A Dance Of Death s-3 Page 10

“He was protecting two of our guards from the Wraith. He saved their lives.”

  Ingram frowned.

  “Interesting,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Such actions should at least warrant him an honorable death.”

  “If you say so, milord.”

  Lamps lit the dim hallway. The cells themselves had a small hole dug into the hill to give them a speck of light. Most had eight or ten people within, despite how large the dungeon was. In the far back was the Watcher’s cell, small and solitary. He was manacled to the wall with an absurd amount of chains. The jailor had clearly been terrified of the man’s potential escape. One was wrapped around his neck, then connected with a thick chain about his waist, before bolting to the wall. Another chain kept his arms above his head, his wrists together, and then looped through a second ring attached to the ceiling. He was on his knees, unable to lie down or stand. His hood had been removed, and Ingram saw a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes. A large welt swelled purple in the middle of his forehead.

  “So we meet again,” Ingram said, grinning. “I must admit, I didn’t think it’d be so soon. Did you kill any more of my guards, Watcher? Or would you care to give me your real name, since I now see your face?”

  The Watcher looked up at him, and Ingram took an involuntary step back. There was something sinister in his gaze, such certainty of retribution that not all the chains in the world could make him feel safe. No wonder the jailor had gone overboard tying him up. Trying to regain his composure, Ingram smoothed out his shirt, then softly slapped the Watcher across the face.

  “Nothing to say? Well, if not a name, how about a reason? My guard captain says you were protecting two of my own from the Wraith. Why’s that?”

  “You know why,” said the Watcher, his voice dry and tired. He nodded to the other cells, where men and women sat dirty in their own filth. “Which of them would have hung from your ropes otherwise?”

  Ingram scratched at his chin.

  “Twenty still will,” he said. “I’d like to be a man of my word.”

  “And I’ll be a man of mine,” the Watcher said. “Another body, and I will make you suffer.”

  Ingram laughed.

  “A fine feat that’ll be. You’re here, Watcher, stuck and chained. You couldn’t defeat the Wraith, from what I was told. That means you’re useless to me.”

  The comment seemed to sting more than Ingram expected, so he prodded further.

  “It is such a shame. To think all your reputation in Veldaren would mean so little in my fair city.”

  The Watcher flung himself against the chains, moving hardly an inch but causing a loud ruckus. This time, Ingram did not back away, nor show fear. Finally, he was in control.

  “It only seems appropriate. You stab my shoulder, another stabs yours. You won’t be given a chance to heal, though. You’ll swing from the gallows, in full view of the city. I want that Wraith to know what’s waiting for him when we capture him, just as we captured you.”

  “You won’t capture him,” the Watcher said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He’s beyond you and your men.”

  Ingram put his heel on the bound man’s shoulder and pressed. Despite the pain, the Watcher showed not the slightest reaction.

  “I’m sure many people in Veldaren said the same about you,” Ingram said, turning to leave. “But don’t worry. I’ll proudly bear the scar you left me. In time, memories will fade, and it’ll be me who took you down, not some nameless guard. Thank you, Watcher. Whatever legacy you had just added to my own.”

  Ingram left, stopping only to have a word with the jailor.

  “Block his window,” he said. “I want him in darkness. And have the city guard prepare the gallows. He hangs at sundown.”

  That matter concluded, he exited the dungeon, only to be surprised by a large contingent of people waiting for him. There didn’t seem to be any trouble with them and his guards, but tensions were clearly high. Amid the mercenaries, a lady stepped forth, and she curtseyed. Ingram had never met her before, but there was no one else she could be.

  “Greetings, Lady Gemcroft,” Ingram said. “For what reason have you come to such a dreary place as my dungeon?”

  “Rumors, Lord Murband,” Alyssa said, her good cheer sounding forced. “Fortunate rumors, if they are true. I hear you have caught the man we know in Veldaren as the Watcher.”

  Ingram frowned.

  “I see one of my guards has a loose tongue.”

  “You hanged thirty people as a challenge to him, then caught him in open streets,” Alyssa said. “Surely you cannot be surprised that people talked.”

