A Dance of Death (Shadowdance Trilogy, Book 3)

by David Dalglish

  “You sold Alyssa out for death. Why should you live?”

  Warrick sighed.

  “Is that really it? Elves came into this city as if our walls meant nothing. Do you think Angelport can endure a second night like that? Of course I gave her over. If they want to hang her, I won’t shed a tear, but I don’t care if they send her back to Veldaren with only a paddling. The Trifect is a dying beast, with or without Alyssa’s help.”

  The Watcher shook his head.

  “You are a plague upon Dezrel, locusts who will consume and not build. I cannot let you remain rulers of the Ramere.”

  “Wait,” Warrick said, his anger overriding his panic. “Who has told you that? Who has judged us so? You’ve come a long way here, Watcher. Who whispered that judgment against us in your ear? Alyssa? Laurie, before he died? The Trifect dares claim we only reap, not sow? Who are they to speak of such things, when they have held Kings in their pockets, and broken down anyone who might oppose them? They are hardly innocent, Watcher, no more so than we. Ingram was a fool and a coward. He would have led Angelport to war against the elves one day, regardless of our interference. His guards were corrupt, his justice shortsighted and brutal. How many men did he hang in your name, Watcher? Yet you come baring swords against me?”

  “What of the Violet? I’ve seen what it can do. It’s a danger, and you’ve nearly caused a war in your desire to claim it.”

  Warrick sighed.

  “We needed it as a weapon against the Trifect. From what I learned, we could never grow enough of Violet to meet demand, the leaf is so rare, and so slow to grow. Yes, my colleagues thought differently, and I let them go on believing it. We only needed the members of the Trifect unstable, the money spent on crimleaf shifted our way for a few months. With the added coin, and the Keenans suffering the loss of their last true stranglehold on a market, I’d hoped we might strike. But never could any of us have foreseen what happened last night. I have no desire for war with the elves, not when I have nothing to gain like I might have when Ingram was in charge.”

  The Watcher had nothing to say to that, and Warrick laughed at the utter stupidity of it all.

  “You came here knowing little, Watcher, only what you had heard. People lie, people exaggerate. They view the world through tainted glass, yet see themselves in a gilded mirror. Did you think you could come into this city like some dark reaper and bring us justice? You cannot fix all of Dezrel, and I dare say it isn’t your damn place to do so, either. You were a fool if you thought otherwise. Now kill me. Watch Angelport descend into anarchy as the remaining Merchant Lords squabble amongst themselves for rule, and Lord Egar tries to retake it for himself when he realizes he won’t receive his promised rewards. Watch as the minor nobles at the edges of the Ramere form alliances out of fear, then come here to conquer. Take your blind justice, and watch thousands suffer for it. Either that, or leave me to run my damn city.”

  The Watcher stood, not quite as tall as when he’d entered. His sabers slid into their scabbards.

  “I killed the Wraith. You need not fear his blade at night.”

  “Thank you for that. Will you return to Veldaren?”

  The man took a deep breath, then nodded.

  “I feel there’s little here I will miss,” he said.

  Warrick chuckled.

  “And little here that will miss you after you leave. Go on, Watcher. Return to the world you know. This one is beyond you.”

  The cloaked man leapt out the window, onto the rooftop, and into the night. Warrick let out a sigh of relief, then vowed to have the damn window boarded up first thing in the morning.

  Haern saw the fire as he traveled north, yet almost did not go to it. He didn’t think it could be them, not with how close it was to the city. If they’d walked a steady pace north, they should have been several miles beyond. Still, he went, and sure enough saw Alyssa and Zusa lying side by side, with only each other and the fire to keep warm amid the cold night. Haern took a seat beside it, tossing on a few branches to bring it roaring back to life. On the other side, Zusa stirred, and she sat up alert, as if she had not even been sleeping.

  “Oh,” Zusa said, seeing him there.

  Haern pulled the hood off his head and tossed it to the dirt beside him.

  “Why’d you wait?” he asked after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

  To that, Zusa laughed.

  “Go to bed, Watcher,” she said. “And try not to ask foolish questions.”

  The casual dismissal put his mind at ease, and spreading out his cloaks as a blanket, he slept beside the roaring fire.

  Epilogue

  Torgar removed his armor and shirt with a satisfied grunt. Slamming the door shut behind him was just as satisfying. Keeping things sane seemed far harder than it had for Laurie, or even Madelyn. So many people wanting things, making offers, calling up debts. No matter how much wealth Torgar’s new advisors insisted they had, it never seemed enough.

  “Damn shame Madelyn killed you,” Torgar murmured, imagining a ghostly Laurie standing beside him. “Should be you doing this, not me, but oh well.”

  A rumble sounded from outside, a heavy storm rolling in from the ocean. The raindrops pinked against the glass, first light, then at a rapid pace. Lightning flashed, and in its light, Torgar saw eyes glinting at him from atop his bed. Torgar froze as his vision adjusted to the darkness, and what he saw didn’t give him much hope. An elf crouched on his bed, an enormous bow in hand. An arrow was pressed against the string, but not yet pulled taut.

  “Greetings, Torgar,” said the elf as the house shook from thunder.

  “What do you want?” Torgar asked, sounding more annoyed than afraid.

  “You should know. I talked with Alyssa, and she had a very interesting story to tell me...”

  Torgar’s sword was across the room, atop his dresser. He had no chance of reaching it in time.

  “Ah, fuck me,” he said as the arrow flew.

