A Dance of Death

6

Ulrich drank a glass of whiskey to chase away the lingering effects of the Violet. He’d taken half a leaf in the morning, more than the quarter he usually allocated. Supplies were incredibly limited, but if everything went well over the next few weeks, he’d be buried in the rare leaf. When he left his mansion, he found his brother waiting for him outside the gate.

“About time you’re ready,” Stern said.

“Who are you now, our mother?”

“Mother rests in a deep grave. I have no intention of being her for a very long time.”

Ulrich laughed, then caught his brother staring at his eyes.

“I’m no fool,” Stern said when pressed. “I can see the yellow in your veins. You’re addicted to the Violet.”

“Nonsense,” Ulrich said, brushing his brother aside. “Keep your damn opinions to yourself. What I do on my time is my own business, not yours, and you’re a fool for thinking I’d be weak enough to become slave to a plant.”

“As you wish,” Stern said, but Ulrich could hear the condescension in his voice, and it irritated him to no end.

They walked down the street, passing unquestioned through one of the interior city gates. When they came to the docks, they entered an unremarkable building titled ‘Port and Loan’. Inside led to a small entryway, guarded by two men in chainmail.

“The rest are waiting for you, my lords,” said one.

Stern nodded, then glanced over at Ulrich.

“If the room’s dark, they shouldn’t notice,” he said, once again referring to his eyes.

“I know you’re still upset about Julie,” Ulrich said, biting down his initial retort. “But keep your head up high. We Blackwaters never show weakness. They might press hard to change your mind if they think you’re still grieving.”

“As you so eloquently put it, keep your damn opinions to yourself.”

Stern pushed open the door, and Ulrich followed.

Inside was a single room, grand and oval. A map of the known world was painted across the walls, the seas finely detailed and interlaced with many monsters and fish, both real and fantastical. In the center of the room was a circular table, and despite its size, it had only six chairs all equidistant from each other. The Blackwater brothers took their seats and greeted the other four Merchant Lords.

Their eldest, and official leader of gatherings, was Warrick Sun, a salty old man who had spent half his life on the ocean. The later half he’d spent indoors, reaping the bounty of his impressive fleets carrying the Sun banner. His white beard was braided tight and decorated with beads of gold and silver. Warrick stood in greeting, and the others followed suit. Beside him, looking young and out of place, was Flint Amour, the firstborn son of the deceased William. Recently entering his twenties, his box beard was thin and unimpressive, but he sported a healthy tan from his many hours upon the boats. Ulrich was glad to see him as William’s successor. Flint was rumored to be the toughest of the lot, and that was exactly what they wanted among their ranks.

“Glad for you to finally join us,” Arren Goldsail said, flashing them an earnest smile that only years of experience had taught Ulrich just how fake it was. “I’d thought you’d chosen to stay among more feminine company instead of attending your own meeting.”

Arren was thin and pale, having never once sailed across open waters. He was an excellent barterer, though, and had a way of making a man agree to twice what he intended, yet simultaneously feel he had the better deal.

“It takes time to please that many ladies,” Ulrich said, accepting a drink from one of the many servants lingering near the walls. “Isn’t that right, Durgo?”

The last of them, Durgo Flynn, rolled his eyes. He was a giant of a man, dark-skinned, yet spoke with a soft voice. For several years, Ulrich had carefully spread rumors the man preferred the company of little boys to grown women. He had no clue if it were true or not, but it amused him, and pissed off Durgo immensely.

Together, the six were the Merchant Lords of Angelport. Their landholdings were few, not worthy of an official lord title, but they owned nearly every fleet that sailed the great blue, and that made them powerful beyond measure. With power derived from their wealth and ships, not position or birth, Ulrich knew every single one sported a chip on their shoulder and a desire to prove their influence. He himself was no exception. Every meeting of the Merchant Lords was a great clash of egos. For someone like Ulrich, it was also great fun.

“Things have changed since our last meeting,” Warrick said, always one to keep things on task. “First and foremost, we welcome a new man to our table. Listen well, Flint, and ask questions if you must. We do not know how much your father told you of our dealings, and would prefer you to make wise decisions instead of rash, unfounded ones just to hide your ignorance.”

“Thank you,” Flint said, bowing his head respectfully. “I will do my best to be a boon to this council.”

“Keep the cum cleaned out of your ears, and you’ll be a better man than your father,” Durgo said. Ulrich hid his laugh with his palm. Flint flushed red and said nothing. William had been considered one of the more slow-minded merchants, and poorly received by the other five. His death was no great loss.

“Let us not show disrespect to the dead,” Stern said, his harsh tone startling the rest. “Besides, his death is why we’re here. Twice now this man known as the Wraith has struck at us, first my daughter, and now William. What are we to do about it?”

