A Dance of Death (Shadowdance Trilogy, Book 3) Page 18

  “Damn you, humans,” Laryssa whispered, wiping a tear from her face. “Damn you to the Abyss your gods created.”

  Something hard struck the back of her head, and she let out a gasp as she fell. She caught herself, but then a hand grabbed her hair and rammed her forehead into the dirt. Her vision full of stars, she retched uncontrollably. Her limbs feeling numb, she tried to roll over, but a heavy weight pinned her to the ground. Something passed over her face, a cloth or bag of some sort. The air was hot in her lungs, and she could not see.

  Fists rained down on her, and she tried to cry out against the abuse. Each time she did, her assailant struck harder. As if from a distant place, she struggled. She screamed.

  “This is what happens when you turn on your friends,” her attacker whispered in her ear. Fierce pain pierced her side, and she felt warmth pooling beneath her as she bled. Her attacker left, and despite his weight no longer atop her, she could not move. Her arms and legs refused to cooperate. Her breathing grew shallow, whatever it was wrapped about her head suffocating her. Time passed, and she could only weep.

  Someone touched her shoulder, and she screamed. But it was not her attacker returning as she’d feared. Off came the hood over her face, and squinting, she saw Graeven kneeling over her, his fine clothing covered with blood.

  “Stay calm,” he said, pressing his hands over the wound in her side. “Breathe slow. I won’t let you die, now stay with me.”

  She nodded as her whole body began to tremble. Her head lolled to one side, and there she saw it, drawn in her own blood. It meant nothing to her, but she would never forget it. Staring, mocking, the signature of her attacker: an open eye.

  14

  Rain fell upon the city of Angelport, and from the roof of the temple, Haern watched. The water soaked through his clothes, and it dripped from his hair. The thick clouds gave the appearance of night, and the darkness was a comfort. As thunder rumbled, he wondered if the rain might wash away the violence of the past three days. He’d watched the riots spread, but he’d done nothing to stop them. It’d filled him with disgust, sure, but against those masses, what was he to do? Slaughter them all?

  The casualties to the elves had been catastrophic, at least ten dead from what he’d heard. Most damning were the rumors of what had befallen the elven princess, Laryssa. For a little while, many had believed her dead, soon switching to her being on her deathbed. Only yesterday had the talk of the taverns claimed she’d survived. It didn’t take much thought to know where it was all heading. The rioters justified their actions with the hundreds of deaths inflicted by elven arrows, but that wouldn’t matter. Unless something changed, drastically, war would befall the city, if not the entire Ramere. Lightning flashed, and as its brilliance lit up the port, Haern wondered if just perhaps the Wraith was right, that the world would be better if the rain swept them all into the ocean.

  The loud ringing of a bell drew his attention south. The city guard had begun marching patrols with bronze bells to emphasize their presence, as well as draw attention to their proclamations. Half the time, it was to alert the city to new hangings. Lord Ingram had been filling the gallows night and day, both to subdue the city as well as show the elves his disapproval of the attacks. Neither seemed to be working.

  But as the patrol passed, he heard something that struck him as strange, so much that he snuck down to the streets and followed: gold bounty. They called for all interested to head to the square, and Haern diverted his path. At the gallows, a handful of men gathered, and by their dress Haern guessed them various mercenaries, as well as a few curious peasants eager to share what they’d heard with their friends over drinks. A messenger stood on the wood platform, looking thoroughly miserable in the rain. He kept a sealed scroll underneath his cloak, protecting it best he could.

  “Any word what this is about?” Haern asked, sliding up to one of the regular folk.

  “They ain’t said yet,” the man answered, scratching at his neck. “But sounds like the reward’s plenty, so it’s got to be big, right?”

  “So it’d seem.”

  They’d set up two torches burning on either side of the raised platform, and both flickered and died as a sudden gale blew through them. The messenger cursed, barely holding onto the scroll. Looking like he’d had enough, he opened it and began hollering at the top of his lungs.

