A Dance of Death (8 page)

“Do you know what it means?” Haern whispered.

“I don’t,” said Zusa, shaking her head.

Haern shrugged, then resolved to watch. The men kept their attention focused on the nearby taverns. They were waiting, and Haern was patient enough to find out just what for. He would not murder men in cold blood for standing in a dark alley, despite the short swords they carried. He needed intent. He needed proof.

“They wait for a victim,” Zusa said. “Perhaps we should give them one?”

Haern shrugged.

“Wait here.”

He looped around back, so that the three would not see his approach. Pulling down his hood, he turned a corner, making it seem as if he’d just come from one of the taverns. Walking with an uneven gait, he purposefully stumbled closer to their alley while making sure his sabers remained hidden by his cloaks. The outfit would label him an outsider, and he hoped that would help convince the men to make their move.

Crossing the alley, the three men stepped out, their short swords drawn.

“Don’t seem from around here,” said the biggest of the three. Haern turned his head aside, not wanting them to get a good look at his face. As they neared, he tugged his hood lower, as if he were scared.

“Visiting friends, that’s all,” he said, doing his best to sound afraid.

“Then come over here and hand over what you got,” said another, stepping quickly to cut off Haern’s retreat. “You need to pay to stay safe in this town, stranger.”

“I got little money to live on while I’m here,” said Haern.

“I’m sure your friends’ll help you out.”

Haern laughed.

“That she will.”

Zusa fell upon the one blocking his way, her daggers slicing across his neck before he ever knew she was there. Haern spun, drawing his sabers. The other two men swore, unprepared for his vicious assault. Only one managed to defend himself, and Haern batted aside his weak parry with ease. He gutted the nearest, then kicked his head to knock him on his back to die. The other turned to run, but Haern was faster. His saber slashed heel, and down he went. The man rolled, then stopped when he hit a wall.

“You can’t do this,” he said, spinning over to face them. “You’ll hang, the both of you!”

Haern pressed a bloody saber edge underneath the man’s chin, lifting his gaze so they might stare eye to eye.

“If you have any sense, you’ll shut up now, before I slice out your tongue,” he said, covering his face with shadows from the distant, flickering torchlight.

The man swallowed, then carefully nodded.

“That’s a smart man. Tell everyone you know, whether they’ll believe you or not. Tell them the King’s Watcher has come to Angelport. Let the thieves know their time draws to an end. Every one of you risks death when you enter the shadows. The shadows are where I hide. Tell them.”

The tattooed man laughed, stopping only when Haern pressed the tip hard enough to draw blood.

“The thieves? Are you fucking stupid?”

“You can deliver my message, or I can write it with your blood across the wall behind you. Your choice.”

The man swallowed.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Just let me go.”

Haern pulled back the blade and gestured for him to leave. He did, running at full speed away from the docks. Zusa joined his side, wiping her daggers clean on the dead man’s shirt.

“He is not to be trusted,” she said.

“Then what do you suggest?”

She knelt before one of the bodies and dipped her fingers into the gaping wound across his stomach. Once coated with blood and gore, she walked to the wall and began to write.

I am here
, it said, signed with the name,
Watcher
.

“Let there be no doubt,” she said, smearing the rest into a vague circle about the message.

Haern looked at the two dead men, feeling vague unease. Something about it all wasn’t quite right. He tried to tell himself it was no different than killing Brann Goodfinger, but the argument held little comfort.

“We’re done for now,” he said, sheathing his sabers. He glanced about, but no guards or drunken workers were near to see what they’d done.

“We have only begun.”

“Search if you must. After the trip here, I could use a good night’s rest. We’ve delivered the message you asked. What else could you hope for?”

Zusa gave him a disappointed look, and he tried not to let it get to him.

“To deliver it, again and again.”

Haern thought of killing more, and it put a bad taste in his mouth.

“This isn’t my city,” he said. “I’ve done enough.”

He left, and Zusa did not follow. Back at the Keenan mansion, he slipped into his room, stripped off his clothes, and climbed into bed. Several hours later, he heard the door open. Zusa slipped inside. He shifted over, to let her share the bed, but she did not. Without a pillow or blanket she slept upon the floor, still in her wrappings stained with blood.

L
ord Ingram Murband listened to the guard’s report with a growing rage.

“You’re sure it isn’t this Wraith character I’ve been hearing rumors of?” he asked.

The captain of the guard shook his head.

“Different weapon used to kill them, plus a different name. Only one person’s lived to see him, but he also listed clothes that don’t match what the mercenaries at Keenan’s mansion saw.”

Ingram leaned back in his chair. They were in his modest throne room, for unlike most lords, he had no castle. The walls and water of the city were enough to keep him safe. His mansion was an impressive structure, however, with a surrounding wall built of stone imported all the way from Ker. In its center was his throne room, with no other purpose than meetings with various minor lords and commoners pleading for their simple definitions of justice.

“I won’t put up with this,” he said. “I want it dealt with, and harshly. Whatever the reason he’s here, we need the entire city turned against him before he sways any hearts.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the captain.

“Take it out on the prisoners, ten for every one. Make it public. I’ll bear their hatred just fine. Will he?”

“Very well,” the captain said, bowing low. “Shall I send in the first of your guests?”

“If you must.”

As the soldier left, Ingram rubbed his eyes. Things had grown so tiresome of late. First the Wraith was making his life a living torment, and now the mysterious Watcher of Veldaren had to come to his city. As if the elves didn’t give him enough trouble. Thinking of the elves, he wondered when their new ambassador would arrive. He’d been told to expect him today. He’d greatly appreciate restarting their talks.

