“There is that strange business, the Wraith’s aid,” Warrick said, scratching at his nose with his wrinkled hands. “He has struck at us before, yet now he helps protect us, despite our ineffective bounty on his head? What game does he play?”
“Well, if it is a game, I’d like to join.” Stern hurled his cup against a wall, just above the head of a servant. “We lost hundreds of thousands of gold pieces’ worth of supplies, homes, plus two of our lords, yet Ingram does nothing. Madelyn’s sitting safe behind her walls, and our lord won’t do a damn thing to bring justice.”
“Justice in Angelport has always been brought about by our hand,” Warrick said, doing his best to be patient. Stern was usually more level-headed, but the loss of his daughter, and now Ulrich, had left him raw and unpredictable. “And we still have many fighting men at our disposal. If we had known of Madelyn’s attack in advance, we would have crushed them at our gates. Alas, she was one step ahead, but we cannot let that happen again. We must remove her as a threat, but how?”
“She’s got too many mercenaries left for us to assault her mansion,” Stern said. “And any attack we make risks bringing the city guard down on our heads. Gods know Ingram would love the excuse.”
“Our riots have left him frightened,” Warrick said. “They served their purpose. One false step, and we will have him supplanted as ruler, the city delivered to us by the hands of its own people. He will not interfere.”
Durgo stood, and he struck the table with an enormous fist. His surprising outburst, contrary to his soft- spoken nature, left Warrick more annoyed than anything.
“We must act the coward no longer,” Durgo said, glaring at all of them. “Damn Ingram, damn Madelyn, damn the whole city. It is time we stopped fearing their reactions, their plans, and did as we pleased. Madelyn needs to die, regardless what Ingram thinks. I say we gather who we have, then attack. We’ll hang her body at the docks, and let every lord and noble see what happens when they oppose us.”
Slow, mocking applause met his speech, and they all turned to see a hooded figure enter the dark room, a grand smile on his face.
“Well spoken,” said the Wraith. “Brave, but stupid, just as I’ve come to expect from you merchants.”
Stern bolted to his feet, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Durgo armed himself as well, though Flint stood there perfectly still. Warrick felt only tired amusement at the attempted grand entrance.
“You,” said Flint, sounding terrified. “How did you get past the guards?”
The Wraith hopped atop the round table, crouching down as he grinned at Flint.
“I killed them, of course.”
“We want no trouble here,” Stern said, tensing. The Wraith shifted his way.
“Strange, given that amusing bounty you placed on my head. Are you still upset about my killing William? His replacement, while young, seems far more competent. I thought you’d be happy for the improvement.”
Warrick knew he’d be furious at such a statement made against his own father, but Flint just sat there looking sick. So much for the bravado, he thought. At least William wouldn’t have pissed his pants staring face to face with a murderer. The others had been happy to see William go, but they had never truly seen William’s strength, his ability to make deals without his pride getting in the way.
“Why are you here?” Warrick asked. “I’m too old for games, and not foolish enough to believe we stand a chance should you wish us dead. Now speak, or draw your blade.”
the Wraith bowed, and Warrick held in his smile. The man wasn’t there to kill, after all. If it came to deals, then who in Angelport was better at making them than him?
“Of course. I am not much for wasting time, either. Your plans for revenge are amusing, I must admit, but they are irrelevant. Madelyn Keenan is not your worry. Lord Ingram is, and he’s the one you should be stringing up by the ankles at the docks.”
“He’s got armored men,” Stern said. “Well-trained, with many of them killers and thugs long before adopting his standard. Even with our forces combined, we cannot yet challenge him.”
the Wraith’s grin grew.
“I don’t want you to challenge him. I want you to save him.”
Stern’s brow furrowed, and Warrick tilted his head to one side and tapped his lips.
“How so?” he asked.
the Wraith hopped down from the table and walked over to one wall, which was decorated with a painting of the docks, the waters full of majestic boats and tanned men hard at work.
“Tonight, a large group of elves will launch an attack against the city,” he said as he looked the painting over. “Don’t worry about your walls…they’re already inside. They’ll kill everyone in Ingram’s mansion, his dungeons, and they’ll come hunting for you as well. This is their last desperate attempt, a hope to win their war before it has even started.”
Warrick leaned back in his chair, his hands pressed against his chin as the gears in his head began turning.
“Why come to us?” Stern asked, glancing at the others as if to gauge their opinions. “And why would we help Ingram?”
“My affairs are my own,” the Wraith said. “And I come to you because the elves must not win. Prepare your forces. Prepare for battle! Let them find an ambush waiting for them, instead of fat merchants and helpless servants. Otherwise…”
He pulled out something from his pocket. Warrick could not see what it was he did, but suddenly the portrait began to burn. The fire spread across the canvas, consuming the docks and turning the boats to ash. The Wraith turned back to them, his grin looking demonic in the red light.
“Fight them, kill them, or watch every last remnant of your wealth burn.”
“Thank you for this warning,” Warrick said, slowly standing. “You have given us much to think about, and discuss.”
the Wraith bowed low.
“I aim to help,” he said. Shooting one last grin at Flint, he headed for the door. Just before leaving, he turned back. “Oh, and should you cooperate, I have a gift for you, one I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”
With that, he exited the room, having never once drawn his sword. Immediately the tension lessened, and Stern plopped back into his seat. The others looked about, as if unsure what to say.
“Well?” Stern asked, throwing up his hands. “Do we trust him?”
“He’s killed too many,” Durgo said, shaking his head. “Lies are not beyond him.”
“No,” Warrick said. “I think he’s telling the truth.”
Stern nodded, and frustrated as he looked, it seemed he agreed.
“I have no delusions the elves will leave us be after dealing with Ingram. Should we prepare, and do what the Wraith says?”
Warrick’s wrinkled face stretched into a smile. All around him, he saw the others take notice of the sparkle in his eyes, the sheer amusement at manipulating one who thought himself above all manipulation.
“As he says?” Warrick shook his head. “Oh no, not quite.”
Darrel sat in the back of the tavern, his beard soaked with spilled ale. He was in no mood for cheer or talk, and his glare made that clear to several women who drifted over. Any other day, he might have taken one or three back to his ship…
“Damn it,” he muttered, spilling his mug when he reached for it. As the liquid splashed across the floor, he realized a man had joined him at the table.
“What in Karak’s name do you want,” Darrel asked.
“A sober man to talk to,” said Stern, frowning at him. “Though it appears I hope for too much.”
“Fuck off.”
He waved for one of the wenches to bring him more, but Stern’s look sent them back to the bar, leaving Darrel dry and unhappy.
“We have matters to discuss,” Stern said. “I’d prefer you keep your attention on me, not your mug.”
“Far as I know, you don’t give me orders,” Darrel said. “That was your brother. How’s the fellow doing, anyway? Oh, that’s right. He’s dead. Bastard. Did he leave the ship in my name? Course not. I got no gold, no crew, all because he wanted us here to fight instead of doing our damn jobs and sailing out with cargo.”
“Much of Ulrich’s belongings are now mine,” Stern said, leaning back in his chair. “That means I can give you the
