A Dance of Ghosts

CHAPTER 32

Haern paused before the Eschaton Tower, and he almost didn’t go inside. The night was late, and for all he knew, those inside were asleep. It was a nice enough excuse in his head, but as the cicadas droned on, he knew it was a lie. Ever since their fight the day before, he was yet to see Delysia. She’d surely beaten him home, given the time it’d taken him to bury Ghost’s body. What might she have told her brother? Everything? Nothing?

On either side of him were long hills covered with flowing grass, and behind the tower was the King’s Forest, and either sounded like better places to sleep. Cowardly places, of course, and that was what kept him going, walking up the path, to the door, and inside.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Tarlak said, stretched out on a couch with a drink in his hand and his feet pointed toward the low fire that burned in the fireplace.

“I had a body to bury,” Haern said, and he realized how absurd a greeting that was. He’d not seen his friend in months, and those were the first words out of his mouth?

“So I heard.” Tarlak gestured to the chair opposite him. “Take a seat. It feels like forever since your skulking hood graced my tower.”

Haern hadn’t even realized he had it on, and he quickly pulled it off as he sat down beside the fire. His swords and pack he put down beside him. He felt awkward, wishing he could just come right out and ask what Tarlak knew but was unable to be so direct. So, instead, he let out a deep sigh and sank into the chair. No matter what, he was indeed home, and it felt good to be there, despite all the awkwardness.

“Did you talk to Delysia?” Haern asked, thinking it about as gentle a way to broach the subject as possible.

“I did,” Tarlak said.

Haern tried to read the wizard, but whatever thoughts were behind those green eyes and red goatee were well hidden.

“And?” Haern asked.

Tarlak sat up, and with a sigh he let go of his glass, which hovered in the air for a brief moment before vanishing.

“And I can tell something happened between the two of you,” he said. “Though I admit I’m hopeless as to what, because my dear sister is as stubborn as she is beautiful when she wants to be. All she’ll tell me is that Ghost showed up, you two fought, and Ghost lost. I don’t know if that has something to do with why Delysia was so upset, or something else. My gut says your father’s involved, given the only thing good that’s ever come out of him is, well, you.”

“The months were definitely long,” Haern said. He shifted, not liking the way Tarlak was looking at him. “As for Delysia … we had a disagreement; that’s all. We’ll be fine.”

The wizard lifted an eyebrow.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Haern rubbed his eyes.

“Honestly … I have no clue, Tar. Can we talk about something else? How’s life been here in Veldaren?”

Tarlak chuckled.

“If you’re hoping for more happy subjects, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

He snapped his fingers, and his glass reappeared, this time full of a white wine. Tarlak took it from the air where it floated, sipped at it.

“Pretty much everything you’ve ever set up in the city has been eradicated,” Tarlak said. “The agreement with the Trifect, the truce between the guilds … it’s all gone.”

Haern sat frozen in his seat, unable to believe it. Everything he’d worked for, all the blood and sweat and killing, was over? The wizard said it nonchalantly, just no big thing, but Haern felt as if he’d been slapped in the face with a wet rag.

“All gone?” Haern asked. “How is that possible?”

“Well, your absence didn’t help matters,” Tarlak said. “Nor did Thren’s, honestly. The Sun Guild came back with a vengeance, and this time with their leader, Muzien the Dark-hand. Every guild that refused to submit to his command, he crushed, one by one. After that, he cowed the king, putting himself safely out of reach of the city guard, and then began working on the Trifect. The elf’s a cruel bastard, and what he’s done to secure his power is sickening, to say the least.”

“Why haven’t you stopped him?”

Tarlak frowned.

“I’d say that’s your job, actually, but you were too busy traipsing west in search of … what was it again? Luther? What did you find out about that, anyway, because Delysia was none too talkative?”

Haern sighed.

“Nothing,” he said. “Thren betrayed me when we reached the tower, and he was the only one to speak with Luther. The man was a priest held prisoner at the top of the Stronghold; that’s all I know. Beyond that, his task in Veldaren was some plan involving Karak and those stone tiles the Sun Guild’s using. I’m sorry, Tar; I really can’t offer more than that.”

Tarlak downed the rest of the wine, made the cup vanish, and then rose to his feet.

