The Shadowdance Trilogy

by David Dalglish

  No matter what, the Wraith had to die tonight.

  The salty air stung as it blew against the cuts on Alyssa’s arms. It was that pain she first noticed as consciousness returned to her. The second was the realization that she hung from the air by her wrists, putting painful pressure on her shoulders and back. Last was that Graeven had betrayed her worse than anyone ever had in her life. He’d come in the middle of the night, finding Alyssa awake upon the bed.

  “What’s happening out there?” she’d asked him. In response, he’d smiled, offered her his hand, and then struck her across the face once she accepted it. Two more blows came, and then darkness followed.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw the heavy shadows of boats, lit by a few carefully protected lanterns. Fear clawed at her heart as she realized the Merchant Lords were coming home to port.

  “Help,” she cried, weak, hardly a whisper. She struggled against the rope, twisting her body about so she might glance deeper into the city. “Help!”

  The second scream was better, but it still seemed weak. Worse was the silence her cry echoed in, the city unnaturally quiet. No one would be about. No one would come to save her. Tears rolled down her cheeks. This was it. This was how she’d die. She couldn’t begin to understand why the elf had betrayed her, though as the boats neared, she wondered if the merchants had offered him a bounty. Perhaps the elves figured her dying was good enough, regardless if it were at her hands or the merchants. In the end, it didn’t matter.

  The only thing that mattered was the cold, triumphant smile on Warrick Sun’s face as he stepped down the plank and onto the dock. Armed sailors and mercenaries accompanied him. More boats arrived, and amid the din, Warrick approached. She hung from a heavy post, the rope expertly tied about her wrists so that her squirming only tightened it. The old man cupped her face in his gnarled hand so she would look him in the eye. She made no attempt to hide her revulsion at his touch.

  “Aaah, Alyssa,” said Warrick. “We have some business arrangements to discuss. I hope you don’t mind.”

  She refused to respond. Men came from the other boats, some of whom she recognized.

  “Goddamn,” said Stern, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe the Wraith actually kept his word.”

  “Cut her down,” Warrick told one of his men.

  A ruffian pulled out his dagger and began sawing at the thick ropes. When it finally snapped, he caught her, not out of any inclination for protecting her from the fall, but just to have a grab at her breasts. He set her on the ground, then backed away. Alyssa pulled her hands free from the rest of the bonds. Trying to be brave, she stood before Warrick with her back straight, her arms at her sides, and addressed him with a tone she might have used on a disobedient servant.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked. “What is it you think you’ll gain?”

  “We stand to gain much,” Warrick said. “Tonight is the night we celebrate our ascension to lords and rulers of both Angelport and the rest of the Ramere. Not just that, though. We’ll celebrate the complete and total dissolution of the Trifect.”

  Alyssa swallowed down her fear.

  “Killing me will accomplish nothing,” she said. “My son still lives, and make no mistake, he will hunt you down and slaughter you all once he comes of age.”

  Stern backhanded her, looking almost bored as he did it. She spat at him, feeling her cheek already starting to swell.

  “Try not to be so shortsighted,” he told her.

  Warrick reached into his coat, and he pulled out a heavy unsealed scroll. He offered it to her, and she reluctantly took it. As the rest watched, she unrolled it and read. Written in a careful hand that had to be Warrick’s own, the wording was simple, the scroll addressed to King Edwin himself. In it, she declared the Trifect no longer to exist, negated all trading agreements made with the other members, and swore to make no similar allegiances for a span of twenty years.

  “This will mean nothing, not forced at knifepoint,” she said. “The others of the Trifect will know, and their wrath will be terrible.”

  “Terrible?” Warrick asked, and his smile was ugly and full of missing teeth. “Is that so? Come now, who could refute this if key nobles bore witness?”

  “What witnesses could possibly matter?”

  “The head of the Keenan wealth.”

  Alyssa’s sense of betrayal grew. First Madelyn had tried to kill her, and now she’d shatter the Trifect to pieces, despite the hundreds of years it had existed? Why? What madness had taken over her? She stood there, rubbing her sore wrists, and looked to the streets. Sure enough, she saw a large group of mercenaries coming their way. If only Laurie were alive, she thought. He never would have let something so terrible happen. She expected Madelyn to be amid the group, but she saw only Torgar leading the way.

