A Dance Of Death s-3 Read online

  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.

  10

  Madelyn kissed Tori’s smooth forehead and then wrapped her swaddling blanket tighter as the commotion grew. Her husband had been in his study when the first shouts came from outside the front door, but while he no doubt rushed to investigate, she’d retreated further within her walls, clutching the baby to her chest. Her home was her sanctuary, her place of locked doors and safe walls. Already the Wraith had violated that sanctity. Would someone else be vile enough to do the same?

  “Go see what is causing that ruckus,” she told her nursemaid, Lily.

  “Of course,” said Lily, hurrying away. Two other servants were with her, and they stood patiently in the corners of the parlor, one tending the fireplace, the other waiting for orders. She tried to put them out of her mind, instead softly singing a lullaby to the already sleeping baby. After three lines, she stopped, for the commotion had grown louder, and Lily returned looking confused, yet trying to hide it.

  “Well?” Madelyn asked.

  “It’s Alyssa’s guests,” Lily said, the name immediately putting a rock in her stomach. “The newly married couple. They’re both bleeding.”

  Madelyn stood, angry she had not been summoned. To have guests in her house injured, yet not brought to her attention? Still, something was off with how Lily was acting. It reminded her of when Lily had been sleeping with one of the guards, that slight hesitance, her unwillingness to stare her in the eye for long.