“Glad to know it was all worthwhile,” he said. “A priest working for Karak … I never could have guessed that. Meanwhile, Muzien controls every inch of our fair city. We’ve needed you bad, Haern, but I don’t know where to even start. I feel like a war happened right underneath my nose, and something tells me under no circumstances were we the victor.”

“I’m sorry,” Haern said. “It isn’t too late, though. I’ll get to the bottom of this; I promise.”

“Like you got to the bottom of this whole Luther business?”

“Enough, Tarlak. Quit acting like this is my fault!”

“Will you two kiss and make up already?” Brug said as he emerged from the staircase, his own beer mug in hand. “Gods, I could hear the two of you yammering from my bedroom.”

He tipped his head in Haern’s direction.

“Good to see you, bud,” Brug said, and he grinned. “Now come give me a hug. After months with dealing with just that idiot over there, I could practically kiss you for finally coming home.”

Haern felt his face flushing, and embarrassed, he went over and clapped Brug across the shoulder.

“Good to see you, too,” Haern said.

“Aye, a happy homecoming,” Tarlak said. Haern glared his way, expecting more sarcasm, but it seemed the wizard himself was embarrassed by his earlier outburst.

“It really is good to have you back,” Tarlak said. “This city isn’t the same without you, and neither is this tower.”

Haern pulled away from Brug and retrieved his swords from the chair.

“I’ve had more than enough time to rest,” he said. “Has every guild fallen to Muzien?”

“All but the Ash,” Tarlak said. “And I’m not sure if they’re still alive.”

Haern pulled his hood over his head, feeling the comfortable shadow encasing him.

“Let’s hope so. We could use whatever allies we may find.”

Haern went to the door, and he saw Tarlak go to stop him, then change his mind.

“Stay safe,” Tarlak called after him. “It’d be a damn shame for you die on your first night back home.”

Despite his dour mood, Haern chuckled.

“That it would, Tar,” he said, shutting the door to the tower behind him.

The walk to the looming walls of the city was a long and familiar one, and Haern felt himself slipping back into the persona he’d carefully crafted. His hood hung low over his face, his cloak disguising his movements, melding him into the darkness. At his sides were his swords, and at least they were a reliable comfort. He knew the fear he carried, the reputation, and as he began to run to close the distance, his troubles drifted away. Just like when he’d come home from the snow-covered northern plains or the distant city of Angelport, there was something comforting about his city’s familiarity. The guilds, the Trifect, the cowardly king: he knew them all and they him.

Using disguised handholds he’d had Tarlak magically carve into the side, Haern scaled the wall, slipped across it after a patrol passed on by, and then raced down the steps and to the street below. Home at last, he ran, letting the familiar sights welcome him … only, the sights weren’t so familiar. Street after street, he checked for the hidden markings of the Wolf Guild, the scrawled legs of the Spider Guild, even the thick smear of Ash, but they were not there. Along the sides of homes and stalls, and even in the very street, he saw only where they’d been. The symbols had been burned, scraped, and painted over if necessary. No guilds, no colors.

Just the Sun.

“You weren’t kidding, Tar,” Haern said as he continually scanned the rooftops on either side of him. Surely a scout from one of the guilds would have located him by now. Haern used a window to vault up, and from atop a shop he looked about. No one. The night was calm, and he did not like it. Panic nipped at the edges of his mind. Going into the city, he’d always felt in control, the mad puppeteer holding all the strings, but it seemed his absence had been far too long.

Haern raced along the rooftops, extended his body to leap across the alleys, his legs pounding to keep up speed, his body shifting to adjust his weight as he moved across the consistently uneven terrain. Sometimes he stopped, but each time was only to see the symbol of the Sun, a reminder of the underworld’s new king. The truce, his deal with the king … Haern tried not to dwell on it, to let the pounding blood in his veins drown it out, but all he could think of was how his entire legacy, everything he’d killed for, had vanished like a puff of smoke from the end of Tarlak’s pipe.

His movements slowed. It seemed there would be no trouble that night, not unless he went looking for it in the various safe houses about the town … and even then he had no guarantee they’d be in use anymore. And with the silence, with the isolation amid the shadows, he could not hide from his thoughts.

You wanted me to be there for you …

Always, he thought. Always, he’d relied on Delysia to understand, to never judge him for the blood on his blades.

… I’m not sure I can …

His foot slipped, and he rolled down a slanted rooftop, gaining his balance only moments before leaping over an alley and crashing along the wood shingles of another.

