Christie Golden - Ravenloft 03 - Dance of the Dead.pdf - Christie Golden - margozap

"Liza's brilliant tonight, isn't she?" Sardan whispered

to Larissa as he watched the star of the show perform.

The white-haired young woman glanced up at Sardan

with a happy smile and nodded enthusiastically.

Liza Penelope, the star of The Pirate's Pleasure, was

alone on the stage of the showboat La Demoiselle du

Musarde. in the midst of a set created by a mage skilled

in illusion. Liza's bare feet'were dug into white sand,

and swaying palm trees arched over her. There was

even the distant lullaby of the waves to be heard, if one

cared to ignore Liza's soaring voice. Such attention to

detail—and Liza's vocal skill—had made La Demoiselle

extremely popular with the port cities it visited.

The beautiful soprano flung back her head and sang

with full-throated enthusiasm. Her red hair flamed in

the glow of an illusionary tropical sun. To Larissa, every

note seemed to be even more pure, more powerful than

usual.

The young dancer and Sardan, the male lead, were

watching Liza from behind the curtains. Larissa's part in

the play was finished, but she lingered to listen to this

last duet. Handsome Sardan adjusted his costume,

brushed distractedly at his blond hair one last time,

then strode onstage, arms outstretched to Liza.

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

"May, fear not, beioued Rose,

Thy loue's returned to thee,

By forgiving hand and broken heart

Of the Lady of the Sea"

"Rose" turned, joy flooding her face as she ran to her

beloved "Florian." Their voices, soprano and tenor,

twined together.

They kissed passionately, and the audience whooped

and applauded its approval. Larissa grinned in the dark-

ness, safely hidden from view by a curtain that ap-

peared to be a palm tree. Here was acting indeed, she

thought wryly. She herself was fond of the rakish tenor,

but it was well-known that Liza couldn't stand Sardan.

As a result, Sardan made it a point to turn every on-

stage kiss into a passionate one, taking a devilish glee

in the fact that Liza had to pretend to enjoy it. High-

tempered Liza was always furious afterward.

The stage went dark, and the audience saw the tropi-

cal stars appear in the night sky. Then, suddenly, the il-

lusion vanished, and all that could be seen was a bare

hull and the smiling performers of The Pirate's Pleasure.

As Larissa, who portrayed the evil Lady of the Sea, took

her bow. her bright blue eyes scanned the audience.

She found who she was looking for—Raoul Dumont,

captain of La Demoiselle du Musarde. He smiled and

nodded slightly.

Raoul Dumont was a big man, six foot three and solid

with muscle, if his blond hair was starting to gray at the

temples and the tines on his sunburned face had deep-

ened over the last forty-three years, he had lost none of

his strength and quickness. Many captains grew fat and

lazy once they no longer had to do physical labor, con-

tent with commanding in name only. Mot Dumont.

He was big in more than merely a physical sense. The

well-formed frame and booming voice were matched by

a domineering personality. With the players—-

DANCE OF THE DEAD 3

especially his twenty-year-old ward. Larissa—and wtth

customers, he was smooth and pleasant, and his force*

fulness came across as assured competence. The crew-

men knew better. Seldom did the captain of La

Demoiselle du Musarde have to resort to physical vio-

lence, however. The flash of his sea-green eyes, the

tightening of his sensual mouth, the clenching of the

powerful, callused hands—these were warning signals

enough for most.

"Uncle Raoul" had reared Larissa since she was

twelve and had given her the role of the Lady of the Sea.

The young dancer was always anxious to please him

with her performance. Larissa was certain that the de-

manding captain was satisfied with the way things had

gone tonight. Still, she tugged on Sardan's sleeve as he

passed and whispered, "You think he liked it?"

