David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

The rest of the guards followed, and they slammed into the elves with wild abandon. Many of their attacks were parried or blocked, but they were a wave, and even as one fell, two more surged forward with blades already swinging. Gregory managed to cut down one too focused on dodging a man to his right. A second turned on him, kept him at bay with a shallow thrust, then tried to flee. One of the unexpected allies, a woman with a red cloak and strange, tightly wrapped clothing, dove upon the elf’s back, her daggers shredding into flesh.

Gregory had no idea who she might be, but as the other slipped through their lines to aid the opposite side, he saw the man’s garb and knew him.

“Watcher?” Gregory murmured aloud. Without thinking, he followed. The woman remained, and seemed to have that side under control. The other, however…

The Watcher dove into where combat was at its thickest, seemingly unafraid of the flailing weapons and press of the elves. His sabers twisted and danced, cutting down elves who were yet unaware of his arrival. He tore through the city guard, like a phantom come to their aid. When he finally reached the elven lines, he let out a cry. Gregory followed, knowing the cloaked man was their only hope of survival, and he was far from alone in thinking so. The rest of the guard rushed ahead, and though the elves cut them down, the Watcher formed their spearhead, and because of it, they did not break. They did not falter. Gregory kept to the Watcher’s back, hoping to help where he could, but most often merely finishing off opponents the man left bleeding on the ground.

Without any signal he could hear, Gregory saw the elves they fought initiate a full retreat. He let out a whoop, and held his weapon aloft. With their speed, he couldn’t hope to chase, and it seemed the Watcher had no desire to, either. He turned, and from what little of his face Gregory could see, he was smiling. Of the initial two hundred men, a third remained, but they’d held.

Gregory looked to the mansion, wondering how the people within fared. At a window, he caught a glint of light, then camouflage. Without thinking, he leapt forward. The arrow struck him in the chest, and he let out a gasp. As he hit the ground, the rest of the guard took up shouts, their heavy footsteps rushing into the house, where elves had no doubt entered through the windows and back entrances. Gregory felt a reflex to cough, but the pain was too incredible, and he forced it down.

The Watcher leaned over him, and he mouthed a question Gregory suddenly couldn’t hear. Gregory tried to speak, to tell him that it was his life the Watcher had saved from the Wraith several nights ago, but the words were silent on his tongue, his muscle spasms beyond his control. His vision darkened. Not long after, he left to join Turk.

As the fires spread, Madelyn watched from the window of her room, sleeping Tori clutched to her chest. When the door opened and she saw it was Torgar, she had to bite her tongue.

“Our walls are secure,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “It seems we are not their target.”

“Nor should we be. Laurie helped them, after all. We do share a mutual enemy in the merchants.”

Torgar grunted. Madelyn refused to look at him, instead staring out the window. She rocked Tori a few times, trying hard not to show unease at the huge mercenary’s presence. When he didn’t leave immediately, she turned and glared.

“Do you have something you wish to say?” she asked.

“I do, not that you’ll listen. The merchants pulled out all their ships, and no doubt got their fighting men with them. You know what’ll happen, don’t you? The elves will kill Ingram, and with him dead, those boats will sail back in. Just like that, we’ll have a new ruler. How long do you think we’ll survive once that happens?”

Her anger grew along with her panic. How dare he try to frighten her so?

“No,” she said. “Ingram has many men at his disposal. They won’t kill him, I know it. The elves will lose, and then they’ll pay for their foolishness, as will the merchants for such cowardly behavior.”

Torgar shook his head, and his voice hardened as his patience ended.

“Even if they don’t kill him, Ingram will still want to know why we didn’t help. Why we stood here and hid while the lord of our city fought for his life. Either way, you risk the noose. We must go out there. Let me take half our men. If the battle’s close, we might be enough to turn the tide. The fate of Angelport will be decided tonight, and we cannot remain here and do nothing!”

“We can, and we will!” Madelyn snapped. “I am lady of the household, and you will do as I say. I control the Keenan fortune, not you. All you have is… guesses. You know nothing. You’re a stupid mercenary, more drunk than sober!”

Instead of getting angry at her outburst, Torgar only grinned.

“You seem to forget a few things,” he said. “Speaking of which…have you named me godfather to Tori yet?”

She instinctively clutched the babe tighter.

“I’ve had my advisors begin preparations,” she said.

“No,” Torgar said, shaking his head. “No more stalling. I want it done now. Tonight.”

“Tonight?” she asked, looking at him as if he were out of his mind.

“Yes,” he said, his grin slipping. “Tonight. Unless you want me to start telling stories to my men.”

Madelyn felt acutely aware of how alone they were, with not even Lily there to provide witness. Swallowing, she gave him a nod.

“If you insist,” she said.

She left the room, Torgar following closely behind her. Downstairs she found one of her advisors watching from a window, and she ordered him to bring her a quill and some parchment. As he was leaving, she caught his shoulder.

“I’ll want several of my guards as well,” she said. “To provide witnesses.”

The advisor gave her a worried look, then nodded. He no doubt knew that the word of those guards would be worthless in any royal court. For her to ask meant she was in trouble. They went to the front parlor, where she found Lily.

“Please take her,” she said quietly as Torgar lingered behind them at the door. “Take her somewhere safe.”

The advisor returned, carrying both the supplies she requested as well as a group of six guards. They gathered behind him, their hands on their weapons.

“Good, you’re here,” Torgar said, grinning at them. “Let’s get this distraction over with, shall we? Just in case someone decides to climb our walls.”

Madelyn felt better with the guards there, and she took the quill and dipped it in the inkwell.

“What do you wish me to write?” she asked.

“The obvious. State I’m the godfather.”

She sat on the floor, a hardwood table before her. The light of the torches was dim, and she squinted as she wrote the letters. Normally she’d make an advisor do the work, but she knew Torgar would only accept something written in her own hand. When finished, she signed it and offered it to the mercenary. He took it, then glanced at the guards.

“Jenson,” he said, offering the parchment. “You can read. Tell me what that says.”

The guard accepted the paper, tilted it so he might see better, then frowned.

“Just says you’re charged to protect Tori,” he said. Torgar clucked his tongue and shook his head, taking the parchment back.

“Not good enough,” he said. “Try again.”

“Forgive me,” Madelyn said. “I’m not used to writing such documents.”

Torgar chuckled.

“Sure thing, milady. Still…try again.”

This time she wrote it official, deciding she could cancel it at any time. Once the business with the elves and the merchants was over, the troublesome mercenary had to be the next priority. The risk was too great. Signing him godfather and protector of her granddaughter, she gave it directly to Jenson, who read it aloud.