  “Where is Madelyn?” she asked, confused, as Torgar came up to them and bowed.

  “Such a shame, that,” Torgar said, grinning. “the Wraith killed her, just like he killed her husband. Looks like little Tori’s in charge, but I’m her godfather, and I’ll be watching over things until she comes of age.”

  Alyssa’s mouth dropped open. The entire Keenan wealth...in the hands of that drunken oaf? What was Madelyn thinking? Dumbfounded, she watched as Warrick took the scroll from her hands and gave it to Torgar, along with a small quill. Torgar signed his X at the bottom, then handed both back.

  “We have no need of your help,” Torgar said to Alyssa. “You can stay up in Veldaren and rot, same with all the Conningtons.”

  Ice water ran through Alyssa’s veins. With two of the three key families of the Trifect dissolving it, there’d be nothing the Connington family could do. It’d be over, all of it, and the merchants would be there waiting to pick up the pieces.

  “We have all the witnesses we need,” Warrick said, turning back to Alyssa. “Now will you sign, or must we become more...persuasive?”

  They’d torture her, she knew. How long until she broke? Because she would. In time, with enough pain, anyone would.

  “I won’t,” she said. “I don’t care what it is you’ve done. I won’t sign. My son will inherit a fortune, not the pauper’s kingdom you’d leave him when all is said and done. Consider me rejecting your proposal.”

  “Stubborn as always,” Stern said, gesturing for one of his larger men to come over. “But you’ll see wisdom in this agreement. Bind her again, and take her to the water.”

  When they grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her back, she refused to give them the satisfaction of a struggle. They tied her wrists tight, wrapped the rope about her waist, and then dragged her to the edge of the dock. A heavy blow sent her to her knees, and a foot blasted the air from her lungs. As she lay on the sea-worn wood, she felt the rope wrapping about her ankles.

  “Have a good swim,” the ruffian said before tossing her. She gasped in air before the freezing water enveloped her, shockingly cold. The pressure around her waist tightened, and she felt disorientated as something pulled her upward, but only halfway. Her legs emerged, but her upper half remained below water, and as the air burned in her chest, she clenched her teeth and squirmed. Her skin started to numb, and flashes of color swam across her eyelids. At last she could hold it in no more, and gasped in water. Her insides roiled, and then she was pulled back into the air.

  “So,” said Warrick, kneeling at the edge of the dock as Alyssa coughed up icy water. “What do you think of our counter-proposal?”

  She spoke, but her lips were trembling, her lungs too busy gasping in air to make much noise. Warrick leaned closer.

  “What was that?”

  “Bastard.”

  “I thought so.”

  They dropped her again, and this time she wasn’t able to prepare. The cold was almost welcome, a numbing sensation overwhelming her raw nerves throughout her body. All but her lungs. They felt aflame, and she had to resist the desire to open her mouth and let the water pour in, let it be the last breath she e
ver took.

  She endured, and when they pulled her out, she managed another desperate gasp before they dunked her back in. Still, that one was the worst of all. Her headed pounded from the blood rushing into it, her legs trembled and shook in the exposed air, and her nostrils ached from the water pouring into them and then pooling in the back of her throat. All thoughts of resisting fled from her mind. They’d continue to dunk her, spend all night if they needed, until she cracked. Here she was, her lungs about to burst, and it was just the third time. How would she survive another ten minutes? Twenty? An hour?

  For Nathanial, she thought. I’ll do it for my son. Even if it meant dying a cold, ignoble death, she’d make sure his fortune survived.

  In and out of the water, every breath a sweet gift that was never enough. At last she could hardly think, could hardly feel, and it was then they pulled her onto the docks and left her lying there, soaked and shivering. Warrick knelt over her, and when he put his hand on her cheek, she felt nothing.

  “I ask for only what is right, my dear Alyssa,” he said to her, and in her waterlogged ears, it almost sounded like he was trying to feign paternal affection. “The Trifect has dominated for too many years, and it’s time for the rest of Neldar to trade, barter, and live without your iron control over their lives. We are the future, not you. Now will you sign?”

