Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

more that he probably made up on the spot.
    Then they saw the smoke and knew the thief guilds had chosen that night to play. From its direction, he guessed the fire to be at Leon’s home. The fat man 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 told him. “The streets are not safe for us, no matter how many soldiers walk with us.”
    With 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 Leon. Yet why did they not burn it down like his?”
    “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, 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 of the mansion. 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 dozens of arrows rained down. Fear lumped in his throat. Swords rang as men assaulted them from the back. Mailed hands grabbed his shoulders, and under the cover of shields 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. He smelled sweat and blood. The air whistled with arrows, followed by the wooden thumps as they hit shields, or screams when they hit something softer.
    Stupid
, thought Maynard.
Even knowing, I walked right into their trap.
    With attackers on both sides, and archers firing from so many windows, he knew their hope was slim. He pushed aside a soldier, determined to see how dire his situation truly was. As if he had taunted the gods, an arrow sailed through the gap he’d made and slammed into his chest. He collapsed to his knees, his hands clutching the shaft as warm blood flowed across his hands. Around him his mercenaries swore and crowded closer together.
    “So stupid,” he chuckled. “Oh, Alyssa, if you could only see your father now.”
    Thren led the initial assault from inside the mansion, feeling like a hundred killings would not quench his bloodlust. He and his men crashed into the first of Maynard’s men to reach the door, keeping them bottled up and unable to use their superior numbers to their advantage. The