“What can we do about it?” asked Arren, picking at one of his smooth fingernails. “The Keenans have already put out a tremendous bounty, and his mercenaries have scoured every corner of every street. If he’s not been found yet, there’s little we can do to help matters.”

“We are masters of places in Angelport the Trifect doesn’t even know exist,” Durgo said. “I say we put up our own bounty, as well as some of our men. I won’t be losing my head next.”

“We’re ignoring the larger question,” Warrick said, and he squinted in the candlelight. “Why has he targeted us at all? I thought the Trifect perhaps hired him, but then why kill Laurie’s son?”

“What about Ingram?” Flint asked. The others sighed or rolled their eyes, with only Warrick remaining patient.

“Lord Murband’s rule on Angelport is tenuous at best,” the old man explained. “He would not dare make enemies of both us and the Trifect. With just temporary cooperation, we could cast him out with nary a bead of sweat on our brows.”

“Then what of the elves?” Ulrich asked. “Perhaps they wish to weaken our resolve?”

“Perhaps,” Arren said. “But then why kill their ambassador, and maim another outside the city?”

Ulrich shrugged.

“Elves are liars. We have little proof that events transpired as they claim.”

Warrick shook his head, and lifted his hand so the others would pause for him to speak.

“No,” he said. “I fear we have a murderer who owes allegiance to none. He kills elves, Trifect, and merchants alike. In this, he is a greater threat than any other we have faced. He has made no demands, offered no ransoms, and left us guessing his motives. We must have him hunted down and killed. I call for the hiring of skilled men to end this threat. Do any object?”

None did, for despite their bickering, Ulrich knew that a threat against one was a threat against all. It couldn’t be allowed. Warrick called over a servant with a ream of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell. He carefully recorded Warrick’s orders, then faded back into the shadows among the walls. As the discussion stalled, Ulrich called for more wine. For some reason, he found himself incredibly thirsty, and the strawberry flavor tasted divine on his tongue.

“Putting aside this Wraith,” Warrick said, “we have another test of our influence. Our men scour the Quellan Forest for Violet, but our casualties increase daily, and the amount brought back is too little for real exportation. We stand at a crossroads. Either we receive significant concessions from the elves, reach an acceptable trade agreement, or abandon the project altogether. Tomorrow we meet with Ingram, the Trifect, and the new elven representative. Come then, we must decide our most profitable fate.”

“Ingram is easily manipulated,” Arren said. “I have no fears there.”

“What of the Trifect?” Durgo asked, looking to the two Blackwater brothers.

“Laurie’s shaken up by the loss of his son,” Ulrich said, stealing a glance at Stern. “I think he’ll side with whatever ends this nonsense the quickest. As for Alyssa…that girl is lightning with tits. There’s no predicting her.”

“And the elves?” asked Warrick.

“It doesn’t matter,” Stern said, looking as if he were forcing himself out of a daze. “Long as we keep the right lords in our pocket, Ingram will never cease encroaching upon the elven lands, sending demands, and putting our people at the brink of war. The elves will eventually appease us, or risk extermination in a long, bloody conflict.”

“And what if they choose war?” Flint asked.

“A good question,” said Arren. “Surely a middle ground would be easier for the elves to accept. We need not grow the Violet ourselves if the elves give it willingly.”

Ulrich shook his head.

“Already we are slaves to the Trifect and their control of the crimleaf,” he said. “We cannot place ourselves in the same position, not if we can help it. Besides, you exaggerate the effect wars would have on our pocketbooks. We’d profit from it, like we profit from everything. Now if you’ll forgive my audacity, I request the right to represent us tomorrow at the meeting.”

“You?” Warrick asked, lifting his bushy eyebrows. “Why is that?”

Ulrich thought of Zusa, and how she would most likely be with Alyssa, or at least nearby.

“Because we need someone who won’t put up with shit from anyone,” he said. “You all know I’m the one for that.”

“Perhaps I would be better for so delicate a matter,” Arren said.

“Shut it, Goldsail,” said Ulrich. “This isn’t a barter, not anymore. It’s time we make demands, and make them realize we control this city. I want my Violet. Once we have it, everything else crumbles at our feet. Ingram, the Trifect, the elves…I won’t risk losing a single scrap of that victory. Put it to a vote, now.”

Warrick shrugged his bony shoulders.

“All who favor Ulrich Blackwater speaking for the Merchant Lords, lift your hand.”

Flint was first, immediately endearing the kid to Ulrich, who of course voted for himself. Two more, he thought, glancing about the table. Arren refused to meet his eyes, which was answer enough. Warrick stayed back, to vote last as he always did. Durgo crossed his arms, not looking pleased at all. Stern finally lifted his hand, and Ulrich tried to hold back his anger at such a delay. How could his own brother not trust him so?

