David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“Are you the priest here?” Alyssa asked, looking about the simple room.

“Me?” Logan shook his head and grinned. “No, ma’am. Nole’s in charge. I just help. He’s out with a family, but he’ll be back soon. Please stay in here, all right?”

“Sure thing,” Haern said, squeezing Zusa’s hand. “Might you bring us some blankets before you go?”

Logan flushed.

“Of course.”

He retreated into a single door behind the altar, returning moments later with several blankets in his arms.

“I didn’t know how many you’d need,” he said as Alyssa took them.

“Thank you,” she said, laying two of them across Zusa, who had begun shivering. Logan peered over her shoulder, then stepped back when he realized Haern was watching.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“She’s sick,” Haern said. “Is it not obvious?”

Logan nodded twice in rapid succession, then hurried into the back room after repeating that they stay there.

“Nervous little kid,” Haern muttered.

“Be kind,” Alyssa said, sitting on the bench by Zusa. Gently she stroked her friend’s forehead.

The minutes passed in silence. Haern took a seat on a bench opposite the two women, and he held his stolen sword in both hands, gently poking the tip into the floor as a way to relieve his boredom. He hated this feeling of helplessness, hated the pain that refused to leave his shoulder, hated the blood that dripped down to his wrist before dropping to the floor. Most of all, he hated the raging desire for vengeance in his heart. It felt unwelcome in such a temple, no matter how small and plain it might be.

But he wouldn’t deny it. Madelyn. Ingram. The elves. More than ever, he felt he understood the Wraith’s desire to bring it all tumbling down. What is it he’d said? He’d walked into a house of cards. Who was in the right? Could he even trust Alyssa?

The door opened behind them with a loud creak, and he turned toward it. In stepped a middle-aged man, his hair long but his face shaven. He wore the white robes of his order, which stood in stark contrast to his dark skin. Seeing them there, he smiled.

“I see we have guests,” he said. “Welcome. I am Nole, priest and leader of this holy temple.”

Haern stood so he could bow, while Alyssa remained seated next to Zusa, still holding the faceless woman’s hand. From the back the door opened, and Logan hurried out.

“Have you made our guests feel comfortable?” Nole asked the young man.

“We’ve been treated well,” Haern said, answering for him. “Though I feared Logan might strike us with a club at any moment.”

Logan blushed and kicked his feet.

“It’s just, you know, robbers…”

“We’ve had many come claiming they seek forgiveness only to instead steal every last copper,” Nole said. “I hate leaving him here alone, but someone must watch the temple when I am gone. And who might you three be?”

“My name is Haern. With me is Alyssa, and the sick lady, Zusa.”

Nole frowned as he came closer to where Zusa lay. Alyssa looked up at him expectantly.

“Can you help her?” she asked. “I can pay well, I promise.”

She was already pulling out coins from her pocket when the priest waved her away.

“What has happened to her?” he asked, kneeling beside the bench.

“I’m not sure I can say. She caught fever a few days ago, and while she recovered at first, it’s come back far worse.”

Nole put his hands on Zusa’s face, pressed his forehead against hers, and then closed his eyes. As he began to pray, Haern lay down on his own bench, unable to keep up his concentration. The pain in his shoulder came roaring back to life, and he gritted his teeth to endure. Meanwhile, white light flashed around the priest’s hands, then vanished.

“I’ve seen this before,” he said, standing. “Though never quite this extreme. Does she chew crimleaf?”

“No,” Alyssa said. “Why?”

“Because that’s what this reminds me of. Sometimes people try far too much at once, and it gets into them like a disease. Usually it only makes them sick for a day or two, but this…”

“The Violet,” Alyssa said. “It must be that.”

“Violet?”

“Stronger crimleaf. I can’t explain much more than that, priest.”

Nole shrugged.

“I will do what I can. Logan, help me carry her into my room. She deserves a far better bed than this hard bench.”

Alyssa slid aside so they might take her. She watched them go, worry evident in her eyes. Haern eyed her from upon his back, feeling incredibly tired.

“You love her, don’t you?” he asked.

“Like she was my sister.”

“I wouldn’t know what that’s like. I had only one brother.”

She glanced his way.

“What happened to him?”

Haern smiled even as the sadness and shame of it stung him.

“I killed him at my father’s request. I haven’t thought about him in years.”

Alyssa didn’t seem to know what to say. She stared at the door where Zusa had vanished within. Wringing her hands, she settled into the bench and pulled a blanket over her.

“I did the right thing, didn’t I?” she asked. “Letting the elves stay?”

“You ask the wrong person,” Haern said, closing his eyes. “I’m still in the dark. Why were you helping them? What do they have to do with you? And just what is this Violet?”

He heard Alyssa sigh.

“Laurie Keenan’s wealth has faded, so that his only real source of wealth comes from his domination of the crimleaf trade. But recently we heard rumors of this new leaf, which the Merchant Lords were calling Violet. Everyone said the same thing, and I tried it myself to confirm it: the leaf is a hundred times more potent than crimleaf. The catch is that it only grows in the Quellan Forest. Something about the trees there, or the elves, I don’t know. For two years, the merchants have tried growing it elsewhere without success. So now they’ve moved on to a new strategy.”

“The elves,” Haern said. “That’s what is causing all this conflict?”

“Partly. Ingram’s hatred of them is well known, and he’s always been stirring up trouble. This time, though, he’s gone too far, and he’s clueless as to how badly the merchants have manipulated him to do so. He wants concessions of land, believing it’d be for his loggers and his boats. Since the elves have killed so many, he thinks this a fair compensation, as well as a way to cease the bloodshed.”

“It won’t work, though,” Haern said, thinking of the look on Laryssa’s face. “They won’t give an inch, will they?”

Alyssa sighed.

“No, I don’t think they will. There are some who wish to avoid war, and might consider it. But there are many elves who hope for otherwise…”

“So you coming here, helping the elves…it was all to protect Lord Keenan’s investments?”

“Is that what you think of me?” she asked, and the cold fury in her voice made him open his eyes. “That my wealth, and that of the Trifect, is all that matters? I saw a war coming, Watcher, one Laurie failed to prevent on his own. I wanted to find a way to stop it. I know we have our sins, but the Merchant Lords are worse. They have no stake in anything, no land, no heritage. They have their boats, their gold, and their vices. Violet is dangerous, yet they’ll flood all of Dezrel with it to fill their coffers. At least we have tried to build an empire of mines, farms, villages. Ulrich, and those like him, will burn Neldar to the ground if they so desire. They’ll sail their boats through a thousand floating corpses if it satisfies their greed.”

Haern stared, unflinching against her glare.

“Why am I here?” he asked. “Why really?”