  “Perhaps. Would you like to come up to my study and…”

  “No. We can discuss it here. The Watcher is a criminal of Veldaren, where he has slain hundreds of men. I want him in my custody so we may send him back for punishment.”

  “I assure you, a man hanging in Angelport is just as dead as if hanged in Veldaren, miss.”

  Alyssa’s eyes flared at that.

  “Who said we wanted him hanged? He’s spilled a lot of blood, Ingram. We’d like a lot spilled in return. I demand him turned over to me at once. I am no ‘miss’ ashamed to dirty her skirt, nor afraid of the example his death must set.”

  “Demand?” Ingram could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You come into my city, my lands, and give me demands? And why should I listen?”

  Alyssa stepped closer, and her voice lowered.

  “Because the Trifect is the only thing keeping the Merchant Lords from executing you in your sleep and taking over everything you own.”

  Ingram shook his head, the grin spreading across his face not matching the rage he felt in his chest.

  “That was true, once,” he said, gesturing to the many guards about him. “But things have changed. You don’t control me, not now, not ever, and unless you want to find yourself banished you’d better start showing me the respect an appointed Lord of the Realm deserves. That son of a bitch hangs at sundown, do you understand?”

  Alyssa took a step back. All about, her mercenaries bristled at the outburst. But instead of anger, she only curtseyed again.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “If you will not hand him over, I ask that you let me question him first. He may know something of the Wraith who killed Laurie’s son, and I would prefer to hear everything I can before he goes to his grave.”

  After a deep breath to calm himself, Ingram nodded.

  “You may question him as you like, but you go in alone, no mercenaries. If you need to question him harshly, well…” He leered at her. “I’m sure you won’t mind dirtying your skirt.”

  She flushed at the comment but refused to take the bait. Instead she curtseyed again, then asked for one of the dungeon guards to lead her within.

  “Don’t be gone too long,” Ingram said as she vanished into the dark. “I’d hate for you to miss our little meeting with the elves.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, glancing back. “I’ll be there. After all, it’d be a shame for a war to destroy Angelport.”

  Ingram frowned as she left, then shrugged it off. He wouldn’t let her ruin his good mood. The Watcher had been caught, and surely the Wraith would follow. Her comment about war unsettled him, though. Did she really think that was a possibility? Sure, his woodsmen pressed elven borders, but the elves were cowards. Should things turn rough, Ingram felt confident he’d have the upper hand in creating peace.

  But what if they wanted war after all? Ingram pulled at the collar of his shirt as he walked back to his mansion, suddenly filled with unease. Close to two hundred elves were already within his city walls, and how many more might sneak in at the dead of night in disguise? Would his walls and ships be rendered all for naught by traitors and spies from within?

  Suddenly Alyssa’s comment didn’t seem quite so easy to shrug off. War with the elves would be disastrous. He’d not lied about that to the other Lords of the Ramere. They could only bluster, posture, and pretend.

&
nbsp; “Where are Yor and Egar?” he asked his captain of the guard, who followed alongside him.

  “At their homes, I believe.”

  “Fetch them.”

  Ingram looked over a few maps of the Ramere while he waited in his study. Everywhere he looked, he saw unguarded farmland the elves might burn. There were a few castles near the reaches of the Dezren and Quellan Forests, but they would protect the people, not the crops. Their storehouses could last only a little while under such a vicious siege. King Edwin would come down from Veldaren, but would he arrive in time?

  Or would the elves starve and burn his beloved Angelport to the ground, with Edwin rescuing only ruins?

  As he was pondering, the door opened, and Lord Egar stepped inside.

  “Is there no one else?” he asked, glancing about the study with a hint of nervousness.

  “Yor should be coming soon,” Ingram said. “Tell me, have you discovered who reserved rooms for the elves?”

  The man crossed his muscular arms, and he leaned against a bookshelf.

