A Dance of Blades (13 page)

“It must have been tough,” said the first, looking around the small home.

“Forgive me, I’ve yet to introduce myself. My name’s Matthew Pensfield. You’ve met my wife, Evelyn. This here’s my oldest, Trevor. Little Mark’s over there, hiding in the corner. And these’re my two daughters, Anna and Julie.”

The girls smiled and tilted their heads in proper respect. The soldiers tipped their heads back, and each of them had a leer that sent fire up and down Matthew’s spine. He hesitated, trying to decide what to do about Tristan. He didn’t know what was the right course of action. The boy had been asleep when he last went outside. His wife took the decision away from him, and as much as it scared him, he trusted her.

“You must forgive us for not introducing you to Tristan. He’s sick with a fever in bed. Just had to amputate an arm, the poor dear.”

“That’s a shame,” said the dark-haired one. “My name’s Gert, and this here’s Ben. Like I said, we’re riding the road, maybe to Felwood, maybe all the way to Tyneham.”

“Only wanderers and thieves ride the road without knowing how far they wish to go,” Matthew said. “I hope you’re neither.”

Gert laughed.

“Nah. We’re looking for someone, actually. A lost boy, five years in age. Perhaps you’ve seen him?”

Matthew shook his head. He’d played cards only a few times when trading in the bigger towns. He’d never been good figuring the odds of things, but he’d always done all right because of one thing going for him: he had one of the best card faces of anyone he knew. Only Evelyn could read what was going on behind his eyes.

“I haven’t, and I doubt I would, either. A boy that young running around in the snow? He’d be lucky to last a single night. How long’s he been missing? I hope I cause no offense, but a coyote pack’s probably gotten him, or at least, what was left of him.”

“There’s the thing,” said Ben. “He might not be alone. Had another man with him, wore gray and carried two swords. He’s a kidnapper, and we’re trying to capture him before he can think of asking for ransom.”

“Kidnapped?” asked Evelyn. “From who?”

Gert sipped some of his broth. “That’s something I’d rather we keep to ourselves. Either you seen the boy and that bastard, or you haven’t. Don’t matter none where either’s come from.”

As they talked, Trevor slipped back into his room. When he came back, Matthew saw the bulge in his pocket that was a knife. Matthew walked to the door and put his weight against it. His shortsword leaned beside its hinges, sheathed. Whenever he needed it before, it’d always been at the door. So far if either of the two newcomers had seen it, they hadn’t said anything.

“Well, I ain’t seen a boy wandering around here, nor some man in gray. We’ve been shuttered inside for most of the past few days, the storm and all. If they went this way, they probably rode right on by.”

“Not sure they’re riding,” said Gert. “Think they’re walking, honestly. Not too many out right now, and we managed to find what might have been his tracks.”

“That so?”

“Led this way, actually,” said Ben. “You sure you ain’t seen nothing?”

Matthew paused, trying to think of a lie. Again his wife beat him to it, bless her heart.

“We turned them away,” she said. “They came wanting shelter, but they were bleeding, and he was armed. Looked like a thief, he did. We didn’t want any trouble, and we don’t want any now. He said he was on his way to Veldaren, if he’s to be trusted.”

The two men looked to one another, as if communicating silently.

“A hard woman that could refuse a wounded man asking for succor,” Ben said.

Matthew watched his wife give them an iron glare, one he’d been on the receiving end more times than he preferred.

“Life out here’s cold and cruel, gentlemen. We do what we can for our family. Maybe things are different where you come from, but here, that’s the way things are.”

“I understand,” Ben said. “We’re just getting paid to ask these questions. Your broth’s delicious, by the way. Feel it warming me all the way to my toes.”

Matthew started to relax, but only a little. The men seemed too confident, too sure of themselves. They were no strangers to those swords at their hips, either. The sooner they left, the better. When they finished, they stood and flung their cloaks over their shoulders.

“Our horses are probably itching to continue,” Gert said. “Or at least, get out of the wind.”

As they stepped toward the door, they stopped, and Gert turned toward the curtain where Evelyn had said Tristan slept.

