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 is 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 knew 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 safe. Give them what they want. What they ask for is so little. Either way they might kill her, but if they 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
With 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.