I can’t be the one to help you remember who you are.

Teeth clenched, he tried pushing himself back up, to run with a frenzy and purpose that showed he still ruled the night. Instead, he stumbled again, and when he leaped to the next home, he did not cover the distance necessary. Arms out, he caught the side, felt the shingles dig into his hands. His momentum sent his knees smacking into the side, and he sucked in air to keep his cry down. Pulling himself up, he crouched there, body heaving breaths in and out, as he felt his deadened mind betray him with its cruel remembrance.

Your father would be so proud.

It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. He’d denied him, denied everything his father would have him become. That’s why he wore the Wraith’s hood … wasn’t it? His choices, his killing of Ghost, they all had their reasons. The type of man to treat life as a mere obstacle in the way of his goals … that wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

But Delysia was supposed to be there for him, to let him know if he ever stepped foot on his father’s path; only, now she was gone, he was alone, and all he had were his memories of the arrow piercing her breast intertwined with the way she’d stared at him with a mixture of horror and rage as he lifted a bloodied saber to ensure she did not heal the dying Ghost.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and looked out across the city. He’d once sworn to never call it his city, and he understood the wisdom of that even more clearly. Only a few months gone and it had forgotten him, moving on to new masters, with the Darkhand spreading fear with strength far beyond what he as the Watcher had fostered. There was a way to pull it back to him, he knew. All he had to do was inspire fear above all others, just as he’d once set out to do that night Senke died. But doing so would take him to places far beyond comfort. Onto a path he might recognize all too painfully well.

As he looked, he finally saw another with him on the rooftops, and a familiar face at that. Trying to shove away his troubled thoughts, he carefully made his way there, having to climb down only once to cross a street and then snake back up the side of a home. Sitting with her back against a stone bird atop a modest mansion, Zusa stared into nowhere, head resting on her knuckles.

“A quiet night,” Haern said, standing beside her.

“If only all may be this quiet,” Zusa said, eyes never shifting. Haern followed her gaze, and in the distance, he saw the Gemcroft mansion, its windows shining by the light of dozens of candles. Around its fences patrolled men with torches, looking like little bugs in the night.

Haern noticed her clothing, loose-fitting pants and a shirt that clearly did not belong to her. There was blood on it, though from no apparent source. Tarlak had said nothing of the Trifect, Haern realized, and he wondered just how well Alyssa had taken Muzien’s rise and subsequent dissolution of the Watcher’s truce. By the looks of it, not well at all.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

She finally looked his way, and he saw the redness of her eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

Haern pushed his cloak aside so he could sit. Looking about, he saw they were very much alone, and he removed his hood as well. Hiding his face from her seemed pointless given their time in Angelport, and honestly, did it matter if someone else saw? Reckless, he knew, but his foul mood made him not care.

“Trouble at the mansion?” he asked, seeing her gaze return to her home.

“In a way,” she said. “Alyssa will soon marry Victor Kane, and I fear I will no longer be welcome in their home.”

Haern did not bother containing his surprise.

“You’ve been with Alyssa since the beginning,” he said. “How could you not be welcome?”

Zusa rubbed at her eyes, and he heard her sniffle.

“Because staying means obeying that madman as if he were an equal to Alyssa. I can’t do it, Haern. I can’t pretend to serve him.”

Haern almost reached out to her, wishing he could comfort her, but his hand remained at his side.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead. “You deserve so much better.”

“I deserve nothing,” she said. “I have no family line. No money, no land, no reputation or soldiers sworn to my name. No matter how many years I stay at Alyssa’s side, I’ll always be the strange little woman lurking in the shadows. I’m a priestess hated by the only god she ever worshipped; a bodyguard abandoned by the only woman she ever loved; a stupid girl who killed the only man who ever loved her.”

“Stop it,” Haern said. “You’re more than that, so much more.”

She looked to him.

“And you?” she asked. “It’s good to see you back, Haern, but I fear you’ve returned far too late. Will you still prowl the night, even without reason?”

“I’ll always have reason.”

“And I’ll always have reason to protect Alyssa and her son,” she said. “But it only means I’m a stubborn fool.”

Haern shrugged.

“You’re hardly alone in that, either.”

