The Shadowdance Trilogy

by David Dalglish

  “And the rest of the city?”

  Ingram shrugged.

  “It can burn for all I care. When they’ve tried, and failed, to take over, we’ll come storming out. We’ll seize their boats and hang every last Merchant Lord from their ankles. They’ve pretended at power for too long. With your help, we’ll take it all back.”

  “Of course,” said Lord Egar, bowing low. “I’ll begin immediately.”

  21

  Haern sat restless in the single room home Graeven had brought them to, nestled into a quiet section of Angelport against one of the inner walls.

  “I did not think you would provide us a place to stay,” the elf had told Alyssa as they sneaked inside during the cover of night. “I had a human on friendly terms with us procure it for our use. When you agreed to house us, I felt it best to keep this place just in case something went wrong.”

  “Something did,” had been Alyssa’s only response.

  The windows were covered with curtains, leaving the interior dark despite the midday sun. They’d had little to eat, just a small loaf of bread Haern had purchased at the market. None of them seemed to have any real appetites.

  “It’s painful to sit and just wait,” Zusa said from her position sprawled out across the only bed. Alyssa sat at the foot of it, looking very tired. She wore a fine dress of elven make, a shimmering silver to replace her dirty, worn clothing from the dungeon.

  “What else is there to do?” she asked. “Ingram would imprison me, the merchants would kill me, and the elves would send me off for a mockery of a trial and then execution. We’ll wait and see what Graeven can figure out.”

  “I don’t like relying on others for your survival,” Haern said, peering out the window to the dull street. “We should get you out of Angelport, tonight.”

  “Graeven said they’d track us.”

  Haern shrugged.

  “I’m scared of no elf, and I doubt Zusa is either. We’re about the best bodyguards you can have. With just the three of us, we should make it back unnoticed.”

  Alyssa lay down on the bed, Zusa sliding over to make room. With her hand across her eyes, Alyssa sighed.

  “I know. You’re right. I need to be back in Veldaren, where I can deal with Madelyn appropriately. I miss my little boy, too. Let’s at least wait for Graeven. If he can get the rest of his kind to let us be, for even a few days, we should escape with little difficulty.”

  Haern shrugged.

  “If you insist.”

  He stood and reached for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Zusa asked.

  “Out.”

  He kept his sabers hidden with his cloak, his head low and his hood removed so he appeared like every other poor, tired worker of the city. At first, Haern didn’t know where he wandered, just let his instincts guide him. At one point, he’d promised the Wraith he’d investigate the city to learn its secrets, but there was nothing particularly striking or secretive about it. Everyone wanted power. Everyone wanted everyone else crushed underneath their heel. Even Alyssa wasn’t completely innocent, though her intentions seemed more noble than the norm with the wretched city.

  To his surprise, when he stirred from his thoughts, he found himself staring up at the meager temple to Ashhur. His anger came and went, and despite himself, he entered. Logan was at the door, and he started to greet him until he saw Haern’s face. His skin paled, and he dropped the cloth he’d been using to clean the floor.

  Haern held a finger to his lips.

  “Not a word,” he said. “Go to Nole’s room, lock the door, and do not leave for an hour. Understood?”

  The young man swallowed, and he nodded rapidly.

  “Good.”

  Logan scurried toward the back of the temple, with Haern following. Past the benches, Nole knelt, his head bowed in prayer at the altar. Normally interrupting such a private act would have bothered him, but Haern had no patience for the man’s piety, not this time. As Logan went rushing past, Haern hopped onto the bench beside Nole and leaned his weight on his heels. At the noise, the priest opened his eyes and looked up. His reaction was hardly any better than Logan’s.

  “You,” he said, startling bad enough he fell to his rear. “Please, no, don’t kill me.”

  Haern felt as if ice flowed in his blood, but at the same time, he felt so tired, so drained, that he could not muster the anger he thought the man deserved.

  “Tell me,” he said instead. “Do you sleep well at night?”

  Nole was breathing heavily through his nose, and he glanced around as if unsure whether or not the question was a trick.

