David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

Again came the damn woman, forcing Dieredon to split his attention. This time the Watcher did not fall for a feint needed to buy him separation. The elf knew he must flee, but the two pressed, eventually linking up side to side as they stabbed and thrust. Dieredon’s knives were a twisting blur, viciously slamming away every attempted hit. At last they overextended, and instead of countering, Dieredon tried to run. He underestimated their speed. The woman kicked out a leg, and as he rolled, another foot connected with his sides. He continued until striking a wall, hitting his head hard. As he felt his balance tremble, he stumbled to one knee, still attempting to block the coming killing blow, but it did not come. Not yet.

“Justice,” said the Watcher, sounding very much out of breath. “I never attacked Laryssa, you fool. How is killing me justice?”

“Your mark,” Dieredon said, slowly standing. His stomach was doing flips, but he tried to keep a calm facade. “You drew it in her own blood.”

“My mark? How do you know that, Dieredon? Who told you?”

The Watcher’s apparent confusion left Dieredon puzzled. He’d thought the symbol common knowledge, a well-known calling. What was this man trying to get at before killing him?

“Our ambassador,” Dieredon said, refusing to lie. “He said the open eye is yours.”

The Watcher glanced once at the woman, and she mouthed the name ‘Alyssa’. He stood up straight, falling out of his combat stance.

“Listen to me, elf, and listen closely. I have not used that symbol in over two years, and when I did, it was hundreds of miles from here, in Veldaren, a city of humans. How does he know? ”

Suddenly it was Dieredon’s turn to be confused. Neither the woman, nor the Watcher, looked ready to kill him despite their conflict. Trying to force his mind to work through the pain, he shook his head. No, what they were insinuating…it couldn’t be right.

“I didn’t come here to cause a war,” the Watcher insisted. “I didn’t attack Laryssa. You must trust me.”

“And why would I dare trust a human?”

The Watcher looked to the distance, and he clearly had something pressing on his mind.

“Because I can prove my innocence,” he said. He pointed at him with the tip of his saber. “What will it be?”

Dieredon looked to them both, stood to his full height, and then answered.

Haern rushed through the quiet streets fast as his tired legs could carry him. Not far behind hurried Zusa, limping slightly after the brutal kick she’d suffered. They weaved through back alleys, doing everything they could to maintain a straight path. What time they had was limited, and it might already be too late.

When they arrived at the safe house given to them, Haern paused to gather his breath. Heart in his throat, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The Wraith leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed. The unhidden lower part of his face was wrapped in a smile. Alyssa was nowhere to be seen.

“About time,” said the Wraith. “I expected you here an hour ago.”

“Why?” Haern asked as Zusa slipped in beside him. “How could you betray us so?”

The Wraith pulled off his hood. When he spoke, his voice changed, more forceful and deep.

“That is such a vague question,” said Graeven, pulling his sword off his back. “You’ll need to do better.”

“Where is Alyssa?” Zusa asked, taking a step forward. Graeven turned and directed his smile to her.

“Such care, such love. You’ve been an unexpected nuisance, Zusa, but not enough to truly cause any worry. If you want to find Alyssa, she’s hanging from a post at the docks. It shouldn’t be long before the merchants have her. I doubt her fate will be kind once those ships land…nor will it be very long.”

Zusa drew her daggers, and they shook in her hands.

“I thought you wanted peace,” Haern said, freeing his own blades. “I thought you never wanted war.”

“Ignore the words I’ve spoken in this guise, Watcher, and think on what I told you in Ingram’s prison. This city is wretched, a blight on Dezrel. It’s full of hate, murder, and it will only grow worse when Violet floods its streets. I’ve done what’s needed to set things right. We’ll burn it to the ground, all of it. There’s still time for you to join me. We do not have to be enemies.”

“I need to get to the docks,” Zusa whispered, and Haern nodded.

“Go,” he told her. “And may Ashhur help us all.”

With her gone, Graeven paced before him, his eyes boring into him.

“You won’t win on your own,” he said.

“I know.”

Dieredon stepped in through the open door, knives in hand. Seeing him, Graeven sadly shook his head.

“You’ve always been incapable of performing the simplest tasks.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Dieredon asked. “Why strike at our royalty? Would you slaughter Ceredon’s own daughter to achieve your ends?”

“I never struck her!” Graeven said, anger flaring in his eyes for the first time. “I twisted her tragedy to help my cause, and it sickened my stomach doing even that. As for why…you’ve lived among the humans. You’ve seen their destructive behavior, their riots, their sins. Surely you should understand what I have done, what still needs to be done.”

Dieredon settled into a combat stance, and it was answer enough. Graeven sighed.

“You can’t defeat me,” he said, pulling his hood back over his face. Shadows enclosed all but his eyes and mouth, and his voice immediately changed. “I’ve always been the better, but my station has never given me chance to prove it. Besides, it would have been an insult for me to challenge someone so lowborn as yourself. I’d hoped the Watcher would kill you. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to spread word of how your legacy ended at the hands of a human. ”

Dieredon launched himself at Graeven, and Haern remained behind to wait for an opening. The room was cramped, and it’d be difficult for them to fight side by side. Graeven’s sword connected with the knives, hard enough to send sparks floating to the ground. The two exchanged hits, and Haern felt a chill crawl up his spine at the sight. He knew Dieredon’s skill, having so recently received a painful lesson in the elf’s abilities. Yet as the two elves battled, Haern knew who was the better. Graeven had told no lie. He was the superior fighter. His sword weaved and feinted like a true extension of his body. With every stab and slash Dieredon made, he found himself out of position. Not by a lot, and he always recovered, or pulled his slashes back to block a fatal blow, but all it’d take was one mistake and he’d be bleeding out on the floor.

Which meant he had to help. When Dieredon fell back, Haern stepped in, his surprise attack as ineffective as he’d expected. Graeven parried it away, forced his sabers up to block what turned out to be a feint, and then brought his attention back to Dieredon. The two exchanged another set of blows, adding a slight gash across Dieredon’s arm, before Graeven had to return to the defensive, parrying and blocking their four weapons with his one with skill that bordered on art.

Still, against two powerful opponents in the cramped space, his maneuvers were limited, and Graeven knew it. Just as they were about to corner him, the elf lunged at Haern, startling him with his sudden, vicious speed. Haern failed to parry the sword in time, only shifting its aim so that instead of piercing his heart it slashed across the bones in his shoulder. It stung like the Abyss, and Haern fell away in fear of an onslaught. Instead, Graeven bolted for the door, Dieredon at his heels. Haern clutched his shoulder, forced the pain back into the recesses of his mind, and then ran, all the while knowing he could never match either of their speed. But he had to try.