  “Whoever it was, they’re incredibly careful. Each one had a mercenary come with a bag of gold, either buying or renting the homes so they’d be available for the month. Once the places were cleared and empty, they hired a single person, one per building, to keep it clean.”

  “Do they know anything? A name, at least?”

  Egar shook his head.

  “The mercenary guild’s refusing to cooperate. They don’t like anyone looking into who hires them.”

  Ingram rolled his eyes.

  “Grab their guildmaster and throw him in the dungeon. We’ll hear a name from him by tomorrow.”

  “You sure that’s wise?”

  Ingram glared, and he felt his temper flare.

  “If I didn’t think it wise, I wouldn’t order it done.”

  Egar bowed to show he meant no offense. Ingram walked over to his desk, sat down, and poured himself a drink. As he did, Egar wandered closer, eyeing the open maps.

  “What do you expect from the Merchant Lords?” he asked. “The elves’ desires are quite clear, as are ours. But what of them? Do you know of their role in all this?”

  Ingram leaned back in his chair, enjoying the feel of the alcohol burning down his throat.

  “The merchants?” he asked, letting out a sigh. “They’ve been insistent that the elves make concessions of land, but have little reason for it. Sure, they claim without our lumber they can’t build their boats…”

  Egar put his hands behind his back, and he glanced away. Ingram caught the motion and frowned.

  “Do you have something to say?” he asked. Egar finally looked him in the eye, and then nodded.

  “One of your lords is a traitor,” he said. “That is why the merchants pressure you so firmly. They’re hoping to use this conflict as a means to remove you from power. They’ve always desired to rule Angelport, and Angelport’s nobility knows this. All it takes is one puppet ruler to replace you, and they’ll have succeeded. Someone’s finally accepted the role.”

  Ingram’s jaw clenched tight, the only thing holding in a rage-fueled scream.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Lord Yor Warren. The Merchant Lords have bought him off, and they’ll use him to manipulate you in every way they can.”

  “How could you possibly know this?”

  Egar stood up straight, and he looked almost insulted.

  “Because I was asked to aid them. They were subtle about it, of course, but they seemed confident as to my cooperation.”

  Ingram stood. Every trace of his good mood fled out the window. He kicked his desk once, twice, until his glass tumbled off and shattered upon the floor.

  “And what did you tell them?” he asked.

  “Why, that I would, of course.”

  “What?”

  Ingram flung himself at Egar, grabbing him by the shirt and slamming him into a wall. Instead of fighting back, Egar continued to speak in a calm, quick manner.

  “I said this so they would not target my life,” he said. “If I refused, they would execute me and my family so no one else learned of the offer. I only told them I would stay out of their way, and assist Yor whenever it seemed prudent. You are right to be angry, milord, but I am not the one you should bring your anger down upon.”

  Ingram let him go, then let out a stream of curses.

  “So what do we do?” he asked when he was done, and felt moderately better.

  “We play their game. Treat Yor’s words as the true desire of the merchants. We wait, we listen, and we strike when the time is right. When this crisis with the elves is settled, you’ll be the man who brought peace and prosperity to Angelport. They will not dare touch you then.”

  It made sense, but Ingram still hated the idea. If Yor was a traitor, he wanted him in a dungeon, hot pokers against his flesh to make him sing. He’d been hoping for years to have a solid reason to hang one of those smug merchant bastards from his gallows. But Egar was right. At this time he had little proof, and he couldn’t afford to have the merchants turn on him during negotiations. If their bluff were to work, the humans had to have a unified front.

  As he thought, the door opened, and in stepped Lord Yor.

  “Greetings,” Egar said, taking a step back from the door and bowing. “Glad for you to join us.”

  “Yes,” Ingram said, forcing a smile. “So glad. We were just discussing our meeting with the elves…”

  The air stank of piss, shit, and stagnant water. Despite holding a handkerchief to her nose, the smell made it through with ease. On either side of her, men reached through the bars, jeering and crying out lewd comments and accusations.

  “Just ignore them,” the head jailor said.

  Hard to do, given how vile the cries became. One called Alyssa a cunt who had sucked him off as a child. In return, the jailor spat in his direction.

