David Dalglish - A Dance Of Death

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.

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.”