A Dance of Death

13

What in Karak’s name is happening to my city? wondered Ingram as he took his seat in the expansive meeting hall of his mansion and waited for the rest to arrive. Egar sat beside him, with Yor purposefully misled to the time so he’d come late.

“Laurie’s resistance to your men sets a dangerous precedent,” said Egar as he sampled from a bowl of fruits set between him and Ingram by one of the servants.

“Yeah, well he’s dead now,” said Ingram. “Good to know at least one of the gods has a sense of justice.”

“There’s still the matter of his wife, and if they’re hiding the Watcher. If the masses start thinking you aren’t in control…”

“Enough,” Ingram said, waving his hand. “I’ve another round of hangings coming tonight, all to goad that bastard out. Never had such a wonderful excuse to clear my dungeons, either. All those bodies swinging will make sure the people know who runs this city.”

“But still, you should press Madelyn to turn them over, or at the least allow an inspection of her mansion. It’s shameful enough the Watcher escaped your dungeons, let alone with the Wraith openly mocking you.”

“Enough!” Ingram roared. “Do you think I’m daft? Traitors house elves, mercenaries are accepting coin to fight against me, a vigilante openly defies my rule, and it seems every night some new lord or lady dies in their bed. Worst part is, I can’t send my damn soldiers after any of them. Too many cowards, all. At least the elves have the courtesy to admit they’re the ones killing our people who enter their cursed woods.”

He took a drink to calm himself. When he drained it, he held it out for a servant to refill. As he did, the first of their guests arrived, and it was not who he expected.

“Lady Madelyn,” Ingram said, standing. “You surprise me.”

Madelyn lowered her head in greeting. She wore dark mourning clothes, but her face was uncovered, and even sported a hint of rouge. Her long ponytail was wrapped about her neck, as if it were a collection of necklaces. Escorting her was a large mercenary, enormously muscled and with a greatsword on his back.

“There will be time to grieve, but not now,” she said, taking a seat. The mercenary remained standing behind her.

“I’d prefer all weapons be left outside,” Egar said, raising an eyebrow.

“Given recent events, I go nowhere unless Torgar is with me to keep me safe.”

Ingram let it drop, for he had far more pressing things to discuss.

“I’m more surprised you would come given your…aggressive stance toward my investigation,” he said, taking his seat.

“A regrettable event, I assure you. Indeed, that is one reason why I must speak with you. The Watcher did come seeking succor, but he is with us no longer. Alyssa Gemcroft is the one who brought him from Veldaren, and it was her mercenary who freed him from your prison.”

“Is that so?” Ingram asked, feeling his heart race. A leader of the Trifect blatantly helping a wanted criminal? Could he have any better excuse to take those egotistical bastards down a peg? “Then you must hand her over at once.”

“I would, but she escaped my guards, and I do not know…”

“Milord, Laryssa and her escort,” a servant announced at the door moments before the elves entered. This time neither Egar nor Ingram stood, for they both had tired of treating the elves with such dignity. Only Madelyn rose, and only just.

“Welcome,” Ingram said, his voice cold. “We are pleased to once again be in your company.”

“As are we yours,” Laryssa said, no doubt lying right back. They took seats, with the ambassador Graeven on her left, Sildur on her right. Ingram sort of liked Graeven. That elf seemed to see reason at times. Sildur, however, looked ready for war with every word he spoke, with only Laryssa keeping him in check. Behind them stood two bodyguards, ornate daggers in their belts. Ingram tried to shove the business with the Watcher out of his mind. After the meeting was done, he could question Madelyn more about Alyssa’s involvement, as well as where they might have gone.

The elves had hardly settled in before Ulrich arrived representing the Merchant Lords, only this time he was accompanied by his brother, which was mildly surprising. The two bowed as a servant announced their presence, then took a seat opposite the elves at the long table. Ingram offered them greetings just as cold as he had the elves. The elves would one day go home, and leave his city in peace. The same could not be said for the Blackwater brothers.

“Do you speak for your husband?” Laryssa asked, noticing Madelyn.

“My husband is dead,” she said. “I speak for myself.”

“My apologies,” Laryssa said. “I am sad to hear.”

“As are we,” Ulrich said, butting in as Yor finally arrived, taking a seat at Ingram’s left. “Such a true shame, but I am glad to see you remain strong.”

Ingram ignored the clear mockery in the words. They had everyone assembled but for Alyssa, and given what Madelyn said, he doubted she would be making an appearance for the rest of the discussions.