“You know, I’ve been fighting and killing for a long while. If there’s anything I’ve seen before, it’s a chopped limb. Mind if I take a look? I can make sure you stitched it up right, well as cut it proper. There’s more art to keeping people alive than making ‘em dead, after all.”

Evelyn hesitated, and Matthew knew if she were unsure, then he was in over his head.

“If you wish,” he said, putting on his gloves. “I should get back outside. Only wanted to come visit with my guests, be polite. You two men have a good day.”

“Want me to come with?” asked Trevor.

“No,” Matthew said, harsher than he meant. “No, you ain’t much use outside. Stay with your ma.”

He got the idea, and his hand brushed the knife hidden in his pants. Matthew winced and hoped neither of the soldiers saw. He pulled the door open and stepped outside. When he shut it, he leaned his back against it, closed his eyes, and listened. Never one with an active imagination, he struggled to picture the most likely thing they’d do. They were searching for the boy, obviously. They’d step into the curtain, one inside to look, the other hanging back, watching them, waiting to see if anyone did anything stupid.

His hand closed around the pitchfork’s handle.

Something stupid like this.

Matthew kicked the door inward. It seemed like his entire vision narrowed down, just a thin window to see one of the soldiers staring back at him from the curtain, the one named Ben. His eyes widened for just a moment. His hand reached for his sword as if he were lagging in time. Matthew thrust the pitchfork for the soldier’s exposed throat. Ben’s sword couldn’t clear his scabbard in time, so instead he ducked and turned away from the thrust, a purely instinctual move. It only made matters worse. When two of the teeth pressed against the side of his face, Matthew shoved with every hard-worked muscle in his body. The tips were thick, but with such force behind them, they still punched through flesh and tore into bone.

Ben rolled his head downward, trying to pull free. When he did, blood spewed across the floor. He screamed. It might have been a word, a curse, but Matthew didn’t know, didn’t understand. Ben’s jaw hung off-kilter, his right cheek shredded and the bone connecting it shattered. The look in his eyes reminded Matthew of the one time he’d encountered a rabid coyote attacking his animals. His sword free, Ben charged, not waiting for Gert. Matthew took a step back, braced his legs, and shoved the pitchfork in the way. The teeth hit his chainmail, and amid the screams of his family he heard the sound of metal scraping against metal. They didn’t punch through the armor, but they still bruised his flesh and pushed inward strong enough to break more bones.

Matthew twisted the handle to the side, bringing Ben to his knees, still stuck on the pitchfork’s teeth. Dimly he heard his wife cry out, the words not registering any meaning, only her tone. Gert rushed through the curtain, his sword swinging. Abandoning the clumsy weapon, Matthew lunged for the door. He landed on his knees, grabbed his shortsword, and spun. Gert bore down on him, swinging with both hands. Their blades connected, and panic flooded him when saw a tiny chip break off at the contact. His sword was weaker, the metal cheaper. It wouldn’t be long before it broke.

“Leave him alone!” he heard Evelyn shout, finally piercing through the haze. Gritting his teeth, he groaned as Gert pressed down with all his weight. He spared only a moment’s glance to see Ben fling the pitchfork to the dirt and turn toward his wife. He had to help her, but he was pinned and badly positioned.

“Trevor!” he screamed. Where was his boy? Why wasn’t he helping? Now wasn’t the time for fear, damn it! He angled his sword to block another chop, realized it was a feint, and smacked aside the thrust aimed for his belly. “Don’t you be a coward, boy, treat ‘em like damn hogs!”

Evelyn hurried across the room, grabbing the poker from the fire. She held it clumsily, a pathetic weapon compared to the gleaming sword Ben wielded in his blood soaked hand. Then he couldn’t spare the glimpse, for Gert had dropped to one knee, hoping to lessen the distance between them so he might lock Matthew’s sword out of position. Matthew struggled against it, but slowly his sword wavered, then hit the floor beside him. Gert’s elbows pressed against his chest, his knee atop one of his legs.

“Don’t worry ’bout your wife,” Gert said, his beady eyes inches away. “I’ll take good care of her. Your daughters, too.”

