A Dance of Death

5

Lord Ingram Murband listened to the guard’s report with a growing rage.

“You’re sure it isn’t this Wraith character I’ve been hearing rumors of?” he asked.

The captain of the guard shook his head.

“Different weapon used to kill them, plus a different name. Only one person’s lived to see him, but he also listed clothes that don’t match what the mercenaries at Keenan’s mansion saw.”

Ingram leaned back in his chair. They were in his modest throne room, for unlike most lords, he had no castle. The walls and water of the city were enough to keep him safe. His mansion was an impressive structure, however, with a surrounding wall built of stone imported all the way from Ker. In its center was his throne room, with no other purpose than meetings with various minor lords and commoners pleading for their simple definitions of justice.

“I won’t put up with this,” he said. “I want it dealt with, and harshly. Whatever the reason he’s here, we need the entire city turned against him before he sways any hearts.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the captain.

“Take it out on the prisoners, ten for every one. Make it public. I’ll bear their hatred just fine. Will he?”

“Very well,” the captain said, bowing low. “Shall I send in the first of your guests?”

“If you must.”

As the soldier left, Ingram rubbed his eyes. Things had grown so tiresome of late. First the Wraith was making his life a living torment, and now the mysterious Watcher of Veldaren had to come to his city. As if the elves didn’t give him enough trouble. Thinking of the elves, he wondered when their new ambassador would arrive. He’d been told to expect him today. He’d greatly appreciate restarting their talks.

The double doors opened, and in walked the two most powerful lords of the Ramere: Yor Warren, tall and thin, his oval face covered with a beard, and the other, Lord Egar Moss, muscular, dark-skinned, with two elegant rapiers hanging from his belt. Both bowed to Ingram, who gestured for them to continue.

“We’ve come as you’ve requested,” said Yor. “The elves finally gain some sense and accept our proposals?”

“Not quite,” Ingram said, leaving his throne. The three took a seat at one of the two tables in the room, with servants rapidly appearing to pour them drinks and bring them small meats and breads to eat.

“Then what are we to do?” asked Egar. His fingers twirled the hilt of a rapier, as if by habit. “Every week I must replace men riddled with arrows, all because they don’t want us to chop down a few trees or set foot in their sacred lands. Sacred. What a joke.”

“King Edwin refuses to declare war,” Ingram said, sighing. “In this, our hands are tied. We must reach a favorable agreement, for should war come we would stand no chance. Only if they seem the aggressor will the king come to our aid. Edwin knows of their aggressive defense, yet does nothing.”

“Probably thinks it’s our own damn fault,” Yor muttered. “You’re better off than I am, Egar. If my peasants even step within bowshot of the Erze Forest, they get an arrow through their throat.”

Egar sipped his wine.

“Given what they went through over in Mordan, it doesn’t surprise me. Still, such aggression needs to be punished. They came into our lands, built a home in our forests, and now deem them theirs without need to share. How else are we to build our homes, our ships?”

“Their ambassador should come today,” Ingram said. “We must show strength, and back down on nothing. The prosperity of our city depends on the resources they covet. King Edwin may fear war, but we will not. Besides, if the elves leave their forests, and begin burning fields and villages, he will have no choice but to interfere.”

“We play a dangerous game,” Yor said. “How do we know Edwin won’t leave us to our fates instead of embroiling Neldar in war?”

Ingram chuckled and shook his head, thoroughly amused.

“Because our king is human, Egar. No human would dare side with a lying, deceitful, worthless race of elves over his own kind. That’s as it should be, and how we must proceed in all matters with these heathen creatures. Let them worship the stars and trees like fools. We serve the true gods. Our progress is inevitable. King Baedan figured this out. He burned Dezerea to the ground, and sent the Dezren elves fleeing east, toward our homes, our lands. If we are strong, we will one day achieve a victory far greater than that.”

The captain of the guard slipped through a side door and saluted.

“The elven ambassador has arrived at the gates of the city,” he said. “Shall I let him in?”

