A Dance of Cloaks Read Online Free PDF Page A

our men keep an eye out for him. He’d be a lovely bargaining chip. Remember that wagon of peaches Thren ambushed on the Kingstrip? He had his men piss all over them before feeding them to herds of swine. I’d love to piss all over his little boy’s head…”
    “Perhaps if the gods are kind, you will get your wish,” the advisor said in a dull tone. “We’ve also received a report from one of our cutthroats inside the Gemcroft home. Maynard has thrown his daughter, Alyssa, into the cold cells for supposedly planning to overthrow him.”
    “All children plan to overthrow their parents,” Leon said as he grabbed another plum from the basket beside his enormous chair. “That’s why I never had any.”
    The advisor, an elderly man from the humble Potts family, bit his tongue.
    “Wise planning, my lord,” Potts said.
    “This is interesting, though, most interesting. I didn’t think Alyssa was even inside Veldaren’s walls. Surely someone else had a hand in this. We must find out who. If it is just a personal grudge, perhaps we can help take that insufferable Maynard down a notch. If they are working with the guilds, or have some agenda against the Trifect, well…”
    He bit into another plum.
    “I’ll put some coin into the right hands,” Potts said. “No one can move against the Trifect without us knowing it.”
    Leon laughed.
    “Thren did, not so long ago,” the fat man said. “Look what it cost him.”

    I t seemed the nights had grown darker and silent over the past five years. Moonlit revelries had lost their allure, and most kept their drink and their women inside. No one wanted to be mistaken for either a member of the thief guilds or a turntail for the Trifect. Daggers and poison floated through the streets when the sun was set, and only those prepared to deal with them dared walk in the open.
    Yoren Kull was competent with a blade, but that was not why he walked with his head held high. No, the reason was the man who traveled with him, dressed in the black robes and silver sash of a priest of Karak. Officially, their kind was banned from the city. Unofficially, they made sure every king knew of their presence, and of the immediate death that would follow if he tried removing them. Yoren felt quite confident no one would dare harass him with a priest at his side.
    “When will we arrive at the temple,” Yoren asked. The priest responded in a soft voice honed by years of practiced control.
    “I am not taking you to the temple. If I was, you’d be blindfolded.”
    Yoren chuckled. He stood a bit straighter, as if insulted by the very notion. His left hand clutched his sword while his right straightened a few errant hairs hovering over his forehead. He was a handsome man, his skin smooth and bronze while his hair was a dark red. When he smiled, his golden teeth gleamed in the light of the torch the priest carried.
    “Forgive me for my false assumption,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I assumed meeting disciples of Karak would involve the actual temple.”
    “Our ways are best learned within our hallowed walls,” the priest said. “But discipleship to Karak involves a life immersed in the sinful world, and there are times when even the faithful go astray. Keep your sword sheathed. My presence may keep us safe, but if you draw steel, you will deal with the consequences on your own.”
    Yoren had never been to Veldaren before, but so far he was hugely unimpressed. The enormous wall surrounding the city had seemed ominous, and the towering castle doubly so. The god Karak was rumored to have built them, and it seemed few argued otherwise. Inside, however, seemed to almost mock the great walls and castle. Much of the southern district had slowly died off. King Vaelor had ordered all trading caravans to enter through the west gate, where the guards were thicker and the road easier to watch. Poor slums and weather-beaten homes had greeted Yoren when he entered from the south.
    The city