David Dalglish: A Dance Of Death

“Thank you,” she said to both of them, gently resting her head against Haern’s chest as her arms wrapped about him. “Just…thank you.”

“We have little time,” he said. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded. Haern put his hand on Nole’s shoulder, squeezed it, and then left him kneeling there on the floor as they walked out of the temple and toward the city’s walls.

Lord Egar and newly named Lord Warrick were in the mansion discussing when the servant knocked at the door.

“Yes?” Warrick asked.

The servant came in and bowed low, looking incredibly nervous. He’d been one of many originally staffed by Ingram, and it seemed every single one, from top to bottom, thought they were a heartbeat away from being executed should they show a lack of skill at their position.

“Milord, we’ve received word from your messenger sent to the elves.”

“Already?” asked Egar. “But it’s hardly been an hour.”

“I know,” said the servant, licking his lips. “Your messenger said he was waiting outside the city, as if expecting him. The elf said he’ll accept your, uh, gift.”

Egar shrugged.

“Not entirely surprising. Shall I fetch her?”

“No,” Warrick said. “I must be the one to do this. It only feels just. You…”

“Jarl,” said the servant.

“Good, Jarl. Go tell this elf that we will be bringing Alyssa to him, if he will kindly wait for us.”

The servant bowed low, then hurried away. Warrick promised Egar he’d return soon, then ventured out into the mansion grounds. They’d cleaned away most of the bodies, but the blood still remained. The grass would grow strong next spring, he thought, feeling a bit of grim amusement. The understaffed servants hurried about, trying to put everything back in order as if the battle had never happened. They’d never succeed, of course. Warrick was in charge now. Things would never be as they were, and the city would be all the better for it.

At the entrance to the dungeon, the city guards bowed low, both men looking uncomfortable. Warrick knew Ingram was hardly loved among the city folk, but compared to him, Warrick was an unknown, a frightening entity suddenly come to power. He’d overlook their stuttered words and shifting eyes for a little while. At some point, though, he’d have to either win them over, or terrify them into submission.

“Go fetch me Alyssa,” he told them. “Make sure she remains unharmed.”

The first guard bowed low and then hurried inside. As Warrick waited, he called over another of his guards and requested an escort. He would not travel through the city without the support of shields and blades, not with fires and riots fresh in his memory. Course, he’d caused most of them, but that was irrelevant.

When the guard returned with Alyssa, Warrick bowed as low as his old spine allowed.

“I hope your stay has been pleasant,” he said.

Alyssa’s face and dress were covered with dirt, and she sported fresh bruises from the previous night. At his words, she smiled so sweetly, as if he’d brought her down from Veldaren for tea.

“A most exquisite locale,” she said. “I hope you yourself get a chance to sample its pleasures.”

Warrick chuckled.

“One day, perhaps, but I fear I’ll be dead before I return there.”

“We can only hope.”

“Save some of your charm for the elves. You’ll need it to keep your head.”

He nodded to his guards, and with Alyssa still in chains, they left the compound and headed for the gates of the city. As they walked, Warrick took in the sights with a fresh set of eyes. No longer were the various stores just his partners in trade, or the taverns places his underlings could fritter away their coin. They were his now, his protection, his servants. They would pay taxes to him, kneel at his feet, and show respect far beyond what he’d known as a lowborn man sailing the seas in search of wealth. Even the people seemed different, for after all, they were his people now.

Of course the other Merchant Lords would have their say in things, and each would obtain parcels of land in the surrounding areas. The Ramere was theirs now, after all.

At the gates, the soldiers saluted and gave way.

“Where is the elf?” Warrick asked as they paused a moment underneath the stone arch of the gateway.

“If your eyes are sharp, you can see him from here,” said the guard, pointing to a far hill. Warrick shook his head, unable to see but a blur, but also knowing his eyes were not the same eyes of his youth, when he’d sat in the crow’s nest, calling out banners of distant ships. He could see hills easily enough, though, and he and his escort headed out. The minutes passed, the only sound the clatter of his guards’ armor and the clinking of Alyssa’s chains. As they neared, Warrick saw the elf but failed to recognize him.

“Hail, elf of Quellassar,” he called out.

“Hail, Lord of Angelport,” the elf returned. Warrick smiled. At least he was polite enough. They closed the distance, and he took a better look at him. The elf had long brown hair, carefully braided so it would not interfere with his vision. His eyes sparkled as he bowed low, refusing to move from his spot atop the hill.

“I must apologize for all our misunderstandings,” Warrick said, offering a half-bow. “But I am Lord of Angelport now, and must try to make amends. I believe your people have been demanding Lady Alyssa for trial, and I have come offering her as a gift to start a new friendship between us.”

The elf nodded, his face somber.

“I accept, and will bring her to Quellassar where she may have a trial. Release her from her chains.”

Warrick raised an eyebrow.

“Would it not be better to keep her bound until she reaches your forests?”

“Do not insult me. I am not alone, and she cannot escape from us, not in the wilds.”

“Of course,” Warrick said, bowing again. He looked to his guards. “Release her.”

They unclamped the chains from her wrists and ankles. Alyssa absently rubbed the raw flesh as she took a hesitant step toward the elf. She had a strange look on her face, one Warrick failed to read. Was it fear? Relief? Did she have higher hope in elven justice than what she’d receive in his own dungeon? Whatever it was, she wasn’t his problem anymore. The Trifect was crumbling, and he and his comrades would spread north to pick up the pieces.

“Farewell,” the elf said, and he bowed deeply. He did not leave, though, only stood there with Alyssa at his side, as if waiting for Warrick. Warrick wondered if it was a custom he was unaware of, and resolved to learn more about the elves since his dealings with them would be of the utmost importance over the next few years. With Alyssa gone, he felt a great weight off his shoulders, and when he reentered Angelport, it was with a smile on his face.

Alyssa waited beside the elf until Warrick and his escort were far out of sight before stepping away from him and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I have refused elven justice once already,” she said. “Who am I to go to now? Will Laryssa hang me in secret, or do we head to Quellassar for a sham of a trial?”

The elf turned to her, and she noticed he did so with a poorly concealed limp.

“Not exactly,” he said, and a smile crossed his face as he put his fingers to his lips and whistled.

At the bottom of the hill, hidden from sight of Angelport, was a heavy gathering of brush, and from its center Haern and Zusa stood up from their hiding place. Relief flooded through her, the sight of Zusa alive and well enough to send her to tears. She ran down the hill at a breakneck pace, and when she reached Zusa she flung herself against her.

“Careful,” Zusa said, pulling back. “My wounds are still tender.”