The tenor looked down at her for a few seconds be-

fore replying. Larissa was a true beauty, even more so

than Liza; unlike the singer, the young dancer didn't

quite realize her gift. Her blue eyes gazed up at him with

trust, and her long white hair, braided with seashells,

tumbled down her back. She was in excellent shape

from years of dancing, and her body curved invitingly

under the clinging garb of the Lady of the Sea. A smile

tugged at a corner of Sardan's mouth. "As long as you

dance, the captain will like the show."

A few hours later, Larissa sat at Dumont's side, a

guest of the local baron. The revealing costume she

wore as the Lady of the Sea had been replaced by a

chaste, high-necked dress. The cream hue of the yards

of rustling fabric set off Larissa's clear skin to rosy per-

fection and reinforced the whiteness of her long, thick

hair. She had taken the stage name "Snowmane" be-

cause of her oddly hued tresses, which were now braid-

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

ed neatly about her head. A cameo was fastened at her

throat.

Their port for the next few months was a friendly one.

Nevuchar Springs in the land of Darkon. Populated

largely by elves, the small port town was as eaget for

entertainment as other places La Demoiselle had sailed

and even more gracious in expressing their thanks. Bar-

on Tahlyn Redtree himself had come to the perform-

ance tonight. The baron had insisted that the cast and

Dumont Join him for a late supper at his home.

Larissa, raised on the roughness of the boat, sat fid-

geting with her napkin while others carried the conver-

sation. She desperately wished her friend Casilda were

here; then she might not feel so out of place,

The hall in which they were dining tonight managed

to be both warm and impressive. The mahogany table,

draped with the finest linen tabtecloth, seated twenty.

Carved wooden panels inserted into the marble walls

depicted scenes from a nobleman's life—hunting,

hawking, and jousting. The fireplace was so huge that

Larissa thought she could stand upright in it, and its red

glow both illuminated and warmed the large room. Two

delicate crystal chandeliers, crowded with candles, pro-

vided even more light. The result was that a largely

somber-colored room was bright and cheerful.

Baron Tahlyn rose. His long, purple-and sapphire-

hued robes swayed slightly with the graceful move-

ment. The light from the chandeliers glinted off his belt

and a pendant of silver and crystal. With a gesture that

was almost boyish despite his many decades, the elf

brushed a wayward lock of black hair out of startlingly

violet eyes. Tahlyn's angular face eased into a smile as

he lifted his jeweled goblet.

"I should like to propose a toast," the baron began.

"To La Demoiselle, a great and gallant vessel. To her

captain, Raoul Dumont, whose foresight gave birth to

the boat's magic and marvels. To my brother elf, Gelaar,

DANCE OF THE DEAD

whose illusions charm audiences night after night. To

the showboat's wonderful cast, which has brought such

happiness to my people.

"And finally, if she will permit me—" here Tahlyn

turned the power of his deep purple gaze upon a

pleased Liza "—to Miss Liza Penelope. My dear, in this

bouquet of talent, you are, in truth, the rose." He in-

clined his head slightly, never breaking eye contact with

the soprano, and drank from the golden cup.

Choruses of approval filled the room as the flattered

guests drained their own goblets. Larissa hid her smile

as she watched her fellow performers' reactions to the

toast. Sardan glowered, but drank. Dumont raised one

golden eyebrow, but otherwise revealed nothing of

what he was thinking. The elven illusionist, Qelaar,

seemed flustered by the compliment.

Larissa regarded the illusionist sympathetically for a

moment. If La Demoiselle was Dumont's creation, from

the specially designed paddlewheel to the magical

wards the wizard captain had placed on the boat, then

the show she was host to belonged to Gelaar. The small

elf was directly responsible for the success of The Pi-

rate's Pleasure. He conjured the sets, lighting effects,

and "monsters" that appeared onstage.

All this, despite the tragedy he had suffered a year

ago. Qelaar's daughter, a lovely, sunny-haired girl

named Aradnia, had run off with a roguish sell-sword

one night. Gelaar had never quite recovered. Now the

dark-haired, pale-skinned elf seldom smiled, but his

quiet dignity and thinly concealed sorrow engendered

immediate, if somber, respect from all who came in

contact with him.

