A Dance of Death

9

The dark void of Zusa’s sleep slowly filled with dreams, at first calm, then terrifying. She ran through the streets of Veldaren, lions giving chase. Fire consumed their enormous bodies, their roars thundering in her ears. High above shone a blood-red moon. Twice she turned to fight them, but she was naked, and held no weapons. At last she stumbled, and knew with absolute certainty they would fall upon her. She cried out, desperate for someone to save her, when the dark-red world turned bright.

Zusa opened her eyes to see her door cracked open, allowing a sliver of light to lance across her face. She sat up, suddenly aware of her full bladder.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

The door opened further, and Alyssa stepped inside.

“Let me light a lamp,” she said, closing the door for a few moments. Zusa took the time to relieve herself, then replace the chamber pot underneath her bed. Alyssa returned with a thin punk, the tip burning. She lit two separate lamps, giving a soft gold glow to the room. With the door closed once more, she sat down on the bed beside her.

“How long did I sleep?” Zusa asked, rubbing her face with her hands. Normally she could awaken fully alert, but this time, it felt like sleep clung stubbornly to her mind.

“About ten hours,” Alyssa said. “It is late afternoon.”

Something gnawed at her, and then Zusa figured it out.

“Where is Haern?”

“Captured,” Alyssa said. Zusa felt a lump build in her throat, and then she saw her mistress’s hands were shaking. “Ingram has him in his dungeon. He plans on hanging him tonight, come sundown.”

Zusa tried to think, and she bit down on her tongue to focus through the use of pain. It had to be remnants of Violet, she decided. Seeing Alyssa’s troubled mind, she thought of what else must have happened. Ten hours gone…that meant…

“What of the meeting?” she asked. “Did that go well?”

Alyssa sighed.

“There are so many there. Laryssa and the elves, Ingram, his petty lords, and of course the Merchant Lords made sure their presence was felt. Nothing but an hour of shouting and accusations. Twice I swore it would turn to bloodshed. My head still hurts after that nonsense.”

“Anything resolved?”

The question evidently amused Alyssa immensely, and she laughed like one reaching the end of her sanity.

“Ulrich and his Lords demanded concessions of land and a halt to the killings, Ingram implied he agreed without ever saying so, and the elves threatened war should they lose a single acre of forest. Laurie and I were the only ones who even knew the word compromise. Perhaps tomorrow will go better. I hope so…”

“Forget about tomorrow,” Zusa said, wrapping her arms around Alyssa and pulling her close. Resting her head atop Alyssa’s, she stared into the flickering shadows of her room. “Haern hangs tonight, and I know that troubles you. Give me the word, and I will go.”

“I can’t. I won’t let you get yourself killed trying to break into Ingram’s dungeon.”

Zusa let her go, then removed her dress. She still felt weak, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if her fever remained. None of that mattered. Sitting naked on the bed, she began to put on her dark wrappings. Alyssa watched for a while, as if debating, then stood.

“Let me get you something to eat,” she said.

“Thank you.”

By the time Alyssa returned with a tray of bread and meat, Zusa had covered all but her face. She tore into the bread, relishing the taste of butter on her tongue. When she had first woken, her stomach felt cramped and angry, and she hadn’t thought she could eat much. Smelling the meat, and tasting the bread, had awakened a hunger that shocked her. She devoured the entire meal, wiped her lips on her wrist, and then began to cover her face with the last of her cloth wrappings.

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Alyssa finally said, stepping behind Zusa and taking the cloth from her hands. “I’ll hate myself forever if you do.”

“You’ll hate yourself even more if you do nothing,” Zusa said, smiling underneath her mask. When Alyssa finished tying the last strand, she gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“Guards are nothing to me,” Zusa said. “Rest, and learn what you can about the Violet. I’ll return with Haern. I promise.”

“I’ll show it to Laurie,” Alyssa said. “And I’ll hold you to that promise.”