  “Take him out and beat him,” he told one of his guards.

  At the far end of the dungeon, in a dimly lit cell wrapped in chains like a cocoon, waited Haern.

  “I wish to talk to him alone,” Alyssa said.

  “Not sure I should leave you,” said the jailor. He nodded toward Haern. “That guy’s killed a lot of people. I know you know that. He can hurt you with more than just his hands.”

  “I’ve made my desires clear, jailor. Would you interfere with my business?”

  The burly man shook his head.

  “It’s your life, milady. Just don’t expect me to take any blame if he breaks something.”

  He unlocked the cell and gestured for her to enter. After she stepped inside, the door shut behind her, the lock clicking loud enough to send her heart jumping to her throat.

  “For safety,” the jailor said with an ugly smile. Alyssa didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “When you want out, just holler. I’ll be near.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice cold. She put her back to him, and took a step closer to Haern. The man looked exhausted, with heavy circles beneath his eyes. A purple bruise swelled across his forehead, and blood seeped from a dirty bandage on his shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. His eyes were unfocused, and they didn’t look at her.

  “I came for you. What happened last night? How did you end up here? All I heard were rumors you’d been captured, and since you hadn’t returned in the morning…”

  “I fought him,” Haern said, finally looking at her. Death hovered in his eyes, and it terrified her. “I fought the Wraith, and I know him now. He wants something, and he’ll slaughter every man, woman, and child alive to get it. Get me out of here, Alyssa. For the sake of everyone, the Wraith must die.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” she said.

  His gaze hardened, and she took a step back.

  “Get me out of here,” he said again. “I don’t care how. No one else can take him, but I can. I’m the only one, and even I might not be strong enough.”

  She looked around the dark
cell, then stepped closer. Light from a thin window shone upon her face.

  “I swear it,” she said. “Even if I must give my life to succeed. You saved Nathan. No matter what, I’ll save you.”

  He smiled, and all that death and rage sank into his blue eyes, safely hidden and locked away.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Despite his battered face, he still looked handsome, and she gently leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

  “Don’t lose hope,” she whispered into his ear. “Even if they slip the noose around your neck, do not lose hope. This isn’t how you die.”

  She returned to the cell door, then called out for the jailor. While she waited, she glanced at Haern and fought back a smile.

  “I told you to stay away from Ingram,” she said.

  Despite his chains and exhaustion, Haern laughed.

  Alyssa returned to her mercenaries, led by Torgar on reluctant loan.

  “Take me home,” she told him.

  “As you wish,” Torgar grumbled. “So what’s going to happen with him?”

  “He won’t die,” she said as they walked down the hill toward the street.

  “Everyone’s got to die sometime.”

  She shook her head.

  “He deserves better than that.”

  Torgar chuckled, grabbing his huge sword on his back as if out of reflex.

  “Maybe he don’t,” he said, glaring at a few beggars who eyed Alyssa hungrily. “Or maybe he deserves far worse, having killed hundreds of people. Not all of ‘em could have been thieves or murderers. No one’s that perfect, certainly not him.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alyssa said, thinking of her son. “I’ll find a way to help him. Keep this to yourself, Torgar. This business is my own, not Laurie’s, and not Madelyn’s.”

  The mercenary shot her a grin.

  “I keep my word, lady, but I only give it out when money’s involved.”

  She reached into her pocket and tossed him some coins. He caught them in his beefy hands, his grin spreading.

  “Now that’s a good girl,” he said.

  “There’s more I need than just you holding your tongue,” she said.

  When they returned to the mansion, Alyssa went into her room and quickly undressed. Two of Keenan’s maidservants came to help her, but she shooed them away. Not that she resented the help, but she didn’t want them to see her after she was done changing into her new outfit. The fewer eyes on her, the better. Gone was her expensive dress, diamonds and jewelry. Instead she put on a plain pair of slacks, a white shirt, and a small, triangular hat currently in style. She’d purchased every item the day before, under the guise of simple gifts for her servants.