Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

In answer Torgar handed him the scroll. Laurie read it, swore, then threw it to the ground and stomped on it with his heel.
    “Where’s Madelyn?” he asked.
    “She never made it home,” Torgar explained. He summarized what the priest 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’s 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’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 safely. Give them what they want. What they ask for is so little. Either way they might kill her, but even a few hours’ delay 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 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 have loved to have Taras with him, but the risks were already too great. He would work alone, and he’d work both bloodily and fast.
    He swung by the rest of his mercenaries, putting another in charge and informing them of the Kensgold’s disbandment. Once that was done he took a horse from Laurie’s collection 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.
    He’d thought it’d be harder to locate a member of the Spider Guild, but it ended up rather insultingly easy. Torgar caught sight of a gray cloak while riding east through the city. The man was clearly in a hurry, so much so that he wasn’t taking any precautions to avoid being followed. Torgar laughed as he rode after him into a narrow alley. The Spider turned at the sound of hoofbeats, but far too late. Torgar leaped off, cracking him atop the head with his fists. The rogue crumpled like an unhooked straw man.
    Torgar dragged him farther out of view of the main road, then pushed him against a wall. He crouched down, pinched the man’s nose shut, and then slapped him a few times until he