David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“We’re to meet with Ingram and the elves in a few hours,” he said, sitting beside her and gently patting her hand. “I’ll make sure they know the reason for your absence.”

“Absence?”

She yanked her hand away and rubbed it as if she’d been burned.

“Why, I merely thought…”

“No,” Madelyn said, shaking her head. “Delay the meeting. How could anyone expect me to be there today?”

“Delay isn’t an option,” Ulrich said, making sure the slightest hint of condescension slipped into his voice. “The city is already full of unrest because of the elves’ visit. If you must, have Alyssa speak for the Trifect.”

“No!”

Ulrich was taken aback by the ferocity of her outburst. He chuckled, unsure of how else to react.

“Very well. Laurie made the Trifect’s position clear, so I’m sure we’ll do fine without anyone…”

“I will be there,” Madelyn said. “I will not have my house absent. Nothing so important happens in Angelport without our approval.”

Only the million things that pass underneath your nose every day, thought Ulrich.

“You are a brave woman,” he said instead. He let the silence linger for a moment, then out of pure spite asked why the Wraith had chosen to attack again.

“What did Laurie ever do to earn his wrath?”

“He was weak,” Madelyn said, rocking the sleeping babe in her arms. “But I won’t be. Good day, Ulrich. I will see you at Ingram’s mansion.”

Ulrich stood, and he bowed again. Before leaving, he had one last thing to ask.

“Forgive the intrusion, but by chance is the lovely Zusa here? We were in the midst of a fine conversation before we were interrupted.”

Madelyn’s face hardened into stone, and Ulrich marked the bizarre reaction.

“Zusa left with her husband for Veldaren,” she said.

“A shame,” Ulrich said, about his only honest reaction in their entire conversation. “Might she return to Angelport soon, perhaps when things have settled?”

“I doubt it. Goodbye, Ulrich.”

“May you endure,” Ulrich said in return. He stepped out, and found Torgar waiting not far down the hall, a wineskin in hand.

“You listening in?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” said Torgar. “Don’t expect much interesting conversation between her crying and your ass-kissing.”

Ulrich pulled the door shut behind him.

“I was told you’d lead me to Zusa’s room. She’s leaving for Veldaren soon, and I wish to say my farewells.”

The sellsword lifted an eyebrow.

“That so?”

“It is.”

Torgar shrugged.

“Whatever.”

He turned toward the back of the mansion, and Ulrich’s heart began to race as he followed. Such a simple piece of intrigue, for sure. Did the newlyweds have a falling out with Madelyn? Were they injured? And what might happen if Torgar realized he’d been duped? Glancing about, he had a sudden, more dire thought. What would happen if Torgar decided to draw that giant sword of his and ram it through Ulrich’s chest? Given their guards and wealth, the Keenan mansion might as well be a foreign nation. His brother might try for revenge, at least, but that’d be little comfort if he was deep in a grave…

Near the servants’ quarters, they stopped before a door, and Torgar gestured for him to enter.

“It ain’t locked,” he said. “I broke it.”

Another strange oddity. He pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was empty, the bed sheets ruffled and stained with blood. Torgar stepped in, saw the same, and then drew his sword.

“Fuck!”

It was then Ulrich saw the dead guard slumped in the corner to his right, his skin a pale white and his head at an awkward angle. Still clipped to his belt was an empty scabbard.

Suddenly Ulrich realized it wasn’t just an oddity anymore.

“Time to go,” Torgar said, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him out of the room. Normally Ulrich would have taken offense, but he knew a precarious situation when he saw one.

“Of course,” he said. “I should prepare for the meeting, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Torgar said, clearly not listening. Instead of the front door, Ulrich found himself heading toward the back. At the first hallway crossing, Torgar spotted a guard and began shouting.

“Where are they?” he roared. The guard paled and took a step back, and even Ulrich felt intimidated.

“Who?” asked the befuddled guard.

“Who else? Alyssa and her pets! Gods, what I’d give for someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing.”

As Torgar ordered for them to sound an alert, Ulrich could only begin to wonder the reason why Alyssa was being treated like an escaped prisoner. He knew the Trifect had its occasional infighting, but nothing like one taking the other hostage.

Torgar kicked open the backdoor, and more shoved than led Ulrich through. The two guards, one on either side, lay bleeding on the ground. He couldn’t tell if they were dead or unconscious, but it certainly seemed the former. Seeing this, Torgar looked ready to explode. More than ever, Ulrich felt ready to be gone.

“I can show myself out,” he offered.

Torgar shot him a look, at first with eyes wide and feral. Ulrich’s throat tightened, and he felt no better when the sellsword suddenly grinned at him.

“Scared to get a little blood on your hands?” he asked him.

“Scared it’ll be my own blood, yes.”

The backyard was not as guarded as the front, for it lacked any passage or gate through the brick wall surrounding the estate. Near one wall lay three more bodies, their blood soaking into the grass and staining the nearby bricks.

“Not even an alarm,” Torgar muttered. “Couldn’t even raise a damn alarm.”

He let out a cry, and from either side of the mansion mercenaries came running. Ulrich followed Torgar toward the bodies as he went to examine them, feeling unsure if he would be allowed to leave or not. So far the sellsword had made no outward threat, but still, he couldn’t shake the feeling his life hung by a thread.

“Climbed over,” Torgar said as the first arrived.

“Shit,” said the first mercenary. “How’d this happen?”

“Love to know myself,” said Torgar. “You three, form up squads, and get it done five minutes ago. Scour the area outside the mansion. I want those three found.”

“What three?” asked one of the mercenaries.

“Alyssa!” Torgar roared. “Who else could I be talking about? Now go!”

As they burst into action, Torgar grabbed Ulrich by the shoulder and dragged him toward the front. Halfway there, out of sight of any possible witnesses, the sellsword pulled him close enough for Ulrich to smell the wine on his breath.

“You listen well, you little runt. Not a word of this gets out to anyone, understand? It does, I know who talked. I don’t like people who talk about things that got nothing to do with them. They end up dead. Have I made myself clear?”

“You have, though remember, I don’t take kindly to people who make threats,” Ulrich said, standing erect even though he knew he looked ridiculous before the imposing sellsword.

“Threats? I’m not making threats, Blackwater. I’m stating a damn fact. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.”

He shoved Ulrich toward the front gate and, no fool, Ulrich hurried away. The guards at the front looked him over, then let him pass. Outside the walls, Ulrich smoothed his clothing and glared at the mansion. Hardly a moment later, the first of several squads emerged, each heading in a different direction to search. Amused by their urgency, he wandered down one of the side streets that led to the back alley behind the Keenan estate. Leaning against the wall, he watched with a smirk as two different squads raced in and out of view, making a lot of noise but discovering little.