A Dance Of Death s-3 Page 22

Torgar laughed, and he walked through the group of guards looking completely unworried by their presence.

  “I’d say you’re not the one who needs to worry about getting stabbed in the back,” he called over his shoulder. Madelyn felt her blood run cold, and she nearly gave the order for her guards to execute him on the spot. The look on the guards’ faces stopped her. Some were inquisitive, but most seemed angry, or in doubt. How many of them knew, or at least, questioned Laurie’s death? Might Torgar have told them already? What if his presence was the only thing keeping them in line?

  She caught several of them staring at the dagger embedded in the wall, and that was the last straw.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Go on, back to your posts.”

  They filtered out, and when they were gone, she yanked the dagger free. The study had a fireplace, and she hurled the dagger into the center of the coals, not caring whether it would burn or not. She just didn’t want to see it anymore.

  “Damn you, all of you,” she said, thinking of Torgar, her late husband, the merchants. Every sick member of Angelport that seemed to relish destruction and bloodshed. The fire popped, and she saw the tip of the dagger sticking out from the center. As the blood blackened, she wondered how to kill Torgar without blame or suspicion. There had to be a way, and she would find it. For once, the Keenan fortune was fully under her control. No one would take that from her.

  No one, not even the brutish guard who knew her darkest secret.

  18

  Zusa remained patient as she crept toward Ingram’s compound, knowing the slightest mistake could be her last. Between the mobs, the elves, and the merchants, every guard would be on high alert, and that wasn’t even counting the added protection because of the Wraith, or Haern’s earlier midnight visit. Still, she was one of the faceless, if not the last. Nothing would stop her from getting in. Her patience was infinite, the shadows her friends.

  Of course, getting out was another matter. She couldn’t help but think of her and Haern’s disastrous escape. If not for the Wraith, they’d have been two corpses, or even worse, tortured in the deep parts of Ingram’s dungeon.

  When she reached the gate, she pressed her back to a wall, blending into the long shadows made by the starlight. Even with her impressive skills, she wondered just how much patience it’d take when she saw how many armed men patrolled the wall. Torches had been set up every fifty feet, no doubt hoping to eliminate any chance of stealth by someone like Haern or herself. Every window was lit with lamps, and the patrolling men also carried torches. She doubted there was anywhere else in Angelport closer to having daylight at night than Lord Ingram’s mansion.

  As she was pondering a route in, something caught her eye. It was a shadow that didn’t seem quite right, stretching out far longer than the wall that created it. And then it moved. Curious, Zusa watched as a single shadowy form approached the mansion wall. As it arrived, her eyes spread wide. Six more figures followed, sprinting across the street with both incredible speed, and unnerving silence.

  Elves, thought Zusa. They had to be. The question was…should she consider them friend or foe?

  Either way, she had to follow, and keep them in sight. She wouldn’t let them endanger Alyssa, no matter their goal. As she ran, the seven scaled the wall with ease, then descended upon a patrol walking past. Zusa sprinted across the street, pressing her body flat against the stone wall. She listened for cries of alarm, or sounds of combat, but there were none. The elves had slaughtered a full patrol with hardly a noise. Her respect for them went up tenfold. From her own watch, she knew it’d be about a minute before the next one appeared. The elves would have to move fast to accomplish what they desired in such a small window of opportunity. Zusa leapt, grabbed the top ledge of the wall, and vaulted herself over.

  She landed amid the bodies, all five of the patrol. They lay crumpled about, their throats slashed with fine precision. She looked to the mansion further up the hill, yet saw no one. She frowned. It didn’t matter their speed, she should have seen movement. Unless…

  Zusa sprinted along the wall, a lump growing in her throat. Sure enough, as she rounded the side, she found another patrol, dead from sliced throats and stabs through the back and into lungs. Deadly killers, all seven, and they weren’t heading for Ingram in his mansion. They were making their way to the dungeon.

  They wanted Alyssa.

