A Dance of Death (11 page)

“W
ill you not be going with me?” Haern asked as he pulled his hood low. Zusa shook her head, sliding her wrappings across her face.

“Your vengeance upon Ingram is your own, as is just. We sent our message, and I will see if the Wraith answers.”

“And if you find him alone?”

Zusa shot him a wink.

“I am capable of killing, same as you. Worry about your own life, Haern.”

He left her there while she continued dressing, feeling a small sense of relief at heading out alone. It was what he knew, what he did best. At the servants’ exit, Torgar gave him no nonsense, stepping aside when he saw Haern coming.

“Try not to die too painfully,” the big man muttered. Haern smirked.

“Zusa will soon follow. Try to behave.”

He climbed over the wall and ran.

The city of Angelport was mostly flat, but overlooking the docks was a manmade hill rising up from the water. Atop it was a large and fairly modern looking mansion, with many statues built into various nooks and corners. Its walls were made of a white stone he did not recognize. He was surprised by how poorly guarded the outside was. Easily finding a gap in the patrols, he used the arm of one statue to vault to a second, that of a great bird spreading its wings as if to fly off the roof. Once up there, he searched the windows.

He didn’t know what this Ingram fellow looked like, but he knew well the mannerisms of the privileged. There would be no other room as large, no place as well decorated, as his own. Through the third window he checked he saw an extravagant four-poster bed, red silk curtains along the sides. The window was unlocked, another unimpressive bit of security. Sliding it open, Haern slipped inside, drew his sabers, and leapt onto the bed.

“Wait!” the man said as the tip of a saber pressed against his throat, startling him awake.

“Are you Ingram?” Haern asked, keeping his voice a cold whisper.

The man was tall but hefty, and when he nodded, his cheeks shook and blood trickled down his neck. His dark hair was long, and it fell across his sweating face.

“Do you know who I am?” Haern asked.

“I do,” said Ingram, doing a remarkable job at keeping calm. “You’re him, aren’t you, the Wraith?”

Haern felt his professional pride take a jab. Being mistaken for another? Having someone else feared more? These were unwelcome firsts.

“No,” he said, pressing the tip harder to make sure the man didn’t dare cry out for help. “The Watcher. You left me a message. I’ve come to give you one of my own.”

“I’d think twice about that,” Ingram said. He swallowed, and the motion rubbed the tip up and down his throat. The sensation made him shudder. “Do you think I’d provoke you without preparing for retaliation?”

Haern felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Ingram was trying to take control of the situation, initiating conversion while acting as if he were the one with greater knowledge. Not the way he wanted the situation to progress at all.

“Everyone knows they’ll die,” Haern whispered. “But that makes them no less prepared. You slaughtered innocent people in my name.”

“And you killed my guards,” Ingram countered.

“Ruffians prepared to rob and beat others. A poor excuse for guards.”

“And those I killed were no better. My dungeons are overcrowded as is. You gave me a fine excuse to thin them out, Watcher.”

Haern felt his anger flare, and he pulled the saber back to thrust.

“Do it, and hundreds more die,” Ingram said. He clenched his jaw, and stared eye to eye while braced for the killing blow. Haern almost did it. Almost.

“Why?” he asked.

Ingram let out a slow sigh of relief.

“I’d heard much, but the strangest rumor was that you cared for the commoners,” the man said. “I see that is true. I have given orders to every guard in the city, and my nobles all agreed to do the same, lest they forfeit any chance of inheriting my power. Should I die by your hand, or that of the Wraith, every single prisoner in my custody is to be immediately executed, regardless of their crime.”

Ingram gave him a smile.

“As of last count, I have over four hundred people locked away in cells, minus the thirty we removed today.”

Haern struck him across the face with the hilt of a saber. Instead of showing anger or fear, Ingram laughed.

“You really are a weakling, aren’t you? Letting a faceless rabble decide your course of action…shameful.”

“Why did you do it?” Haern asked. “Why such a display?”

