A Dance of Cloaks - By Dalglish, David Page 0,150

total loss, not yet.

He returned to the mansion to wait. There was no point in searching for Aaron, not then. When things calmed, he’d scour the city, search under every rock and look into every hole if he must. But not yet.

“What in Karak’s name did she do?” Kadish asked when Thren returned.

“She hid things from me,” Thren said. “Now see to your men. The Kensgold ended not long ago. They should return within the hour.”

Kadish shrugged.

“Alright, then. Shame about that bitch, though. She was a cute one.”

Remembering how that cuteness had helped corrupt his son, Thren snarled and struck the wall with his fist.

“Or not…” Kadish said before going from Hawk to Hawk ensuring their readiness for the ambush.

Maynard Gemcroft knew something was afoot when Laurie disbanded the Kensgold early, but he wasn’t sure what. His wife’s absence was conspicuous, but that wasn’t something he could know for certain. Leon had no shortage of grumblings and complaints, calling Laurie every possible name for a bad host, plus a few more that he probably made up on the spot.

Then they saw the fire and knew the thief guilds had chosen that night to play. By the smoke, he guessed it to be Connington’s home. The fat man had stood outside the giant pavilion, swearing up a blue storm at the sight.

“They torched my home?” he asked after a minute to compose himself. “Those…those…imbeciles torched my home? I’ll gut them all. I’ll piss on their heads, rape their ears, feed their pricks to swine, and have them rape them too.”

“Go to your home, and go well-protected,” Maynard had told him. “The streets are not safe for us, no matter how many soldiers walk with us.”

With over six hundred armed men at his side, Maynard still felt insecure on his march home. Trailing after the six hundred was a tail of several hundred more, servants and dancers and singers wanting their pay or some beds to rest in. Maynard knew that many more wagons would come throughout the night, carrying whatever remained of his goods to sell, along with a handsome amount of gold. He’d left another two hundred to guard the wagons, but he wasn’t worried about theft. It was fire that worried him.

When they reached the mansion, Maynard felt his heart sink. The outer gate was open. All throughout the yard were massive holes from the trap spells he’d had a trio of wizards cast. No bodies remained, though he was certain from the wreckage that many must have died.

“What are your orders?” Maynard’s mercenary captain asked him.

“They must have looted while we were gone,” Maynard said. “The same probably happened to Connington. Yet why did they not burn it down?”

“A trap,” the mercenary said. “That is all that makes sense.”

Maynard glanced back at the rest of his men. He had the makings of a small army with him. What would they say if he fled to Keenan or the rolling hills, all in fear of a few rogues in his own house? His reputation had already suffered greatly from the war with the thief guilds. Whatever they had planned, he would not back down.

“Take four hundred of your men and scour my home,” Maynard ordered. “Leave the rest to protect me and my servants.”

“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.

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