A Dance Of Death s-3 Read online

  “We’ve never been safe,” she said as she stepped into Ingram’s private study. “My husband learned this too late.”

  Ingram turned, and he smiled a tired smile. When he bowed, she returned it with an elegant curtsey. She could tell he was impressed with her outfit, and she made sure to keep her lungs full during her curtsey to push her breasts out far as she could. Laurie had once told her she had cleavage that could kill. Shame he never figured out her hands were just as deadly.

  “Welcome, Lady Madelyn,” he said, accepting her offered hand so he might kiss her fingers. “I am glad to see you have not completely lost your sense of womanhood amid your grief.”

  There was a bite to the comment, so she smiled sweetly at him and asked, “Have you made any progress toward capturing the one who brought me such grief?”

  Ingram’s frown came and went like the flap of bird wings, but she saw it.

  “This Wraith proves elusive,” he said.

  “I heard he mocked your guard when he helped the Watcher escape, all the while declaring the city his. Surely with such arrogance, you’ll capture him soon. I would be much relieved to know my husband’s killer has been given the punishment he deserves.”

  “Of course,” he said, then gestured to a table, offering her a drink.

  “White wine,” she said, and a lurking servant brought her a glass.

  “So what brings you here?” Ingram asked as she drank. She caught him glancing down the front of her corset, and she made sure to sip even slower. The thought of him touching her was repulsive, but given the immense amount of land he owned, as well as controlling all of Angelport, there might be enough benefits for her to close her eyes and endure.

  “I come because of Alyssa, of course.”

  Ingram sighed.

  “I take it now is when you demand her release, given how she’s a member of your Trifect.”

  “Quite the opposite. I’ve come to make sure you have the courage to punish her accordingly for her crimes. Even we of the Trifect are not above the King’s Law.”

  Ingram raised an eyebrow.

  “Funny how your husband never shared the same opinion whenever Taras got into a scrap.”

  The mention of her son’s name stabbed her heart like a dagger, and she discretely tugged the top of her corset higher.

  “I am not Laurie, and I would be thankful if you did not mention either of their names. The wounds are much too deep.”

  The lord bowed, and he quickly apologized.

  “At times I forget to tame my tongue. Please, forgive me. As for Alyssa, things are far from simple. I have little proof of any actual crime, other than fairly damning testimony from Laryssa. Of course, the word of an elf is worthless in any court, no matter how trustworthy they pretend to be. And of course, there’s the nonsense with the commoners…”

  Madelyn knew what he was talking about, and the very thought sickened her. Because the people believed Alyssa responsible for the attack on Laryssa, they hailed her as a hero, the first of their nobles and leaders to take decisive action against the elves slaughtering their kin at the forests’ edges. The situation disgusted her to no end.

  “So will you hand her over to the elves?”

  Ingram went to his bar, waved away the servant, and poured himself a drink. He downed it in one long shot.

  “No,” he said, slamming the cup down. “I can’t.”

  “Why? I can assure you, no one in the Trifect will bear you ill will, not even Alyssa’s successor…”

  To her surprise, Ingram broke out into laughter.

  “You? You think I’m worried about you? Look out the window, Madelyn, and see the remains of the fires those mobs set the past few nights. Nearly burned half my city to the ground, and killed seventeen of my guard. And now they’ve branded Alyssa a hero. Every one of the damn Merchant Lords is telling anyone who’ll listen, that it’s them who should be in charge, and that they’d never, ever think of surrendering Alyssa for trial and execution. I hand Alyssa over, I’ll have mobs surrounding my estate, ready to burn me alive.”

  He downed a second glass.

  “Gods damn it, how did this happen? You know what I had to do yesterday? I had to beg and grovel like a damn peasant to convince that ambassador of theirs I meant no ill will. And he claims he’s one of the few that doesn’t want war. Hah!”

  Madelyn did her best to smile. The opening she’d hoped for was right before her, and she slid closer and poured him a third glass.

  “So it’s the merchants stirring up trouble?”

  Ingram shrugged.

