David Dalglish: A Dance Of Death

Alyssa laughed, then brought her attention to Haern, whom she gave a hug and a kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, both of you,” she said.

The elf joined them, and Haern bowed his head respectfully.

“We cannot thank you enough, Dieredon,” he said.

“I should be thanking you,” said the elf. “Ceredon will not enjoy hearing it, but he must learn of Laryssa’s misconduct, as well as Graeven’s manipulation of these events. I feel tensions between our races will never vanish, but at least this might pull us back from war for a time.”

Dieredon retrieved a cane he’d placed by the brush, saluted them all, and then started walking toward Quellassar. Alyssa watched him go for a moment, then called out his name.

“I never attacked Laryssa,” she told him when he glanced back. “But I know who did. It was Torgar, a mercenary who now rules the Keenan household. He told me so in mocking.”

Dieredon froze, and the look in his eyes was chilling. Without a word, he continued on. Feeling a little better, Alyssa began heading north with Zusa, toward home. To her surprise, Haern did not follow, instead climbing the hill toward Angelport.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

He glanced back, and his gaze was disturbingly hollow.

“How can we leave like this?” he asked. “Walking home beaten, bloodied, having failed so terribly?”

Alyssa thought of setting foot in Angelport, and her revulsion was overwhelming.

“No,” she said. “Leave them be. There’s nothing left for us there, not anymore.”

“I disagree.”

Haern ran off, and Alyssa felt her heart ache at the sight.

“What is he hoping to accomplish?” she asked.

“We’ll give him a night,” Zusa said, watching him go. “Dieredon gave me enough coin to buy food and passage back to Veldaren, so we do not need to hurry. Let him find what he needs. He’ll return to us, though, I know it.”

Alyssa clutched Zusa’s hand, and they embraced once more.

“Never do that to me again,” she said.

“I’ll try.”

They walked north, gaining enough distance from Angelport to feel comfortable, then set up camp off the road to wait out the night, and give the Watcher his chance to come back.

Despite the severe lack of the many comforts still to be relocated from his old home, Warrick stayed the night at Ingram’s mansion. His mansion, he tried to remind himself as he changed into a thick bedrobe. It’d take several weeks before he stopped thinking of it as Ingram’s, but he had to try. He was an old man, and change was not something he was well-accustomed to.

The bed was absurdly large, with curtains across the bedposts. At least it’d be warm in winter, thought Warrick as he washed his face and hands in a basin of cool water. As he dried his hands on a wool cloth, he heard a soft creak, faint enough he might have imagined it. When he looked back, he knew it was no trick of his ears. A man knelt by the window, swords drawn. He recognized that shadowed face, though he lacked his characteristic smile.

“What is it you come for, Wraith?” Warrick asked, trying not to sound afraid.

“No,” said the intruder, shaking his head. Warrick frowned, and he took a step closer. He knew if the man was skilled enough to make it past his guards, ascend the walls, and sneak in through his window, there was little chance he could escape now. He might as well see if he could learn something first.

“If not him,” Warrick said, thinking aloud. “Then…are you Veldaren’s Watcher?”

“I am,” said the man. His voice was a cold whisper, the harsh edge to it enough to convince Warrick what his plans were. His throat suddenly dry, Warrick tried to remain calm. He was an old man, and not afraid of death. It was just losing everything he’d accomplished, all on the night of his greatest triumph, that struck him most. Only a cruel world would allow something like that.

“Why are you here, Watcher?” he asked. “Have you come to kill me?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“And why is that? I have never met you before, and have committed no crime against you. Surely we can talk reason…unless you’ve been paid, and even then I might offer you a more advantageous sum.”

The Watcher chuckled, as if amused, but there was no amusement in the whites of his eyes that shone out from the hood.

“You sold Alyssa out for death. Why should you live?”

Warrick sighed.

“Is that really it? Elves came into this city as if our walls meant nothing. Do you think Angelport can endure a second night like that? Of course I gave her over. If they want to hang her, I won’t shed a tear, but I don’t care if they send her back to Veldaren with only a paddling. The Trifect is a dying beast, with or without Alyssa’s help.”

The Watcher shook his head.

“You are a plague upon Dezrel, locusts who will consume and not build. I cannot let you remain rulers of the Ramere.”

“Wait,” Warrick said, his anger overriding his panic. “Who has told you that? Who has judged us so? You’ve come a long way here, Watcher. Who whispered that judgment against us in your ear? Alyssa? Laurie, before he died? The Trifect dares claim we only reap, not sow? Who are they to speak of such things, when they have held Kings in their pockets, and broken down anyone who might oppose them? They are hardly innocent, Watcher, no more so than we. Ingram was a fool and a coward. He would have led Angelport to war against the elves one day, regardless of our interference. His guards were corrupt, his justice shortsighted and brutal. How many men did he hang in your name, Watcher? Yet you come baring swords against me? ”

“What of the Violet? I’ve seen what it can do. It’s a danger, and you’ve nearly caused a war in your desire to claim it.”

Warrick sighed.

“We needed it as a weapon against the Trifect. From what I learned, we could never grow enough of Violet to meet demand, the leaf is so rare, and so slow to grow. Yes, my colleagues thought differently, and I let them go on believing it. We only needed the members of the Trifect unstable, the money spent on crimleaf shifted our way for a few months. With the added coin, and the Keenans suffering the loss of their last true stranglehold on a market, I’d hoped we might strike. But never could any of us have foreseen what happened last night. I have no desire for war with the elves, not when I have nothing to gain like I might have when Ingram was in charge.”

The Watcher had nothing to say to that, and Warrick laughed at the utter stupidity of it all.

“You came here knowing little, Watcher, only what you had heard. People lie, people exaggerate. They view the world through tainted glass, yet see themselves in a gilded mirror. Did you think you could come into this city like some dark reaper and bring us justice? You cannot fix all of Dezrel, and I dare say it isn’t your damn place to do so, either. You were a fool if you thought otherwise. Now kill me. Watch Angelport descend into anarchy as the remaining Merchant Lords squabble amongst themselves for rule, and Lord Egar tries to retake it for himself when he realizes he won’t receive his promised rewards. Watch as the minor nobles at the edges of the Ramere form alliances out of fear, then come here to conquer. Take your blind justice, and watch thousands suffer for it. Either that, or leave me to run my damn city.”

The Watcher stood, not quite as tall as when he’d entered. His sabers slid into their scabbards.

“I killed the Wraith. You need not fear his blade at night.”

“Thank you for that. Will you return to Veldaren?”

The man took a deep breath, then nodded.

“I feel there’s little here I will miss,” he said.