“Thank you for coming, all of you,” Ingram said, standing. The rest fell silent. “To begin, I’d like to share grim news I’ve received by messenger early this morning. Two days ago, a group of twenty-three loggers from the village of Redgrove were assaulted, their bodies filled with arrows and dumped outside the village grounds. Twenty-three. I hope all of you understand my rage at such an action.”

“We have made it clear to all villagers what risks they take setting foot in our lands,” Sildur said, interrupting the ambassador, who had begun to apologize. “If what you say is true, then those humans have no one but themselves to blame.”

“Yes, only themselves to blame for the arrows stuck in their sides, which I’m sure shot all on their own,” Egar said with a dramatic rolling of his eyes. “That lumber is the only means to their survival, after all, so without it they may as well take their own lives.”

“You act as if we are butchers,” Graeven said. “We are a sovereign nation, and may seal our borders. You humans have done this before.”

“Only in times of war,” Yor said, his words casting a dark pall across the table.

“We have not come here for that reason,” Laryssa said, straightening in her seat. “We wish to avoid such a conflict, otherwise we would have remained in Quellassar. It is not our goal to cause strife, nor unrest within your city.”

“We’ll see what unrest you cause when word of those twenty-three loggers hits the streets,” Egar muttered. Before any could continue, Ulrich burst into laughter, so absurd and out of place everyone stopped to stare.

“Not your goal to cause unrest?” Ulrich asked, a huge grin across his face. “My, my, that sounds amusing, especially with you protecting a wanted murderer.”

Every elf froze as if they’d been struck. Ingram’s jaw dropped, and it took a moment before he could compose himself.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Explain yourself.”

“Saw it with my own eyes,” Ulrich said, leaning back in his chair, looking incredibly smug. “That Watcher you were going to hang? He and Alyssa came to the elves, and it sure looked like they were welcome guests.”

Panic and anger swirled inside Ingram. If the accusation were true, they all deserved punishment, and he’d have no choice if he wished to save face. But that meant war, a war they could not hope to win without rapid, extensive aid from the King…

“Why would elves help Alyssa?” asked Egar, since it seemed the elves would offer nothing on the matter unless prodded.

“Because she’s the one who provided them a place to stay in the city,” Madelyn said. “I know, for it was a secret of my husband’s.”

That appeared to be the final nail, and all eyes turned to Laryssa. She looked like she too was holding back fury, her crystalline face starting to crack.

“Well?” Ingram asked. “Care to explain yourself?”

“What you say is true,” the elven princess said. “But we gave her no aid, for we did not wish to risk your wrath. We turned her away. Where she is now, we do not know.”

“Turned her away?” Madelyn asked. “She must have been furious.”

Laryssa glanced her way, then nodded. Ulrich clapped, as if thoroughly amused by the performance.

“Excellent, excellent,” he said. “I hope you don’t begrudge us for doubting your word, especially with possible imprisonment at risk. That is why we have taken appropriate measures.”

Ingram felt his heart skip a beat. Ulrich’s brother Stern crossed his arms and leaned back as if telling a story before a fire.

“As of now,” said Stern, speaking directly to Laryssa, “over a hundred men loyal to myself, and therefore loyal to Angelport, have surrounded the various homes and rooms Alyssa prepared for your stay. They have no orders to kill, and will strike only in defense. All they want is to search for Alyssa and this Watcher. Surely your fellow elves won’t object?”

Laryssa’s lower lip quivered as she spoke.

“I do not believe they will take kindly to such an intrusion.”

“Oh dear,” said Stern. “I fear any confrontation will not be taken too kindly by the commoners of the city. After all, this is a matter that does not concern you. Do elves now dare interfere with the affairs of men?”

Ingram gripped the table to steady himself, and it took all of his self-control to fight down his temper. He knew he was staring war in the face, and the damn Merchant Lords had provoked it beautifully. Worst of all, he couldn’t contradict their actions, otherwise he would appear weak before the people, and the merchants the strong ones willing to act. Everyone was conspiring against him. He just wanted a few acres of land for his villages to cut down without fear of retaliation, as well as give the elves a little deserved humiliation. Was that really so terrible?

“I feel this discussion is at an end,” Laryssa said, her entourage standing.

“I would beware the streets,” Ulrich said as they turned to leave. “I fear they aren’t a safe place right now…for anyone.”

Sildur tapped the hilt of his sword.

“We do not walk in fear,” he said. Without a bow or word of leaving, they exited the room to the sound of Ulrich’s mocking laughter. When the door closed, Ingram turned to the Blackwater brothers and slammed his fists against the table.

“Have you lost your minds?” he roared.

“You have always been intolerant of their meddling,” Stern said. “Yet now, when they harbor a murderer who threatened your life, you go soft? Their protecting him could be seen as a deliberate approval of his attempt, if not an act of war. Speaking of which…”

The two brothers stood, and they bowed low.