Zusa shot her a wink as she put on her cloak.

“I’ve defeated dark paladins, mercenaries, and even fought the Watcher to a standstill. I fear no dungeons, Alyssa, no jailors. When I return, it will be with Haern, my promise unbroken.”

Without another word she grabbed her daggers and dashed down the hall.

I n pure darkness Haern sat and listened to the distant moans. He could see their vague shapes through the bars of his cell, lit by light of slender windows that he now lacked. Not long after Alyssa’s departure, the jailor had come with a few bricks to jam into the window.

“Consider yourself lucky,” the jailor had said. “They just want it dark. No clubs or pins for you. Damn shame. I’d have loved to make you sing.”

Haern had given him no reply, for he had no fear of torture. He was the King’s Watcher of Veldaren, son of Thren Felhorn. To think a single lowly jailor could break him in a day was insulting.

Hour by unknown hour, time passed. Haern tried praying to Ashhur, but each time he thought of the kid he’d killed in Veldaren, and of those who’d swung from gallows, his name on the lips of their executioner. His prayers stumbled and ended. Worse was Senke’s amulet of the Golden Mountain. They’d taken it from him before chaining him to the wall. He would have given anything to have that meager comfort hanging from his neck. Thinking of Senke only opened old wounds, and he tried to push the memory away, no easy task in the suffocating darkness. All the while, the wound in his shoulder ached with steady throbs.

If he slept, he didn’t know it, but he must have. Something pressed against his shoulder, and he startled awake. He saw nothing close, but then a voice whispered in his ear. The sound chilled Haern’s blood, and for the first time, forced him to admit how vulnerable and helpless he was.

“Greetings, Watcher,” whispered the Wraith. Haern could almost imagine his grin floating beside him. “I must admit, finding you chained like this disappoints me greatly.”

“Why are you here?” Haern asked, keeping his own voice a whisper. He had no doubt the Wraith would execute him immediately should he try to catch the attention of the guards.

“To talk to you, of course. Why else? I’ve given some thought to our last discussion, and I feel I judged you too quickly. I cannot have misread you so thoroughly after your domination of Veldaren. You see, Watcher, you’ve been dragged into a game with many pieces, yet you are ignorant of their positions on the board. There are few rules, and already you’ve broken one.”

“And what rule is that?”

“Never, ever let compassion blind you to the truth.”

The Wraith chuckled. Something slender and sharp ran along Haern’s neck. When it pricked open a tiny cut, Haern didn’t even flinch.

“Tell me, Watcher, do you know why the elves are here? How about the Trifect? Do you think Alyssa came here solely because of me? And what of the Merchant Lords? Have you wondered about their part to play in this, or do you even know who they are? You would condemn me for killing members from all parties, yet you know so little. You killed leaders of the Trifect and the thief guilds. The men and women I kill are no less guilty.”

The side of the blade smacked the side of Haern’s face, and he felt blood trickle down his cheek from another cut.

“Tell me, how am I different than you?”

“I never reveled in my killings.”

“You are wrong,” the Wraith whispered, his tone chilling. “These killings give me no pleasure, no joy. Perhaps with some of them I am amused by their deaths, but they are the truly despicable. Surely you cannot deny the same feeling as you slaughtered Veldaren’s worthless scum.”

Haern turned toward the Wraith, and in the darkness, he thought he could see the faintest outline of the man’s hood.

“Then why the grin?” he said.

“In the face of such madness, what can one do but smile?”

“And kill.”

The Wraith laughed.

“Yes, and kill. Kill, as you have killed. Inspire fear, as you inspired fear. That night, I went to administer the same justice you have dealt out a hundred times. Why did you defend them, Watcher? I have tried to discover the answer, but nothing I’ve come up with seems satisfactory. Was it truly what you said?”

“Innocents would die. I had no choice.”

“Innocents always die. Do you think your little games in Veldaren harmed only the guilty?”