  “No,” he admitted. “Not since...you know.”

  “You betrayed us?”

  Nole swallowed.

  “Yes.”

  Haern stared at him, as if trying to see through the robes, the fear, and his own anger, to the man underneath it all.

  “Why?” he asked. “We trusted you.”

  “Logan told me of the bounty,” Nole said, sighing. “I thought if I sold those acres, I could rebuild this temple into something magnificent. Something people would feel proud to enter. And there you were, supposed criminals; all I had to do was turn you in.”

  “You’d rebuild your temple with blood money?”

  “Don’t you understand? Look around. This place is empty, broken. Every day I pray to Ashhur, yet all I feel is failure. The weight of a whole city lay upon me, and for once, just once, it seemed like I saw a way through. I did it for the souls of thousands, Haern! What does one little whispered word to a guard matter when compared to eternity?”

  Haern’s fists clenched.

  “You’d break your trust, and profane Ashhur’s ideals, all to serve him?”

  “Are you any better? I’ve learned of you, heard the stories spoken since you came down. You keep the thieves in line in Veldaren. You kill to prevent killing. Whose blood is on my hands? Whose lives did I end? Yet I see it in your eyes, you are ready to draw that blade and cut my throat.”

  Haern did feel that urge, but instead he shook his head.

  “This city deserves better than you.”

  Nole chuckled.

  “In that, we are in agreement.”

  As Haern headed for the door he stopped, and turned back to the priest.

  “Did Ingram give you your acres of land?”

  Nole shook his head as he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Have you brought Veldaren any peace? Or does death and killing still plague its nights?”

  Haern wished he had a better answer, but instead thought of his dead, nameless victim he’d given to the gravekeeper.

  “No.”

  “We’re not men meant to sleep well through the night,” Nole said. “For whatever it is worth, I wish I could take it back, and that you’d forgive my moment of pride. Even if I could haul in the rarest marble, and hang the finest silks from the ceiling, it’d still be just me, preaching to a small few in my weakness.”

  “Then why continue, if you have failed so poorly?”

  “Because maybe I’ll at least save one life,” Nole said. “That makes this all matter, right? Besides...there’s no one else who will.”

  Haern put his hand on the door, and the weight of the temple’s silence was heavy on his shoulders.

  “At least in that, I understand,” he said, and then he left, feeling no better than when he’d arrived.

  When Graeven returned, Alyssa’s heart immediately dropped at the sight of him. The elf looked flustered, and in a great hurry.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting up on the bed so her back rested against the wall.

  “It is nothing,” Graeven said, but it was an obvious lie.

  “Then what ‘nothing’ bothers you?” asked Zusa, who had begun doing various training stretches to keep herself from going stir crazy in the room. Meanwhile, the elf was rifling through one of the few shelves, removing a few personal objects Alyssa didn’t recognize.

  “The merchants have...
done something interesting, and I must try to deal with it accordingly. They launched all their boats from the harbor, burning what few belonged to the Keenans.”

  “They’re planning something,” Alyssa said. “But what?”

  “I need to find out. Please, stay here tonight. I have a feeling it will not be safe for anyone.”

  He glanced around.

  “Where’s the Watcher?”

  Zusa shrugged.

  “Out.”

  Graeven went to Alyssa, and he grabbed her hands in his.

  “Please,” he insisted. “Promise me you will stay. Your safety is now my responsibility, and I do not want the shame of something happening to you, especially with all I have gone through.”

  Alyssa tried to decide how to respond, especially given her precarious situation.

  “I will,” she said. “Only because you have been so kind. Good luck, Graeven.”

  The elf smiled.

  “I won’t need your luck, Alyssa.”

  He bowed and then left. Zusa came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her as they stared out the window.

  “It isn’t safe,” the faceless woman whispered.

  “Here, or leaving?”

  “Both.”

  Alyssa sighed.