  “It seems everyone is, but they’ve been particularly unhelpful. If I make any move against them now, Angelport suffers. We live and die by their boats, and the gods help me if the elves actually put us under siege. I can’t imagine how badly the merchants would fuck us over if we had to rely on them for food and supplies, pardon my language.”

  When he didn’t drink, she took the glass from him and downed it herself. It burned, and her eyes watered, but she forced herself to show no sign. She wanted him to know she could be just as tough as any man, especially when it came to what she was about to propose.

  “The merchants have been a thorn in my side for as long as they’ve been one in yours,” she said. “My husband failed to deal with them properly, but I won’t. Give me the word, and I will take my army of mercenaries and storm their homes, their docks, their warehouses. Let me crush them beneath my heel like the insects they are. They’re the lowest of the lowbloods, sons of whores and sailors. They’ve played at being lords for far too long. Let me show them what fate awaits those who dare give orders to their betters.”

  She put her hand on his, and she could sense the rapid increase of his breathing.

  “There would be chaos for months,” he said, “trying to get all the boat captains in line, trade agreements remade…”

  “The city is already in chaos, and besides, if you’re going to create something new, you must spill a little blood, and endure a little pain. That’s a lesson we women learn early.”

  She could tell he was weakening. Just a little more, and she’d have the bloodbath she craved. Alyssa had dared call her husband a failure, and worse, she’d been right. Madelyn would not have that same failure hanging over her head for the rest of her life. No, she’d excise it in a single night of slaughter, the one thing she knew Torgar could do better than anyone.

  “I have over five hundred men at my disposal,” she said, lowering her voice. “If I fail, you can denounce me in public, threaten me for a bit, and in return I’ll hand over a few of my mercenaries for you to hang. If I succeed, though…”

  She thought of what Torgar had said, and she knew Ingram had to be hearing the same rumors. Perhaps she could use that.

  “If I succeed, you’ll save this city from the hundreds of elves that have already infiltrated your walls.”

  He twitched as if she’d cut him with her fingernails.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “Only rumors,” she said. “But sometimes stories turn out to be true. Give me permission. End this now.”

  Ingram walked to the window, and he stared at his city. She calmly waited, her hands crossed behind her back.

  “Do it,” he said. “But know you alone will bear the consequences. You’ll receive no help from me.”

  “Thank you,” she said, curtseying. He waved her away, and the servant at the door came to escort her back to Torgar.

  “How’d it go?” he asked her.

  “Prepare all but a handful of the house guards,” she told him as she hurried toward the street. “Ingram’s given me the freedom to deal with the Merchant Lords as I wish. I hope you haven’t drunk away what little skill you used to have.”

  Torgar flashed her a grin.

  “A bunch of fat merchants waiting for a butcher? Madelyn, if you think I can’t handle them, you sorely insult me.”

  Ulrich lay naked from the waist up, eyes closed so he might better enjoy
the sensations. In his left hand he held what little Violet he had left, made all the more frustrating since he’d had to steal it from his brother. The elves had abandoned all pretense of civility. Every single day brought new reports of casualties. So far the human camps hadn’t struck back, but it’d only be a matter of time before they brought out the torches. Ulrich wondered if Violet would grow in the ashes of the forest. If so, perhaps they could change their tactics…

  He took out his last leaf, hardly the size of his thumb. He crushed it between his fingers, and on a whim, pressed it to the bottom of his nose. It was the aroma that did it, he knew, when they crushed the leaf between their teeth. With so little, he didn’t expect much, but it hit him with twice the strength such a small amount should have. He snorted out of instinct, and suddenly his whole body was alive with sensations. He rode it like a wave, time lacking any meaning. As he felt it ebb, a realization hit so strong he rolled off the bed.

  Breathing it in through the nose increased the Violet’s power tremendously. They didn’t need even a fifth of what they’d thought necessary to flood Dezrel with the plant.

  “Stern!” he cried out, thoroughly excited to tell him. For some reason he thought his brother was standing in the corner, waiting, but it was a trick of the light. Laughing, Ulrich dressed himself. As he was fighting with his twitching fingers to button his shirt, he heard shouts from down below. At first he thought it was the rest of the merchants, thrilled about his discovery, but he hadn’t told them yet. Then what?