“We should see how things have progressed. I’m sure it went peacefully, of course. It’s not like the elves want conflict.”

“Of course,” Ulrich said with a wink as they left.

Ingram caught Madelyn whispering to her giant mercenary, Torgar, and then she too stood.

“There will be no compromise made until we know how this day ends,” she said, curtseying. “And if what Ulrich says is true, I would like to be in the safety of my home before the streets turn dangerous.”

With her gone, that left just Ingram and his two lords. He looked to them both, then shook his head.

“What just happened?” he asked.

“To put it mildly,” Egar said, leaning back in his chair and chuckling, “we’re fucked.”

“There’s still a chance this might blow over,” Yor cautioned.

“It won’t,” insisted Egar.

Ingram shook his head. He’d had enough.

“Both of you, send out riders. Every soldier you can muster, I want brought into the city. Claim it’s for quelling the riots.”

“Are you sure there are riots?” asked Yor.

In answer Ingram led them from the room and to the front doors of his mansion. From the steps, they overlooked the city. Already smoke billowed from two different districts.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

L aryssa hated the ugly layout of the city. There was nothing beautiful to it, nothing natural. They built their straight roads, their square box homes, and stamped out every bit of life that might grow in the cracks. It was only if she climbed to the rooftops could she even see the stars, all because of their torches and lamps. More than ever she yearned for the forest, especially as her company descended the hill Lord Ingram’s mansion was built upon. Below, the city seemed angry and vile. Every pair of eyes that looked upon them burned with hatred.

They were only five, all armed, including Laryssa. She feared no ruffian or drunkard striking her. Humans were only frightening if in great numbers, and even then the people so far had only flung stones from hiding. Such cowardice. Laryssa preferred the company of wild dogs to the people of Angelport. At least they would bare their teeth and fight a creature that frightened them.

“Perhaps we should stay here in the mansion until things calm down,” Graeven suggested, but Laryssa would have none of it.

“The man is a swine dressed in silk,” she said. “I will not stay under his roof, nor will I fear his streets. We must see what fate has befallen our friends.”

At first things seemed somewhat calm, the people of the city no more hostile than normal. If not for a hint of distant smoke blotting the sky, she might have thought the two Blackwater brothers lying. It was only when they reached the first gate that they saw the results of a riot. Loud screams and chanting came from down the street, and the gathered guards peered underneath their helmets with frightened eyes. A group of lowborn humans were there with them, whether watching or waiting, she didn’t know.

“You picked a bad time,” one of the guards said to Laryssa as they pushed through the commoners. “I’d turn back, milady.”

“What is going on?” Graeven asked.

“What’s it look like? Something sparked a riot up north, and it’s spreading like wildfire. Seen at least two squads head down that way, and they ain’t come back. We’ve confined it at the gates, so far as I know. You go in there with them, though, you’re likely to get hit.”

“Let them try,” Sildur said. He drew his sword, which only deepened the guard’s frown.

“Naked steel ain’t a good idea. You don’t want this crowd smelling blood, sir. Trust me on that. Go back to milord Ingram’s mansion where you’ll be safe.”

“We cannot stand idly by while a mob rips apart our brethren,” Laryssa said. “Let us through.”

“And may Celestia watch over us all,” Graeven said to himself as the soldiers parted, and they entered the strangely empty streets. It seemed those not intent on burning or breaking were in hiding. With Sildur leading the way, they traveled toward their home. A boy ran past them, blood dripping from his nose. They passed a two-story building, it’s windows billowing smoke. Broken doors marred several shops. A group of three ran toward them, saw their approach, and cut down an alley. All three held torches. Laryssa could only wonder at the twisted logic of humans. Furious at their situation, and at the elves, why then turn it on their own homes, their shops and walls? Still, it was better that than on her own kind, as far as she was concerned.

“Perhaps we were wrong to seek a way to reason with men such as these,” Graeven said, and coming from him, it was a harsh condemnation. The ambassador seemed to be one of the few Quellan elves not eager for war. As they walked past a slumped guard, his face beaten into a pulp, she felt certain even Graeven’s hope for peace would reach its end.

The shouting grew louder, and then from another alley came a large gang. Only a few wielded weapons, the others lifting their fists or waving torches. Laryssa’s hand fell to the ornate dagger belted to her waist as all around her the rest reached for their weapons.

“Murderers!” one shouted, and many others took up the chant. “Heathens! Go home! Go home!”

