David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“He may not come at all,” said Yor, lounging in a chair with a bowl of cherries on the table beside him.

“He should! He’s their ambassador, and it’s his position to try convincing me that somehow it wasn’t elves at fault for the break-in and slaughter of my guards.”

Egar leaned against the wall opposite Yor, his arms crossed over his chest.

“If he doesn’t, perhaps it means the elves have chosen war.”

Ingram looked once more to the door, his patience wearing all the more thin.

“They wouldn’t,” he said. “Not yet.”

Egar shrugged, but said no more. Yor continued eating, and Ingram finally gave in and poured himself a stiff drink. Halfway through downing it, the door crept open, and a servant stepped inside.

“Ambassador Graeven of the elves desires an audience.”

“About time. Bring him in.”

Moments later the door was flung open, and in stepped the ambassador. He looked surprisingly harried, at least for an elf. His robes were wrinkled in places, and strands of his hair hung out of place over his face. He bowed low, and his easy smile seemed to belie his appearance.

“Greetings, milords,” he said. “I wish I could come to you under better circumstances.”

“I imagine so,” Ingram said as Yor stood and pushed away his bowl. “I have no time for bullshit, so please, what reason can you offer for elves climbing my gates, killing my soldiers, and kidnapping my prisoners?”

Graeven sighed, and he crossed his hands behind his back.

“A small faction of elves are not happy with the way our delegations have gone, and I cannot blame them. They took it upon themselves to bring Alyssa to trial.”

“You admit it?” Yor said, sounding stunned.

“I admit nothing, only speak the truth. Their actions do not represent all elves, nor the prevailing opinions of Quellassar. I assure you, I am as appalled as you are.”

Egar laughed at that.

“I’m sure. Do you know who these elves are? Will you give them to us for punishment?”

Graeven shifted uncomfortably.

“They have been sent back to the Quellan Forest, and will be dealt with accordingly.”

Egar laughed, and Ingram shared in his contempt.

“Of course,” he said. “You’ll send murderers of my guards to Quellassar for your own justice, yet still demand Alyssa be handed over instead of undergoing a trial here. We humans tend to be imperfect, but at least we haven’t mastered hypocrisy as well as elvenkind.”

“I understand your frustration, but I am doing the best I can under the circumstances. Given the mob’s brutal killing of Laryssa’s escort, anti-human sentiment is rather high.”

“You’ve killed plenty more with your arrows,” Yor said. “Every day we get families traveling here, in hopes of finding a better life, with work that doesn’t involve your patrols butchering every farmer and woodcutter that sets foot in your forest.”

“Killings that would stop if you would only reach an agreement with us, and stop pressuring for large allocations of land!”

Ingram put his back to the elf to calm down, and he refilled his glass.

“Then what about Alyssa?” he asked. “Will you be returning her to my protection?”

“I would if I could.”

Ingram turned, not at all surprised.

“Why’s that?” he asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

“I cannot say, other than that she is safely within Angelport’s walls. I am doing this for her own protection.”

“Like shit you are,” Yor interrupted. “You’re using her somehow, aren’t you?”

The door cracked open, the sound slicing through the tension.

“Uh, milord,” said the servant, looking nervous. “I…please, if you would bring your attention to the docks. I feel it best you take a look.”

Ingram raised an eyebrow, but the other two lords only shrugged. He walked over to the curtains across one of the windows and pulled them open with a heavy string. Sunlight flooded in, and from their high perch, he overlooked the docks below. His mouth dropped open at what he saw.

“What in blazes is going on?” Ingram wondered aloud.

Nearly every last boat in Angelport, regardless the size, had left port. The sea was full of them, but instead of sailing northeast to the lost coast, or west for Ker, they remained close, as if keeping some sort of strange vigil. The few boats remaining at port had been set aflame, and the smoke blotted the sky.

The rest joined him at the window, Graeven included. He peered out, wearing a deep frown.

“Whose boats were burned?” he asked.

“It’s too far to know,” Egar said. “What game is this, Ingram?”

“I don’t know,” Ingram said. He shot a glare at the elf. “What about you? Care to illuminate us with your fabled elven wisdom?”

Graeven shook his head.

“I…this is unexpected, to say the least. I can think of only two things. Either they expect an attack, or plan on making one themselves.”

Ingram ground his teeth together, the sight of all those boats in the distance filling him with fury.

“Get out,” he told the ambassador. “Go back to your elves. Let them know, regardless of the reason, I will declare war in the name of King Edwin Vaelor against the Quellan Kingdom should even a single elf make another aggressive act against my city. You’ve tried our patience, and were you any other kingdom of man, we’d have already sent troops marching to your borders. This is your last chance for peace. Do not waste it. As for as the merchants…”

He nodded toward the ships.

“We obviously have much to discuss. Consider their claims against your lands dismissed. We still need to work something out over our loggers, but that can come another time.”

Graeven looked stunned for a moment, then smiled and bowed.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

When he was gone, Ingram slammed a fist against the window and refused to look at the docks.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“I’m still not quite happy with what I just heard,” Egar said, frowning. “Do you know how many of my villagers those elves have killed? Yet we’re going to make peace with hardly any concessions?”

“Enough! We worry about my city first. Warrick and his merchants look like they’re about to launch a damn revolt. I couldn’t care less about a few backwater villagers. Now again, what do we do?”

“We flee.”

Ingram and Egar gave Yor looks of complete shock.

“Could you repeat that?” Egar asked.

“I said we flee.” Yor gestured to the grand window. “They have their men gathered, their boats ready. If Angelport is a fruit, they’re the worm that’s eaten its way to the core. We must get out of their reach. They have no real armies, no proper training. If given a month to prepare, I could summon several thousand armed men ready to fight, and I know you can do the same, Egar. It doesn’t matter what the merchants do. When we return, we’ll crush them to pieces, take their boats, and end their threat once and for all.”

“Are you mad?” asked Ingram. “You want me to run like a coward?”

“A rebellion of peasants and merchants is no light thing,” Yor insisted. “Send word to Veldaren, and the rest of the lords in the north. An uprising of commoners against our rule is a threat to us all, and must be stamped out with due urgency.”

Egar took a step closer, his whole body tense.

“You want us to flee,” he said. “Abandon the crown jewel of the sea, and with our tails tucked between our legs, beg for aid from the king?”

Yor shrugged.

“If you want to put it so indelicately, yes.”

Another step.

“And how much did the merchants pay you to say that?”