David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

They both sat opposite each other by the fire, on beds of grass Graeven had carefully dried out with a burning branch during the lengthy wait. He offered Dieredon a buttered piece of bread, but the other elf rejected it.

“I am not much for human food,” he said.

“It’s grown on me.”

Dieredon looked to the city in the distance, his sharp eyes easily seeing a hundred details even Graeven could not.

“I am not alone in my arrival,” he said. “Many more have come, and it takes little to guess their intentions. Already we infiltrate the city. By week’s end, we’ll have two hundred elves in disguise among their ranks, if not twice that. The response has been overwhelming.”

“Which is why I summoned you,” Graeven said, setting aside his food without taking a bite, despite what he’d said about human food. “My position is to speak for our kind, who are united in their desire for war. I fear to utter even a word of peace lest I find myself reprimanded. Since Laryssa’s attack, it has only gotten worse.”

“Then why summon me?”

“Because you aren’t like the rest of our kin. You have spent a century in the wild, amid orcs, wolves, and humans. If there is anyone I feel I can rely on in this matter, it is you.”

Dieredon crossed his arms.

“I am no friend of man, despite my efforts. But a war against Angelport is folly. We should be above revenge and pride, yet that drives so many of our kind here. If I can help prevent such madness, tell me, and I will do what I can.”

Graeven smiled.

“Despite his bluster, I don’t think Lord Ingram actually seeks war. He’s a coward, and his fear and ignorance of us is truly impressive. It is our own kind we must appease, and I know of only one way. If you hunted down the ones responsible for the attack on Laryssa, and prove they acted on their own, we might have a chance. I’ll still need to deal with the Merchant Lords, but I think Ingram has begun to fear them as much as us. Perhaps a solution will present itself, but for now, we must worry about one thing at a time.”

“Do we know who is responsible?” Dieredon asked. “I’ve heard rumors…”

“I feel certain Alyssa Gemcroft gave the order. I heard her fury when we cast her out, reneging on my earlier offer of safety.” He handed Dieredon a small square piece of parchment, with a drawing of Alyssa he’d made with a thin stick of charcoal. “She is in hiding, and must be found. But I do not believe she was the one who acted out the attack.”

“Who was it, then?”

“I have looked deep into the matter, so trust my word in this. He is known as the Watcher, a killer from Veldaren who came south with Alyssa. The open eye is his symbol, which he drew using Laryssa’s own blood. Not only did he attack our princess, but he was arrogant enough to ensure we knew why it was done.”

“What does this…Watcher…look like?”

Graeven handed over a second square of parchment.

“It’s crude, I know, but the best I could manage. He is skilled, far more than humans are usually capable of. Do not treat him lightly. I wonder how great a match he would be against you.”

“How will I find him?” Dieredon asked, tucking both drawings into a pouch at his belt.

“If you find Alyssa, you will find him. He seems protective of her, perhaps because she has hired him, perhaps because they are lovers. It is little matter. With Alyssa found, he will come for her, if he is not with her already.”

“I will do what I can, though I must travel in disguise, and that will slow things down.”

“Make haste,” Graeven said, standing. “Remember, everything I do, I do for Quellassar. We must not relinquish the slightest scrap of land to the humans, I understand that now, but neither can we let a war begin that we are not prepared to win.”

“It might not be within our power to stop.”

Graeven’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled in the absence of starlight.

“Within the land of humans, Dieredon, everything is possible. These events are ours to control. Bring me Alyssa and the Watcher, and I will do the rest.”

Dieredon nodded, and he turned once more to the city.

“I may have to kill to succeed,” he said.

“Our cause is just. Celestia will understand, and give you her blessing. The few you kill outnumber the thousands you save. Remember, if you see our brethren in disguise, keep your task to yourself. Their minds are set, and they will not appreciate any attempt toward peace.”

“I understand. Go in peace, ambassador, and may Celestia watch over you.”

“And you as well.”

Dieredon scattered the fire with his foot, then headed for the city. Graeven watched him go, for a moment doubting the wisdom of sending the Scoutmaster after the Watcher. In the end, he shrugged his shoulders, and decided it was worth the risk.

Dejected, Haern returned to the temple just before the break of dawn. He’d scoured the city, twice interrupting an attempted theft, and once a rape, always careful to wound without killing. Still no sign of the Wraith, despite the possible attention. At least the rain had subsided, and no riots had broken out, which was a blessed relief.

As he walked to the door, it opened, and Logan startled for a moment finding him standing there so close.

“Heading out?” Haern asked.

“Errands,” Logan said, hurrying away.

Inside, he found Alyssa still asleep on one of the benches, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Zusa sat beside her, and she nodded in greeting. Haern nodded back, and he began to sit when Nole appeared from his room.

“Finally back?” the priest asked.

“I am,” Haern said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Alyssa. “Though I have little to show for a night’s rest wasted.”

“Come, use my bed then,” said Nole. “It is softer than the benches, and I have no need of it.”

Haern didn’t want to be a bother, given the kindness the priest had shown them over the past few days. Still, the benches were hardly comfortable, even with the padding of blankets. He removed his sword belt, pulled back his hood, and followed. The priest’s room was small and bare, but it had a bed, and Haern sat on its side. The mattress was stuffed with feathers, and it felt divine after hours hunched over the side of buildings, watching and waiting.

“I’m sorry it isn’t much,” Nole said, tidying up his small desk, and rolling up various scrolls. “You must be used to better, having come from Veldaren. Have you seen the temple there?”

Haern laid his swords down in a corner, then set his newly purchased cloak atop them.

“A few times,” he said, kicking off his boots. “It is a fine building.”

“Fine?” Nole chuckled. “Fine does not do it justice. Great pillars, walls carved of marble from distant quarries. I hear they’ve begun coloring their windows, so that the light swirls like a rainbow as it enters the temple.”

The priest looked around his room, carved of plain wood, and he gestured out the door, to where simple benches rested atop uncarpeted floor.

“Sadly, I must make do with so very little.”

“I take it Angelport is not so free gifting its coin?” Haern asked, laying down on the bed, his back popping multiple times as he did.

“I think the wealthy and the poor are all the same in every city, Haern, at least when it comes to their coin. No, the gods are not very important to the sailors and workers of Angelport. I have a small congregation every sixth day, but their tokens are only enough to keep me and Logan fed, and stave off the debtors for another year. Perhaps we do not impress them, perhaps I am an uninspiring servant of Ashhur, but at least Karak’s presence here is just as weak.”