“You ask me?” Ingram rolled his eyes. “You appear in my city and kill two of my guards, yet ask
me
why I did it? How about you tell me what you’re doing in Angelport? Oh, and keep your damn saber away from my throat if you have no intention of using it.”

Haern leaned close enough to whisper into Ingram’s ear.

“You said your orders were only if you were killed.”

He thrust a saber through Ingram’s shoulder, pinning him to his bed. Ingram let out a cry, but Haern smothered it with his hand.

“I’m here because another dared challenge me,” Haern said as Ingram’s struggles ceased. “This fool who calls himself Wraith will die, and I will be the one to kill him. Last night I thought I killed thieves, not guards, but I do not regret the act. They preyed on the weak, and they deserved to die for it. Until the Wraith is dead, I will prowl the night. Do not try to stop me, nor get in my way. And if you dare consider hanging more innocents…”

He yanked out the sword and let the blood drip across Ingram’s forehead.

“I’m not scared of you,” Ingram said, despite his pale face and shaking arms. “You’re a coward. I’ll fill the gallows with necks no matter who you kill. Empty my dungeon, and I’ll grab people off the streets to swing.”

“Not another body,” Haern said, shaking his head. “Not if you want to live.”

Ingram laughed.

“Then we’ll have to see how many lives you’re willing to sacrifice.”

His left foot kicked out, ringing a bell Haern could not see underneath the sheets.

“Oh, and I’d suggest running,” Ingram said. “I did prepare, remember?”

Guards burst through the door, all wielding crossbows. Haern turned and dove through the window, furious at his carelessness. He rolled along the roof as bolts whizzed by. Shouts followed him, and he circled about in search of a clear space to leap. The grounds were suddenly crawling with guards. A risky trap, given how vulnerable Ingram had left himself, but it had gone as the lord had hoped. Crossbow bolts thudded all about him, and torches continually pointed in his direction as he fled.

His pulse pounded in his ears as he hooked toward the back of the mansion, hoping for an escape. The longer he took, the more guards seemed to appear. He kept his head low and his cloaks spread wide, covering as much of his body as he could. The sky was clouded, the night particularly deep. All he needed was a few seconds lost amid the darkness and he might escape.

“This way!” he heard a voice cry out, but it came from the roof, not those chasing along the ground. He looked over to see a shadowy version of himself, clothed similarly except instead of gray he wore black. In his hand he held a sword, the blade slightly curved. The man’s face was hidden by his hood, its recesses so dark only his lips and chin remained visible. He smiled as if incredibly amused by Haern’s predicament.

“Follow me!”

This shadow, this mirror, turned and ran along the very top of the mansion to its highest point. Once there he looked back, beckoning. Despite the insanity of it all, despite who he feared this stranger was, Haern followed. The man offered his hand, and Haern took it.

“Reach for the heavens,” he said before turning and running at blinding speed. Haern kept up, but just barely. Bolts clacked and buried into the roof on either side. They ran down the slanted front of the mansion, toward a two-headed monster built above the door. Letting go, the stranger took a step ahead and then leapt off. Haern followed, lifting his hands high as he’d been told. The fence about the mansion was near, and as they sailed over, Haern had a half-second to see the man hook his arms about a rope before he had to mimic the action. It struck his elbows, and he looped an arm about it and hung.

“Hurry,” the stranger said, swinging once over the rope before dropping beyond the wall. Haern paused a moment, trying to catch his breath. Large trees grew on opposite sides of the mansion gate’s entrance, the rope tied to two branches. Instead of following, he climbed to one of the trees and took cover within as another volley of crossbow bolts flew his way.

“I said jump,” the stranger shouted.

“Tell me your name,” Haern shouted back.

“You should know it, or my opinion of you is greatly overestimated.”

Haern tried to decide what to do, but in the end, he couldn’t stay there, not with armed guards rushing from all sides of the mansion toward him. With a kick of his legs he leapt over the wall, rolled to absorb the force of the landing, and then pulled up mere feet away from the man he’d been brought to Angelport to kill.