It was the absolute worst thing Gert could have said.

Matthew let go of his sword, one hand grabbing Gert’s wrist, the other ramming his eyes and mouth with his fingers. The soldier howled and tried to pull away, but Matthew dug his fingers in deeper and held on, feeling softness give way, cartilage crunch in his grip. Gert tore his wrist free, aimed the blade, and stabbed. Matthew rolled, knocking his attack off balance. The sword struck the floor. With every bit of strength in his right arm, Matthew slammed Gert’s head against the wall. He heard a wet crack, like the sound of a breaking pumpkin.

The abrupt end was startling. He heard his children crying, but saw no motion. He stood, shaking the gore from his hand. Evelyn huddled beside the fire, the poker at her feet, Trevor in her arms. He still held his blood-soaked knife. Nearby lay Ben, bled out from the cuts on his face and the deep stab wound at the small of his back.

“Everyone all right?” he asked. Evelyn met his eyes, then nodded. “Thank Ashhur.”

He gave his wife a hug, making sure he didn’t stain her dress with his right hand. The rest of his children stayed sitting, and he could tell they were traumatized by the violence. He went to each of them, hugging them and whispering that all would be well. At last he grabbed the dead bodies and dragged them outside by their feet.

Once they were out of sight, he came back inside and plopped into a chair beside the fire. His upper body started shaking, and he closed his eyes to try and hold back a sudden bout of nausea.

“We’ll bury the armor until we can sell it in the spring,” he told Evelyn, talking in hopes of stopping the violence replaying over and over in his head. “Same with their swords. We’ll unbridle the horses and send them on their way, hopefully far, far away. As for…you know…we’ll give ‘em to the hogs.”

His wife made a soft cry. He shuddered but forced himself not to dwell on it. They’d do what they must, no different than ever before. Opening his eyes, he looked to the curtain, wondering if that blasted boy still slept, or if he were in there cowering in terror.

“Not worth the coin,” he said, just before leaning to one side and vomiting.

1

A
squad of twelve mercenaries escorted Alyssa’s litter through the city. Anyone foolish enough to linger in their way received a quick slap with the flat edge of a blade. They stuck to the main streets, where thief guild presence was weakest, the town guards too numerous to act rashly. The distance from her estate and Leon Connington’s new mansion was far enough to be a bother, but she felt it necessary to carry her message in person. She pulled her fur coat tighter about her and waited.

When they arrived, she stepped out and surveyed the place. She’d been there once, just before completion. After Leon’s old mansion had burned down during the Kensgold, he’d rebuilt with security in mind. An enormous fence of stone surrounded his estate, perfectly smooth so there’d be no handholds. There were no trees in the yard, either, nothing to hide behind. Four men stood at the gate, wearing ornate platemail and wielding halberds.

“Greetings, lady Gemcroft,” said one. “Please wait while we summon an escort. Make sure you stay on the path, for an errant step might prove deadly.”

Bertram wasn’t there, but if he had been, Alyssa could imagine the scowl he’d have given them. For her part, she was willing to understand Leon’s need for safety. Perhaps he took it too far, but it had been his belongings destroyed in the fire, not hers. Ten armed men came from the front door, approaching in neat formation along the cobblestone path leading across the yard. When they reached the front, they unlocked the gate from the inside and ushered Alyssa through.

“Your men must stay outside,” said their leader when her mercenaries started to follow. Alyssa paused, gave him a glare to show she didn’t appreciate being told just before entering, but then accepted. If she felt safe anywhere other than her mansion, it was there. An assassin would have to be a lunatic to risk the guards, the wall, and the various traps hidden underneath the grass. The heavy boots clacked across the stone as they entered.

Leon waited just inside the door, a large smile on his face. Everything about Leon was big: his face, his eyes, his home, and most of all, his belly. Hugging him was like hugging a giant sweetroll wrapped in silk. Only his mustache was thin.

“I’m so sorry about your loss,” he said as he let go. “I’m sure he’d have been a fine man, very fine. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”

“Thank you,” she said, doing her best to smile and forget how he’d always glared at Nathaniel , as if he were a cockroach, whenever he was in his presence. “Bertram is busy finishing the arrangements for the funeral, so I thought it best I got out of his way.”