  “Having been given sufficient proof, milord Ingram Murband declares Alyssa Gemcroft an enemy of both the elves and Angelport, having been responsible for the grievous attack on Laryssa Sinistel of Quellassar. A reward of twenty acres of Ingram’s land, to be done with as he or she would please, will be given to whoever brings Alyssa to the city guard. No reward shall be given if she is dead. Another ten acres of land is offered for the man known as the Watcher, who serves Alyssa, and carried out the attack. Reward will still be given if brought his corpse. So orders our lord of the city, may the gods protect his name.”

  Haern’s jaw fell open as the news spread like lightning through the crowd. What madness was this? Fading away into the dark alleys, he ran back to the temple. Logan was waiting for him at the door, letting him in and handing him a dry cloak to wrap about his body.

  “The rain letting up?” the young man asked.

  “Doesn’t look like it,” Haern said, looking for and finding Alyssa sitting on a bench at the very front. Beside her lay Zusa, wrapped in blankets. She slept. Logan lingered nearby, polishing the altar and dais, as Alyssa nodded in greeting.

  “Her convulsions have stopped,” she said as he took a seat beside her. “I think the Violet’s finally leaving her body.”

  Haern nodded, glad but unable to think much of the matter, not giving what he’d just heard.

  “Alyssa,” he said. “Ingram just put a bounty worth twenty acres on your head.”

  Her jaw clenched, but she held her reaction well.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “I assumed Madelyn would try to turn him against me somehow.”

  Haern shook his head, and he fought to keep his fury down.

  “It’s not that. It’s Laryssa. He’s claiming you’re responsible for her attack.”

  “But why...no, she can’t possibly think I’d retaliate, not even for what she did.”

  “It seems she does, and they claim I was the one to attack at your command. We have prices on both our heads.”

  She sat back, stunned, and grabbed Zusa’s hand as if on instinct.

  “What do we do?” she asked. Her voice had fallen to a whisper. “What can we do?”

  Haern shook his head.

  “This whole city is rotten. I don’t know what’s right. I don’t know who tells truth or lies. Let us leave. Forget vengeance on the Wraith. Once we’re back in Veldaren, you’ll be safe from Madelyn’s madness and Ingram’s guards. Let this city meet its own fate.”

  “Even if that fate is war?”

  “This city will have war no matter what we do! They run toward it with open arms. Do you think we can convince the elves to ignore the lynch mobs that tore their kin apart? Do you think we can convince the Merchant Lords to abandon their greed? Do you think we can make Ingram humble himself before the elves and take their side in these disputes?”

  “We must do something!” Alyssa stood, as if sitting were too much for her anger. “I won’t let all of the Ramere descend into chaos. Thousands will die, and call me greedy if you will, but I cannot lose the trade, the ships, the farmland...War in the south will cause irreparable harm to the Trifect, and already we limp on decaying legs. We helped create this mess, and we will fix it. Now think! Why would Laryssa or Ingram think you were to blame?”

  “The eye,” Zusa said, slowly sitting up. “And your yelling is bad for headaches.”

  Haern felt her words pierce his heart with ice. Of course, his symbol. Knowledge of it wasn’t common, and he himself hadn’t used it since ending the thief war years before, but at least one person knew. The man who had used that same symbol before.

  “The
Wraith,” he said. “It has to be. He wants this whole mess brought to a head, and now he’s found a way.”

  Alyssa fussed over Zusa a moment, who pushed her away.

  “He’s attacked the elves before,” Zusa said. “You must find him, Haern. Give him to the elves, and let them take all the years they need to drag out a confession. If we clear Alyssa’s name, we might stop all of this.”

  She made it sound so simple, but Haern knew it wasn’t. Finding him would be close to impossible, and as for defeating him...

  “And what about you?” he asked her, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him.

  “The merchants have overstepped their bounds,” Zusa said. “We must make them fear us, fear the fate awaiting them if they force Angelport to war.”

  She stood on unsteady feet. Alyssa pulled her back down to the bench, and the faceless woman could not resist.