  “You won’t have her,” she whispered. She thought of raising an alarm, but no patrols were near, and the mansion was too far away to break a window with a stone to alert the guard. Besides, shouting and hollering would alert the elves to her own approach, and she would arrive far sooner than any guard. Drawing her daggers, she steeled herself to fight such incredible opponents. It’ll be like fighting Haern, she told herself. She’d sparred with him plenty on the trip to Angelport. That was the speed to expect, the level of skill to anticipate.

  And there were seven of them.

  At the entrance to the dungeon, she found two guards slumped beside the door, long darts sticking out from underneath their helmets. The huge door was open, and from within she heard the sound of shouting and combat. Buried under the earth, the noise was well-contained, and unless someone made it out, no one would raise the alarm. Gripping her daggers tighter, she knew it might be far too late by the time someone did.

  Her rescue nearly ended before it began. As she passed through the entryway, every nerve in her body fired off warning. Reacting on instinct, she plummeted to one knee, ducked, and flung her daggers up in a desperate defense. From above the entrance fell an elf, and his sword connected with the daggers with a loud clang. Zusa rolled, knowing he would try to finish her before she might regain her footing. Sure enough, she heard the sound of blades scraping against the stone floor, failed slashes mere inches behind her.

  Reaching a wall, she spun, putting her back to it. The elf lunged, his thrust aimed for her chest. She batted the thrust aside with both daggers. Before she could react further, he continued in with his charge, despite his sword clanging against the wall beside her. His foot connected with her abdomen, and when she swung, he twirled to one side, his fist striking her across the face. Nose bleeding, her stomach cramping, Zusa lifted her daggers and tried to smile.

  “Come on,” she said. “You can do better.”

  The elf’s face was painted in a smoothly blended mix of blacks and grays, making his brown eyes shine in the contrast. He grinned, his white teeth vibrant compared to the black of his lips.

  “A skilled human,” the elf said. “Still, nothing compared to us.”

  He looped his sword through an intricate display designed to confuse her, but she did not watch the blade, only the movements of his arms and the positioning of his legs. When he tensed, ready to lunge, she fell backward through the shadows of the wall, reappearing on the other side of the entryway. As his sword hit the wall hard enough to create sparks, she leapt at him. Her knees rammed his back, her daggers puncturing his soft leather armor.

  “If you say so,” she hissed into his ear as she twisted the blades.

  Zusa let him go, and as the body collapsed, she fought a wave of dizziness. Traveling through shadows would not be something she could rely on, not with how drained it left her afterward. She wiped her wrist beneath her nose, and it came back sticky with blood. Broken, she thought. Wonderful. Her abdomen still ached, and deep within the dungeon, the sounds of conflict lessened.

  One elf down. Six more to go.

  Seeing their skill, and hearing the contempt in the dead elf’s voice, convinced her the rest would expect no attack from the entrance. Surprise was her best weapon, perhaps her only real chance against them. She ran through the dungeon, and at the very first intersection, she saw dead guards leading every direction.

  Shit.

  There were three main wings to the dungeon, and Alyssa might be down any of them. She was certain the elves had broken up to investigate all three, which left her with no time to think, only react.

 
; She ran straight ahead, hoping they’d placed Alyssa in the same cell they’d placed Haern. All around her, the prisoners let out a ruckus, most seeming amused by the slaughter of the guards they’d witnessed.

  “You’re dead, girl!” one cried as she passed, and her heart leapt into her throat, for before her were the two elves hurrying along, each one checking the cells on their side for Alyssa. The cry didn’t grab their attention, and with all her fury she crashed into the pair, her daggers slashing like the claws of a wild beast. She focused on just one, knowing if she got greedy and failed to kill both at once, it’d leave her outnumbered, and therefore dead. Blood spilled across her hands, and she kicked the corpse away so she could fight.

  The remaining elf was a woman, her hair pulled behind her and tightly braided. Blood ran from her forehead, the lone cut Zusa had managed to score after killing the other. The elf wielded a long, curved blade in one hand and a dagger in the other, the two weaving through the air in perfect tandem. Zusa refused to back down, nor be intimidated by their speed. Compared to Haern, the elf was actually slower, and unlike Haern, her blades did not both have a longer reach.