“Of course, of course. It’d do you well to get out of that stuffy old mansion, anyway. Always told your father he should fire whoever was in charge of his maidservants. Every breath in there was like licking the bottom of a dustbin.”

Another smile. Her last head maid had died coughing and gagging on blindweed. She had a feeling Leon would have approved such a fate for letting his sensitive allergies be affected.

“Have you any news from Laurie?” she asked as they walked toward—of course—the dining area.

“Ever since the Kensgold he’s refused to come to Veldaren,” Leon said as he took her hand. “I think your father’s death spooked him more than a little. Such cowardice is inappropriate for a member of the Trifect, but what can you do?”

“Surely someone who lives with an army of mercenaries behind great stone walls has no reason to question another’s bravery,” she said, unable to hold back.

Far from upset, Leon only gave her a wink.

“It’s one thing to be brave, and another to be stupid. I won’t die to a garrote in my sleep. Neither would Laurie, if he took proper precautions.”

“Maybe staying in Angelport is his precaution.”

Leon laughed. “True, maybe it is. Still, he is going a little overboard, eh?”

They sat down at one end of a luxurious table, easily able to seat more than eighty people. Alyssa watched the servants parade a variety of treats and pastries before her. She didn’t feel like eating, but it seemed Leon would keep them coming forever until she picked. Deciding on a small flour cake topped with strawberries, she scooped a tiny bit with her spoon and ate. The flavor awakened a dormant part of her, a tiny voice reminding her of her own needs and not of others. Her stomach grumbled, and she wondered how long it’d been since she ate. She was horribly tired, and in the fog that was her mind, she couldn’t remember.

The rest of the cake vanished as she wolfed it down. Leon smiled at her and tore into his own assortment of desserts, as if he’d known all along she’d been neglecting her appetite.

“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” he said, sipping some wine from a silver goblet, but only after a servant tasted it first. “Just say the word, and I’ll let your men at the gate know they can go home.”

“Thank you, but I’d still prefer my own bed. Besides, the funeral is tomorrow, and I should make sure Bertram has everything in order.”

“Where will it be held?”

She sipped her wine. The alcohol tasted strong, and she pushed it away, fearing how much it might affect her.

“My mansion. We’ll bury Nathaniel in the garden out back.”

“Beautiful.”

She debated, then called over a servant and asked for another pastry. The woman bowed, and moments later, returned with a cake topped with blueberries. Alyssa wondered how much Leon spent keeping such stock deep in winter. Did he have some secret to keeping it from spoiling? She made a note to ask him, once she had more free time on her hands.

Halfway through her second cake, she decided she could delay no longer.

“There is another reason I’m here,” she said, pushing her food away. “I will soon be putting something in motion, and I’ve come to ask for your cooperation.”

“Oh?” he said, that one word pregnant with meaning. The way he lifted his eyebrow, the way he let his lips linger in an ‘O’ shape…he knew he was about to be asked something he wouldn’t like. He could read her too well. She had to improve. She felt like an imposter walking in her father’s shoes. No wonder Bertram always harped on at her to host more, visit more. Her social skills were lacking their proper finesse.

“We’ve crossed ten years of this nonsense with the thief guilds,” she said. “I once thought my father inept, but I’ve come to see how difficult it is finding these rats and bringing them to their proper fate. Worse, I thought we could make peace, at least, to reach a level of understanding. There will always be those who steal from us, but neither of us should fear death in the night. They live off our trade, after all, and should that trade end, they will be like leeches sucking a corpse without blood. But this won’t happen. Though it may sting, we must pull them off. My son died because we have gone soft, tried to pretend they would finally calm down and leave us be. No longer.”

“Does this have something to do with what Potts has been telling me about you hiring every mercenary able to lift a sword?”

“It does.”

Leon sighed and, shockingly enough, pushed his own plate away.