The double doors opened, and in walked the two most powerful lords of the Ramere: Yor Warren, tall and thin, his oval face covered with a beard, and the other, Lord Egar Moss, muscular, dark-skinned, with two elegant rapiers hanging from his belt. Both bowed to Ingram, who gestured for them to continue.

“We’ve come as you’ve requested,” said Yor. “The elves finally gain some sense and accept our proposals?”

“Not quite,” Ingram said, leaving his throne. The three took a seat at one of the two tables in the room, with servants rapidly appearing to pour them drinks and bring them small meats and breads to eat.

“Then what are we to do?” asked Egar. His fingers twirled the hilt of a rapier, as if by habit. “Every week I must replace men riddled with arrows, all because they don’t want us to chop down a few trees or set foot in their sacred lands. Sacred. What a joke.”

“King Edwin refuses to declare war,” Ingram said, sighing. “In this, our hands are tied. We must reach a favorable agreement, for should war come we would stand no chance. Only if they seem the aggressor will the king come to our aid. Edwin knows of their aggressive defense, yet does nothing.”

“Probably thinks it’s our own damn fault,” Yor muttered. “You’re better off than I am, Egar. If my peasants even step within bowshot of the Erze Forest, they get an arrow through their throat.”

Egar sipped his wine.

“Given what they went through over in Mordan, it doesn’t surprise me. Still, such aggression needs to be punished. They came into our lands, built a home in our forests, and now deem them theirs without need to share. How else are we to build our homes, our ships?”

“Their ambassador should come today,” Ingram said. “We must show strength, and back down on nothing. The prosperity of our city depends on the resources they covet. King Edwin may fear war, but we will not. Besides, if the elves leave their forests, and begin burning fields and villages, he will have no choice but to interfere.”

“We play a dangerous game,” Yor said. “How do we know Edwin won’t leave us to our fates instead of embroiling Neldar in war?”

Ingram chuckled and shook his head, thoroughly amused.

“Because our king is human, Egar. No human would dare side with a lying, deceitful, worthless race of elves over his own kind. That’s as it should be, and how we must proceed in all matters with these heathen creatures. Let them worship the stars and trees like fools. We serve the true gods. Our progress is inevitable. King Baedan figured this out. He burned Dezerea to the ground, and sent the Dezren elves fleeing east, toward our homes, our lands. If we are strong, we will one day achieve a victory far greater than that.”

The captain of the guard slipped through a side door and saluted.

“The elven ambassador has arrived at the gates of the city,” he said. “Shall I let him in?”

“Send him this way,” Ingram said, pushing away his plate and standing. “Be firm, you two, and do not hide your anger when we make our demands. Such prideful creatures, the elves cannot stand being treated as they should. Use it to our advantage.”

They waited, fixing their clothes and making sure they stood just right. When the double doors opened, Ingram went to greet the ambassador.

“Welcome to our city,” he said, all smiles.

The elf was slender, and tall for his race. Flowing emerald robes brushed against the stone floor as he stepped inside, and his sleeves fell low when he gracefully bowed. His hair was long and golden, his eyes a vibrant green.

“Greetings, lord and ruler of the men of Angelport,” said the ambassador. “My name is Graeven Tryll, and I have come from Quellassar to seek peace with men.”

“As do we also seek peace,” Ingram said, not bowing and hoping the ambassador would notice the slight. “Please, let me introduce my companions. This is Lord Yor Warren, who rules the northern reaches of my land. To my left is Lord Egar Moss, in charge of the west. They have the most experience when dealing with your…kind.”

Graeven bowed a second time.

“Your names are familiar to me,” he said. “I greet you, and wish Celestia’s grace upon you both.”

“Flattered,” Yor said dryly.

“I’m sure your trip was long,” Ingram said, letting a hard edge creep into his voice, “but given the many deaths our loyal citizens suffer by the tips of your arrows, I would like to begin negotiations as soon as possible.”

“I agree,” said Graeven. “But I do not speak for all elvenkind, and nor do I come alone. Our Neyvar has sent Laryssa Sinistel as well, and given her authority to speak in his name.”

Ingram felt his heart jump.

“Laryssa?” he asked, trying to show no emotion. “Your king has sent his daughter here?”

“Neyvar, not king,” corrected Graeven. “And yes. She should be arriving in a few hours, and I come to ask permission for her and her escort to enter within your walls.”

“Wait one moment,” Yor interrupted. “How large an escort?”

“Large,” said Graeven. “Along with Sildur Kinstel, Maradun Fae, and their escorts as well. Surely you understand, given our concerns for safety.”

Ingram felt ready to explode. That damn Wraith had killed the last ambassador, and while he’d been amused at first, now he wished to throttle the strange assassin. To have someone as important as Laryssa within his grasp could mean everything, but to invite that many bodyguards, all on high alert, sickened him. Elves walking freely within his walls, doing untold damage with their blades, bows, and poisons. Gods, what if they spent their seed among the loose women and whores about the docks? What bastard children might one day inhabit his city?

“Can you swear to the safety of my people?” he asked, but the words felt hollow. Like the promises of an elf meant anything.

“I can promise nothing,” Graeven said. “Only that they are here for protection, and nothing more. I do not want to imagine the consequences if something should happen to one of our wise leaders.”

“Where is it you will stay?”

“We have been graciously offered a place by one of your city’s fine men. I assume this will be no problem?”

“Of course,” said Ingram. Despite the bad taste it left in his mouth, he smiled and bowed once more. “Let us resume talks tomorrow. Make sure you send someone to let us know where you will be staying, so I might send servants to let you know when we will convene. We’ll meet here, your representatives, mine, and the Merchant Lords.”

Graeven spun on his heels and headed for the door. When it closed, Ingram stalked back to his throne, sat upon it, and shouted for a drink.