“Will there be any others?” Warrick asked. “Then so be it. I cast my vote for you as well, Ulrich, though I do so with a heavy heart. It is one thing to chase gold, another to be blinded by it. The Violet may bring us wealth unimaginable, but it also may lead us to our doom. Acknowledge that threat.”

“Of course,” Ulrich said, all smiles.

The major issues decided, they closed a few more minor points of contention, then ended the meeting. As Ulrich was heading out, last to arrive and first to leave as always, Flint hurried to catch up with him.

“I’m not scared of war,” Flint said, earning him a raised eyebrow.

“Is that so?” Ulrich asked, a little puzzled.

“I just, I asked back there only because I’m still trying to learn. But I’m not my father. I am not afraid of the elves. No matter what they say, I know they killed my…I have no intention of making deals with those backstabbing monsters. Whatever you need, know the Amours are behind you.”

Ulrich smiled, and he clapped the young man on the back.

“How solid is your rule over your family’s estate?” he asked.

Flint’s cheeks flushed.

“I have many brothers,” he said.

“If anyone gives you too much trouble, you come to me. Consider that a favor for your help.”

Flint nodded, looking relieved.

“I will,” he said, and he smiled. Such an eager kid, thought Ulrich. Good thing he got to him before Arren did.

“Come on,” he said, glancing back to see Stern discussing matters with Warrick in a far corner of the room. He frowned, but then hurried to hide it. “We should go find ourselves a place to drink the night away in celebration of your new position.”

“W ill you not be going with me?” Haern asked as he pulled his hood low. Zusa shook her head, sliding her wrappings across her face.

“Your vengeance upon Ingram is your own, as is just. We sent our message, and I will see if the Wraith answers.”

“And if you find him alone?”

Zusa shot him a wink.

“I am capable of killing, same as you. Worry about your own life, Haern.”

He left her there while she continued dressing, feeling a small sense of relief at heading out alone. It was what he knew, what he did best. At the servants’ exit, Torgar gave him no nonsense, stepping aside when he saw Haern coming.

“Try not to die too painfully,” the big man muttered. Haern smirked.

“Zusa will soon follow. Try to behave.”

He climbed over the wall and ran.

The city of Angelport was mostly flat, but overlooking the docks was a manmade hill rising up from the water. Atop it was a large and fairly modern looking mansion, with many statues built into various nooks and corners. Its walls were made of a white stone he did not recognize. He was surprised by how poorly guarded the outside was. Easily finding a gap in the patrols, he used the arm of one statue to vault to a second, that of a great bird spreading its wings as if to fly off the roof. Once up there, he searched the windows.

He didn’t know what this Ingram fellow looked like, but he knew well the mannerisms of the privileged. There would be no other room as large, no place as well decorated, as his own. Through the third window he checked he saw an extravagant four-poster bed, red silk curtains along the sides. The window was unlocked, another unimpressive bit of security. Sliding it open, Haern slipped inside, drew his sabers, and leapt onto the bed.

“Wait!” the man said as the tip of a saber pressed against his throat, startling him awake.

“Are you Ingram?” Haern asked, keeping his voice a cold whisper.

The man was tall but hefty, and when he nodded, his cheeks shook and blood trickled down his neck. His dark hair was long, and it fell across his sweating face.

“Do you know who I am?” Haern asked.

“I do,” said Ingram, doing a remarkable job at keeping calm. “You’re him, aren’t you, the Wraith?”

Haern felt his professional pride take a jab. Being mistaken for another? Having someone else feared more? These were unwelcome firsts.

“No,” he said, pressing the tip harder to make sure the man didn’t dare cry out for help. “The Watcher. You left me a message. I’ve come to give you one of my own.”

“I’d think twice about that,” Ingram said. He swallowed, and the motion rubbed the tip up and down his throat. The sensation made him shudder. “Do you think I’d provoke you without preparing for retaliation?”

Haern felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Ingram was trying to take control of the situation, initiating conversion while acting as if he were the one with greater knowledge. Not the way he wanted the situation to progress at all.

“Everyone knows they’ll die,” Haern whispered. “But that makes them no less prepared. You slaughtered innocent people in my name.”

“And you killed my guards,” Ingram countered.

“Ruffians prepared to rob and beat others. A poor excuse for guards.”

“And those I killed were no better. My dungeons are overcrowded as is. You gave me a fine excuse to thin them out, Watcher.”

Haern felt his anger flare, and he pulled the saber back to thrust.

“Do it, and hundreds more die,” Ingram said. He clenched his jaw, and stared eye to eye while braced for the killing blow. Haern almost did it. Almost.

“Why?” he asked.

Ingram let out a slow sigh of relief.