  “I know. But what else can I do? No wonder Laurie had such trouble keeping things in line here in Angelport. I have done no better. I never should have made my coming here a secret. I should have marched down with a thousand men and killed anyone who moved against us. It seems everyone here has their guards, their mercenaries, and their fighting men. What do I have?”

  Behind her, Zusa laughed.

  “You have me and the Watcher. Are we so terrible?”

  Alyssa put her hand on Zusa’s.

  “No, but I’d rather lose a thousand fighting men than you.”

  The door opened, and Haern stepped inside, his face locked in a scowl.

  “Something wrong?” Alyssa asked, stepping away from Zusa.

  “The docks,” he said. “I saw them on my way back. Every boat’s fled, except a few that were burned.”

  “We know,” Zusa said. “Graeven told us.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  Alyssa shook her head.

  “I can only assume they’re planning...”

  “They’re planning nothing,” Haern interrupted. He drew a saber, showing them the blood on it. “I managed to find one of their paid men, who’d been left behind to start the fires. They have no attack planned. Instead, they’re getting out of the way.”

  Alyssa knew what that meant, but she had to ask, had to hear it out loud.

  “Out of whose way?”

  Haern’s scowl deepened.

  “The elves. Tonight, they’ll make their move.”

  The room they hid in suddenly seemed so small, the area of the city far less safe than it once was. Alyssa wrapped her arms about her, and she thought of the chaos that would follow.

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  Zusa gestured to her daggers, lying sheathed upon the floor.

  “We stop them.”

  Haern looked to her, and she saw he agreed.

  “I don’t know what hope we have,” she told them. “But do what you can.”

  They readied their weapons, donned their cloaks, hid their faces, and then vanished into the streets of Angelport, where the sun was beginning to set.

  22

  Gregory stood at the wall surrounding the mansion, his hand on his sword hilt. It remained in the scabbard, but he liked the assurance of knowing it was there. At some point that night, he’d get to use it.

  “Think they’ll be foolish enough to attack?” asked the man next to him, a large but gruff guard named Turk. Refusing the standard issue sword, he kept a large axe on his back, which he claimed was a family heirloom.

  “I hope not,” Gregory said. “Don’t make much sense otherwise, though. They sailed off and burned those ships. They got to know we won’t go easy on them when they land, no matter what they say.”

  Turk scratched at his beard.

  “Maybe. But we’re ready. Why would they attack when we’re ready?”

  Gregory shrugged. Everyone had been assigned a squadmate to fight with, and protect each other’s back. Turk was Gregory’s. He’d been happy about the situation, given how solid a fighter Turk was. But he wasn’t much for thinking, nor stimulating conversation.

  “Maybe because they think they’ll win no matter what?”

  Turk laughed.

  “Well, they’re stupid, then. Look how many we got.”

  Indeed, thought Gregory. He glanced about the exterior of the mansion. The outer city walls were left with just a skeleton crew, and nearly every guard who had ever lifted a sword had been called in to protect Ingram and his home. A thousand men in various amounts of armor crowded the grounds, with at least a hundred patrolling the outer walls. Another hundred, well-armed men sworn to Lord Egar, guarded the front gate.

  From their position, the wall blocked their sight of the harbor. Still, they’d hastily constructed ladders over the course of the day, and one of them had been given to the pair. Climbing up the three steps, Gregory peered over the wall to the distant harbor.

  “Still not moving,” he said. The boats were large shadows on the moonlit water. As he watched, he heard cries of alarm west, and he glanced in that direction. Far off, near the main entrance to the city, a building had somehow caught fire.

  “What’s going on?” Turk asked from below.

  “There’s a fire.”

  “Well shit. We going to put it out?”

  Gregory shrugged, but he doubted it. Within a minute, orders came hollering out from the mansion, and various captains repeated them. No one was to leave. It’d be up to the peasants to put it out themselves. Gregory was hardly surprised. From what little he knew of Ingram, the man would be content to let the city burn, so long as he survived. Of course, there was the question of who had started the fire...

  Smoke blotted out the stars as another fire began, this one closer to the center of the city.

  “Shit,” Gregory muttered.

