Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

loggers.”
    “He go too far into the forest again?” the king asked with a chuckle. Gerand was not amused.
    “He’s asking for permission to declare war.”
    King Vaelor scoffed.
    “You’re telling me he’s to be the rough part of my day? Bring in the old goat. I’ll laugh in his face and tell him if he wants to cut down the whole Quellan Forest he’s more than welcome to, but he’ll use his
own
soldiers as arrow bait, not mine.”
    “Any provocation in the south may cause the Dezren elves to retaliate in kind,” Gerand warned. “We have many farming villages stretching north from the Erze Forest. Thousands of acres of crops might burn.”
    Edwin pulled on his thick crimson robe hemmed with white dove feathers.
    “It won’t happen,” he said. “If Ingram sends in any troops, they’ll be dead in hours, and then all
his
precious farmland will be vulnerable. He won’t dare risk conflict if he knows I won’t protect his idiotic ass.”
    “Your wisdom is unquestionable,” Gerand said. He clucked his tongue, immediately angry at himself afterward for doing something that announced his nervousness. So far the conversation had gone as expected. This next part, however, was what really mattered. Murband and his elves could go dive into the Bone Ditch for all he cared.
    “One last item,” Gerand said. “I’ve received word that Thren Felhorn is expected to kill the Trifect at their Kensgold.”
    “What’s a bloody Kensgold?”
    Gerand mentally swore. The last time the Trifect had held a Kensgold was two years ago. The king had only been fourteen at the time.
    “A Kensgold is a meeting of all three houses of the Trifect,” the advisor explained. “They meet at one of their estates. They brag about their riches, compare trade agreements, discuss the downfall of any competitors, and overall spend a frightening amount of gold. It’s a show of wealth, power, and solidarity.”
    “So which member of the Trifect are they to kill, exactly?” Edwin asked as he stared at himself in a mirror, turning this way and that to see if anything seemed out of place.
    “All of them, Your Majesty,” the advisor said. “The heads of all three families, to die within minutes of one another. Supposedly he’s to gather the members of every single guild together into an army and assault the Kensgold when the celebration is at its highest.”
    The king whistled appreciatively.
    “The wretch hasn’t lost his balls, but perhaps his brains. Clearly we can’t let him go through with it. Send word to one of them, Leon Connington maybe, about their plan. Let them find some devious way to scheme it to their benefit.”
    “I’m not sure that is the best course of action,” Gerand said, broaching the subject carefully. He was well aware of the king’s paranoia, and he planned to use that to his full advantage.
    “Why is that?” Edwin asked. He grabbed his gold sword from a chair beside him. Gerand turned and coughed, using the excuse to roll his eyes. The king had commissioned the sword in one of his first orders of rule when he ascended the throne at age twelve, officially coming of age. The long sword wasn’t tinted gold or covered with gold at the hilt. The whole bloody thing was made of solid gold: heavy, cumbersome, and thoroughly impractical. It shone beautifully in the light, though, and that was all Edwin cared about.
    “Mercenaries from all over Dezrel will come pouring in for a taste of the coin the Trifect will be spending during the Kensgold. Hundreds upon hundreds, some from as far west as Ker and Mordan. At their last Kensgold, our best estimates put them at having over ten thousand men on their retainer, not counting their house soldiers.”
    King Vaelor looked at Gerand as if he were insane.
    “That’s thousands of men sworn to one banner inside my walls.”
    “Within a short walk from your castle doors, yes,” Gerand added, unable to resist.
    “Fuck. How long does this blasted Kensgold last?”
    “Just a single night,” said Gerand.
    He could already see the fear spreading in Edwin’s eyes. One night was enough to assassinate a king. One night was enough to supplant the hierarchy with the rule of coin and trade.
    “We must stop them,” Edwin said. He clutched his gold sword tight, as if he were going to draw it and strike some unseen enemy.
    “There’s no way we can,” Gerand said, feigning defeat.
    “There is. Ban the mercenaries from our city. Get rid of them. They can’t pass