A Dance of Ghosts

CHAPTER 28

Picking through the blackberries, Haern felt at peace, and it was almost strange. Veldaren wasn’t far away, and though he was eager to return, he also felt a bit of trepidation, and he welcomed the excuse to remain back and add several more hours to their trip. Still, what relief to return to the life he knew. The guilds, the Trifect, their scheming and ruthless games … those he understood. Those he knew how to play. He’d let down his armor around his father, allowed himself to become vulnerable. Hopefully, it’d not happen again.

When he had two handfuls, he knelt down so he might place them on his cloak and wrap it as a basket. Then came the scream.

Haern was racing back to the road before it was ever finished, with no care for the thorns that scratched at his skin or tugged on his clothes. The scream, it had been a man’s voice. Delysia was in trouble, perhaps ambushed by thieves or thugs with rape on their mind. Legs pumping, he flew across the road, then cut off toward where they had planned to set up their camp. Reason overcame him at the last moment, and he slowed so he might at least get the jump on whoever might be there.

It was only one man, Haern saw, and so far, Delysia stood unharmed before him. He felt relief, but it was fleeting, for something about the man was horribly familiar. His skin was dark, his head shaved, and as Haern crouched down and slid from tree to tree, he caught glimpses of the man’s face … his white, painted face.

Ghost, thought Haern, and he felt his blood chill in his veins.

The man who’d captured Delysia, knocked Tarlak unconscious, stabbed Senke through the stomach. The man who’d finished the job later in Leon Connington’s mansion. His friend’s murderer … right there, in the forest, kneeling before Delysia. His entire body was covered with burns and blood, and Haern could only guess at whatever road the man had traveled to get there. Last Haern knew, he’d left Ghost for dead. The wounds had been fatal, he knew, surely they had been fatal …

Haern drew his swords. Apparently not. Ghost lived, and whatever he’d told Delysia, it clearly troubled her. His body began to convulse, she reached forward, and then came a burst of light that hurt his eyes, forcing him to look away. Healing, he decided. The man had tracked Delysia down to force her to heal him. Surely no priest of Ashhur in Veldaren would have been foolish enough to do so.

Shifting back, keeping himself low and out of sight, he prepared his attack. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Ghost was a monster, a vicious killer who’d relished every second of Haern’s pain as Senke died before him.

Mercy cuts deep and will only hurt those you love. This cruel world will make sure of that.

Not a mistake he’d make again. When he’d left Ghost, the man had been breathing. This time, this relic, this memory of pain and hate, would die and stay dead. Haern angled himself back around toward Ghost’s blind side, with Ghost still on his knees and unaware of his approach. Delysia’s eyes were on him too, the woman bent over with her hand outstretched. Haern knew he’d have no better time, and he flew across the forest floor without care for stealth, only speed.

He was almost there when Delysia caught sight of him, and instead of hiding the realization, she opened her mouth and screamed.

“Haern, no!”

Too late to stop himself, but her cry was enough to hesitate, to slow the killing thrust. With speed unreal, Ghost whirled, pulling his swords from the earth to successfully parry the attack. Their blades interlocked, and Haern’s momentum slammed them together. He tried to continue, to bowl over the giant man, but Ghost’s legs braced, resisting him. With narrowed eyes, the man returned Haern’s glare.

“I’m not here for a fight,” Ghost said. The very sound of his voice was like razors cutting across Haern’s skin.

“I am.”

Haern pushed away to gain separation, then slashed for the man’s neck. Ghost blocked it easily enough, his superior strength batting away Haern’s follow-up strokes as if they were those of a child. The sound of steel rang out, twice, three times, before Haern positioned his weapons high, interlocking them with Ghost’s so he could kick at the man’s knee from the side. The bigger man sidestepped it, then shoved both swords out to push Haern away.

“There’s no need for this,” Ghost said, stepping backward, each one matching Haern’s steady approach. “Leave me be, Watcher. I’ve given Delysia my apologies, and she her blessing. After this, I go west, and you’ll never see me again. I want nothing to do with you.”

“A new life?” Haern said, quickening his steps. Ghost would soon back himself against a tree, and the moment he ran out of room to retreat … “You don’t deserve a new life. You want to offer an apology? Stick out your neck, and I’ll accept it with my blade.”

Ghost’s back bumped against the bark of the tree. If he was worried, he didn’t show it. Behind them, Delysia shouted for them to stop, but both refused to acknowledge the demand.

“Your friend has given me my life,” said Ghost, “and I won’t disgrace that gift by letting you take it, Watcher.”

A grim smile tucked at the corners of Haern’s lips.

“Let me?” he asked, suddenly lunging into an attack. His swords crossed side to side, ringing off of Ghost’s expertly positioned blocks. Undaunted, Haern continued weaving his weapons in, feeling like a lumberjack trying to cut down a tree by pummeling it into submission. So far, Ghost showed no signs of countering, so Haern pushed himself on, trying to find the slightest opening for the kill.

