook her head, wishing for a moment of privacy so she might shed her tears. But now she was Lady Gemcroft, member of the Trifect. There was too much to do.
Her father in her escort’s arms, she approached the mansion feeling like the lost heir come home.
Home. No matter how sad the moment, the word still felt achingly comfortable in her heart.
Epilogue
Deep inside his safehouse, Thren talked with two men newly appointed as his advisors. None had the