“Not children!”

A hand pressed over his mouth.

“Quiet, fool,” the Wraith whispered. “Such outbursts…and why do we speak of children? Does your conscience suffer? Is that what prevents you from thinking clearly? Children suffer through the actions of their fathers and rulers. Nothing will ever change that. Would you let the faults of this world prevent you from fixing that which can be made better? You coated your swords with blood to end the struggle between the guilds and the Trifect. Why do you hesitate to do so again?”

Haern closed his eyes and tried to think. Too much made sense. Too much of what the Wraith said struck home. Did he really think he’d been above it all when he slaughtered members of the thief guilds? He’d done it in the name of peace and safety. What of the Wraith? What guided his actions? The man was right; he knew far too little of the games nobles and merchants played in Angelport. Swallowing his pride and anger, he spoke words that tasted bitter on his tongue.

“What is it you hope for? If I’m to help you, I must know the end you seek.”

“The end is precisely what I seek. You’ve walked into a house of cards, Watcher. I will bring it all crumbling down. Every piece, every player, seeks to flood Neldar with drugs and war. Ask questions. Open your eyes. If I told you, you would not believe me, so hear it from their own lips. Then come to me, and try to tell me I am in the wrong.”

Haern felt more than heard the Wraith turn to face the door to his cell, which by the glint of distant torchlight, he could tell was slightly ajar.

“Your friends come for you,” whispered the Wraith. “Many of the guards are…sleeping deeply, shall we say. I can go, and let your rescuers find you with ease, or I can sound the alarm and bring the rest of Ingram’s guards flooding into the dungeon. Which is it to be, Watcher? Is there hope for you, or should I let the gallows remove your thorn from my side? Answer me. I’ll know if you lie.”

Haern took a deep breath and tried to think over all he’d heard and seen. In the end, he remembered what he’d told Ulrich back at Laurie’s mansion. The Wraith had left the child alive. Somewhere in him was a sense of control and decency, despite the chill his presence gave him that seemed contrary to that in every way. No matter how hard Haern wanted to pretend otherwise, he could not sit there in the dungeon and claim to be any more innocent. He’d filled the gutters of Veldaren with blood to achieve his aims, however lofty. Condemning the Wraith for doing the same, without looking into matters further, was hypocritical beyond measure.

“I make no promises,” Haern whispered. “But I will discover the truth of this city, one way or another. If I’ve been played the fool, by anyone…”

“So be it. Perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

The cell fell silent but for the soft clink of the door shutting. Haern closed his eyes, hung his head, and wondered if he’d lost his mind. He thought of the rage he’d felt when Alyssa had come, and how he’d promised to make the man pay. A large part of him still felt that way, but he didn’t know if it was the better part of him, or just his battered ego.

A hand clamped over his mouth, and he startled.

“Quiet,” a woman’s voice whispered. “Someone has been here before me.”

“The Wraith,” Haern whispered when she removed her hand.

“Will he stop us?”

He shook his head.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then let us hurry.”

He heard a clinking sound from above as Zusa began picking the locks of his chains. Haern kept his breathing steady as his pulse began to rise. No matter how many guards Zusa and the Wraith took down on the way in, escaping would be no easy task. The sheer fact that it was still daylight would prove problematic. With a loud rattle, one of the chains slipped loose and hit the floor. Further down the corridor, several prisoners called out in mocking tones.

“How bad is your wound?” Zusa asked.

Another chain slipped free, this one carefully brought to the ground. Haern tested his shoulder, and he had to bite his tongue to hold in a pained cry.

“Not good,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Can you run?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you want out.”

“Then I can run.”

The last of the chains loosened from around his body. Despite Zusa’s care, their rattle seemed thunderous in the stone cells.

“Who you got with you?” someone shouted from nearby. “You got yourself a whore?”