“Send him this way,” Ingram said, pushing away his plate and standing. “Be firm, you two, and do not hide your anger when we make our demands. Such prideful creatures, the elves cannot stand being treated as they should. Use it to our advantage.”

They waited, fixing their clothes and making sure they stood just right. When the double doors opened, Ingram went to greet the ambassador.

“Welcome to our city,” he said, all smiles.

The elf was slender, and tall for his race. Flowing emerald robes brushed against the stone floor as he stepped inside, and his sleeves fell low when he gracefully bowed. His hair was long and golden, his eyes a vibrant green.

“Greetings, lord and ruler of the men of Angelport,” said the ambassador. “My name is Graeven Tryll, and I have come from Quellassar to seek peace with men.”

“As do we also seek peace,” Ingram said, not bowing and hoping the ambassador would notice the slight. “Please, let me introduce my companions. This is Lord Yor Warren, who rules the northern reaches of my land. To my left is Lord Egar Moss, in charge of the west. They have the most experience when dealing with your…kind.”

Graeven bowed a second time.

“Your names are familiar to me,” he said. “I greet you, and wish Celestia’s grace upon you both.”

“Flattered,” Yor said dryly.

“I’m sure your trip was long,” Ingram said, letting a hard edge creep into his voice, “but given the many deaths our loyal citizens suffer by the tips of your arrows, I would like to begin negotiations as soon as possible.”

“I agree,” said Graeven. “But I do not speak for all elvenkind, and nor do I come alone. Our Neyvar has sent Laryssa Sinistel as well, and given her authority to speak in his name.”

Ingram felt his heart jump.

“Laryssa?” he asked, trying to show no emotion. “Your king has sent his daughter here?”

“Neyvar, not king,” corrected Graeven. “And yes. She should be arriving in a few hours, and I come to ask permission for her and her escort to enter within your walls.”

“Wait one moment,” Yor interrupted. “How large an escort?”

“Large,” said Graeven. “Along with Sildur Kinstel, Maradun Fae, and their escorts as well. Surely you understand, given our concerns for safety.”

Ingram felt ready to explode. That damn Wraith had killed the last ambassador, and while he’d been amused at first, now he wished to throttle the strange assassin. To have someone as important as Laryssa within his grasp could mean everything, but to invite that many bodyguards, all on high alert, sickened him. Elves walking freely within his walls, doing untold damage with their blades, bows, and poisons. Gods, what if they spent their seed among the loose women and whores about the docks? What bastard children might one day inhabit his city?

“Can you swear to the safety of my people?” he asked, but the words felt hollow. Like the promises of an elf meant anything.

“I can promise nothing,” Graeven said. “Only that they are here for protection, and nothing more. I do not want to imagine the consequences if something should happen to one of our wise leaders.”

“Where is it you will stay?”

“We have been graciously offered a place by one of your city’s fine men. I assume this will be no problem?”

“Of course,” said Ingram. Despite the bad taste it left in his mouth, he smiled and bowed once more. “Let us resume talks tomorrow. Make sure you send someone to let us know where you will be staying, so I might send servants to let you know when we will convene. We’ll meet here, your representatives, mine, and the Merchant Lords.”

Graeven spun on his heels and headed for the door. When it closed, Ingram stalked back to his throne, sat upon it, and shouted for a drink.

“Hardly the angry display I was told to expect,” Egar said, unable to conceal his sarcasm.

“Shut up, you fool,” Ingram said, gulping down the wine. “This changes everything. Laryssa did not come here without reason. Ceredon is playing games, and we must discover his aims. I’ll save my anger for the morrow, when they are together. Besides, if something should happen to her, something no fault of our own…but enough of that. Send word to your camps, both of you. I want their forests crawling with men. I don’t care how many die, so long as they learn that we will never, ever stop. Oh, and find out who that damn traitor is that’s willing to house the elves.”

The two lords bowed, and Ingram dismissed them with a wave. It wasn’t until they were gone that Ingram realized Graeven had not bowed before his exit. Such disrespect left him calling for more wine and wishing he had loosed his temper on the ambassador after all.

T hat same morning, Haern joined Alyssa and Zusa as they walked amid the hundreds of shops lining the roads just north of the docks.