“I’d heard much, but the strangest rumor was that you cared for the commoners,” the man said. “I see that is true. I have given orders to every guard in the city, and my nobles all agreed to do the same, lest they forfeit any chance of inheriting my power. Should I die by your hand, or that of the Wraith, every single prisoner in my custody is to be immediately executed, regardless of their crime.”

Ingram gave him a smile.

“As of last count, I have over four hundred people locked away in cells, minus the thirty we removed today.”

Haern struck him across the face with the hilt of a saber. Instead of showing anger or fear, Ingram laughed.

“You really are a weakling, aren’t you? Letting a faceless rabble decide your course of action…shameful.”

“Why did you do it?” Haern asked. “Why such a display?”

“You ask me?” Ingram rolled his eyes. “You appear in my city and kill two of my guards, yet ask me why I did it? How about you tell me what you’re doing in Angelport? Oh, and keep your damn saber away from my throat if you have no intention of using it.”

Haern leaned close enough to whisper into Ingram’s ear.

“You said your orders were only if you were killed.”

He thrust a saber through Ingram’s shoulder, pinning him to his bed. Ingram let out a cry, but Haern smothered it with his hand.

“I’m here because another dared challenge me,” Haern said as Ingram’s struggles ceased. “This fool who calls himself Wraith will die, and I will be the one to kill him. Last night I thought I killed thieves, not guards, but I do not regret the act. They preyed on the weak, and they deserved to die for it. Until the Wraith is dead, I will prowl the night. Do not try to stop me, nor get in my way. And if you dare consider hanging more innocents…”

He yanked out the sword and let the blood drip across Ingram’s forehead.

“I’m not scared of you,” Ingram said, despite his pale face and shaking arms. “You’re a coward. I’ll fill the gallows with necks no matter who you kill. Empty my dungeon, and I’ll grab people off the streets to swing.”

“Not another body,” Haern said, shaking his head. “Not if you want to live.”

Ingram laughed.

“Then we’ll have to see how many lives you’re willing to sacrifice.”

His left foot kicked out, ringing a bell Haern could not see underneath the sheets.

“Oh, and I’d suggest running,” Ingram said. “I did prepare, remember?”

Guards burst through the door, all wielding crossbows. Haern turned and dove through the window, furious at his carelessness. He rolled along the roof as bolts whizzed by. Shouts followed him, and he circled about in search of a clear space to leap. The grounds were suddenly crawling with guards. A risky trap, given how vulnerable Ingram had left himself, but it had gone as the lord had hoped. Crossbow bolts thudded all about him, and torches continually pointed in his direction as he fled.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he hooked toward the back of the mansion, hoping for an escape. The longer he took, the more guards seemed to appear. He kept his head low and his cloaks spread wide, covering as much of his body as he could. The sky was clouded, the night particularly deep. All he needed was a few seconds lost amid the darkness and he might escape.

“This way!” he heard a voice cry out, but it came from the roof, not those chasing along the ground. He looked over to see a shadowy version of himself, clothed similarly except instead of gray he wore black. In his hand he held a sword, the blade slightly curved. The man’s face was hidden by his hood, its recesses so dark only his lips and chin remained visible. He smiled as if incredibly amused by Haern’s predicament.

“Follow me!”

This shadow, this mirror, turned and ran along the very top of the mansion to its highest point. Once there he looked back, beckoning. Despite the insanity of it all, despite who he feared this stranger was, Haern followed. The man offered his hand, and Haern took it.

“Reach for the heavens,” he said before turning and running at blinding speed. Haern kept up, but just barely. Bolts clacked and buried into the roof on either side. They ran down the slanted front of the mansion, toward a two-headed monster built above the door. Letting go, the stranger took a step ahead and then leapt off. Haern followed, lifting his hands high as he’d been told. The fence about the mansion was near, and as they sailed over, Haern had a half-second to see the man hook his arms about a rope before he had to mimic the action. It struck his elbows, and he looped an arm about it and hung.

“Hurry,” the stranger said, swinging once over the rope before dropping beyond the wall. Haern paused a moment, trying to catch his breath. Large trees grew on opposite sides of the mansion gate’s entrance, the rope tied to two branches. Instead of following, he climbed to one of the trees and took cover within as another volley of crossbow bolts flew his way.

“I said jump,” the stranger shouted.

“Tell me your name,” Haern shouted back.

“You should know it, or my opinion of you is greatly overestimated.”

Haern tried to decide what to do, but in the end, he couldn’t stay there, not with armed guards rushing from all sides of the mansion toward him. With a kick of his legs he leapt over the wall, rolled to absorb the force of the landing, and then pulled up mere feet away from the man he’d been brought to Angelport to kill.

“Lead on, Wraith,” he said.

The Wraith’s grin grew.

“As you wish…Watcher.”

They ran, two deadly shadows, and left the guards far behind.