  The clang of steel pierced his haze. Fighting? Screaming? But why?

  He opened his door and stepped out. From his balcony he looked down and saw armored men rushing in through his front door, fifty of them at the least. The few guards he had were fighting valiantly, but they were badly outnumbered.

  “Shit,” Ulrich said, and he spoke it so calmly it surprised him.

  He dashed back into his room, slammed the door shut, and pushed in the lock. Hitting his head against the door, he tried to think, to understand what was going on. Nothing was coming to him. The King? The Trifect? Who would dare strike against him? He felt his hands reaching for the pouch with the Violet, but it was empty, and screaming, he flung it against the door. His troops, his loyal men that he’d had Darrel buy, were still scattered throughout the city, awaiting his orders. Gods damn it, he needed them here, to protect him!

  But no, he was alone, helpless, and listening to the screams of his dying guards and servants. He had minutes until they stormed into his room. Or seconds. The Violet was still draining away, and without its presence, it felt so fucking hard to think.

  “Deep breath, Ulrich, deep breath.”

  He closed his eyes, forced himself to ignore the pounding of his heart, forced himself to think. His mansion was overrun. Already he heard heavy footsteps thumping up the stairs. He had to escape, to live long enough to bring together his fighting men, but how?

  Opening his eyes, he spun about, putting his back to the door, and saw the heavy curtains across his bedroom window.

  “Why not,” he said, rushing toward it as behind him a fist struck against the wood. The lock held, but it rattled, the strength of the bolt far from impressive. Heart in his throat, Ulrich yanked down the curtain and pressed his nose against the glass. He was on the second floor, and beneath the window was a large enough ledge to stand on. Grabbing his sword off the wall, he broke the window with the hilt, then stepped outside. Blood ran down his arm as his elbow caught on a jagged edge. He didn’t even feel it.

  From the rooftop, he could better see what was going on. The gate to his mansion had been broken open, and he saw the trampled bodies of his guards beside the wreckage. A squad of men guarded the exit, while the rest poured into the mansion, with only a few circling about. Ulrich felt panic creeping through his chest, and he tried to ignore it. He thought for certain they’d have noticed him, but so far no one had. Running toward the back, and away from the gathered group, he looked for another way out.

  Behind him, he heard shouts, and a quick glance showed the first of many mercenaries climbing onto the rooftop, having broken through the door to his room. Swearing, Ulrich hurried to the very edge of the roof, but there was no way down other than a painful fall. Worse was, even if he made it down, he’d have to climb over the iron gate surrounding his property. He might make the climb…or he might die with a blade shoved in his back as he desperately scrambled up.

  Ulrich drew his sword, flung the scabbard to the ground, and held his weapon with both hands.

  “Come on!” he shouted, wiping sweat from his eyes with his forearm. “I can still kill plenty of you before I die!”

  Four mercenaries were up there with him, and they paused. For a moment Ulrich thought his threat had disturbed them, but then he saw their eyes were not looking at him, but beyond. Torn between curiosity and certain death, he clenched his jaw and refused to turn.

  “Scared?” he asked them, and shockingly enough, it seemed they were.

  And then the Wraith vaulted over his head, landing on the slanted roof with ease. His sword flashed in his hand, killing the nearest. The mercenaries rushed him, but the Wraith danced between their strikes, his cloak twirling to hide his presence. Another mercenary fell. The final two tried to run, but the moment their guard went down the Wraith lunged, shredding into them with his sword and kicking their bodies off the roof.

  Done, the Wraith turned to Ulrich, who lifted his sword in defense.

  “Stay away,” he said.

  “No.”

  “I said stay back!”

  The Wraith laughed. All but his smile was hidden by the deep shadow of his hood, a shadow that seemed oblivious to the actual position of the sun.

  “If you want to live, then put down that sword and follow me.”

  An arrow sailed over their heads, and both dropped to their knees. Ulrich chewed on his lower lip. He was in no position to think clearly, not with Violet and battle lust pounding through his veins, but it didn’t appear he had any choice. Despite the bounty on his head, despite his killing of William Amour, it seemed the Wraith was willing to be an ally. But why?