“I’d prefer the few extra hours of sleep,” Haern said as they looked at a strange assortment of dresses whose cost he couldn’t even begin to guess. Forget cost, thought Haern, he couldn’t even decide which was the front and which was the back. Never before had he been so keenly aware of how secluded a life he’d led. Here in Angelport he saw styles from all four nations, tattoos drawn in bright colors, and animals in cages he had only heard of in passing. All his life he’d danced in the underworld of Veldaren, oblivious to the greater world beyond its walls.

Still, that didn’t change the fact he’d rather be sleeping than keeping up his facade of being newlyweds with Zusa.

“Come, husband,” she said, flashing him a smile, looking beautiful in a red dress that left her shoulders naked. “You treat me so distantly. Has our passion already faded?”

Haern hurried past a merchant selling a brightly colored bird with a silver beak.

“I can’t imagine so. Ours was a marriage made for the ages.”

She snickered, then grabbed his hand.

“For show,” she said, winking. Haern shook his head and laughed.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful,” he said.

Zusa’s smile lost its joy, and he saw her exchange a look with Alyssa. He understood none of it, though, so he tried to push his mind to other things. Watching for thieves kept most of his attention. They were everywhere, lurking in corners, doorways, and the sides of stalls. They had a look to them, a wariness they could not hide from someone so familiar with their ways as Haern. Twice he’d caught a man sliding through the crowd, spotted the mark, and then put himself in the way. The first one he’d asked for directions, letting the noble lady move on to a much more occupied booth. The second time, he only grabbed the man’s arm and smiled.

“Lay off,” the thief said, yanking free.

“Pardon me,” Haern said, grinning while still blocking his way. “I thought you were someone else.”

By the time he let the thief free, the mark was gone. Zusa chided him for being childish.

“You cannot stop every crime,” she said, squeezing his hand. “The world is bigger than you.”

“I can at least stop the ones I see.”

“Even that will one day kill you. We are not in Veldaren, and right now, you are not the Watcher. Relax. We’re supposed to be in love, remember?”

He chuckled, and he felt his neck flush despite himself.

“Right,” he said. “How could I forget?”

They rejoined Alyssa’s side and continued browsing the selection. At one stall Haern finally found something that caught his interest: a wide variety of swords, all exquisitely made. He was holding one, examining its hilt, when he heard a loud cry from the guards.

“What was that?” Haern asked the shopkeeper.

“Sounds like a hanging,” the burly smith said. “You look new here, so go have a look. Shame I’ll miss the fun, selling wares and all.”

Haern replaced the sword, tilted his head in a manner of respect Alyssa had showed him, then returned to Zusa’s side. They were already making their way north, toward a large open square.

“You hear it too?” she asked him.

“Partly.”

Zusa shot him a glance.

“They’re calling for the Watcher.”

Alyssa crossed her arms, and she leaned closer to them so she might not be overheard among the din.

“Do nothing,” she said. “Watch, and watch only. If either of you are revealed, the blame is mine. I have no intention of spending my stay here in a dungeon. Let’s go.”

“Watcher!” the city guard cried again, a single man bellowing above the crowd. He stood atop a wooden platform, with five nooses hanging behind him. Haern felt his mouth go dry as a row of dirty, malnourished men ascended the stairs, their arms tied behind their backs. “Watcher of Veldaren, come forth!”

“What’s going on here?” Haern asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Zusa whispered.

Perhaps it was, but Haern didn’t want to believe it. The crowd quieted as the guard began crying out anew. Worse was the tattoo he saw on the city guard’s face, the same tattoo many of the city guard wore: a sword across the eye.

“Murderer, coward, and butcher known as Veldaren’s Watcher, know that Angelport is no place for you. We will not accept your presence. Last night, you slew two of our city guard and harmed a third. For every innocent man you attack, ten from our dungeons shall hang. So saith Lord Ingram Murband.”

The crowd let up a cheer at the hooded executioner’s arrival. As he slipped noose after noose over the heads of prisoners, Haern felt his hands shake.

“How dare they?” he whispered.