Liza, on the other hand, looked like a lioness in the

sunlight, a queen at last being paid proper homage. Yet

the flame-tressed soprano was gracious in her accept-

ance, smiling enough to encourage, but not more than

was necessary. Larissa couldn't wait to get back to La

CHRISTIE GOLDEN

Demoiselle and tell Casilda all about it.

A few moments later, Sardan, who was seated on

Larissa's left, leaned over and whispered, "We may have

a new patron."

Larissa's delicate white eyebrows drew together in a

frown. "What do you mean?" she hissed back.

"Look at those two," the singer continued quietly, in-

clining his head in the direction of Liza and the baron.

"A certain redhead I know is probably going to start

wearing some expensive Jewelry in the next day or so."

Larissa rolled her eyes. "Sardan, not everybody has

ulterior motives! Besides, the baron seems very nice."

"My naive little girl, he is nice. That's why he'll proba-

bly give her the jewelry ... afterward!"

When Sardan teased her like this aboard the boat,

Larissa knew what to do: hit him. Sardan himself had

taught her some protective moves against overeager

admirers, and Larissa had no compunction about turn-

ing them against her tutor. Here, in Baron Tahlyn's fine

hall, however, she could only give him a sidelong glare

and clench her linen napkin into a crumpled ball.

Dumont noticed the gesture- His shrewd green eyes

traveled from the sadly mangled napkin to Larissa's

glare to Sardan's grin. The tenor felt the captain's gaze.

and his mirth faded-

"Something amuse you, Sardan?" Dumont inquired

mildly, tearing off a slice of still-warm bread. "Some-

thing about my ward, perhaps?"

"(Jh. no, sir, nothing at all," Sardan stammered and

hastily turned his attention to the food on his plate.

Dumont kept his gaze on the young man a moment

longer, then glanced at Larissa. Gently Dumont rested a

big brown hand on her gloved one and squeezed. When

she met his gaze, he smiled reassuringly, the gesture

emphasizing the crow's-feet around his eyes.

"Don't let Sardan bother you like that," he said. his

voice gentle. "You ought to come to me when he does."

DANCE OF THE DEAD

"He's just joking, Uncle." Larissa answered. Dumont

narrowed his eyes, the smile fading.

"That kind of humor is inappropriate for a young

lady," he snapped.

"Aye, sir," Larissa replied, taking care to keep the ex-

asperation from her voice. Her guardian's overprotec-

tiveness occasionally grated, but she always held her

tongue. Dumont returned his attention to the baron.

Throughout the rest of the meal, Larissa watched the

baron and Liza. Although they were seated at opposite

ends of the large table, there was definitely something

going on. Their eyes met often; mysterious smiles and

gestures were shared. Larissa still clung to her first im-

pression of Tahlyn, though. There was a longing in his

violet eyes that spoke of something gentler, steadier,

than the kind of carnal craving Sardan had hinted at.

it wasn't until the early hours of the morning that the

dinner was finished and the guests returned to the boat.

As she and Dumont waited in the courtyard for the car-

riages to be brought around from the stable, Larissa

shivered in the moist, cool anr. Fog moved slowly about

her knees, hiding the stones from view at times. She

had seldom been off the boat at night and wasn't at all

sure she liked it. Everything, from the quiet servants to

the magnificent building, seemed more sinister to her

when draped in darkness.

Dumont wrapped his cape about her. "Thank you,

Uncle." She smiled as she gratefully bundled up in its

warmth. The carriage, a lovely vehicle with a red-

cushioned interior, clattered up. Dumont opened the

door, which bore the heraldic red tree of Tahlyn's tine,

helped Larissa in, then climbed inside himself. Smooth-

ly, the carriage resumed movement down the winding

lane that led from Tahlyn's mansion to the wharf.

Christie Golden - Ravenloft 03 - Dance of the Dead.pdf

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