There were about fifteen of them, not enough to inspire any real bravery. When the five elves neared, the humans gave way, splitting so they were on either side. They cursed and hollered, turning their faces red, but she ignored their threats. They were mere products of ignorance and poverty. What could they say that would possibly mean anything to her? The rest of the elves lifted their weapons, easily keeping them at bay.

“We’ve still a ways to go,” Graeven said as they made it past, the group still lingering like a shadow.

“Move, and show no fear,” Laryssa said.

Come the next block, they encountered the true mob, and for the first time, Laryssa felt fear. At least a hundred of them gathered together, the air above them thick with the smoke of torches. They cheered and shouted as seven or eight tore down the door to a home. She couldn’t begin to guess the reason why, though by what they cried, she worried one of her friends was hiding inside. Those near the edge first saw Laryssa and her escort, but word spread within seconds. The mob turned toward them, and they screamed for blood.

“No fear,” Laryssa repeated.

“Don’t stop moving, no matter what,” Sildur ordered.

The mob surrounded them, making way at first so they might reach its very center. Once totally enclosed, the elves lost in a cacophony of hate and screams, the first dared strike. He wielded no weapon, just a young man throwing a punch. Sildur ducked it with ease, then with practiced precision, cut off the man’s fingers. As the blood spilled, and the severed digits fell to the street, the rest howled with near mindless fury.

“Cut through!” Laryssa cried in elvish.

The surprise of their attack was the only thing that kept the elves alive. They lunged at the front group, tearing through them with ease, for they lacked weapons and armor. Her two bodyguards protected their rear, their long swords moving with dizzying speed. Laryssa ran, for as the bodies began to fall, and shrieks of pain filled the air, most of the mob fled in fear. There were many, however, who wanted blood, and they rushed on with mad abandon. Graeven cut a path through a group of five, slaughtering three of them, then turned back to Laryssa, ushering her on. Before she could follow, the gap closed, over thirty angry men rushing at her, thinking her helpless.

With her dagger, she could kill any lone human, but they were not alone. She stabbed anyway, killing the first to near, but the rest pressed on. Fists crashed against her face and chest. With no other recourse she fled the other direction. It, too, was blocked. Amid a pile of corpses, Sildur battled back to back with one of her bodyguards. The numbers seemed endless, and as she watched, a man impaled himself on Sildur’s blade. With his weapon immobilized, Sildur was helpless before the many others who leapt atop him.

Beside her she saw an alley, and she ran, wishing she could banish from her mind the sight of Sildur’s face crunching inward as a heavy human smashed it with his heel. Three men moved to stop her, but she twirled, her dress a startling display of emeralds and blood. With them unable to match her speed, she cut the throat of the one closest, slipped past the other two, and fled as fast as her legs could carry her.

The sound of the mob faded behind her, and if any chased, they could not keep up. Not caring which direction she ran, Laryssa continued on. More than anything, she wanted out of the city, to go home as the people of Angelport desired. The city was a sickbed of hatred, wrath, and ignorance. If she had her way, she’d burn it to the ground, and if Celestia was willing, the humans would accomplish that for her before the day’s end.

When the sound of chaos was in the distance, she slowed to catch her breath. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she refused to let grief overcome her. Sildur, Graeven, her friends…all had lived for hundreds of years, and this was how it would end for them?

“Damn you, humans,” Laryssa whispered, wiping a tear from her face. “Damn you to the Abyss your gods created.”

Something hard struck the back of her head, and she let out a gasp as she fell. She caught herself, but then a hand grabbed her hair and rammed her forehead into the dirt. Her vision full of stars, she retched uncontrollably. Her limbs feeling numb, she tried to roll over, but a heavy weight pinned her to the ground. Something passed over her face, a cloth or bag of some sort. The air was hot in her lungs, and she could not see.

Fists rained down on her, and she tried to cry out against the abuse. Each time she did, her assailant struck harder. As if from a distant place, she struggled. She screamed.

“This is what happens when you turn on your friends,” her attacker whispered in her ear. Fierce pain pierced her side, and she felt warmth pooling beneath her as she bled. Her attacker left, and despite his weight no longer atop her, she could not move. Her arms and legs refused to cooperate. Her breathing grew shallow, whatever it was wrapped about her head suffocating her. Time passed, and she could only weep.

Someone touched her shoulder, and she screamed. But it was not her attacker returning as she’d feared. Off came the hood over her face, and squinting, she saw Graeven kneeling over her, his fine clothing covered with blood.

“Stay calm,” he said, pressing his hands over the wound in her side. “Breathe slow. I won’t let you die, now stay with me.”

She nodded as her whole body began to tremble. Her head lolled to one side, and there she saw it, drawn in her own blood. It meant nothing to her, but she would never forget it. Staring, mocking, the signature of her attacker: an open eye.