David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“Yes, safe. All three of you should be safe here.”

“After last night, forgive me for wondering,” said Haern. “Besides, we must fetch a healer for Zusa.”

For such a comment, Madelyn wanted to strangle him, but she let it slide over her.

“I will send for someone,” she said. “Now if you’ll forgive me, I must be going.”

“And I as well,” said Alyssa. “I have plenty of coin, and I’m sure I can find someone who will not betray…”

“No,” Madelyn said, her voice firm. Behind her, Torgar reached for his sword, as if he could read her mind. “No, you must stay. I will not have you endanger yourself out in the streets, not when Ingram is looking for any way to strike at us. All three of you must stay here. The Wraith will not get to you, I promise.”

“Is that so?” Alyssa asked. “How kind of you.”

“Torgar, assign a guard to watch over them,” she said, her orders as much for Alyssa as the mercenary. “I’d hate for anything to happen.”

“May I still wander the mansion?” Alyssa asked, but her words were dripping with false sympathy. Madelyn smiled, let the tiniest bit of her victory seep into her voice.

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

She shut the door, and Torgar followed her as she left.

“They’re dangerous,” he said, glancing back.

“Alyssa is but a child, and the other two are wounded.”

“Wounded animals tend to be the most dangerous.”

She whirled on him.

“Then I expect your men to do their job,” she said. “They don’t leave. Gods know why I don’t just cut off their heads and be done with all three.”

Torgar stepped closer, and he lowered his voice.

“So much for honoring your husband’s final wishes,” he said.

Dangerous ground, Madelyn realized, but she could not do it. Not when it came to that harlot, Alyssa.

“He’s dead, and I’m in charge,” she said softly. “And Alyssa’s a disease rotting away at the Trifect’s core. They don’t leave that room, for any reason. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” said Torgar. He saluted her, his motions stiff and lacking any fluidity. “And may I ask just how long they will not be leaving that room?”

“For now, just a day or two,” she said. “Once night comes…forever.”

A guard came from the front door, and he paused while waiting for acknowledgement.

“What?” asked Torgar.

“A man at the gate wishes to speak with you,” he said.

“Go,” said Madelyn. “And remember, I want a guard in there at all times.”

“I’ll handle it,” Torgar said, suddenly grinning at her. It was so wolfish, so disgusting, she shivered. “Trust me, I got all this under control. What about all the various stuffshirts wishing to give their sympathy? I’ve got them corralled up at the front.”

“Let them wait,” she said. “I have no time for their false sorrow.”

Glad to be away from the mercenary, Madelyn hurried to Taras’s old room to once more join her servants. More than anything, she wanted to hold Tori in her arms, shut her eyes, and cry away the last memories of her husband, until nothing remained inside her but a faded shadow.

The entire estate looked to be on lockdown when Ulrich arrived at the front gate.

“Let me through,” he said to one of the five guards that stood watch on the other side.

“No one enters.”

“I am Ulrich Blackwater, and I am no commoner for you to turn away. Send for someone I may speak with if you insist I remain outside.”

The guard sent someone off running, and a few minutes later they returned with a giant sellsword in tow.

“Ulrich, you bastard, what are you here for?” asked Torgar.

“I heard the grim news,” Ulrich said. “I’ve come to offer my condolences.”

Torgar turned and spat.

“How long did I work for you?”

“Three years, if I remember. It was so long ago…”

“Aye, three years. How many times, in those three years, did you ever feel sorry for anyone but yourself? You were more likely to cry over your spilled ale than a dead child lying at your feet.”

Ulrich clenched his teeth, but he kept his face calm.

“I’ll forgive such rudeness if you let me in. It would be impolite of me to deny respect to such a man as Laurie.”

Despite the rolling of his eyes, Torgar grumbled an order to the guards. They unlatched the gate and swung it open, slamming it shut behind Ulrich after he entered.

“Keep it short and sweet,” said Torgar. “As you can see, we’re not in the mood for guests.”

“I’ve noticed,” Ulrich said, glancing at the guards as Torgar escorted him toward the front door. Every section of the wall was guarded by mercenaries, many who had, until recently, been in his employ. The front door had a man on each side, standing with their swords drawn. Even when he looked to the windows, he swore he saw men with crossbows.

“Fearing an invasion?” he asked. He’d told Darrel that the Keenans were rounding up every mercenary they could find, but actually seeing it in person was another thing entirely. The place was crawling with them.

“Something like that. Between Lord Ingram and the Wraith, we’re needing much as we can get.”

They came inside, and Ulrich found himself on the receiving end of several glares from petty nobles gathered in the front parlor. In return, he bowed low.

“Gentlemen,” he said, giving them a mocking grin.

“You have no right to be here,” said one, a middle-aged man with a graying beard. “Wretches like you are why the Wraith torments us so.”

“Is that so?” Ulrich asked. “I was not aware you had spoken with the elusive butcher. Please, tell me, what did he have to say about me?”

“Shut up,” Torgar said, and it seemed he spoke to both. “Madelyn’s in Taras’s old room. Follow me.”

The sellsword led the way, his broad shoulders bumping into the finely dressed nobles who didn’t move in time. Ulrich followed in his wake, and he winked at the bearded man, who looked ready to draw a sword if he had one. It only amused him further.

They walked down the hall, took a few turns, then stopped before an open door. Inside, he saw Madelyn sitting on a bed, dressed in a simple black outfit, laced tight. Leave it to her to find a way to make mourning look sexy, thought Ulrich. She held a baby in her arms; Taras’s kid, if he remembered correctly. All around her doting servants waited for the slightest request. Ulrich saw lines in her rouge from tears, as well as her pale complexion, and was surprised. He’d expected an icy woman like her to be taking things better.

“Milady,” Ulrich said, offering a sweeping bow. “It pains me to see you in mourning yet again. Surely the gods are cruel to let such a fate befall you.”

“Some say there is love in cruelty,” Madelyn said, beckoning for him to enter. “Do you think so?”

“Cruel men can make love,” Ulrich said. “Not so sure about the other way around.”

Torgar gave a half-wave to Madelyn before stepping out.

“Let me know when you’re ready for him to leave,” he said.

Ulrich stood before her, letting a silence stretch over them as he thought of what to say.

“How is your health?” he asked, though he could plainly see she looked ill.

“I will be better,” she said. “Though you’re not one known for his compassion. Is there some business with my husband you’d like to discuss?”

Ulrich feigned insult.

“Of course not. Laurie was a rival, not an enemy. I can still mourn his loss, can I not?”

She nodded, and Ulrich took no offense from the noncommittal response. She was right, of course. He was hardly known for his compassion, and his ego wasn’t large enough to take offense from the truth. As for his business, well…he did have one issue to discuss, other than scouting out the mansion to see its defenses, as well as confirm the mass hiring of mercenaries.