“Let me?”

Ghost tried and failed to parry a wide slash aimed for his face. The man ducked backward, striking his head against the bark of the tree. The tip of Haern’s saber cut through his cheek, just a thin slice that sprayed a thin jet of blood through the air. Haern looped both weapons around, slamming them down into the X that Ghost had crossed his swords into just prior to the stroke.

“Have you forgotten, Ghost?” Haern asked as he tried to push through, to close that minute gap between the sharpened edges of his blades and the exposed flesh of his foe’s throat. “I was the better fighter. I killed you once, and I’ll kill you again.”

Despite his efforts, Haern’s strength seemed to not bother Ghost in the slightest. Instead, the man grinned, and a bit of life sparkled in his eyes.

“Better?” he asked. “Perhaps then … but now? Let us see.”

The man flung himself forward, and given his size, his speed, Haern had no choice but to retreat as those swords came slicing in. Left, right, he batted them aside, spun while ducking to avoid having his head cut off his shoulders, then sprinted away to gain space. Six steps later, he dug his heel into the soft earth, pivoted, and flung himself right back into the fight. Again, they crashed together, swords interlocking and pushing aside so neither was impaled. Haern angled himself so his knee struck Ghost’s stomach, and the other man likewise slammed his elbow into Haern’s cheek. Blood dripping from his teeth, Haern spun away, fighting through a brief wave of dizziness.

“Stop it, both of you!” he heard Delysia shout. Haern again pretended not to hear her, instead rekindling the anger in his breast as Ghost crouched down, anticipating another barrage.

Before he could attack, a flash of light burst between them, blinding in its brightness. Haern let out a cry at the pain, but he refused to be slowed. Rushing forward, he used every bit of his childhood training. He knew how to anticipate an opponent’s reaction, how to sense their location by the sound of their feet scraping the dirt. But Ghost was no common foe, no stranger to sightless battles. The world a haze of yellow and white, Haern cut where the larger man should have been, only to have both his swings blocked. Stepping left, he tried sweeping Ghost’s feet out from underneath him, but the man was not there. Instead, he’d already fallen back, and through the spots in his vision, Haern watched him weave his swords into a defensive pattern in case he’d pushed onward.

“The better fighter,” Ghost said as he halted upon realizing no one chased. “I’ve learned of you since my release, Watcher. I know what it was you sought to do at the Conningtons’ mansion. I fought for coin and my reputation, but you fought for peace; you fought for the love of your friends.”

Ghost’s face darkened as he crouched down and lifted his swords.

“But now?” he asked.

Without warning, he burst forward. So big, so strong, he was as terrifying as a charging bull. Haern dared not meet him head-on, instead having to constantly leap away. Anything to keep Ghost moving, to keep him from being able to close the distance fully or brace his feet to put all his strength into a swing. Parrying one swing, he leaped back, caught a tree with his shoulder, and then rolled along the ground. Ghost’s swords struck dirt, and then Haern was on his feet, bolting forward as his foe’s swords sliced through the air where he’d been.

“What is it you fight for now?” Ghost asked. “Pride? Retribution?”

“What does it matter?”

Haern spun around a tree, and when one of Ghost’s swords struck the bark, Haern rolled back around it and launched into an offensive. Awkwardly positioned, Ghost had to retreat, violently yanking on the sword to free it in time for a block. Haern kept it up, pushing forward, hammering at Ghost’s swords. His hands were a blur, his every nerve on fire. Overwhelm him, thought Haern. He had to overwhelm him.

“What does it matter?” asked Ghost, and despite his apparent exhaustion, despite Haern’s onslaught, he was grinning. “It’s the only thing that matters.”

One of his steps back suddenly wasn’t a retreat at all, but a shift forward. Haern’s left-hand blade was easily blocked, the other thrusting too far to the side. Taking advantage of the opening, Ghost kneed Haern in the stomach, then smashed a fist into the side of his neck. Letting out a scream, Haern toppled back, swords raised in a meager defense. Except Ghost did not pursue. Instead, he hovered over him, yelling, mocking him as he paced.

“I was a monster!” he shouted. “I thought you were too, but you fought for something. You bled for others. You’re bleeding again, Watcher, so tell me, who’s it for?”

Simply breathing hurt, but Haern forced himself to his feet, stumbling backward to gain some space. Ignoring the pain, he stood tall and stared down the giant man. In his mind, he replayed that horrible moment when Senke had lurched forward, a blade piercing his chest. The way the pain had overtaken him. The way the life had left his eyes. Haern needed that rage again. He needed to remember why, no matter the cost, this man must die.

“A monster?” he asked. “Is that what you want? Then raise your swords, Ghost. I’ll show you a monster.”