Zusa grabbed Haern’s hand and pulled him to his feet. His wounded shoulder throbbed, and he gingerly touched it. His fingers came away sticky and smelling foul. Most likely infection, thought Haern. Fantastic.

“Where are my things?” he asked.

“At the front, I believe, still guarded. We’ll get them on our way out. Ready?”

“Ready.”

She took off at a blistering pace, her hand firmly clutching Haern’s wrist. From the darkest reaches of the dungeon they emerged into torchlight, and their passing raised a ruckus from the prisoners, who hooted and hollered. At a doorway he saw a guard slumped against the wall. Blood coated his neck and chestplate. Zusa paused to listen for any approaching guards.

“He your doing?” Haern asked.

“Was unconscious when I found him,” Zusa said, glancing at the dead guard. “I only cut his throat.”

If any guards heard the ruckus behind them, none came to investigate. Haern dared breathe a sigh of relief.

“Come,” Zusa said, pulling him along. They passed two more bodies, and Haern had no need to ask what happened to them. One lay on his side, the other on his back, both with huge gashes across their throats. At the major cross-section of the dungeon, they stopped again. To their left and right stretched rows of cells, while ahead was bright light, and escape. Behind them, more prisoners shouted in either encouragement, anger, or jealousy.

“The guards remain there,” Zusa whispered.

“How did you get by?”

She pointed toward one of the side tunnels.

“Shadows are my doorways, but I cannot take you with me.”

Haern didn’t like the thought of killing more guards, and any more prisoners hanging, but he prayed Ashhur would forgive him.

“Get me my swords and cloak,” he said. “We’ll cut through.”

He saw her glance at the wound to his shoulder, and he shook his head.

“I can fight through pain. Now go!”

She strode ahead, letting go of his hand to draw both her daggers. At the doorway, a guard stepped out, no doubt to finally check why the others had not silenced the prisoners. Zusa caught him flat-footed, one dagger ripping open the belly beneath his breastplate, the other piercing his windpipe to choke down his death rattle. She kicked him aside and then ran on. Haern followed.

Three more guards sat about a small a table, a rack of weapons and crossbows behind them in the small room, along with a heavy chest. Zusa was a blur among them, slashing and cutting before they could even ready their weapons. As the corpses fell with no alarm sounded, she leaned against one of the walls and pointed to the chest.

“In there,” she said.

He knelt before it, flicked it open, and found his things. As the cloak wrapped about him, the hood pulled low over his face, he felt his confidence rise. Buckling his sabers to his waist, the feeling was complete. Blood still soaked his shirt, and he knew that once his battle lust calmed he’d be in a world of pain, but for now he could fight. He turned to Zusa, and was surprised to see her still leaning against the wall. When he stepped closer, he saw beads of sweat upon the exposed skin about her eyes.

“Were you stabbed?” he asked, though he saw no wounds.

“Fine,” she said, pushing off the wall. “I’m fine.”

She walked to the iron gate, the last obstacle to freedom. Instead of a lock or key on the inside, a bar blocked the outside. Zusa swore.

“Can we break through?” Haern asked as he inspected the situation. Outside he saw two guards, both positioned adjacent to the door as if they were asleep. All it’d take was a single patrol to notice, and they’d be swarmed.

“Can’t,” Zusa said. “It’s metal. I need to get out there.”

“How?”

She pressed her face to the bars of the door, looking.

“Remember?” she said. “Shadows are my doorways.”

Zusa retreated into the dungeon, vanishing from view. Trusting her to know what she was doing, Haern waited at the entrance, feeling strangely helpless. Here he was, the deadly Watcher, and he was stopped by a simple barred door?

“How the mighty have fallen,” he murmured, pacing to keep his blood flowing.

On the other side, Zusa fell from above the entrance, landing hard on one side.

“Zusa?” he asked as she lay there, very still. “Zusa!”

“Was spotted,” she said, her back still to him. “Careless…”

He heard shouts from far away, and his pulse doubled.

