A Dance of Death (27 page)

But no, he was alone, helpless, and listening to the screams of his dying guards and servants. He had minutes until they stormed into his room. Or seconds. The Violet was still draining away, and without its presence, it felt so fucking hard to think.

“Deep breath, Ulrich, deep breath.”

He closed his eyes, forced himself to ignore the pounding of his heart, forced himself to think. His mansion was overrun. Already he heard heavy footsteps thumping up the stairs. He had to escape, to live long enough to bring together his fighting men, but how?

Opening his eyes, he spun about, putting his back to the door, and saw the heavy curtains across his bedroom window.

“Why not,” he said, rushing toward it as behind him a fist struck against the wood. The lock held, but it rattled, the strength of the bolt far from impressive. Heart in his throat, Ulrich yanked down the curtain and pressed his nose against the glass. He was on the second floor, and beneath the window was a large enough ledge to stand on. Grabbing his sword off the wall, he broke the window with the hilt, then stepped outside. Blood ran down his arm as his elbow caught on a jagged edge. He didn’t even feel it.

From the rooftop, he could better see what was going on. The gate to his mansion had been broken open, and he saw the trampled bodies of his guards beside the wreckage. A squad of men guarded the exit, while the rest poured into the mansion, with only a few circling about. Ulrich felt panic creeping through his chest, and he tried to ignore it. He thought for certain they’d have noticed him, but so far no one had. Running toward the back, and away from the gathered group, he looked for another way out.

Behind him, he heard shouts, and a quick glance showed the first of many mercenaries climbing onto the rooftop, having broken through the door to his room. Swearing, Ulrich hurried to the very edge of the roof, but there was no way down other than a painful fall. Worse was, even if he made it down, he’d have to climb over the iron gate surrounding his property. He might make the climb…or he might die with a blade shoved in his back as he desperately scrambled up.

Ulrich drew his sword, flung the scabbard to the ground, and held his weapon with both hands.

“Come on!” he shouted, wiping sweat from his eyes with his forearm. “I can still kill plenty of you before I die!”

Four mercenaries were up there with him, and they paused. For a moment Ulrich thought his threat had disturbed them, but then he saw their eyes were not looking at him, but beyond. Torn between curiosity and certain death, he clenched his jaw and refused to turn.

“Scared?” he asked them, and shockingly enough, it seemed they were.

And then the Wraith vaulted over his head, landing on the slanted roof with ease. His sword flashed in his hand, killing the nearest. The mercenaries rushed him, but the Wraith danced between their strikes, his cloak twirling to hide his presence. Another mercenary fell. The final two tried to run, but the moment their guard went down the Wraith lunged, shredding into them with his sword and kicking their bodies off the roof.

Done, the Wraith turned to Ulrich, who lifted his sword in defense.

“Stay away,” he said.

“No.”

“I said stay back!”

The Wraith laughed. All but his smile was hidden by the deep shadow of his hood, a shadow that seemed oblivious to the actual position of the sun.

“If you want to live, then put down that sword and follow me.”

An arrow sailed over their heads, and both dropped to their knees. Ulrich chewed on his lower lip. He was in no position to think clearly, not with Violet and battle lust pounding through his veins, but it didn’t appear he had any choice. Despite the bounty on his head, despite his killing of William Amour, it seemed the Wraith was willing to be an ally. But why?

“Lead on,” he said. “If you can keep me safe, I’ll reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”

“You don’t have the power to give me what I seek. But I will accept your help in smaller things. Now hurry!”

A few more arrows flew over, wild guesses to their actual positions. Running with his back bent, the Wraith led Ulrich to the southern side of his mansion, which faced the docks. From there, he saw smoke rising to the evening sky.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Ulrich asked him.

“You are not the only one in danger,” said the Wraith. “It seems Madelyn is trying to eradicate all the Merchant Lords from Angelport. I doubt she’ll be successful, stupid woman. How dare she think she could do such a thing in my city without my noticing?”