  “Lead on,” he said. “If you can keep me safe, I’ll reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”

  “You don’t have the power to give me what I seek. But I will accept your help in smaller things. Now hurry!”

  A few more arrows flew over, wild guesses to their actual positions. Running with his back bent, the Wraith led Ulrich to the southern side of his mansion, which faced the docks. From there, he saw smoke rising to the evening sky.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Ulrich asked him.

  “You are not the only one in danger,” said the Wraith. “It seems Madelyn is trying to eradicate all the Merchant Lords from Angelport. I doubt she’ll be successful, stupid woman. How dare she think she could do such a thing in my city without my noticing?”

  By the shouts inside the mansion, the mercenaries clearly realized Ulrich had fled to the roof. He felt trapped, but with the frighteningly skilled fighter protecting him, he still might have a chance. The Wraith peered over the edge, then rolled onto his back, his sword lying across his chest.

  “Jump down,” he said, glancing over. “Roll when you land, and make sure you brace with your arms, not your legs. Better you’re unable to hold a sword than unable to walk.”

  Ulrich nodded, and then the Wraith rolled off the roof to the ground below. A trio of mercenaries were passing underneath, and Ulrich watched as they fell in an explosion of gore. With them dead, The Wraith beckoned him to follow. Given no choice, Ulrich hung from the edge by his hands, then let go. He hit hard, and his right knee popped. Before he could cry out in pain The Wraith was there, yanking him to his feet.

  “Run, you fool!”

  With the Wraith pulling him along, they reached the fence. The top was lined with spikes, and Ulrich wondered how he was to cross.

  “Here,” the Wraith said, offering his hands for Ulrich to st
ep upon. “Run, and jump. Do not think, now do it!”

  Over ten armed men turned the corner from the front, and they let out an alarm upon spotting the two by the fence. One let fly an arrow, and it clacked into the bars mere feet away. That was enough to get Ulrich moving. He ran, and when he planted his foot on the Wraith’s hands, he was stunned. It felt like he was stepping onto stone. As he moved to jump, he felt himself lifted, and suddenly he was sailing headfirst over the fence. He landed flat on his back, the impact blasting the air from his lungs. Tears ran down his face as he tried to stand. His right knee throbbed, and when he took a step with it, it buckled under his weight.

  Before the mercenaries could arrive, the Wraith jumped over the fence, not needing a running start. Ulrich could hardly believe the sight. The man glared down at him, and for once his smile was gone.

  “I told you to brace with your arms.”

  “I know.”

  The Wraith pulled him back up, and he let a bit of his weight rest on his shoulders.

  “Move fast, and in rhythm. We must get you to your brother, where the battle still rages.”

  Step by step they ran toward the docks, Ulrich feeling like troublesome baggage. As they came closer, he saw a great pillar of smoke, and his throat tightened.

  “That’s my brother’s home,” he said.

  “Stay calm. He fled sooner than most, and has gathered his men. He is why the others might live.”

  “Why aren’t the city guard doing something to stop it?”

  The Wraith laughed.

  “Because Ingram has signed off on it, you dimwitted animal. They’ve rolled the dice together, hoping to wipe out your group forever. A desperate maneuver, really.”

  Ulrich picked up the pace, limping along as fast as his leg could go. Rage burned in his chest at the thought of Madelyn striking against them. Perhaps she did so to protect Alyssa? The Trifect always stuck together, at least in the many years he’d paid attention to them. Was that Madelyn’s reward for saving Lord Ingram from their influence?

  Stern’s home was far smaller than Ulrich’s, though his brother had an equal amount of wealth, if not more. He didn’t flaunt it as openly, but that didn’t mean his home lacked defensive measures. He, too, had a large wall about it, made of thick stone and topped with steel spears. The building itself was in flames. Sailors and lowborn men fought against the mercenaries, nearly outnumbering them two to one. Strangely, it was the Madelyn’s men trapped within the wall between the mob and the fire, not the merchants’.