David Dalglish: A Dance Of Death

“What was that?”

“Bastard.”

“I thought so.”

They dropped her again, and this time she wasn’t able to prepare. The cold was almost welcome, a numbing sensation overwhelming her raw nerves throughout her body. All but her lungs. They felt aflame, and she had to resist the desire to open her mouth and let the water pour in, let it be the last breath she ever took.

She endured, and when they pulled her out, she managed another desperate gasp before they dunked her back in. Still, that one was the worst of all. Her headed pounded from the blood rushing into it, her legs trembled and shook in the exposed air, and her nostrils ached from the water pouring into them and then pooling in the back of her throat. All thoughts of resisting fled from her mind. They’d continue to dunk her, spend all night if they needed, until she cracked. Here she was, her lungs about to burst, and it was just the third time. How would she survive another ten minutes? Twenty? An hour?

For Nathanial, she thought. I’ll do it for my son. Even if it meant dying a cold, ignoble death, she’d make sure his fortune survived.

In and out of the water, every breath a sweet gift that was never enough. At last she could hardly think, could hardly feel, and it was then they pulled her onto the docks and left her lying there, soaked and shivering. Warrick knelt over her, and when he put his hand on her cheek, she felt nothing.

“I ask for only what is right, my dear Alyssa,” he said to her, and in her waterlogged ears, it almost sounded like he was trying to feign paternal affection. “The Trifect has dominated for too many years, and it’s time for the rest of Neldar to trade, barter, and live without your iron control over their lives. We are the future, not you. Now will you sign?”

Alyssa lay with her cheek pressed against the wood, and with red eyes watched a shadow crawl across a rooftop in the not so far distance.

“I won’t,” she said, her voice cracking. “And you won’t make me.”

“Is that so?” asked Warrick. “What makes you so certain?”

“Because you’ll be dead.”

And then Zusa landed amid them, her daggers unleashing a bloody spray from the bodies around her. Alyssa watched, unable to move. The faceless woman was a true spectacle, dipping and weaving through a crowd of nearly fifty men. In all her time, Alyssa had never seen her fight in such a way, not even when battling the dark paladin Ethric, or protecting her from the various thieves that made attempts on her life. She made no blocks or parries, instead relying on pure speed to carry her through. She dodged, she twisted, and her daggers sliced through throats and plunged into eye sockets and chests.

“Stop her!” Stern cried out beside her. Alyssa tilted her head, trying to follow. The men had managed to regroup after the surprise attack, and they lashed at her with their weapons. Zusa’s progress slowed, many of her attacks missing or being blocked. Still the bodies gathered, and Alyssa dared to hope.

Panicking, Stern grabbed her by the hair and put a dagger to her throat.

“Won’t stop her…” Alyssa muttered, and it seemed Stern realized it as well.

The battle shifted, and Alyssa saw that Zusa was bleeding, her wrappings torn, with many hanging by threads. Still she battled, now on the defensive. They left her nowhere to run, but then she vaulted over them, sailing into the sky as if the world could not contain her. She landed so close to Alyssa that she wanted to reach out, to merely touch her to confirm she was real. But then Torgar was there, and his giant fist caught Zusa across the side of the head. Zusa staggered, and he followed it up with roundhouse across the face. As the faceless woman collapsed, Torgar took his blade and prepared to stab.

“No!” Alyssa screamed.

Torgar paused and looked her way. He kicked away Zusa’s daggers, then rested his foot atop her throat. Warrick grabbed Alyssa by the neck and hefted her to her feet with surprising strength for his age.

“You value her life then, if not your own?” he asked. “Then sign, right now, or I will make you watch as that brute cuts strips of her flesh off one by one. I’ll make you wear them, Alyssa, just as that lady over there garbs herself with cloth.”

Zusa’s eyes were unfocused and gazing up at the sky. Alyssa felt tears running down her face. Torgar grinned at her, and he put the tip of his sword against Zusa’s palm and pressed. Zusa screamed, and Alyssa did as well.

“I will!” she cried. “Please, don’t…don’t kill her. I’ll sign whatever you wish.”

Warrick’s smile spread ear to ear.

“That’s a smart girl. Get her a quill.”

They untied her wrists, and one of the ruffians had to hold her so she could stand. Her hands shook violently, so much that Stern brought over a torch and held it below her wrists. Alyssa stared at Zusa the whole while, at the pain on her face as blood spilled from her palm. Torgar twisted the edge, seemingly for no other reason than malicious glee. Zusa did not cry out, and as feeling returned to Alyssa’s fingers, she refused to cry out as well despite the throbbing agony it awoke.

When at last she could hold the quill steady, they presented her the scroll. Before she could sign it, one of the men called out, and the rest looked to the north. A large squad of soldiers marched their way, and Alyssa dared to hope. She recognized that banner. It was Lord Egar! He’d come to save her from the merchants, to reinforce Ingram’s rule in Angelport. She wanted to call to them, to cheer, but she was so tired, and Torgar’s blade remained pressed against Zusa’s flesh, his heel against her slender neck.

Warrick, however, appeared unworried, and that gave her pause. When the troops neared, the rest gave way, letting Lord Egar walk without conflict up to Warrick Sun, draw his sword…and then kneel. As his knee touched the dock, the last hope in Alyssa’s heart died.

“The city’s yours,” Egar said, rising.

“And you have done well,” Warrick said. “Your rewards have already been great, and they will grow greater. By the end of the year, you will control much of the Ramere.”

Egar looked at Alyssa, and then he bowed low.

“Forgive me if I am…intruding,” he said, grinning.

“No intrusion,” said Stern. “Alyssa was just about to sign an agreement, and you’d make another fine witness should she try to renege on it before the King.”

“But of course. Go on then, Alyssa. Sign. We’re all here.”

Alyssa felt trapped, helpless. She took the quill, the scroll, and read through it once more. Every line meant the dissolution of years of trade. It meant the halt of all minimum prices on the bulk of their goods. It meant the end of the safety and strength of the Trifect.

But not signing it meant the loss of her life, and Zusa’s. She’d never get to see her son again. Whatever strength she’d had, it meant nothing now. She took the quill, signed her name, and then let it drop to the dock.

“There,” she said. “It is done. Now let me and Zusa go.”

“Not quite,” said Warrick, who nodded at Torgar. The man chuckled, pulled back his sword, and thrust it through Zusa’s chest. Alyssa’s vision exploded with red. She screamed. She flung herself at Torgar, but he let go of the blade and grabbed her by the throat.

“You want to hurt me, bitch?” he asked, punching her in the gut. As she leaned over and gagged, she heard Warrick speaking to Lord Egar.

“Send her to the elves,” said the old man. “We’ll need to pacify them so we can solidify our control over the Ramere. I can’t imagine a better gift.”

“No,” Alyssa said, trying to deny the unfairness of it all.

“You hear that?” Torgar said, pulling her closer so he could whisper. “You’re going to hang for attacking that cute little elven slut. Know what’s best? That was me. My sword. You’ll hang for my crimes, you stupid cunt, while I rule over Laurie’s fortune. I can’t imagine a better, proper fate for a stuffed up highborn like you.”