Zusa squeezed his hand tight.

“Criminals,” she said. “Outlaws. Their lives are nothing.”

Once bags were over their heads, the executioner stepped down and circled around to the back of the platform. Hanging underneath were ropes attached to thick planks of wood. With a pull on a rope, it’d drop open, allowing the man or woman above to fall. Meanwhile, the city guard walked from person to person, shouting out their crimes. Murderer. Thief. Rapist. The crowd cheered as the executioner took the first rope and wrapped it around his beefy arm.

He pulled, and the man dropped.

“Not in my name,” Haern whispered. “Damn it, not in my name.”

One after another the executioner pulled the ropes, until all five were dead.

“We killed guards,” he said, feeling his insides roil. “Not thieves. Guards.”

“We didn’t know,” Zusa insisted. It didn’t matter. Two dead guards, and the third left alive to deliver his message. Thirty men and women to die in return. Haern’s rage grew, and he tried to let go of her hand. She refused, instead pulling him closer. Alyssa glanced over, her face coldly passive, but she said nothing.

“No,” Zusa whispered. “Accept no blame, Haern. Stand and watch. This is the path we chose, and we will bear the consequence of our mistake together.”

Five more, their crimes read. The crowd cheered, the executioner did his work, and then they hung. As the bodies were carted off, and the next set brought on, Haern listened to their crimes.

Avoiding taxes. Striking a guard. Stealing food. Speaking ill of Lord Murband.

They were hanged like the rest. Still the crowd cheered.

“I can stop it,” Haern said. His sabers were clipped to his belt, and every part of him screamed to draw them from their sheaths. “I can kill them all.”

“You will die,” Zusa said.

“It doesn’t matter. I could still…no. Ashhur help us, they cannot…”

Two of the next five were children, no older than ten. The executioner had them stand on stools above the trapdoors. They were called thieves as their heads were covered with bloody cloths. When the first rope pulled, Haern took a step forward. It didn’t matter he had no disguise. It didn’t matter there were hundreds of guards crawling about. Another child still stood with a noose about his neck.

“No!” Zusa cried, blocking Haern’s way and grabbing his head with her hands. He clutched her wrists, but she was strong. They stared face to face, Haern nearly delirious with anger. Her gaze held him, the force of her will incredible.

“We are the ones who own the night,” she said, pressing her forehead against his. “We are the ones with blood on our hands. Look at me, just me. Ignore all else. We are the reapers, the demons, the dark shadows wielding steel. We will not be denied our vengeance, but it is not now. ”

The crowd cheered, and he felt oblivious to them, lost in a sea of dirty faces and black hearts. Her eyes were beautiful, though, and he wished he could lose himself within. But even there, he saw the child drop, the noose snap taut, followed by the image of that other lone child in Veldaren. His victim…

“When?” he asked, trying to control his fury. “And how can we do what must be done when every guilty man I kill leads ten more innocents to their deaths?”

Zusa offered no answer.

Alyssa stepped between them, and she motioned for them to go.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said as they left the gallows. “But you cannot let Ingram’s madness deter you. The Wraith must be found and killed.”

“And what of Ingram?” Haern asked. “Do you think I’ll let such an act slide?”

“He killed thieves and criminals to send a message, same as you. You’re hardly any more innocent than him, Haern. Don’t get yourself killed trying to prove otherwise.”

Her words stung far deeper than she could have possibly known. Haern pulled away from Zusa and stormed off. Zusa softly called his name, but he ignored her.

“Are you watching, Watcher?” the city guard cried behind him. “Do you see the fruits of your labors?”

He did, enough of it anyway. Wanting to be as far away as possible, he wandered the streets north, toward Angelport’s entrance. On his way, a thief, probably not even out of his teens, slipped beside him and reached for the coin purse in his pocket. Haern’s hands reached for his sabers, but the thought of killing put a cold grip about his heart. Instead he slapped the thief’s hand away, whirled, and grabbed his throat.

“You should be dead,” Haern said. “Now go.”