By the shouts inside the mansion, the mercenaries clearly realized Ulrich had fled to the roof. He felt trapped, but with the frighteningly skilled fighter protecting him, he still might have a chance. The Wraith peered over the edge, then rolled onto his back, his sword lying across his chest.

“Jump down,” he said, glancing over. “Roll when you land, and make sure you brace with your arms, not your legs. Better you’re unable to hold a sword than unable to walk.”

Ulrich nodded, and then the Wraith rolled off the roof to the ground below. A trio of mercenaries were passing underneath, and Ulrich watched as they fell in an explosion of gore. With them dead, The Wraith beckoned him to follow. Given no choice, Ulrich hung from the edge by his hands, then let go. He hit hard, and his right knee popped. Before he could cry out in pain The Wraith was there, yanking him to his feet.

“Run, you fool!”

With the Wraith pulling him along, they reached the fence. The top was lined with spikes, and Ulrich wondered how he was to cross.

“Here,” the Wraith said, offering his hands for Ulrich to step upon. “Run, and jump. Do not think, now do it!”

Over ten armed men turned the corner from the front, and they let out an alarm upon spotting the two by the fence. One let fly an arrow, and it clacked into the bars mere feet away. That was enough to get Ulrich moving. He ran, and when he planted his foot on the Wraith’s hands, he was stunned. It felt like he was stepping onto stone. As he moved to jump, he felt himself lifted, and suddenly he was sailing headfirst over the fence. He landed flat on his back, the impact blasting the air from his lungs. Tears ran down his face as he tried to stand. His right knee throbbed, and when he took a step with it, it buckled under his weight.

Before the mercenaries could arrive, the Wraith jumped over the fence, not needing a running start. Ulrich could hardly believe the sight. The man glared down at him, and for once his smile was gone.

“I told you to brace with your arms.”

“I know.”

The Wraith pulled him back up, and he let a bit of his weight rest on his shoulders.

“Move fast, and in rhythm. We must get you to your brother, where the battle still rages.”

Step by step they ran toward the docks, Ulrich feeling like troublesome baggage. As they came closer, he saw a great pillar of smoke, and his throat tightened.

“That’s my brother’s home,” he said.

“Stay calm. He fled sooner than most, and has gathered his men. He is why the others might live.”

“Why aren’t the city guard doing something to stop it?”

The Wraith laughed.

“Because Ingram has signed off on it, you dimwitted animal. They’ve rolled the dice together, hoping to wipe out your group forever. A desperate maneuver, really.”

Ulrich picked up the pace, limping along as fast as his leg could go. Rage burned in his chest at the thought of Madelyn striking against them. Perhaps she did so to protect Alyssa? The Trifect always stuck together, at least in the many years he’d paid attention to them. Was that Madelyn’s reward for saving Lord Ingram from their influence?

Stern’s home was far smaller than Ulrich’s, though his brother had an equal amount of wealth, if not more. He didn’t flaunt it as openly, but that didn’t mean his home lacked defensive measures. He, too, had a large wall about it, made of thick stone and topped with steel spears. The building itself was in flames. Sailors and lowborn men fought against the mercenaries, nearly outnumbering them two to one. Strangely, it was the Madelyn’s men trapped within the wall between the mob and the fire, not the merchants’.

“Stern came around back and ambushed them,” the Wraith said. “Very good.”

Something pierced Ulrich’s back, and he screamed as he collapsed. The Wraith immediately let him drop so he could face the new threat. Ulrich rolled to one side, and he caught glimpse of an quarrel sticking out from beneath his shoulder blade. Far down the street, several mercenaries gathered, one of them reloading a crossbow. Whether they had chased from Ulrich’s place, or come to help from elsewhere, he didn’t know, nor did it matter. The Wraith weaved side to side as he chased, avoiding a second bolt that wasn’t even close.

Warm blood pooled below him as Ulrich watched the mercenaries try in vain to match the Wraith’s wicked skill. Their swords were slow by comparison, each defense always seeming to be the wrong one. The Wraith feinted, took off the head of one man, parried a desperate lunge, and then whirled. Gore splashed across the ground as two more fell, huge gashes in their throats. Ulrich’s heart leapt as the crossbowman fired again, and this time it seemed his aim was true.