Before either could move, Delysia stepped between them, a hand outstretched toward each.

“Enough!” she cried. White light shone from her palms. “This fight ends now, I swear it. Drop your blades. The moment either of you moves against the other, I will take your life.”

Haern could hardly believe the anger in her eyes. This was the man who’d killed her best friend … yet now she’d threaten murder to protect him? He couldn’t abide it. He couldn’t allow it. This man … this Ghost … deserved death. Every bone in his body knew it, every pounding of his heart screamed it.

“Get out of the way, Delysia,” he said. “This must end; you have to understand that. I won’t let him live. If not now, then tomorrow, or the day after. Even if I have to hunt him down like an animal, he will die.”

Opposite him and Delysia, Ghost remained tense, swords raised before his chest. The look on his face was impossible to read. He was waiting for the right moment, Haern decided. Watching for the perfect opening to attack.

“Haern,” Delysia said, and he heard the pleading in her voice. Haern tightened the muscles in his legs, preparing for a leap. She wouldn’t hurt him. There was no way she’d choose to take his life to protect that monster.

“No,” Ghost said, before Haern could lunge. “I won’t let you carry that sin, Delysia. That belongs to another.”

Ghost launched forward, his speed surprising even Delysia. Haern panicked, convinced the man would kill her, and he raced across the ground as fast as his legs could carry him. As he watched, Ghost collided with Delysia before she could enact a spell. Instead of striking her, the giant man pushed her hands so her beam of light flashed harmlessly into the trees, then shrugged her aside with his elbow. Speed hardly slowing, Ghost continued on, eyes locked on Haern’s. Refusing to slow, Haern drew his blades and thrust for the man’s chest. He felt the anticipation building in him, the seductive excitement of battle. This was it. This exchange would define them, reveal whose skill was greatest. As his swords closed in, he was already mentally calculating the defenses Ghost would take and how to counter them.

Instead, Ghost spread his arms, ensuring an opening.

Haern’s sabers jammed between his ribs, pierced both lungs, and then tore through the flesh of his back. Ghost’s body slammed into him, but Haern let out a scream and pushed his legs to remain standing. The other man draped over him, his weight entirely supported, as warm blood poured across Haern’s hands, down his wrists, and to the ground below. Lifting his head, Ghost coughed more blood, spewing it across Haern’s cloak.

“The better monster,” said Ghost with the last of his ragged breath.

In the distance, as if in another world entirely, Haern heard Delysia scream.

Haern shifted so Ghost dropped to his back, the sabers easily sliding out of him. So very still, he lay there, blood dribbling from his lips. From the corner of his eye, Haern saw Delysia rushing toward him, healing light already glowing on her fingertips. He thought of Ghost surviving a second time, stealing away his kill, denying him his retribution.

“No,” Haern said, and he lifted a bloody saber and pointed it her way. She froze, the tip hovering inches away from her neck. “He dies.”

Delysia met his gaze, and her fury nearly overwhelmed him. Pure stubbornness kept him there as he listened to the wet coughs of Ghost dying. Slowly, the priestess stepped forward, until the tip of Haern’s saber pressed against her throat. Ghost’s blood dripped upon her, the scarlet startling against the paleness of her flesh and the white of her robes. Not once did her eyes leave his.

“Move,” she said. That was it, but her voice carried such authority, Haern trembled. He pulled the weapon back, and he suddenly felt aware of what he’d just done.

“Del,” he said. “Del, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

But she was already past him, ignoring his words and kneeling down next to Ghost, who had begun convulsing. Despite the miracles she could perform, Haern knew the man was too far gone. Knitting back torn flesh would do nothing for the terrible blood loss Ghost had already suffered, and that ignored the damage to the lungs. It seemed Delysia knew it too, for she did not bother attempting. Instead, she put her forehead against Ghost’s, and the man’s gaze turned toward her. Amid the convulsions of his body, he tried to say something, but all that came out were dying gasps. Delysia was praying, though Haern could not hear what. Suddenly, she leaned back, and she stared right into Ghost’s eyes.

“Lawrence,” she said, brushing her fingers across his face. “Your name was Lawrence. You may die, but it won’t be nameless.”

It seemed an immediate change came over him. Ghost’s convulsions stopped, his mouth closed, and with gaze unmoving from Delysia’s beautiful face, he slowly let out one last gasp and then lay still. Delysia bowed her head, once more pressing her forehead to his, and then she slowly rose to her feet. Her back was to Haern, her shoulders slumped, her long red hair like a shroud. With Ghost’s passing, it seemed the forest had fallen unnaturally quiet.

“He came to me,” Delysia said softly. “Came hoping I’d kill him. What have you done, Haern?”