  “You’re still weak,” she said. “Rest another day. We’re safe here.”

  “Can the city spare another day?”

  Haern frowned, and he swung his arm in a circles. Nole had done well healing his shoulder, and he finally felt like he might fight at full strength. Perhaps the city could wait, as well the merchants, but the Wraith...

  “I’ll find him,” he said. “Even if I have to tear Angelport apart until I do.”

  It was a hollow promise, for the city was an enormous place, but he had a feeling the Wraith would be looking for him. Looking to see if he’d join him. Part of him still wanted to. But if they were to have peace, and clear his name, he’d have to take him down.

  Haern reached into Alyssa’s pocket, pulling out a handful of gold coins.

  “Where are you going?” she asked as he headed for the door.

  “To buy new swords.”

  Ambassador Graeven waited outside the city, in the same spot where Eravon had been killed. It only seemed appropriate. No tents this time, just a small fire to show his position. The rain had stopped, but thick clouds remained, convincing the elf it was a brief, but welcome, respite. Hour after hour came and went, and patient as ever, he let them pass until at last his guest joined him at the fire.

  “Greetings, Scoutmaster,” Graeven said, bowing. “Where is your magnificent horse?”

  “I feared Sonowin would attract too much attention,” the other elf said, and he bowed low to show his respect. His hair was brown and long, carefully cut and braided so it would not disrupt his vision. His clothes were a camouflaged mix of greens and browns. When he walked, he made not a sound, and it seemed even the grass hardly noticed his passing. He was Dieredon, Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves, and one of their greatest trackers. Hanging from his back was an enormous bow, with which his skill was legendary.

  “I’m glad you’ve come,” Graeven said. “The city has grown violent as of late, and I have need of your skills.”

  “So I have heard. Where is Laryssa now?”

  “We’ve smuggled her out of the city for her own safety. Ceredon’s ordered her to return to Quellassar, as is best. I will remain in charge of our negotiations, which brings me to why I need you.”

  They both sat opposite each other by the fire, on beds of grass Graeven had carefully dried out with a burning branch during the lengthy wait. He offered Dieredon a buttered piece of bread, but the other elf rejected it.

  “I am not much for human food,” he said.

  “It’s grown on me.”

  Dieredon looked to the city in the distance, his sharp eyes easily seeing a hundred details even Graeven could not.

  “I am not alone in my arrival,” he said. “Many more have come, and it takes little to guess their intentions. Already we infiltrate the city. By week’s end, we’ll have two hundred elves in disguise among their ranks, if not twice that. The response has been overwhelming.”

  “Which is why I summoned you,” Graeven said, setting aside his food without taking a bite, despite what he’d said about human food. “My position is to speak for our kind, who are united in their desire for war. I fear to utter even a word of peace lest I find myself reprimanded. Since Laryssa’s attack, it has only gotten worse.”

  “Then why summon me?”

  “Because you aren’t like the rest of our kin. You have spent a century in the wild, amid orcs, wolves, and humans. If there is anyone I feel I can rely on in this matter, it is you.”

  Dieredon crossed his arms.

  “I am no friend of man, despite my efforts. But a war against Angelport is folly. We should be above revenge and pride, yet that drives so many of our kind here. If I can help prevent such madness, tell me, and I will do what I can.”

  Graeven smiled.

  “Despite his bluster, I don’t think Lord Ingram actually seeks war. He’s a coward, and his fear and ignorance of us is truly impressive. It is our own kind we must appease, and I know of only one way. If you hunted down the ones responsible for the attack on Laryssa, and prove they acted on their own, we might have a chance. I’ll still need to deal with the Merchant Lords, but I think Ingram has begun to fear them as much as us. Perhaps a solution will present itself, but for now, we must worry about one thing at a time.”

  “Do we know who is responsible?” Dieredon asked. “I’ve heard rumors...”