  “What now?” asked Turk. Gregory stepped down so the man could look himself. Seeing the fire, he swore long and loud.

  “You live near there?” Gregory asked.

  “No. Worried that’s the Nag’s Head they burned down. Fuckers. That’s my favorite pub. The folks rioting again?”

  As smoke drifted higher, this from a third location, Gregory began to wonder, as did many of the men circling the mansion.

  “The boats still out there?” he asked. Turk looked that way, then nodded.

  “Sure are.”

  “Then what in blazes is going...”

  He stopped as cries of alarm sounded from the opposite end of the compound. His hand instinctively reached for his sword, and he tensed, looking for enemies.

  “What’d they say?” asked Turk, twisting on the ladder.

  “Quiet,” Gregory said, having not heard either. More shouts, plus a shriek of pain. They were under attack.

  “How’d they get back?” Turk wondered. “The boats are still out there.”

  He suddenly jerked backward, losing his footing on the steps. Down he fell, landing hard on his back. Gregory was at his side in a heartbeat, wincing at the thick arrow shaft embedded in the guard’s chest.

  “Bloody cunts,” Turk said, glaring down at the arrow. “They shot me.”

  Outside the wall, chaos erupted. The men on patrol screamed in pain, and the sound of steel on steel rang loud. The men gathered at the gates drew their blades, and cries of warning came from all directions.

  “We need to get you inside,” Gregory said, reaching to remove Turk’s armor so he could better see the wound.

  “To the Abyss with that,” Turk said, slapping his hand away. “I ain’t dying to no elf.”

  Gregory stepped back, and when Turk snapped the arrow shaft in half, he realized its peculiar make, and
how much longer it was than their own. Almost in denial, he hurried up the steps and peered over the wall.

  Over thirty bodies lay scattered across the ground, nearly all of them city guard. Twenty more guards remained standing, but they were surrounded and with their backs to the wall. Fighting them was a squad of fifteen elves, their faces and hands painted in camouflage, their long, curved blades slashing through armor as if it were cloth. One in the back noticed him watching, and he pulled a bow off his back. Gregory ducked, and as the arrow flew over his head, he could hardly believe the sheer speed of it.

  Suddenly their walls and numbers seemed so insignificant.

  “Can you stand?” he asked, offering his hand to Turk. The man took it, and he grunted loudly as he got to his feet.

  “Hurts,” was all he’d say when Gregory enquired.

  Orders came shouting in, demanding they form up. Gregory understood the necessity. Weight of numbers was their only advantage against such an enemy. From that brief glimpse, he knew they would not win skill versus skill. Turk was unable to run, so they hurried toward the front gate as all around them city guard did the same.

  Halfway there, he heard the clatter of metal. Glancing back, he saw a rope hurled over the wall, a heavy grappling hook attached to the end. In seconds elves were vaulting over the wall.

  “Move!” Gregory shouted, pushing Turk along. They joined a formation of about fifty, all men who had fled the walls. Gregory drew his sword, and Turk readied his axe. A captain cried out for them to hold, to stand firm, and Gregory did his best as ten elves raced toward them. They were in no lines, no formations, just a brazen, lightning fast attack in hopes of catching them unprepared. Bracing himself, Gregory swore not to run. Not to panic. High above, bolts rained down upon the battleground from crossbowmen at the windows. As if the elves could read their thoughts, they weaved side to side, avoiding nearly every one.

  “Stand tall!” shouted their captain. “Fight like men, you bastards, and cut them all down!”

  The numbers were in their favor, and against any other opponent, the fight would have ended in moments. The elves, though, twisted and pushed through their formation in a blur of steel and blood. As one neared, Gregory held back and let Turk slash with his axe. The elf ducked below, and as he twisted to stab Turk in the side, Gregory lunged. His blade hit flesh, and he let out a whoop. The elf turned on instinct, tearing open the hole in his side further. Roaring, Turk swung his axe, and the injured elf could not dodge in time. The heavy blade tore through his shoulder, splitting him like a log.