  Haern sat atop the hill, staring at the lights of Veldaren in the distance. The Wraith’s old hood lay in his lap, and beside him on grass were his sabers. He held his chin in his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. He more heard than saw Delysia’s approach. With a soft rustle of her robes, which shone silver in the starlight, she sat beside him.

  “Tarlak says the Trifect won’t disband after all,” she said. “The King’s agreed to nullify the treaty Alyssa signed. If the Trifect broke apart, the guilds would receive no bribes to remain at peace. After Alyssa reminded Edwin of that, he seemed far more willing to listen.”

  “Good,” Haern said absently.

  Delysia’s arm slid about him, and he felt her head rest against his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” she asked him. “You’ve been morose ever since returning, and I don’t think you’ve gone out at night once to patrol.”

  Haern started to say something defensive, but fought it down. Instead he leaned against her, and he closed his eyes as he forced himself to relax.

  “Back at Angelport... no one there knew what was right, what was wrong. Worse, they didn’t seem to care. They killed and betrayed to accomplish what they desired, all while pretending their aims justified the bloodshed. And now I sit here, and I look to a city where I’ve killed hundreds...how am I any better? How do I justify this, how do I pretend I’m the one in the right? My vengeance on the thief guilds, on the Trifect, is no better than what they themselves have done.”

  “Do you really think that?” Delysia asked.

  Haern shook his head.

  “I don’t know.”

  He felt her lips press against his cheek, and it seemed time slowed.

  “You never really hated the guilds, Haern. I know you better than that. You never fought against them. You never fought to destroy the Trifect. You wanted to save Veldaren from the world you escaped from. You wanted people to live without fear. It was never for you. Go do what must be done, and we’ll be here when you need us.”

  Haern wrapped his arm
s about her, kissed her lips, and then held her tight as he felt his body shiver. His guilt drained away, and he clutched her as a man might hold a piece of driftwood in a storm.

  “Always be there for me,” he whispered. “If you’re there, if you’re able to forgive me, I can continue to go on. I’ll know I’m still me, still something worthwhile to save...”

  She kissed him again, then handed him his hood. He put it on, and as the shadows enveloped his face, he grabbed his sabers and hooked them to his belt. Waving goodbye, he ran to Veldaren, to the many secret ways over the walls and into the dens of thieves and nobles. Angelport might have been beyond saving, or at the least, beyond his understanding. But he’d never let Veldaren become the same. He’d stalk the night, and let his fury fuel the fear he bestowed upon those who would turn their blades upon another. The slaughters of the past, the riots, the betrayals...they’d not happen, not here, not again. Not while he watched.

  Warrick was right. He couldn’t save all of Dezrel. But Veldaren was his city, the place of his father, the home of his friends.

  Along the rooftops ran the Watcher, cloaks trailing, sabers in hand.

  A note from the author:

  One of the biggest mistakes I almost made when writing Dance of Cloaks was killing Zusa. I meant to. I wrote it into my outline. But my outline tends to be, as a pirate might say, more of a guideline. I liked her too much. She was useful. Fast forward two books, and I can’t imagine how I’d have written this story without her. It makes me wish other characters, particularly Kayla, might have found a way to escape Thren’s wrath. How different Blades and Death might have been with her around as well.

  But that is the risk you take when killing a character. All their stories you might have told...they’re gone. Not to say I’m growing timid or anything, or will protect all characters I like (Torgar was a ball, but unless he’s a lot faster than I think, that arrow’s found his throat). But I’m starting to finally understand the fury I can unleash just by killing a fictional character. Sometimes it is necessary to the story. Sometimes it isn’t. Hopefully, in Dance of Death, I found that perfect balance.

  For those of you who want more of Haern, he’s in four of the five Half-Orc books, starting from book two on. It surprises me that seven books in, I just now feel like I’m starting to understand him. His first incarnation was just “badass wielding two swords”, little more than a Drizzt Do’Urden clone. Often times he was the hardliner, the one willing to kill when no one else had the guts. He knew what was right, what needed to be done. And then I saw him as a child in Cloaks, and realized just how much more there could be to him. Shadowdance was my chance to go beyond just trying to make him awesome, to toy with who and what he is.

  More than ever, Dance of Death was a trial, Haern’s chance to prove he’s more than just a skilled killer with a reputation. Depending on how you view things, he may not have won the battle in Angelport, but he saw what he could become, and defeated it. The Watcher isn’t about power. He isn’t about killing. He exists to protect, in the only way his cruel world will see and understand. His road isn’t easy, nor should it be. But he’s the perfect man to walk the rooftops.

  Will I tell more stories with Haern? I don’t know. I might have once said no, just as I might have once killed Zusa and Alyssa at the end of this novel. But now... There’s many dark corners in my world, and many who would seek power that is not theirs. I make no promises.

  Thanks to all of you who have made it this far. Feel free to send me an email at ddalglish@yahoo.com or head to my website, http://ddalglish.com. If you want to make my day, toss up a review on Amazon, iBookstore, Goodreads, or wherever it is you purchase books and hang out online. I have been incredibly blessed, and it is because of readers such as you that allow me to tell my stories, however beautiful, and however flawed. Closing out this trilogy was bittersweet. For those who have been with me all along, and finished the Half-Orcs, I hope you understand the gift I have tried to give you, with that one last moment of Haern and Delysia, together, and at peace. It is how I would like to remember him best, and I hope you do as well.

  David Dalglish

  October 19, 2011