Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

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 ahold of. Most of my messengers wind up dead, at least the ones offering him the position. I think he views 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 ago. Have you taken so many blows to the head that you can’t remember even that far?”
    Torgar kept his head shaved, and he rapped it with his knuckles and made a hollow knocking noise with his tongue.
    “My ma scooped my brains out when I was four. Left just enough to swing a sword, ride a horse, and bed a woman.”
    Laurie chuckled.
    “I think the third one occupies the most of your meager intelligence,” he said. “Come. Let us find out what the fuss is about before we have a thousand people trampling each other to get through.”
    Torgar led, and Laurie followed. They rode around the outer edge of the line, ignoring the few angry calls from lowborn merchants and farmers. When they reached the gate, the crowd swelled in a semicircle, making their progress difficult.
    “Look for a spare guard,” Torgar said. “I’ll see if I can pull him aside. They’re bound to shit their drawers when they see our caravans coming.”
    Torgar looked but saw none. Sighing, he dismounted and started pushing his way through. When a man cursed him and moved to strike, Torgar grabbed the hilt of his long sword and drew it enough to reveal naked steel.
    “I draw, it ain’t going back in without blood on it,” Torgar growled. The man, a haggard farmer with a cartload of pumpkins drawn by a donkey, paled and mumbled an apology. One of the guards, hearing the threat, pushed aside an angry woman and called out to them.
    “Draw no blades, or you can sleep outside the walls tonight,” the guard shouted. Torgar stood to his full height so that the guard’s eyes only came up to his neck.
    “Hope you brought friends,” Torgar said, but his grin was playful.
    “Enough, Torgar,” said Laurie, following in his wake. He glanced about nervously, disliking being at such close quarters with the unwashed rabble. “Are you in charge of the gates here?”
    “Just helping,” the guard said. “Listen, if you’re in a hurry, you’ll still have to wait just like everyone else.”
    “I’m not like anyone else, nor will I wait like anyone else,” Laurie said. He turned and pointed at the massive caravan of horses, wagons, and carts in the distance, billowing dust to the sky. “Those are mine.”
    “Damn, never can catch a break,” the guard said. “Which ones are yours?”
    “All of them.”
    The guard paled, and he seemed to look at Laurie with newly opened eyes. For a moment he chewed his lip, and then the connection hit him.
    “Lord Keenan?” he asked. “Oh shit on me, I’m sorry, milord. I’ve a half-dozen merchants all pretending to