“Lead on, Wraith,” he said.

The Wraith’s grin grew.

“As you wish…Watcher.”

They ran, two deadly shadows, and left the guards far behind.

D
espite what she’d told Haern, Zusa had no intention of searching for the Wraith. Alyssa had given her orders, and that was all that mattered, as much as she didn’t like keeping things from him. Neither could trust him yet, even if he had so far been true to his word. They had their own business to investigate. Let the King’s Watcher deal with an unpredictable animal like the Wraith. Instead, Zusa went to the docks, just as she had the night before.

“Where have you hidden it?” she wondered aloud, overlooking the many docked boats, both grand and small. Creeping closer, she noted the ones she had already checked when Haern had thought she was slaughtering more thieves to alert the Wraith to their presence. Part of her was glad she had done so instead. She didn’t like the idea of more bodies hanging from the gallows because of her actions any more than Haern did.

One by one she went down the docks, lurking in the deep shadows of the clouded starlight. Any boat not owned by the Merchant Lords she skipped, but there were not many. The ones that were guarded she slipped past. Zusa wanted no commotion alerting any to her search. Crates and cargoes flashed before her eyes, yet as the night wore on, she could not find what she was looking for.

By the time she’d checked twenty ships and found nothing of note, she decided she needed a way to narrow down her search. If the merchant lords had any of their new product in Angelport, surely it would be kept well guarded. Focusing solely on the larger boats with visible guards, she continued on.

Her first pick was the
Fireheart,
which she recognized as one of Blackwaters’ boats. Alyssa had considered him the Merchant Lord to watch most closely. Three men stood near the top of the plank leading to the boat. Two were asleep at their posts, the third leaning against the mast with his arms crossed, watching the water lap against the dock. Two torches burned from posts halfway up the ramp. Zusa smiled at the setup. No doubt they thought the presence of so many would deter thieves. She almost wished they’d spent some time in Veldaren, among the presence of true thieves. Then they’d realize how little their guard meant. But between Keenan, the merchant lords, and Lord Murband, all the good thieves had abandoned the city for more opportune ground.

Zusa loved vulnerable targets.

She dove into the water a hundred yards away, and with careful patience, drifted toward the boat. The water was cold, but not enough to cause her any harm unless she stayed in it too long. Unseen she brushed against the side of the boat and used her hands to steady herself from going underneath. Above, she heard someone snoring. Grabbing her daggers, she closed her eyes and waited. Through her lifelong training, she had gained the ability to traverse between shadows as if they were connected doorways. It took much of her strength, and had become harder with her turning her back on her god, Karak. But it could still be done, and upon the boat, there were many dark corners.

“I deny you,” she whispered, amusing herself with the thought that Karak actually heard. “But I take your power still.”

She dove underwater, swum directly beneath the boat, and then kicked toward the surface. Instead of striking the smooth underneath, she plunged wet and disorientated onto the deck. Taking in her surroundings, she leapt from behind a crate toward the lone alert guard. He’d turned, having heard the thump of her landing, but not yet realized someone had come aboard. Without slowing she lunged toward him, her daggers leading. One pierced his throat, preventing a death scream. The other slipped through his ribs and into his heart. The man convulsed for a few seconds, then fell limp at her feet.

The two sleeping sailors died where they slept, their throats slit. Afterward she paused, listening for any sort of alarm. She heard none, so into the hold below she went.

It couldn’t have been any more obvious. The hold was empty but for a single, solitary crate. Zusa tested its lid, but it was nailed shut, and she had nothing to open it with. Glancing about, she found a heavy sledgehammer and decided it would do. Surely no one would notice a minor commotion in the hold of a boat, not through its thick wooden walls. Lifting it, she smashed a hole through a side of the crate, then reached inside. It was mostly empty, and only after she pushed her whole arm inside did she touch several things along the bottom. She pulled one out and examined it. It was a simple leather bag, and curious, she opened its drawstrings.