  Zusa fell into a rhythm, blocking and parrying for a good ten seconds. She saw the other woman grow confused, as if baffled Zusa could even stand toe to toe with her. Zusa chose that moment to strike, slipping between a dual-thrust that she’d parried wide to either side of her. But the elf fell back, and her swords sliced back in, so Zusa did the only attack that would still hit: a snap-kick to her face. The blow momentarily stole her balance, and Zusa dropped to one knee and swept out the elf’s feet from underneath her.

  Instead of landing hard, perhaps knocking the wind out of her lungs, the elf woman was already rolling. Zusa’s daggers missed flesh, only hitting stone. Swearing, she chased after. The elf pulled out of the roll, landed softly on her feet, and met her charge. Four blades danced, parrying and blocking in a blur creatable only by the best. But Zusa would be better. She had to be. In her heart, she thought of Alyssa, and what the elves might do. The fury gave her strength, and when she stole the offensive, she hammered away at the elf’s blades as if they were mere playthings in her way. The elf tried to flee, but Zusa would not let her. Sensing her hesitation, she feinted, then took out her knee with a solid blow from her heel. As the elf fell, Zusa cross-cut, tearing open her throat.

  Elven blood poured across the cold stone.

  “Alyssa?” Zusa called out as she staggered toward the end of the hall. She came upon the same dark cell Haern had been in, and in the thin sliver of light, she saw it empty. Her heart sank. She had guessed wrong. Running back toward the entrance, she prayed that somehow she would make it in time. She didn’t care if Karak heard, or Ashhur answered. It didn’t matter. Alyssa mattered. The cell doors flashed by, the jeers and catcalls only distant groans of insects to her.

  Back at the initial intersection, she saw them, four elves hurrying in tandem. Slung across one of their shoulders, bound and gagged, was Alyssa. Their backs were to her, but they must have noticed the other elves’ absence, and were on alert. One turned, his painted face glaring as he readied his long blade. The other three shouted something in elvish and ran toward the exit.

  “Did you kill Celias and Treyarch?” he asked in the human tongue as she slowed and readied her daggers.

  “Don’t forget whoever was at the door,” she said, flashing him a smile that felt born of mania and desperation. His eyes sparkled in the nearby torchlight.

  “I’ll make sure your death is painful.”

  He lashed out, an upward swipe that passed an inch away from her face, cutting strands of her hair. This elf was faster, and she felt slower, her adrenaline fading. Zusa retreated, but the elf matched her step for step. Her daggers batted left to right, blocking his smoothly connected strikes. His sword was a blur, and she had to fight to keep herself focused. No time for this, she thought, but already defeat clawed at her mind. The elves would escape, and Alyssa with them. She’d failed.

  The elf backed her into a corner, and she felt the heat of a torch burning beside her head.

  “You ended lives that walked this land for hundreds of years,” he said. “No greater sin poisons this world than that of your kind.”

  His sword danced, and she was a poor partner. Without room, her dodges were limited, and his speed incredible. Any time she countered, he’d leap back, slap the weapon aside, and then lunge, relying on his greater reach. With every passing moment, her exhaustion ebbed away at her reflexes. He scored cut after cut, and at least once she saw him purposefully twist the blade to the side so it did not embed into her flesh.

  The elf was mocking her, covering her body with a dozen gashes. The insult was too much. She weakly slumped against the wall, tears in her eyes.

  “Just end it,” said Zusa.

  The elf frowned, obviously disappointed. He closed in, the tip of his blade aiming for her throat. No comment this time, no biting words. The muscles in his body were tense, and death was in his eyes.

