David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“Damn you, all of you,” she said, thinking of Torgar, her late husband, the merchants. Every sick member of Angelport that seemed to relish destruction and bloodshed. The fire popped, and she saw the tip of the dagger sticking out from the center. As the blood blackened, she wondered how to kill Torgar without blame or suspicion. There had to be a way, and she would find it. For once, the Keenan fortune was fully under her control. No one would take that from her.

No one, not even the brutish guard who knew her darkest secret.

Zusa remained patient as she crept toward Ingram’s compound, knowing the slightest mistake could be her last. Between the mobs, the elves, and the merchants, every guard would be on high alert, and that wasn’t even counting the added protection because of the Wraith, or Haern’s earlier midnight visit. Still, she was one of the faceless, if not the last. Nothing would stop her from getting in. Her patience was infinite, the shadows her friends.

Of course, getting out was another matter. She couldn’t help but think of her and Haern’s disastrous escape. If not for the Wraith, they’d have been two corpses, or even worse, tortured in the deep parts of Ingram’s dungeon.

When she reached the gate, she pressed her back to a wall, blending into the long shadows made by the starlight. Even with her impressive skills, she wondered just how much patience it’d take when she saw how many armed men patrolled the wall. Torches had been set up every fifty feet, no doubt hoping to eliminate any chance of stealth by someone like Haern or herself. Every window was lit with lamps, and the patrolling men also carried torches. She doubted there was anywhere else in Angelport closer to having daylight at night than Lord Ingram’s mansion.

As she was pondering a route in, something caught her eye. It was a shadow that didn’t seem quite right, stretching out far longer than the wall that created it. And then it moved. Curious, Zusa watched as a single shadowy form approached the mansion wall. As it arrived, her eyes spread wide. Six more figures followed, sprinting across the street with both incredible speed, and unnerving silence.

Elves, thought Zusa. They had to be. The question was…should she consider them friend or foe?

Either way, she had to follow, and keep them in sight. She wouldn’t let them endanger Alyssa, no matter their goal. As she ran, the seven scaled the wall with ease, then descended upon a patrol walking past. Zusa sprinted across the street, pressing her body flat against the stone wall. She listened for cries of alarm, or sounds of combat, but there were none. The elves had slaughtered a full patrol with hardly a noise. Her respect for them went up tenfold. From her own watch, she knew it’d be about a minute before the next one appeared. The elves would have to move fast to accomplish what they desired in such a small window of opportunity. Zusa leapt, grabbed the top ledge of the wall, and vaulted herself over.

She landed amid the bodies, all five of the patrol. They lay crumpled about, their throats slashed with fine precision. She looked to the mansion further up the hill, yet saw no one. She frowned. It didn’t matter their speed, she should have seen movement. Unless…

Zusa sprinted along the wall, a lump growing in her throat. Sure enough, as she rounded the side, she found another patrol, dead from sliced throats and stabs through the back and into lungs. Deadly killers, all seven, and they weren’t heading for Ingram in his mansion. They were making their way to the dungeon.

They wanted Alyssa.

“You won’t have her,” she whispered. She thought of raising an alarm, but no patrols were near, and the mansion was too far away to break a window with a stone to alert the guard. Besides, shouting and hollering would alert the elves to her own approach, and she would arrive far sooner than any guard. Drawing her daggers, she steeled herself to fight such incredible opponents. It’ll be like fighting Haern, she told herself. She’d sparred with him plenty on the trip to Angelport. That was the speed to expect, the level of skill to anticipate.

And there were seven of them.

At the entrance to the dungeon, she found two guards slumped beside the door, long darts sticking out from underneath their helmets. The huge door was open, and from within she heard the sound of shouting and combat. Buried under the earth, the noise was well-contained, and unless someone made it out, no one would raise the alarm. Gripping her daggers tighter, she knew it might be far too late by the time someone did.

Her rescue nearly ended before it began. As she passed through the entryway, every nerve in her body fired off warning. Reacting on instinct, she plummeted to one knee, ducked, and flung her daggers up in a desperate defense. From above the entrance fell an elf, and his sword connected with the daggers with a loud clang. Zusa rolled, knowing he would try to finish her before she might regain her footing. Sure enough, she heard the sound of blades scraping against the stone floor, failed slashes mere inches behind her.

Reaching a wall, she spun, putting her back to it. The elf lunged, his thrust aimed for her chest. She batted the thrust aside with both daggers. Before she could react further, he continued in with his charge, despite his sword clanging against the wall beside her. His foot connected with her abdomen, and when she swung, he twirled to one side, his fist striking her across the face. Nose bleeding, her stomach cramping, Zusa lifted her daggers and tried to smile.

“Come on,” she said. “You can do better.”

The elf’s face was painted in a smoothly blended mix of blacks and grays, making his brown eyes shine in the contrast. He grinned, his white teeth vibrant compared to the black of his lips.

“A skilled human,” the elf said. “Still, nothing compared to us.”

He looped his sword through an intricate display designed to confuse her, but she did not watch the blade, only the movements of his arms and the positioning of his legs. When he tensed, ready to lunge, she fell backward through the shadows of the wall, reappearing on the other side of the entryway. As his sword hit the wall hard enough to create sparks, she leapt at him. Her knees rammed his back, her daggers puncturing his soft leather armor.

“If you say so,” she hissed into his ear as she twisted the blades.

Zusa let him go, and as the body collapsed, she fought a wave of dizziness. Traveling through shadows would not be something she could rely on, not with how drained it left her afterward. She wiped her wrist beneath her nose, and it came back sticky with blood. Broken, she thought. Wonderful. Her abdomen still ached, and deep within the dungeon, the sounds of conflict lessened.

One elf down. Six more to go.

Seeing their skill, and hearing the contempt in the dead elf’s voice, convinced her the rest would expect no attack from the entrance. Surprise was her best weapon, perhaps her only real chance against them. She ran through the dungeon, and at the very first intersection, she saw dead guards leading every direction.

Shit.

There were three main wings to the dungeon, and Alyssa might be down any of them. She was certain the elves had broken up to investigate all three, which left her with no time to think, only react.

She ran straight ahead, hoping they’d placed Alyssa in the same cell they’d placed Haern. All around her, the prisoners let out a ruckus, most seeming amused by the slaughter of the guards they’d witnessed.

“You’re dead, girl!” one cried as she passed, and her heart leapt into her throat, for before her were the two elves hurrying along, each one checking the cells on their side for Alyssa. The cry didn’t grab their attention, and with all her fury she crashed into the pair, her daggers slashing like the claws of a wild beast. She focused on just one, knowing if she got greedy and failed to kill both at once, it’d leave her outnumbered, and therefore dead. Blood spilled across her hands, and she kicked the corpse away so she could fight.