  Alyssa lay with her cheek pressed against the wood, and with red eyes watched a shadow crawl across a rooftop in the not so far distance.

  “I won’t,” she said, her voice cracking. “And you won’t make me.”

  “Is that so?” asked Warrick. “What makes you so certain?”

  “Because you’ll be dead.”

  And then Zusa landed amid them, her daggers unleashing a bloody spray from the bodies around her. Alyssa watched, unable to move. The faceless woman was a true spectacle, dipping and weaving through a crowd of nearly fifty men. In all her time, Alyssa had never seen her fight in such a way, not even when battling the dark paladin Ethric, or protecting her from the various thieves that made attempts on her life. She made no blocks or parries, instead relying on pure speed to carry her through. She dodged, she twisted, and her daggers sliced through throats and plunged into eye sockets and chests.

  “Stop her!” Stern cried out beside her. Alyssa tilted her head, trying to follow. The men had managed to regroup after the surprise attack, and they lashed at her with their weapons. Zusa’s progress slowed, many of her attacks missing or being blocked. Still the bodies gathered, and Alyssa dared to hope.

  Panicking, Stern grabbed her by the hair and put a dagger to her throat.

  “Won’t stop her...” Alyssa muttered, and it seemed Stern realized it as well.

  The battle shifted, and Alyssa saw that Zusa was bleeding, her wrappings torn, with many hanging by threads. Still she battled, now on the defensive. They left her nowhere to run, but then she vaulted over them, sailing into the sky as if the world could not contain her. She landed so close to Alyssa that she wanted to reach out, to merely touch her to confirm she was real. But then Torgar was there, and his giant fist caught Zusa across the side of the head. Zusa staggered, and he followed it up with roundhouse across the face. As the faceless woman collapsed, Torgar took his blade and prepared to stab.

  “No!” Alyssa screamed.

  Torgar paused and looked her way. He kicked away Zusa’s daggers, then rested his foot atop her throat. Warrick grabbed Alyssa by the neck and hefted her to her feet with surprising strength for his age.

  “You value her life then, if not your own?” he asked. “Then sign, right now, or I will make you watch as that brute cuts strips of her flesh off one by one. I’ll make you wear them, Alyssa, just as that lady over there garbs herself with cloth.”

  Zusa’s eyes were unfocused and gazing up at the sky. Alyssa felt tears running down her face. Torgar grinned at her, and he put the tip of his sword against Zusa’s palm and pressed. Zusa screamed, and Alyssa did as well.

  “I will!” she cried. “Please, don’t...don’t kill her. I’ll sign whatever you wish.”

  Warrick’s smile spread ear to ear.

  “That’s a smart girl. Get her a quill.”

  They untied her wrists, and one of the ruffians had to hold her so she could stand. Her hands shook violently, so much that Stern brought over a torch and held it below her wrists. Alyssa stared at Zusa the whole while, at the pain on her face as blood spilled from her palm. Torgar twisted the edge, seemingly for no other reason than malicious glee. Zusa did not cry out, and as feeling returned to Alyssa’s fingers, she refused to cry out as well despite the throbbing agony it awoke.

  When at last she could hold the quill steady, they presented her the scroll. Before she could sign it, one of the men called out, and the rest looked to the north. A large squad of soldiers marched their way, and Alyssa dared to hope. She recognized that banner. It was Lord Egar! He’d come to save her from the merchants, to reinforce Ingram’s rule in Angelport. She wanted to call to them, to cheer, but she was so tired, and Torgar’s blade remained pressed against Zusa’s flesh, his heel against her slender neck.

  Warrick, however, appeared unworried, and that gave her pause. When the troops neared, the rest gave way, letting Lord Egar walk without conflict up to Warrick Sun, draw his sword...and then kneel. As his knee touched the dock, the last hope in Alyssa’s heart died.

  “The city’s yours,” Egar said, rising.

  “And you have done well,” Warrick said. “Your rewards have already been great, and they will grow greater. By the end of the year, you will control much of the Ramere.”

  Egar looked at Alyssa, and then he bowed low.

  “Forgive me if I am...intruding,” he said, grinning.