  “I feel certain Alyssa Gemcroft gave the order. I heard her fury when we cast her out, reneging on my earlier offer of safety.” He handed Dieredon a small square piece of parchment, with a drawing of Alyssa he’d made with a thin stick of charcoal. “She is in hiding, and must be found. But I do not believe she was the one who acted out the attack.”

  “Who was it, then?”

  “I have looked deep into the matter, so trust my word in this. He is known as the Watcher, a killer from Veldaren who came south with Alyssa. The open eye is his symbol, which he drew using Laryssa’s own blood. Not only did he attack our princess, but he was arrogant enough to ensure we knew why it was done.”

  “What does this...Watcher...look like?”

  Graeven handed over a second square of parchment.

  “It’s crude, I know, but the best I could manage. He is skilled, far more than humans are usually capable of. Do not treat him lightly. I wonder how great a match he would be against you.”

  “How will I find him?” Dieredon asked, tucking both drawings into a pouch at his belt.

  “If you find Alyssa, you will find him. He seems protective of her, perhaps because she has hired him, perhaps because they are lovers. It is little matter. With Alyssa found, he will come for her, if he is not with her already.”

  “I will do what I can, though I must travel in disguise, and that will slow things down.”

  “Make haste,” Graeven said, standing. “Remember, everything I do, I do for Quellassar. We must not relinquish the slightest scrap of land to the humans, I understand that now, but neither can we let a war begin that we are not prepared to win.”

  “It might not be within our power to stop.”

  Graeven’s eyes twinkled, and he smiled in the absence of starlight.

  “Within the land of humans, Dieredon, everything is possible. These events are ours to control. Bring me Alyssa and the Watcher, and I will do the rest.”

  Dieredon nodded, and he turned once more to the city.

  “I may have to kill to succeed,” he said.

  “Our cause is just. Celestia will understand, and give you her blessing. The few you kill outnumber the thousands you save. Remember, if you see our brethren in disguise, keep your task to yourself. Their minds are set, and they will not appreciate any attempt toward peace.”

  “I understand. Go in peace, ambassador, and may Celestia watch over you.”

  “And you as well.”

  Dieredon scattered the fire with his foot, then headed for the city. Graeven watched him go, for a moment doubting the wisdom of sending the Scoutmaster after the Watcher. In the end, he shrugged his shoulders, and decided it was worth the risk.

  15

  Dejected, Haern returned to th
e temple just before the break of dawn. He’d scoured the city, twice interrupting an attempted theft, and once a rape, always careful to wound without killing. Still no sign of the Wraith, despite the possible attention. At least the rain had subsided, and no riots had broken out, which was a blessed relief.

  As he walked to the door, it opened, and Logan startled for a moment finding him standing there so close.

  “Heading out?” Haern asked.

  “Errands,” Logan said, hurrying away.

  Inside, he found Alyssa still asleep on one of the benches, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. Zusa sat beside her, and she nodded in greeting. Haern nodded back, and he began to sit when Nole appeared from his room.

  “Finally back?” the priest asked.

  “I am,” Haern said, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t wake Alyssa. “Though I have little to show for a night’s rest wasted.”

  “Come, use my bed then,” said Nole. “It is softer than the benches, and I have no need of it.”

  Haern didn’t want to be a bother, given the kindness the priest had shown them over the past few days. Still, the benches were hardly comfortable, even with the padding of blankets. He removed his sword belt, pulled back his hood, and followed. The priest’s room was small and bare, but it had a bed, and Haern sat on its side. The mattress was stuffed with feathers, and it felt divine after hours hunched over the side of buildings, watching and waiting.

  “I’m sorry it isn’t much,” Nole said, tidying up his small desk, and rolling up various scrolls. “You must be used to better, having come from Veldaren. Have you seen the temple there?”

  Haern laid his swords down in a corner, then set his newly purchased cloak atop them.

  “A few times,” he said, kicking off his boots. “It is a fine building.”

  “Fine?” Nole chuckled. “Fine does not do it justice. Great pillars, walls carved of marble from distant quarries. I hear they’ve begun coloring their windows, so that the light swirls like a rainbow as it enters the temple.”