“Listen, you’re just a silly girl trapped in your position, so I’ll do my best to save you from this embarrassment. You can’t find them all, Alyssa. You’ll never win. You’d sooner drive out every flea from the southern district than bring the guilds down. Half those you’re paying will just sit in taverns and claim they killed a rogue or three before dinner. How will you know? How will you keep track? Every damn beggar you passed by on your way here might have been a Serpent, or a Spider, or a member of the Ash. Can you know for sure? Can you prove it? You’re throwing your money in the damn gutter. I’ve killed more thieves trying to sneak onto my grounds than I have actually going out and looking for them.”

She felt her neck reddening, but she pressed on anyway, his arrogance be damned.

“They want us to think that,” she said. “But it isn’t true. They act as if they’ll endure, but their organizations can crumble, their loyalties break. They threaten us with poison and razor wire, and they’ve convinced the city that
they
are the ones to fear,
they
are the vicious ones. It is our fault for believing the lie.”

A guarded look crossed Leon’s face as if realizing how far off his first read of her had been.

“What exactly are you planning?” he asked.

“We break into every building. We search every crack of every wall. I have many men skilled in interrogation, and the men we’ve hired are even better at it. We’ll find where they run, every time. These men have no pride, no honor. They’ll point us the right way until they run out of places to hide. Every guildleader will fall, as will their replacements. If they wear a cloak, they die, regardless of the color.”

Leon looked ready to explode.

“Are you out of your mind? We haven’t had that level of conflict since this started, not even during the Bloody Kensgold. You’ll get every single one of us killed, and all because of some…of some…
bastard?
”

She stood and flung what was left of her cake into his face.

“Father was right,” she said as he wiped icing from his cheek. “Your cowardice is as big as your gut. I will not fear them anymore, and neither should you. Come the end of Nathaniel’s funeral, I will unleash my wrath upon the city that has sheltered the murderer of my son. Now if you would kindly request a servant to escort me to the door.”

He chewed on his lip a moment, his fat face blotched red. At last he clapped and did as she requested.

“Wait,” he said, just before she exited the room. “Just how many men have you hired?”

“Close to two thousand,” she said, and she felt a sense of victory at the way his jaw dropped. “As I said, Leon, I will destroy them. I will destroy
everyone
who dares try to stop me. Even the king. Even the Trifect itself.”

He muttered something, but she did not hear it. Still furious, she turned and followed the servant lady out, more than ever wanting to be home to plan with her mercenary captains. Hiding was no longer for her. It was time to act. Come the funeral, it was a lesson the whole city would learn.

*

A
rthur looked about the room with total disgust. He’d worked with mercenaries before, but to invite them into his home? So disgraceful. They gathered in the dining hall, over twelve of them. They were the captains, the ones with at least a hundred men at their disposal. They chatted with one another, killing time until Alyssa returned. They were a motley bunch, wearing various combinations of armor, ribbons, and tunics to distinguish themselves. Arthur dared not imagine how much coin was flowing into their pockets for simply picking their teeth and eating Alyssa’s food.

“Not sure how much fun this’ll be,” said one, a bald man with a shaved head. “Proper fight is on a battlefield, not crashing into people’s homes and searching for rats.”

“Killing’s killing,” said another. “Since when you started getting picky?”

“I’ll take the money, but don’t mean I can’t want a nice open place to swing my ax.”

“Probably need that space, too, otherwise you’ll cut your own fucking head off.”

“Fuck you, Jamie. You probably can’t wait to start. Your men will feel right at home wading through open sewers.”

Arthur turned to leave and found Bertram standing behind him at the door, looking just as miserable.

“The stains they leave on the carpet…” he said, shaking his head.

“A price of doing business, I suppose.”

The old man nodded as he watched the captains bicker. Arthur joined his side, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Have you talked with Alyssa lately?” Bertram asked after a time.

“Just this morning. Her mood has soured the closer the funeral approaches. I’d hoped she might grieve like any other regular girl, but instead she’s out for blood.”

“She wants that boy’s killer found.”

“I’m working on it, but he’s proven an elusive little fuck.”

Bertram chuckled. “It seems that way, yes. There are a thousand thieves in this city. Finding one over another must be difficult. Still, you might look at it a different way. Knowing one thief from another is just as difficult.”