Finally, she smiled, and it lit up her face, even if only for the briefest of moments. Zusa shifted so that she sat closer to him, and she leaned her head against his shoulder, her short hair pressing against his neck. Unsure of what to do, Haern slowly put his arm about her, and he felt her relax at his touch.

“I’m so tired, Haern,” she said. Her voice was quiet, distant. “I have no home, nowhere to go, no person to be. Have I robbed myself with my devotion? Has my love cheated me of a true life?”

“I pray not,” he whispered.

“But you’ve made it work. I’ve seen it, the way they care for you at that tower. Who are you, Haern? When the cloak and hood come off, who are you that allows them to love you so?”

He held her tighter against him, imagined Delysia’s betrayal, the way she’d struck his hand when he’d reached for her.

“I’m not sure I know anymore.”

They fell silent, Zusa in his arms, watching together as the deep night wore on. When she finally pulled away, a look was in her eyes, and he could not discern it.

“Forgive me,” she said.

And then she kissed him. His entire body froze, but she pressed herself against him, put her hands on his neck. They were so soft, so controlled, yet when he kissed back, he felt them dig into his skin with a strength bordering on desperation.

“Zusa,” he said, pushing her away, his scrambled mind trying to regain control.

“Don’t misunderstand this,” Zusa said as she unhooked his cloak and spread it out behind him on the rooftop. “A man and woman needing comfort. That’s all this is. Can you give me that?”

She put a hand on his chest, slipped it underneath his shirt to touch his skin.

“Please,” she said, and he saw a fragile honesty so rarely allowed upon her face. To reject her would break it, perhaps forever. She’d endure, he knew, but it’d be alone. Delysia’s face flashed in his mind, and he thought of his fumbling attempt to caress her. Her rejection had been the kindest possible, but it’d still left him feeling ashamed, foolish, lost. In time, she’d whispered. But now he saw only her tears, felt only her anger and betrayal as Ghost died at his feet. She might come to forgive him … but would she ever love him? Would there be enough time in the world for that wound to heal? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.

A man and a woman needing comfort. Zusa was the one ready to break, the sorrow naked on her face, but as Haern reached out, he felt his need for comfort just as terrible. His hand looped behind Zusa’s neck, and pulled her close so he could kiss her again. Her hands were on him, and she breathed in his kisses as if afraid each one would be the last. Off went his shirt, as did hers, and she took his hands and placed them upon her breasts before forcing him onto his back, her lips returning to his. Even now, she needed to be in control, Haern sensed, but he let her, feeling swept away and refusing to do anything that might dare stop it. Another long moment later, she pulled up, her breathing heavy, the last of her clothes quickly removed. Haern stared at her in the moonlight, beautiful, naked, body so strong, eyes so dark.

Zusa leaned back so she could pull away his pants, then climbed atop him. One more kiss, and then she guided him inside, body curled into him, her forehead pressed against his. She moved slowly at first, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he reacted only in concert. His hands drifted down her sides until he held her waist, keeping her against him, almost fearing she might leave. The way she clutched his body, he knew she felt the same.

Haern leaned his head back, and above him, Zusa moved faster and faster. Her strong legs were unrelenting, and she closed her eyes and tilted her neck so that her short hair covered her face. For some reason, it made the moment all the more private and her all the more vulnerable. There was no denying her sorrow, her despair, but her pleasure was a mask across it, and that was one thing Haern could understand. Finally, he took control, pulling her against him, moving beneath her so that she could remain wrapped in his arms. Her lips flitted across his neck, everything even slower now, but it was enough.

His body tensed, his arms a vise, her moans in his ear, and then he let go. Slowly, he exhaled, and he felt her body go limp atop him. Still he held her, fearful of the moment when her warmth would leave him, when all the world would come crashing back in. Her face remained pressed against his neck, his skin wet from tears he didn’t realize she’d cried.

“Can you stay with me?” she asked.

“I will.”

His voice sounded so far away. Wishing for the right words yet not finding them, he clutched her thin frame tightly to his body, felt her shudder.

“I’m sorry,” she said, just as when they first started. She pulled off him, reached for his cloak, and then curled it about her so she could lie with her head on his chest and her eyes closed.

“It’ll be all right,” he whispered as she nestled against him. A sigh escaped her lips, content enough that he allowed himself to believe the lie he spoke. Her breathing steadied, and he put his arms around her, holding her close.

Happiness, he thought. At least one night of happiness.

It was only then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and let his own tears fall.