“Hurry,” he said. “We need to get out of here, now!”

Zusa looked too weak to stand, though, let alone lift the heavy bar blocking the door. She closed her eyes, and then he saw the first guard come running up the hill toward the inlet of the dungeon’s entrance.

“Zusa! Get up, Zusa. Focus on the pain, use it, and stand!”

She forced herself onto her knees, and for the first time Haern saw the thick crossbow bolt embedded in her side. The first edges of panic bloomed in the back of his mind. Turning away from the door, he grabbed one of the crossbows and a handful of bolts. Before the first guard could reach, Haern shot him down through the gaps in the bars. Another guard appeared, and though his first shot missed, the second plunged into his throat.

Zusa grabbed the bar across the door and dragged herself to her feet. Haern reloaded the crossbow, then reached through the bars to cup her face in his hand.

“You can do it,” he said. “Don’t worry about them. Don’t worry about anything. Lift it. Set me free, and I swear I’ll protect you.”

She tore the wraps free from across her mouth, then leaned her forehead against the bars.

“Too hot,” she said, breathing heavily, her eyes still closed.

Haern saw the group of guards approaching, coming up a side path from the mansion.

“Now, damn you,” he said to her. “Now, or we’re both corpses.”

He shot a bolt over her head, then dropped it to draw his sabers. Shrieking at the top of her lungs, Zusa grabbed one end of the bar and forced it upward. As it cleared the latch, she dropped it, and Haern burst through. The pain in his shoulder a distant memory, he launched himself at the six guards, all the while howling like a madman. His sabers danced, and the guards could not hope to match his fury. The first two dropped, their initial attacks clumsy compared to his. Twirling between them, he slashed the back leg of one guard, then lunged at another. Their bodies collided, and the guard went down, Haern’s knees slamming his chest. The collision with the dirt jarred them both, but Haern’s sabers were there, punching through flesh to keep him still. The final two turned to flee, but he would have none of it. He stabbed one in the back. The other he tripped, cutting out his throat on the way down.

Walking back, blood dripping from his sabers, he passed the guard he’d hamstrung, who pleaded for his life.

“Don’t, please!” the man cried as Haern pressed a saber to his throat. Haern felt the cloud of his rage passing, and with it the ache in his shoulder returned with full force. Lowering his weapon, Haern slapped the guard across the face with the flat of his blade.

“Do something useful with your life,” he said, sheathing his sabers. He ran back to Zusa, who leaned against the door, clutching the bolt in her side with both hands. As Haern neared, she rammed it through her flesh, punching the barb out her back. In near disbelief, Haern caught her as she fell into his arms.

“Pull it out,” she said to him as he held her. Haern grabbed the bloodied shaft, gritted his teeth, and pulled. Only a slight gasp of pain marked its exit. He staunched the blood flow using her cloak, tying it tight about her.

“Leave me,” she said. “You won’t escape otherwise. Tell Alyssa I’m sorry…”

“Not happening.”

Bracing her weight on his shoulder, he took a pained step forward, then another. She leaned her head against him, and he was shocked by its warmth. As they gained momentum, Zusa began to recover her balance, and she supported herself more and more. Limping and bleeding, they walked down the path of the hill. The entire complex was walled in, their path leading to a gated side entrance. A squad of soldiers stood before it, manning their post. When they saw Haern and Zusa coming, they readied their weapons.

“Too many,” Zusa said, seeing them. “Just drop me and go.”

“Then we die together.”

Hardly ten paces before them they stopped, and Haern released her from his grasp. They stood, weapons drawn. Haern laughed, knowing they must look the most pathetic of killers. Meanwhile, nearly twenty men moved to surround them.

“Let us through,” Haern said, pointing a bloody saber toward the man who appeared to be their leader. “Otherwise, you die first.”

“Drop your weapons, now,” the man said, ignoring his demand.