“I took the life of a terrible, loathsome murderer,” Haern said, voice rising. “Have you forgotten what he did to you, to Tarlak? That man killed Senke, butchered him like a piece of meat, and then mocked me for it. He called me a monster, even as Senke bled out at his feet. That Ghost was alive at all is my fault, and consider this me correcting that error.”

She stepped toward him, and when he reached for her arms, she shoved him away.

“He was so close,” she said. “So close. How could you? How could you!”

Her fists rained down upon his chest. There was something he was missing, he realized, but he felt too angry to bother, too frustrated to care. Would Delysia have him spare the life of every single thief and murderer he went up against? Would she have him live a secluded life free of his role as the Watcher? When he came back from Angelport, she’d given him her blessing, said she understood the bloodshed.

“I kept you from making a mistake,” Haern said as her blows slowed, came to a stop. “That’s all. I had to do it. If you spared his life, I’d only take it again. He deserves no better for what he did to me, what he did to you.”

“I forgave him, Haern; don’t you get it? Of course he deserved no better. Lawrence was a poor, broken thing on his knees, and I forgave him. But you just couldn’t let it go, could you? You couldn’t let it go…”

“Of course not!” Haern said. “People like him don’t change, Delysia. They don’t escape their pasts, and they don’t magically become better men. Those with blood on them keep it all their lives. He killed our friend, Del, our family, or do you not remember?”

“I remember,” she said, stepping away from him, her arms crossed over her chest. “I remember when a little boy knelt before me days after helping kill my father.”

It was a cold knife she stuck into him.

“This isn’t the same,” he said, anger growing white-hot in his chest.

“It is. I forgave him, just like I forgave you.”

“He wasn’t yours to forgive!” Haern screamed. “Do you think Senke meant nothing to me? Ghost’s life or death, it wasn’t in your hands, his hands, Karak’s, Ashhur’s, no one’s hands but mine. I left him alive. I failed to kill him. That he somehow survived was-”

“A gift?” asked Delysia. Haern froze, and he felt his heart leap into his throat. “Not from the gods, but from you. Is that right, Haern?” Tears began to swell in her eyes, and though she knew her next words would hurt, she said them anyway.

“Your father would be so proud.”

The image of her jerking forward, an arrow piercing her chest, flashed before his eyes.

“That’s not fair,” Haern said, and he felt his face flushing, felt as if his mind were raw. “Don’t you dare be that cruel. All my life, I’ve wanted to be better than that, to be anything other than what he’d have me be. I’ve clung to Ashhur’s teachings, but nightfall in Veldaren is not a place for mercy and forgiveness. It doesn’t work, Delysia, you know that; you can’t be that naïve.”

It was the wrong thing to say, every word, and he knew it the moment they left his lips. Delysia stared at him, and it seemed her entire body had grown rigid. He reached out to her, wanting to hold her, to find some way to tell her that he knew he was being stupid, but she slapped his hand away. He reached again, and she repeated the slap, pointing a finger at him, her green eyes wide, the tears in them long since fallen and gone.

“Don’t touch me,” she said. “You just … stay away from me for a while.”

“Delysia,” he said, but what else did he have to say? That he was sorry he’d killed Ghost? But he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t lie to her. She’d sense it immediately and just distance herself further. The priestess weaved through the trees, heading for the distant path.

“Delysia!”

She paused, and he watched her take in a deep breath before she turned to face him.

“You once told me that as long as I was there for you, as long as I could forgive you, you would endure,” she said. “That you’d remember who you were and believe you were still worth saving. You wanted me to be there for you, but I’m not sure I can. If I’m so naïve, if I’m not part of your world, then I can’t be the one to help you remember who you are. Someone else has stolen that place from me.”

He started toward her, but her glare held him back.

“You have a body to bury,” she said, and then she returned to the road, leaving him alone in the silence.

Haern felt his anger bubbling up, overwhelming him, keeping his anguish at bay. Like a statue he stood, watching Delysia until she was gone. At last, he could control himself no longer. Turning to Ghost’s corpse, he drew his sword again.

“Why couldn’t you stay dead?” he asked it, falling to his knees and plunging the sword into Ghost’s unmoving chest. Ripping out the blade, he jammed it in, again and again. “You bastard! You were dead, four years you were dead, so why now?” He beat the corpse with his fist, punctuating his words. “Why … now!”

There was gore all over him, and Haern leaned back, feeling so tired, so very tired.

“I’m not him,” he told the quiet forest. “I’m not the same. I’ve only done what was necessary. I’m better than him, better than he could ever be!”

But there was no one there to argue, no one to call him a liar or believe his words to be true. So, alone Haern stayed, pulling up the soft earth to bury Ghost, using the man’s swords to mark his grave. By the time he was done, the night was deep, the cicadas in full rhythm. Hiding from the stars, Haern slept wrapped in his cloak, but even its comfort was meager, for it stank of drying blood.