  “No intrusion,” said Stern. “Alyssa was just about to sign an agreement, and you’d make another fine witness should she try to renege on it before the King.”

  “But of course. Go on then, Alyssa. Sign. We’re all here.”

  Alyssa felt trapped, helpless. She took the quill, the scroll, and read through it once more. Every line meant the dissolution of years of trade. It meant the halt of all minimum prices on the bulk of their goods. It meant the end of the safety and strength of the Trifect.

  But not signing it meant the loss of her life, and Zusa’s. She’d never get to see her son again. Whatever strength she’d had, it meant nothing now. She took the quill, signed her name, and then let it drop to the dock.

  “There,” she said. “It is done. Now let me and Zusa go.”

  “Not quite,” said Warrick, who nodded at Torgar. The man chuckled, pulled back his sword, and thrust it through Zusa’s chest. Alyssa’s vision exploded with red. She screamed. She flung herself at Torgar, but he let go of the blade and grabbed her by the throat.

  “You want to hurt me, bitch?” he asked, punching her in the gut. As she leaned over and gagged, she heard Warrick speaking to Lord Egar.

  “Send her to the elves,” said the old man. “We’ll need to pacify them so we can solidify our control over the Ramere. I can’t imagine a better gift.”

  “No,” Alyssa said, trying to deny the unfairness of it all.

  “You hear that?” Torgar said, pulling her closer so he could whisper. “You’re going to hang for attacking that cute little elven slut. Know what’s best? That was me. My sword. You’ll hang for my crimes, you stupid cunt, while I rule over Laurie’s fortune. I can’t imagine a better, proper fate for a stuffed up highborn like you.”

  With that, he slammed her to the ground. Searing pain lanced across her forehead, and she felt blood trickling down her face and hair. Through blurred vision she saw Zusa lying close, facing her. Her body was trembling as it bled out, and she reached a wrapped hand toward her. Alyssa reached back, and their fingers touched.

  “I’m so sorry,” Alyssa whispered.

  Several men grabbed her, lifting her to her feet. They were taking her away, to the castle, to its dungeon. When they were almost out of sight, she managed to ste
al a look back. Zusa lay on the dock in a pool of her own blood, all but forgotten.

  25

  The Wraith fled down the streets, and Dieredon gave chase. More than ever he wished he’d brought his bow with him instead of stashing it. Against someone like Graeven, taking him down at a distance seemed the wisest, and safest, course of action. Instead he had to close in, and when Graeven climbed to the rooftops, he had to follow. They leapt across them, heading away from the docks. The homes crowded together, their roofs forming a slanted, uneven road for them to race upon. As Graeven reached a street, he tensed as if to leap over, but then spun. Dieredon twirled his knives in hand. Other than Ceredon, he was considered the finest fighter of elvenkind. He would show no fear, no hesitation, regardless of the opponent.

  They clashed together, this time with far more room to duel than in the home. Despite the unevenness of the footing, Dieredon felt better with the open space. With his two weapons to Graeven’s one, he should have had the advantage, but Graeven kept on the offensive, striking with so much strength that Dieredon could not block with just one hand, nor parry with his thin, light knives. His only hope was in a counter, but every time he ducked underneath a blow and moved to attack, Graeven had already pulled back, or shifted his blade for a thrust.

  Dieredon still kept on, refusing to back down. But he was bleeding, and had suffered wounds fighting Haern and Zusa. As the fight progressed, each second an agonizing whirlwind of parry and thrust, slash and dodge, he feared what he’d always known: Graeven was his equal, if not superior.

  The sword swung low, and when Dieredon blocked it with both his blades, he tried stepping in to close the distance between them. Graeven continued pressing, forcing the blades to remain low, and then his head shot out, ramming into Dieredon’s nose with his forehead. As stars exploded in his vision, he tried leaping away, but Graeven caught him with his fist. Using his elbow to knock Dieredon’s thrust aside, he rammed his forearm into his throat. Blind and gagging, Dieredon made one last desperate stab, which amounted to nothing. Graeven somersaulted away, his foot catching Dieredon’s chin. The blow jammed his teeth shut, and he felt a piece of his tongue tear. Blood spilled warm across his mouth.