A Dance of Cloaks - By Dalglish, David Page 0,94

warrant, but if you need help with girls, love, or faith, rely on me. You’re a good kid, Aaron. I’m not proud of all I do, but it’s better than what I did before joining the Spider Guild. One day, maybe I’ll get out.”

Aaron stopped scrubbing, seeing that whatever blood was in the carpet wasn’t going anywhere through his meager efforts. He tossed the wet, crimson blanket on top of Robert’s body, glad that his head was covered. He didn’t want to see those sad eyes staring up at him.

“Everyone needs friends,” Senke said. “Even people like you and me. Thren seems determined as the abyss to keep you from having any. But we’ll be training together, hopefully for the next several years. When we do, we can talk more, alright?”

Aaron nodded.

“What do we do about the body?” he asked.

“Leave it here,” Senke said. “We’ve done enough. I’ll get a few of our lower ranks to smuggle it out one of the tunnels. I think it’s time you and me got something stiff to drink.”

Aaron smiled.

“Senke…thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Senke winked.

“Keep it to yourself, Haern.”

18

For over a mile stretched the wagon train. Some were covered with dried hides and white tarps, while others were open and piled high with pumpkins, squash, and winter-corn. In one wagon was a whole troop of dancers, singing and laughing at the sight of Veldaren’s walls. Another two were full of hard men, their faces and hands scarred from the sellsword life. All around the wagons walked servants, cooks, high-born maidens and low-born camp followers. At the far end trailed a small herd of cattle and sheep, ready for the butcher. When the Kensgold started, they would have fresh blood and meat for their festival.

Ahead of it all rode Laurie Keenan.

“We’re bringing twice what we brought last year,” said Torgar riding next to him. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I know things more often than others,” Laurie said, his voice oddly soft and gentle. “Like how I know you should watch your tongue, Torgar, lest I cut it out and feed it to the ravens.”

The sellsword captain laughed at his employer. Laurie was a smart man, but he was often full of idle threats and ambiguous comments. His eyes were dark, his complexion more so. Riding next to the sellsword, he seemed skinny and weak. He wore his hair long and braided, in the popular fashion of Angelport where the caravan had originated, following the highway out from the Ramere and north through the Kingstrip.

“I don’t understand why we bother to return,” Torgar said, ignoring the warning to watch his tongue. “This must cost you a fortune every time we make this trip. Why not make Leon and Maynard come to you? It’s far safer in Angelport than Veldaren, anyway.”

“Because if all three of us left Veldaren, there might not be a city to return to,” Laurie said. His face was clean-shaven except for a thin strip of hair growing from the center of his chin that hung halfway down his neck. Laurie twirled it with his fingers as his caravan wound around a small hill on its way to the city’s western entrance. The southern gate was closer and would have saved them a good twenty minutes of traveling, but the king had forbidden merchants from entering there. That, and being among the poor was not one of Laurie’s favorite pastimes; the south was just crawling with the empty-pocketed cretins.

“A shame you can’t just hire that Thren guy to work for you,” Torgar said after glancing back at the caravan to make sure nothing looked amiss. “Imagine what a man like that might have done as your right hand man.”

“Trust me, I’ve tried,” said Laurie, sounding tired of the topic. “He’s a hard man to get a hold of. Most of my messengers wound up dead, at least the one’s offering him the position. I think he took it as an insult.”

Torgar laughed heartily.

“Only a fool would turn down working for you, milord. Food’s good, the women are fine and clean, and there’s always a steady stream of idiots to kill with a sword.”

“Speaking of idiots with swords,” Laurie said, pointing to the western entrance. The gates were open wide, but there was a lengthy line of peasants, merchants, and mercenaries winding out from it. A thick grouping of guards was the cause.

“Did they check our things last time we came?” asked Torgar.

“That was only two years