A Dance of Death (23 page)

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

L
aryssa hated the ugly layout of the city. There was nothing beautiful to it, nothing natural. They built their straight roads, their square box homes, and stamped out every bit of life that might grow in the cracks. It was only if she climbed to the rooftops could she even see the stars, all because of their torches and lamps. More than ever she yearned for the forest, especially as her company descended the hill Lord Ingram’s mansion was built upon. Below, the city seemed angry and vile. Every pair of eyes that looked upon them burned with hatred.

They were only five, all armed, including Laryssa. She feared no ruffian or drunkard striking her. Humans were only frightening if in great numbers, and even then the people so far had only flung stones from hiding. Such cowardice. Laryssa preferred the company of wild dogs to the people of Angelport. At least they would bare their teeth and fight a creature that frightened them.

“Perhaps we should stay here in the mansion until things calm down,” Graeven suggested, but Laryssa would have none of it.

“The man is a swine dressed in silk,” she said. “I will not stay under his roof, nor will I fear his streets. We must see what fate has befallen our friends.”

At first things seemed somewhat calm, the people of the city no more hostile than normal. If not for a hint of distant smoke blotting the sky, she might have thought the two Blackwater brothers lying. It was only when they reached the first gate that they saw the results of a riot. Loud screams and chanting came from down the street, and the gathered guards peered underneath their helmets with frightened eyes. A group of lowborn humans were there with them, whether watching or waiting, she didn’t know.

“You picked a bad time,” one of the guards said to Laryssa as they pushed through the commoners. “I’d turn back, milady.”

“What is going on?” Graeven asked.

“What’s it look like? Something sparked a riot up north, and it’s spreading like wildfire. Seen at least two squads head down that way, and they ain’t come back. We’ve confined it at the gates, so far as I know. You go in there with them, though, you’re likely to get hit.”

“Let them try,” Sildur said. He drew his sword, which only deepened the guard’s frown.

“Naked steel ain’t a good idea. You don’t want this crowd smelling blood, sir. Trust me on that. Go back to milord Ingram’s mansion where you’ll be safe.”

“We cannot stand idly by while a mob rips apart our brethren,” Laryssa said. “Let us through.”

“And may Celestia watch over us all,” Graeven said to himself as the soldiers parted, and they entered the strangely empty streets. It seemed those not intent on burning or breaking were in hiding. With Sildur leading the way, they traveled toward their home. A boy ran past them, blood dripping from his nose. They passed a two-story building, it’s windows billowing smoke. Broken doors marred several shops. A group of three ran toward them, saw their approach, and cut down an alley. All three held torches. Laryssa could only wonder at the twisted logic of humans. Furious at their situation, and at the elves, why then turn it on their own homes, their shops and walls? Still, it was better that than on her own kind, as far as she was concerned.

“Perhaps we were wrong to seek a way to reason with men such as these,” Graeven said, and coming from him, it was a harsh condemnation. The ambassador seemed to be one of the few Quellan elves not eager for war. As they walked past a slumped guard, his face beaten into a pulp, she felt certain even Graeven’s hope for peace would reach its end.

The shouting grew louder, and then from another alley came a large gang. Only a few wielded weapons, the others lifting their fists or waving torches. Laryssa’s hand fell to the ornate dagger belted to her waist as all around her the rest reached for their weapons.

“Murderers!” one shouted, and many others took up the chant. “Heathens! Go home! Go home!”

There were about fifteen of them, not enough to inspire any real bravery. When the five elves neared, the humans gave way, splitting so they were on either side. They cursed and hollered, turning their faces red, but she ignored their threats. They were mere products of ignorance and poverty. What could they say that would possibly mean anything to her? The rest of the elves lifted their weapons, easily keeping them at bay.

“We’ve still a ways to go,” Graeven said as they made it past, the group still lingering like a shadow.

“Move, and show no fear,” Laryssa said.

Come the next block, they encountered the true mob, and for the first time, Laryssa felt fear. At least a hundred of them gathered together, the air above them thick with the smoke of torches. They cheered and shouted as seven or eight tore down the door to a home. She couldn’t begin to guess the reason why, though by what they cried, she worried one of her friends was hiding inside. Those near the edge first saw Laryssa and her escort, but word spread within seconds. The mob turned toward them, and they screamed for blood.

“No fear,” Laryssa repeated.

“Don’t stop moving, no matter what,” Sildur ordered.

The mob surrounded them, making way at first so they might reach its very center. Once totally enclosed, the elves lost in a cacophony of hate and screams, the first dared strike. He wielded no weapon, just a young man throwing a punch. Sildur ducked it with ease, then with practiced precision, cut off the man’s fingers. As the blood spilled, and the severed digits fell to the street, the rest howled with near mindless fury.

“Cut through!” Laryssa cried in elvish.

The surprise of their attack was the only thing that kept the elves alive. They lunged at the front group, tearing through them with ease, for they lacked weapons and armor. Her two bodyguards protected their rear, their long swords moving with dizzying speed. Laryssa ran, for as the bodies began to fall, and shrieks of pain filled the air, most of the mob fled in fear. There were many, however, who wanted blood, and they rushed on with mad abandon. Graeven cut a path through a group of five, slaughtering three of them, then turned back to Laryssa, ushering her on. Before she could follow, the gap closed, over thirty angry men rushing at her, thinking her helpless.

With her dagger, she could kill any lone human, but they were not alone. She stabbed anyway, killing the first to near, but the rest pressed on. Fists crashed against her face and chest. With no other recourse she fled the other direction. It, too, was blocked. Amid a pile of corpses, Sildur battled back to back with one of her bodyguards. The numbers seemed endless, and as she watched, a man impaled himself on Sildur’s blade. With his weapon immobilized, Sildur was helpless before the many others who leapt atop him.

Beside her she saw an alley, and she ran, wishing she could banish from her mind the sight of Sildur’s face crunching inward as a heavy human smashed it with his heel. Three men moved to stop her, but she twirled, her dress a startling display of emeralds and blood. With them unable to match her speed, she cut the throat of the one closest, slipped past the other two, and fled as fast as her legs could carry her.

The sound of the mob faded behind her, and if any chased, they could not keep up. Not caring which direction she ran, Laryssa continued on. More than anything, she wanted out of the city, to go home as the people of Angelport desired. The city was a sickbed of hatred, wrath, and ignorance. If she had her way, she’d burn it to the ground, and if Celestia was willing, the humans would accomplish that for her before the day’s end.

When the sound of chaos was in the distance, she slowed to catch her breath. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she refused to let grief overcome her. Sildur, Graeven, her friends…all had lived for hundreds of years, and this was how it would end for them?

“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.

R
ain 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.