  When he thrust, Zusa parried it to the left, letting out a cry as the tip slashed across her cheek. Her other hand reached out, and he moved to dodge, but she wasn’t stabbing with it. She was throwing. The dagger hurled true, piercing his side. It wasn’t fatal, but the delay was enough. She yanked the torch from the wall and swung. He blocked, but the fire was in his eyes. She swung again, and again, always toward his face. At last she let it drop, and she could see his pupils dilating. In that brief moment as the torch fell, when his vision would be all spots and shapes, she closed the distance between them, wrapping her free arm around him as if in an embrace. Her other rammed the blade of her dagger through his ribs and into his heart.

  She let him drop, then spat on his corpse.

  “Never talk to me of sin,” she said.

  Zusa looked to the exit, to where the starlight shone on an empty walkway. Guards would be there soon, but they would not catch the elves, nor would they catch her. She ran.

  Haern woke to the sound of his door opening. He looked up, the sleepiness in his head vanishing at the sight of Zusa standing there, her wrappings cut and torn, seemingly every inch soaked with blood.

  “Zusa?” he asked, stumbling out of the bed. She took a limping step closer, then collapsed into his arms.

  “They took her,” she said.

  “Took her? Who? Alyssa? Who took her?”

  Her fingers clawed against his chest, and her whole body shook. At first he thought it was weakness, maybe from blood loss, but when she looked into his eyes, he realized it was rage struggling to break free.

  “The elves took Alyssa,” she said. “They’ll kill her. I know it. They’ll kill her, but I’ll make them pay. All of them, this whole damn city, will pay in blood.”

  He held her close, and she pressed her bruised forehead against his chin.

  “I don’t care if this city burns,” she said, her voice suddenly softening. “I just want her back. Please, that’s all I want. Without her…”

  Haern wrapped his arms tighter, and she felt so small then, so close to breaking.

  “We’ll find her,” he said. “All’s not lost yet. We’ll find her, save her. I promise.”

  She pulled away.

  “Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” she said, beginning to undress. “Now help me bandage these cuts, and quickly. If we’re to act, we have little time to spare. There’s only one place the elves would take her.”

  “Where’s that?” he asked.

  She gave him a look as if he were a simpleton.

  “To their forest,” she said. “They’ll take her to Quellassar, and once there, not even the greatest army of man could save her from their blades.”

  19

  Alyssa awoke in the middle of the act of vomiting, her stomach heaving while her abdomen tightly cramped. Vertigo came next, the ground seemingly above her. Closing her eyes, she realized she was slung over someone’s shoulder. Soft whispers in a language she assumed was elvish came from
either side of her. Daring to open her eyes once more, she saw they were running. With strange glee she noticed she’d vomited on her elven captor’s boots.

  When she tried to look up, she felt pressure on both her neck and her wrists. They were tied together, she realized, with an intricate knot. Testing, she tried pulling her wrists apart, only to choke off her next breath. Struggling would be useless. Trying to relax, she looked up as much as she could without strangling herself, in a vain hope she’d recognize her surroundings. But there were no nearby buildings, no distinguishable landmarks. Instead she saw hills, and grass, and the occasional cluster of trees.

  Her heart sank. The elves had captured her from her prison, knocked her unconscious, and then smuggled her out of Angelport. Whatever safety she might have known in her cell, it was gone.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  The elf tensed, and the sickening motion of his running halted. The ground pitched before her, and then she hit, having been unceremoniously dumped to the grass. She rolled over, forced to sit on her hands since they were tied low and behind her back. Three camouflaged elves gathered about her, two men and one woman. Their faces were painted in various shades of blacks and grays, their clothing dark and loose. They’d pulled off their hoods, though, and there was no mistaking the point of their ears.

  “You have no right to ask questions,” said the one that had carried her. He was the tallest of the three, with long golden hair stretching to his waist.

  “Why not?” she asked, knowing she had to get them talking if she were to have any hope.

  “Does the butcher tell the pig where it’s going on the way to the slaughter?” asked the female.

  “I am no pig.”

  “I know others that might disagree.”

  The third elf snapped at them in elvish, and the two fell silent. He was shorter than the female, with emerald eyes that were mesmerizing to behold. Alyssa tensed as he knelt before her and grabbed her chin with his fingers, tilting her head so she would look directly into his eyes.