“Fuck you, mister,” the thief said, knocking over two other kids as he fell back. His demeanor weakened at the fury in Haern’s eyes, and he fled down the street without another word. Haern glanced at his clothes, fine silk and soft cotton, and realized he did look the noble. More than ever he wished to return, put on his old clothes, and vanish amid Veldaren’s crowds. Not wanting to be anywhere near the Keenan mansion, he passed through a second gate. The guards let him go with only a salute, but the same could not be said for those whose clothes were stained with dirt and whose hands bore the calluses of the docks.

“That’s a good lady,” one of the guard’s said, dumping half a mother’s collection of coins into his palm before tossing the worn bag at her feet. “Even whores need to pay their taxes, aye?”

The woman nodded, her heart clearly not in arguing. Haern swallowed hard, and his hands itched to draw steel. The thought of ten more swinging from the gallows moved him on. His walk took him to the city gates, and he heard a growing commotion from them. Mildly curious, he wandered closer. As he did, the crowd parted to either side of the road, and not wishing to stand out, Haern did the same. A trumpet sounded, and then he saw the first of the elves.

They walked with their heads held high, their fine clothing glittering in the sunlight. They wore earthen tones, greens and browns, but highlighted the fabric with gold trim, their belts shining with silver buckles, their ears glimmering with emerald rings. Among them were the warriors, their leather armor well-oiled and intricately decorated. Large swords hung from their backs, except for those wielding bows slung over their shoulders. Among them were elf men and women riding horseback, their lords and leaders, all heavily flanked by warriors.

Haern stood in awe of the spectacle. He could only begin to guess why they had come. He counted at least a hundred, closer to two. At first the human crowds watched, also in awe of the wealth and majesty before them. Then came the many shouts, first hesitant and from the back, but the anger and hatred spread like wildfire.

“Murderers!” they shouted. “Heathens! Butchers!”

Haern could hardly believe what he heard. They cried against the foreign elves, deeming them murderers, even as their own lord hung thirty people for crimes not their own. Was this the true face of the city?

“Why such protest?” he asked a man next to him. He’d kept his calm, unlike most others.

“They’re killing our friends and families,” said the man. “But they can’t hide in their forests forever, not when we want what they have.”

“Do you not share the crowd’s anger?”

“No point. Their time’s over. They can ride in all high and mighty, but it won’t change nothing. Besides, they don’t hurt my business any.”

“And what is that?” Haern asked.

The man chuckled, and he turned to leave.

“I build the coffins,” he said. “There’s always enough wood for that.”

A few brave souls began throwing stones. The elves ignored them, reacting only should one come too close. The warriors would reach for their swords, and move with such precision the crowd scattered. Hearing the shouts, and seeing the bruises build across the warriors’ faces as the rocks came down like hail, Haern’s gut filled with venom. In all of Angelport, he saw little kindness, little worth saving.

Worse, he knew Veldaren was no different. He’d grown up there, and familiarity had blinded his eyes. But here he saw vileness, cruelty, and such a callous attitude toward life it stabbed straight to his heart. These were the people he’d struggled to protect? These were for who he spent years of his life freeing from his father’s war against the Trifect? What was it he’d truly accomplished? Anything at all? Come his death, it’d all come crashing down. Everywhere, men were the same, and he knew their nature well.

But worse were Alyssa’s words, painting him in a light he’d hidden from, revealing a self he never wished to see.

He killed thieves and criminals to send a message, same as you.

Was he the same? Was that the carnage he unleashed, all to the cheers of the populace as he left corpses in their gutters so they might pretend to safety and justice? Once he’d thought himself a monster, the monster his city needed. But as a ruthless peace had settled, he’d allowed himself to believe he’d become something more. The King’s Watcher. Such a joke. The hood he wore, the man upon the gallows had worn the same. The King’s Executioner. That should be his name.

“No,” he whispered as the elves vanished around the corner, out of sight because of the mob. “I am not the same. I cannot be. I escaped that fate.”

Hollow words that did nothing to ease his troubled mind. But what did give him relief was the thought that, come the night, he’d pay Lord Ingram a visit, and show him how dangerous a monster the Watcher could truly be.