David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

Ulrich smiled, and he clapped the young man on the back.

“How solid is your rule over your family’s estate?” he asked.

Flint’s cheeks flushed.

“I have many brothers,” he said.

“If anyone gives you too much trouble, you come to me. Consider that a favor for your help.”

Flint nodded, looking relieved.

“I will,” he said, and he smiled. Such an eager kid, thought Ulrich. Good thing he got to him before Arren did.

“Come on,” he said, glancing back to see Stern discussing matters with Warrick in a far corner of the room. He frowned, but then hurried to hide it. “We should go find ourselves a place to drink the night away in celebration of your new position.”

“Will 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.