5
With a parcel of bread, fragrant and still warm from the ovens, under her arm, Dezra threaded the narrow alley between the high south wall of Rose Hall and the stable of Aline’s near neighbor. Worn by years of rain, the path wound a little and dipped unevenly at inconvenient places. She knew every dip and swerve of the short cut between Wrackham Street and the side door of the bakery Dalan Forester ran with his brother. She’d taken it for the past several nights and, like a new path through a thick forest, it became quickly familiar.
Dezra had discovered the route by chance the day after the dragons came, for as soon as she could separate from Usha and Aline, she’d gone to see how Dalan and his brother had fared.
“Well enough,” he’d told her, sweeping her into a bear’s hug and lifting her off her feet. He’d smelled of fresh bread and smoke. His arms were thick and strong from carrying sacks of flour and cords of wood.
His brother had snorted at Dalan’s understatement, but Dez heard relief in Rolf’s voice when he said, “He’s doing better now he sees you. We worried, Dez.”
He’d said no more and left the lovers to their reunion. And a fine reunion it had been, Dez thought now, slipping through the shadows. That reunion, and the ones that followed. While she was happy to make the ride to Haven each year for the Inn of the Last Home, Dalan was Dezra’s prime reason for returning to Haven each summer’s end. Had been for the last five years. A man happy to welcome her, sorry to see her go, and glad to have her back in her own time. In Dezra’s estimation, there could be no better sort of lover. The thought that he might have been killed in the attack ...
She shook her head, unwilling to dwell on fears not realized.
The narrow alley curved against the lay of the stable yard. Dezra kept her mind on her way. It was not an unguarded way. She crooked a smile, not by any means. The dwarf Dunbrae held it. Aline’s faithful watchdog. His fangs were sharp enough, Dez knew, and they wouldn’t flash at her. But she was in no mood to stand on the corner and talk. She was tired, feeling a shadow of loneliness trailing behind her, and wondering whether she should have spent the night in Dalan’s bed after all and simply gone back to the Ivy in the morning.
But no. She never had before. No reason to start now, just because Dalan had it suddenly in mind that the way back was too dangerous. Dez had laughed at that, then bristled when he pressed his case. What were a few knights clanking around the city to her? They were easy enough to avoid. She’d kissed Dalan goodbye and stopped at the door to the bakehouse behind the shop where Rolf was carefully removing trays of loaf pans from the fiery maws of two round ovens. They spoke for a moment or two in the hot, bright room. She helped herself to a warm, crusted loaf of dark bread at Rolf’s invitation and slipped out the door and into the chill of night’s darkest hour.
Dez stopped in the shadow of the hedge of sharp-leafed firethorn that marked the boundary between Aline’s property and her neighbor’s. Moonlight illuminated the night, and she saw Dunbrae walk into the pool of shadow at the mouth of the alley. Dez could just make out his motions as he lifted his head, like an old dog finding news on the wind.
When he went perfectly still, so did Dezra.
Dez breathed silently through parted lips. In the cloaking shadows Dunbrae had the look of a man brought to alert. He had a little magic, a fine onyx ring purchased in Palanthas that would allow him to know a person’s intent, and he seldom failed to use it.
And if it’s me he’s head-cocked and listening to, he’s about to laugh and wave me through.
Dunbrae touched the helve of the throwing axe at his belt, as a man does who is making sure of his weapon. A chill of warning skittered up Dezra’s spine. Out the corner of her eye she saw figure slip into the alley between her and the dwarf. A cat yowled behind the stable. The intruder whipped around, and Dezra saw he was an elf. In the moonlight, his face shone skull-bright.
The elf’s back to him, Dunbrae stepped a little out of the shadows, then back. Seen, recognized, and known for a friend, Dezra set down her parcel of bread, making no sound. She took a long knife from her belt. The elf was between them, and since they were on Dunbrae’s ground, Dez let him make the challenge.
“Evening, sir elf,” he said, in a most conversational tone.
The intruder turned again, a long knife glittered in the moon’s light.
Dunbrae had his axe in hand, his arm cocked for throwing. Moonlight glinted from the steel’s edge.
“How can we help you?” said the elf.
We?
Something moved behind Dunbrae. We, indeed! The elf had a partner. In the moment she realized it, Dezra let fly her knife.
The dwarf’s eyes grew wide and dark with surprise as her knife whistled past his cheek, nearly nipping his beard. He turned when he heard a curse and a cry and saw the dead man fall. The elf lunged for Dunbrae, who ducked and turned, thrusting the helve of his axe between his foe’s ankles. The intruder dropped hard. Dezra covered the distance between them with two long strides and dropped to pin him, her knee between his shoulder blades.
“Your companion is dead,” she whispered. “Tell us who you are, or you follow him.”
The elf writhed beneath her weight but did not speak.
“I’ll tell you who he is,” Dunbrae said. “A dark elf, working in the pay of the occupation.”
Dezra grunted in surprise.
“Ah, you don’t see too many of them, eh? For all the tribes and nations of elves there are, there’s not a great lot of disgraced elves roaming around. Good for bad jobs, though.” He kicked the dead man over onto his back. “This one’s no elf, but there’s no doubt he was in Sir Radulf’s pay, too.”
Dezra cocked her head. “Why is he paying disgraced elves and—” She jerked her head at the dead man—“that to ... to do what?”
The dwarf shrugged. “Dunno. I’ve been chasin’ the knight’s hirelings away from here since the occupation began. Sir Radulf has been making the rounds of all the wealthy and powerful in Haven. Mistress Aline was one of the first he came to see. He takes great care to request an appointment, all proper like. He shows up with a mouthful of flattery, drinks her wine, and leaves with all good words about how cooperation will make everyone happy. Then he puts spies in her garden’s shadows and sneaks in her alley. They see me, I see them, and that’s usually enough to get rid of them. Tonight...” He looked at the dead man and spat. “Tonight, we all got unlucky.”
Dezra pulled her knife from between the dead man’s ribs and wiped it clean on his beer-stained shirt. “So, then, what do we do with this one?”
The elf looked from one to the other, his face calm.
Dunbrae shrugged. “Tie him up and leave him where he can be found. He can report his failure to the knight or try his luck at getting out of town.” In the shaft of silver moonlight Dezra saw the skin around the elf’s eyes tighten. He was afraid. “Like I said, tonight we all got unlucky.”
“And the body?”
“Ach, that. From watchman to trashman, all in one night. I have to get rid of it.”
Dezra’s laugh was low and grim. She took a few long strides and snatched up her small sack of bread. In the bloody alley, the scent of fresh bread hung strangely on the air.
“On errands to the baker so late at night?” The dwarf asked, carefully not mentioning curfew.
Dezra raised a brow. “Funny, you don’t look like my father or brother, Dunbrae.”
She said this lightly, but Dunbrae understood it for a warning not to inquire further into her reason for being so late abroad.
“Lend me a hand cleaning up here?” asked the dwarf.
“That I will.”
Dunbrae showed her to a noisome part of Haven where they could leave the body of Sir Radulf’s luckless servant. The dark elf, who by all Dezra could see of a face growing paler by the moment, felt far more bereft of luck than his late companion. Him they left at a crossroad where a patrol of knights was sure to find him.