David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

The remaining elf was a woman, her hair pulled behind her and tightly braided. Blood ran from her forehead, the lone cut Zusa had managed to score after killing the other. The elf wielded a long, curved blade in one hand and a dagger in the other, the two weaving through the air in perfect tandem. Zusa refused to back down, nor be intimidated by their speed. Compared to Haern, the elf was actually slower, and unlike Haern, her blades did not both have a longer reach.

Zusa fell into a rhythm, blocking and parrying for a good ten seconds. She saw the other woman grow confused, as if baffled Zusa could even stand toe to toe with her. Zusa chose that moment to strike, slipping between a dual-thrust that she’d parried wide to either side of her. But the elf fell back, and her swords sliced back in, so Zusa did the only attack that would still hit: a snap-kick to her face. The blow momentarily stole her balance, and Zusa dropped to one knee and swept out the elf’s feet from underneath her.

Instead of landing hard, perhaps knocking the wind out of her lungs, the elf woman was already rolling. Zusa’s daggers missed flesh, only hitting stone. Swearing, she chased after. The elf pulled out of the roll, landed softly on her feet, and met her charge. Four blades danced, parrying and blocking in a blur creatable only by the best. But Zusa would be better. She had to be. In her heart, she thought of Alyssa, and what the elves might do. The fury gave her strength, and when she stole the offensive, she hammered away at the elf’s blades as if they were mere playthings in her way. The elf tried to flee, but Zusa would not let her. Sensing her hesitation, she feinted, then took out her knee with a solid blow from her heel. As the elf fell, Zusa cross-cut, tearing open her throat.

Elven blood poured across the cold stone.

“Alyssa?” Zusa called out as she staggered toward the end of the hall. She came upon the same dark cell Haern had been in, and in the thin sliver of light, she saw it empty. Her heart sank. She had guessed wrong. Running back toward the entrance, she prayed that somehow she would make it in time. She didn’t care if Karak heard, or Ashhur answered. It didn’t matter. Alyssa mattered. The cell doors flashed by, the jeers and catcalls only distant groans of insects to her.

Back at the initial intersection, she saw them, four elves hurrying in tandem. Slung across one of their shoulders, bound and gagged, was Alyssa. Their backs were to her, but they must have noticed the other elves’ absence, and were on alert. One turned, his painted face glaring as he readied his long blade. The other three shouted something in elvish and ran toward the exit.

“Did you kill Celias and Treyarch?” he asked in the human tongue as she slowed and readied her daggers.

“Don’t forget whoever was at the door,” she said, flashing him a smile that felt born of mania and desperation. His eyes sparkled in the nearby torchlight.

“I’ll make sure your death is painful.”

He lashed out, an upward swipe that passed an inch away from her face, cutting strands of her hair. This elf was faster, and she felt slower, her adrenaline fading. Zusa retreated, but the elf matched her step for step. Her daggers batted left to right, blocking his smoothly connected strikes. His sword was a blur, and she had to fight to keep herself focused. No time for this, she thought, but already defeat clawed at her mind. The elves would escape, and Alyssa with them. She’d failed.

The elf backed her into a corner, and she felt the heat of a torch burning beside her head.

“You ended lives that walked this land for hundreds of years,” he said. “No greater sin poisons this world than that of your kind.”

His sword danced, and she was a poor partner. Without room, her dodges were limited, and his speed incredible. Any time she countered, he’d leap back, slap the weapon aside, and then lunge, relying on his greater reach. With every passing moment, her exhaustion ebbed away at her reflexes. He scored cut after cut, and at least once she saw him purposefully twist the blade to the side so it did not embed into her flesh.

The elf was mocking her, covering her body with a dozen gashes. The insult was too much. She weakly slumped against the wall, tears in her eyes.

“Just end it,” said Zusa.

The elf frowned, obviously disappointed. He closed in, the tip of his blade aiming for her throat. No comment this time, no biting words. The muscles in his body were tense, and death was in his eyes.

When he thrust, Zusa parried it to the left, letting out a cry as the tip slashed across her cheek. Her other hand reached out, and he moved to dodge, but she wasn’t stabbing with it. She was throwing. The dagger hurled true, piercing his side. It wasn’t fatal, but the delay was enough. She yanked the torch from the wall and swung. He blocked, but the fire was in his eyes. She swung again, and again, always toward his face. At last she let it drop, and she could see his pupils dilating. In that brief moment as the torch fell, when his vision would be all spots and shapes, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her free arm around him as if in an embrace. Her other rammed the blade of her dagger through his ribs and into his heart.

She let him drop, then spat on his corpse.

“Never talk to me of sin,” she said.

Zusa looked to the exit, to where the starlight shone on an empty walkway. Guards would be there soon, but they would not catch the elves, nor would they catch her. She ran.

Haern woke to the sound of his door opening. He looked up, the sleepiness in his head vanishing at the sight of Zusa standing there, her wrappings cut and torn, seemingly every inch soaked with blood.

“Zusa?” he asked, stumbling out of the bed. She took a limping step closer, then collapsed into his arms.

“They took her,” she said.

“Took her? Who? Alyssa? Who took her?”

Her fingers clawed against his chest, and her whole body shook. At first he thought it was weakness, maybe from blood loss, but when she looked into his eyes, he realized it was rage struggling to break free.

“The elves took Alyssa,” she said. “They’ll kill her. I know it. They’ll kill her, but I’ll make them pay. All of them, this whole damn city, will pay in blood.”

He held her close, and she pressed her bruised forehead against his chin.

“I don’t care if this city burns,” she said, her voice suddenly softening. “I just want her back. Please, that’s all I want. Without her…”

Haern wrapped his arms tighter, and she felt so small then, so close to breaking.

“We’ll find her,” he said. “All’s not lost yet. We’ll find her, save her. I promise.”

She pulled away.

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” she said, beginning to undress. “Now help me bandage these cuts, and quickly. If we’re to act, we have little time to spare. There’s only one place the elves would take her.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

She gave him a look as if he were a simpleton.

“To their forest,” she said. “They’ll take her to Quellassar, and once there, not even the greatest army of man could save her from their blades.”

Alyssa awoke in the middle of the act of vomiting, her stomach heaving while her abdomen tightly cramped. Vertigo came next, the ground seemingly above her. Closing her eyes, she realized she was slung over someone’s shoulder. Soft whispers in a language she assumed was elvish came from either side of her. Daring to open her eyes once more, she saw they were running. With strange glee she noticed she’d vomited on her elven captor’s boots.

When she tried to look up, she felt pressure on both her neck and her wrists. They were tied together, she realized, with an intricate knot. Testing, she tried pulling her wrists apart, only to choke off her next breath. Struggling would be useless. Trying to relax, she looked up as much as she could without strangling herself, in a vain hope she’d recognize her surroundings. But there were no nearby buildings, no distinguishable landmarks. Instead she saw hills, and grass, and the occasional cluster of trees.