David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

“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.”