David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

“I’ve defeated dark paladins, mercenaries, and even fought the Watcher to a standstill. I fear no dungeons, Alyssa, no jailors. When I return, it will be with Haern, my promise unbroken.”

Without another word she grabbed her daggers and dashed down the hall.

In pure darkness Haern sat and listened to the distant moans. He could see their vague shapes through the bars of his cell, lit by light of slender windows that he now lacked. Not long after Alyssa’s departure, the jailor had come with a few bricks to jam into the window.

“Consider yourself lucky,” the jailor had said. “They just want it dark. No clubs or pins for you. Damn shame. I’d have loved to make you sing.”

Haern had given him no reply, for he had no fear of torture. He was the King’s Watcher of Veldaren, son of Thren Felhorn. To think a single lowly jailor could break him in a day was insulting.

Hour by unknown hour, time passed. Haern tried praying to Ashhur, but each time he thought of the kid he’d killed in Veldaren, and of those who’d swung from gallows, his name on the lips of their executioner. His prayers stumbled and ended. Worse was Senke’s amulet of the Golden Mountain. They’d taken it from him before chaining him to the wall. He would have given anything to have that meager comfort hanging from his neck. Thinking of Senke only opened old wounds, and he tried to push the memory away, no easy task in the suffocating darkness. All the while, the wound in his shoulder ached with steady throbs.

If he slept, he didn’t know it, but he must have. Something pressed against his shoulder, and he startled awake. He saw nothing close, but then a voice whispered in his ear. The sound chilled Haern’s blood, and for the first time, forced him to admit how vulnerable and helpless he was.

“Greetings, Watcher,” whispered the Wraith. Haern could almost imagine his grin floating beside him. “I must admit, finding you chained like this disappoints me greatly.”

“Why are you here?” Haern asked, keeping his own voice a whisper. He had no doubt the Wraith would execute him immediately should he try to catch the attention of the guards.

“To talk to you, of course. Why else? I’ve given some thought to our last discussion, and I feel I judged you too quickly. I cannot have misread you so thoroughly after your domination of Veldaren. You see, Watcher, you’ve been dragged into a game with many pieces, yet you are ignorant of their positions on the board. There are few rules, and already you’ve broken one.”

“And what rule is that?”

“Never, ever let compassion blind you to the truth.”

The Wraith chuckled. Something slender and sharp ran along Haern’s neck. When it pricked open a tiny cut, Haern didn’t even flinch.

“Tell me, Watcher, do you know why the elves are here? How about the Trifect? Do you think Alyssa came here solely because of me? And what of the Merchant Lords? Have you wondered about their part to play in this, or do you even know who they are? You would condemn me for killing members from all parties, yet you know so little. You killed leaders of the Trifect and the thief guilds. The men and women I kill are no less guilty.”

The side of the blade smacked the side of Haern’s face, and he felt blood trickle down his cheek from another cut.

“Tell me, how am I different than you?”

“I never reveled in my killings.”

“You are wrong,” the Wraith whispered, his tone chilling. “These killings give me no pleasure, no joy. Perhaps with some of them I am amused by their deaths, but they are the truly despicable. Surely you cannot deny the same feeling as you slaughtered Veldaren’s worthless scum.”

Haern turned toward the Wraith, and in the darkness, he thought he could see the faintest outline of the man’s hood.

“Then why the grin?” he said.

“In the face of such madness, what can one do but smile?”

“And kill.”

The Wraith laughed.

“Yes, and kill. Kill, as you have killed. Inspire fear, as you inspired fear. That night, I went to administer the same justice you have dealt out a hundred times. Why did you defend them, Watcher? I have tried to discover the answer, but nothing I’ve come up with seems satisfactory. Was it truly what you said?”

“Innocents would die. I had no choice.”

“Innocents always die. Do you think your little games in Veldaren harmed only the guilty?”

“Not children!”

A hand pressed over his mouth.

“Quiet, fool,” the Wraith whispered. “Such outbursts…and why do we speak of children? Does your conscience suffer? Is that what prevents you from thinking clearly? Children suffer through the actions of their fathers and rulers. Nothing will ever change that. Would you let the faults of this world prevent you from fixing that which can be made better? You coated your swords with blood to end the struggle between the guilds and the Trifect. Why do you hesitate to do so again?”

Haern closed his eyes and tried to think. Too much made sense. Too much of what the Wraith said struck home. Did he really think he’d been above it all when he slaughtered members of the thief guilds? He’d done it in the name of peace and safety. What of the Wraith? What guided his actions? The man was right; he knew far too little of the games nobles and merchants played in Angelport. Swallowing his pride and anger, he spoke words that tasted bitter on his tongue.

“What is it you hope for? If I’m to help you, I must know the end you seek.”

“The end is precisely what I seek. You’ve walked into a house of cards, Watcher. I will bring it all crumbling down. Every piece, every player, seeks to flood Neldar with drugs and war. Ask questions. Open your eyes. If I told you, you would not believe me, so hear it from their own lips. Then come to me, and try to tell me I am in the wrong.”

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.”