It didn’t take him down, and the bolt lodged in the Wraith’s side only seemed to increase in his fury. The remaining two died in a furious display, his sword severing limbs and tearing flesh with its frighteningly keen edge. The last of them dealt with, he fell to one knee, grabbed the shaft, and tore it free. He made no cry of pain. When he dropped the bloody projectile to the ground and turned, he was smiling.

Never before had Ulrich doubted the man’s mortality until seeing that smile.

“Can you stand?” the Wraith asked as he approached. “We must hurry if we are to turn the battle in your favor.”

His whole upper back throbbed with pain, and his right knee felt almost as bad. Gingerly he stood, bracing his weight on his left leg. The Wraith leaned down to help him, and Ulrich realized he was staring into the shadowed hood from mere inches away. So close, he could almost make out the features hidden beneath the unnatural darkness. As he reached for support, he brushed the side of the hood, just enough so he might see. His mouth dropped.

“You! But…”

A sword rammed through his throat, and his whole body went rigid, his arms and legs wracked with spasms. Ulrich’s vision darkened, then exploded with light. If not for the horrendous pain, he would have found it amusing how similar it was to a heavy dose of Violet. As it carried him, he heard the Wraith’s voice float away.

“You damn fool, you could have lived. You were useful…”

H
aern crouched on the rooftop as he watched the mansion burn in the night.

“What madness is this?” he wondered aloud. “Have you not had your fill of betrayal, Madelyn?”

He wore his assassin’s colors, his gray cloaks, and his hood pulled low. In the shadows of the fire, he felt himself the Watcher once more. At least the cursed city hadn’t stolen that from him, no matter the doubts it had brought him.

Zusa landed beside him, her long cloak trailing after her in the air.

“The other Blackwater’s home is damaged, but not destroyed,” she said. “I see two other houses burned, but both still stand. Men patrol them, and they are not Madelyn’s.”

“They failed then,” Haern said, pressing his knuckles to his lips as he thought. “Now the question is, how will the Merchant Lords respond?”

“They are not known for their forgiveness. No doubt Madelyn hides in her mansion, surrounded by what’s left of her mercenaries. With her high walls, she can survive anything they throw at her…assuming Lord Ingram does not intervene.”

“That man has lost all control of the city. Anarchy will soon follow if things continue as they have.”

Zusa shrugged.

“Then we will thrive in the anarchy. I think it’s time we made those in power fear our presence.”

Haern looked to the dying fire.

“Who will you go after?”

She grinned, and the eagerness in it was both frightening and exhilarating. Her face remained uncovered, for there seemed little point in disguising her identity.

“Ingram has given you an ultimatum, but he knows nothing of me. Alyssa has stayed in his dungeons long enough. Either he frees her, or I slit his throat.”

“He said if he dies, his guards are to execute every prisoner. That includes Alyssa.”

“Ingram is a coward,” she said, drawing her daggers. “And cowards will always give up every promise to protect their lives. You should have learned this by now, Watcher.”

Zusa turned and ran, leaping rooftop to rooftop toward the distant mansion on the hill. Haern watched her go, wishing he could share her reckless abandon. But he had his own man to find, a Wraith that had framed him for a vicious attempted murder. Let Zusa free Alyssa. He’d prove their innocence his own way. His instincts told him the Wraith would be lingering about the fires. No man could declare Angelport his, then ignore the bloodshed that had filled the streets during the day.

Haern dropped to the ground and began circling the compound. Every nerve in his body remained on alert, and his eyes scanned the deepest shadows. Twice he looped around the burning mansion, then moved on to the next place Madelyn’s men had assaulted. From his initial scouting of Angelport, he’d learned it belonged to Arren Goldsail. The attacks had gone worst there for the merchants. By the time Haern had learned of the attack, it’d been halfway over. He and Zusa had watched to the very end, unwilling to help either side. Arren had been dragged out from his mansion, strung up by his feet from the branches of a nearby tree, and then had his stomach slit open. They’d wrapped his intestines around his neck before he finally died.