“Only when we’re dead, soldier.”

The soldiers tensed, and Haern knew they prepared to attack. Zusa slid into a low stance, her arms poised almost as if she were a spider, but he saw the delirium in her eyes. Even in the best of conditions the two would have trouble with so many armored men, but in their current state… Haern pulled his hood lower and grinned. He’d die fighting, regardless of the lack of hope. The Wraith was right. Amid such madness, what else could do?

Before the soldiers’ leader could give the order, a voice cried out from above the gate. Haern looked up to see the Wraith poised upon the wall, his sword drawn.

“Let them go,” he said.

“These are prisoners of Lord Ingram,” said the squad leader. “Go on your way, unless you want to join them in the dungeon.”

“Let them go, I command you.”

Whispers grew as several of the soldiers realized who it was that stood above them, garbed in black clothes and a long cloak.

“Who are you to give us commands?”

The Wraith grinned.

“This is my city now. Let them go, or all of you will die.”

Haern could see the fear spreading through the squad. The Wraith spoke with authority, and even before their greater numbers, he showed no fear. It didn’t matter whether or not they could defeat him, for they knew the massive losses they would suffer. Again Haern witnessed a mirror of himself, of the fear he’d painstakingly created in Veldaren. Seeing it on the outside, it felt so deceptively false.

“Step aside,” Haern said, keeping his voice calm. “No one else needs to suffer.”

The squad leader took a step back, as if he were going to give way, then suddenly slashed for Haern’s throat while crying out for his men to attack. Haern parried it aside as all around him erupted into chaos. Zusa avoided the first two strikes her way, and then Haern was there, guarding her flank. Neither went on the offensive, instead blocking and retaliating against those who struck against them. After killing a single soldier who had pressed too close, Zusa collapsed to her knees, pushing Haern to his very limits to protect her. But after those initial moments, the number of his attackers shrank, for the Wraith had fallen among them, his sword a whirling steel of death. The soldiers fell at his feet, no match for his speed or skill. Cutting a bloody swathe through their numbers, the Wraith appeared before Haern, a smile still on his face.

“Sometimes I wonder how much use you might actually be to me,” he said before directing his attention to the remaining handful who had fallen back. “Come! Face me! Or are you cowards and fools who can strike only the poor and destitute?”

Haern didn’t care either way. Zusa lay at his feet, and he pulled her into his arms. He used his foot to lift the heavy key ring from the squad leader’s belt, flicking it up so he could catch it. Sounds of combat came from behind him as he unlocked the gate and shoved it open a little.

“Stay with me,” he whispered to Zusa. “We need to get out of sight for awhile. I need you to run. Can you run?”

“Don’t…have much choice…” she said, and she gave him a weak grin. Overcome by impulse, he kissed her lips, then shifted more of her weight onto him.

“Some honeymoon,” he said. “Stay strong. Stay with me.”

They ran, leaving the occasional trickle of blood behind them. Given their outfits and wounds, they garnered many stares, but none interfered with their passage. Guards shouted in the distance, but they faded in time. Whether through their speed, the crowd, or the Wraith’s interference, they put Ingram’s dungeon far behind them. With each minute, Zusa grew weaker, until Haern at last lifted her into his arms and carried her. No more running then, just painful step after step. He felt his own delirium starting to grow, the city strange and unfamiliar about him. Forcing the streets to make sense, forcing his mind to push through the pain, he continued along. The further from the prison, the more people lingered, and several even asked if he needed help. He ignored them, having no spare thought beyond putting one foot after the other.

At last Haern collapsed to his knees, Zusa lying unconscious in his arms. Before him was a large gate. Never would Haern have guessed the incredible relief he’d feel seeing Torgar yank it open to greet him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” the giant man asked.

Haern wanted to say that indeed he was. Instead he laughed even as the tears ran down his face, and at least fifteen passing men and women saw them brought into Laurie Keenan’s mansion.