David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“Come with me, all of you,” he said, glancing at Zusa and Haern. “Don’t worry…we won’t be followed.”

The last comment seemed more directed to Laryssa, who openly glared at the ambassador. Zusa slid in beside her, grabbing her hand.

“I am glad to see you well,” she said.

“Me too.”

Haern moved to the other side of her, constantly turning his head so he might watch the elven camp.

“Too easy,” he said, as if in doubt of their escape.

“You’re right,” Graeven said, leading them on a path toward the main road running south into Angelport. “You are only safe in my presence. The rest will hunt you, rest assured on that.”

“How is it you may overrule the demands of a princess?” asked Alyssa.

“Because she herself was ordered to return to Quellassar, and leave all dealings with humans to my discretion. If Laryssa disobeyed, and caused a war, then she might face potential banishment if there were enough uproar about it.”

“Would there be?”

Graeven spun, fast enough all three tensed.

“Make no mistake,” said the elf. “Doing this puts my reputation at great risk. I requested your release under great pressure, and my objections are well known to the rest of our nobility. There are many who believe your death will avert a war, and they question where my loyalties lie. You are safe in my presence, but the moment I am gone, they will take their justice knowing there is little I can do to punish them.”

He turned and continued on.

“Ingram has refused handing you over because he knows the recent riots will be nothing compared to the fury he would face should word reach the commoners. Many of my colleagues in Quellassar have taken a similar hard line, and will march upon Angelport if that’s what it takes to bring their desired justice. Whether you deserve it or not, you’ve become a focal point, a symbol of human aggression against elvenkind. More will die until Ingram regains control of his city, and my own people acknowledge the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” asked Haern.

The ambassador turned and gave him a look Alyssa could not decipher.

“That we are fading,” he said. “Our rule over Dezrel has long ended. Our numbers dwindle, and every day the power of man tightens around our borders. Already one of your kings chased the Dezren elves across the nations, and burned their beloved city to the ground.”

Graeven shook his head.

“One day, those same torches will come for us. I must do all that I can to prevent that, or at the least delay. I will not see those I love perish in such a way. I will not let the tragedy at Dezerea happen again.”

They reached the road, and Alyssa joined Haern in looking behind them.

“You won’t see them,” Graeven said. “But they are following, I assure you. We have little time.”

“There must be something I can do,” Alyssa said. “Some way to prevent all this.”

“There is.” Graeven looked to Angelport. “You disappear. My people will look, of course, and they’ll believe Ingram has you in hiding. Still, that gives me more to work with than if my kind knew for certain you were in his custody. Ingram will do a fine job accusing us of lying in return, since we broke into his dungeon. That alone will be a fine mess to explain. But so long as you remain a mystery, I believe I can keep things from worsening.”

“We need to return to Veldaren,” Haern said, his hands resting on the hilts of his sabers. “Only there will you be safe.”

“No,” Graeven insisted. “You will never make it. They’ll watch the roads, and track you with ease. A dozen arrows would pierce your body long before reaching Veldaren. Come with me to Angelport. I know a place you may hide, and the city walls will delay them long enough for you to disappear. And, if we’re blessed, we might even discover whoever it was that did attack Laryssa.”

Alyssa chewed her lip, and she looked at the other two. Haern shrugged, and Zusa put a hand on her shoulder.

“Do what you think is right,” she said.

Thinking of that tense moment in the camp, and how the ambassador had defused it, she nodded.

“Lead on,” she told Graeven. “And let us pray to whatever gods might listen that we find a way to save us from war.”

Graeven smiled, and he bowed low.

“Of course, milady,” he said. “Follow me.”

At the Port and Loan, Warrick Sun met with the last surviving members of the Merchant Lords, taking count of casualties and loss. Their meeting table was overloaded with strong alcohol as they toasted and drank. None cared that it was hardly an hour past sunrise. It was not a time for sobriety.

“I am fortunate enough to have most my wealth forever on the water,” said Warrick, leaning back and resting his hands in his lap. “Madelyn’s mercenaries burned my home, but that is no sore loss. A shame about my paintings, though. Those commissions were not cheap.”

“I’m sure Arren wished he had gotten away so lightly,” Stern said, downing another shot. “You see what they did to his body? Gave him a damn necklace made of his own guts. Fuckers. Glad I gave as good as I got when it comes to killing.”

“That is because you have a demon’s luck,” said Durgo Flynn. “I lost five ships to their fire, and many good crewmen. But I did not have the Wraith fighting to protect my home.”

A stir spread through them, merely at the mentioning of the Wraith’s name.

“Demon’s luck?” asked Stern. “I stumbled upon my brother’s corpse in a bloody alley, and you’d accuse me of a demon’s luck?”

Beside him, Flint Amour shifted uncomfortably.

“We ran,” he said. “Not much we could do. They killed my brothers as well, all of them.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Stern said, rolling his eyes. “Mighty convenient, that.”

Flint flushed and focused on drinking instead of responding.

“There is that strange business, the Wraith’s aid,” Warrick said, scratching at his nose with his wrinkled hands. “He has struck at us before, yet now he helps protect us, despite our ineffective bounty on his head? What game does he play?”

“Well, if it is a game, I’d like to join.” Stern hurled his cup against a wall, just above the head of a servant. “We lost hundreds of thousands of gold pieces’ worth of supplies, homes, plus two of our lords, yet Ingram does nothing. Madelyn’s sitting safe behind her walls, and our lord won’t do a damn thing to bring justice.”

“Justice in Angelport has always been brought about by our hand,” Warrick said, doing his best to be patient. Stern was usually more level-headed, but the loss of his daughter, and now Ulrich, had left him raw and unpredictable. “And we still have many fighting men at our disposal. If we had known of Madelyn’s attack in advance, we would have crushed them at our gates. Alas, she was one step ahead, but we cannot let that happen again. We must remove her as a threat, but how?”

“She’s got too many mercenaries left for us to assault her mansion,” Stern said. “And any attack we make risks bringing the city guard down on our heads. Gods know Ingram would love the excuse.”

“Our riots have left him frightened,” Warrick said. “They served their purpose. One false step, and we will have him supplanted as ruler, the city delivered to us by the hands of its own people. He will not interfere.”

Durgo stood, and he struck the table with an enormous fist. His surprising outburst, contrary to his soft-spoken nature, left Warrick more annoyed than anything.

“We must act the coward no longer,” Durgo said, glaring at all of them. “Damn Ingram, damn Madelyn, damn the whole city. It is time we stopped fearing their reactions, their plans, and did as we pleased. Madelyn needs to die, regardless what Ingram thinks. I say we gather who we have, then attack. We’ll hang her body at the docks, and let every lord and noble see what happens when they oppose us.”