“I got little money to live on while I’m here,” said Haern.
“I’m sure your friends’ll help you out.”
Haern laughed.
“That she will.”
Zusa fell upon the one blocking his way, her daggers slicing across his neck before he ever knew she was there. Haern spun, drawing his sabers. The other two men swore, unprepared for his vicious assault. Only one managed to defend himself, and Haern batted aside his weak parry with ease. He gutted the nearest, then kicked his head to knock him on his back to die. The other turned to run, but Haern was faster. His saber slashed heel, and down he went. The man rolled, then stopped when he hit a wall.
“You can’t do this,” he said, spinning over to face them. “You’ll hang, the both of you!”
Haern pressed a bloody saber edge underneath the man’s chin, lifting his gaze so they might stare eye to eye.
“If you have any sense, you’ll shut up now, before I slice out your tongue,” he said, covering his face with shadows from the distant, flickering torchlight.
The man swallowed, then carefully nodded.
“That’s a smart man. Tell everyone you know, whether they’ll believe you or not. Tell them the King’s Watcher has come to Angelport. Let the thieves know their time draws to an end. Every one of you risks death when you enter the shadows. The shadows are where I hide. Tell them.”
The tattooed man laughed, stopping only when Haern pressed the tip hard enough to draw blood.
“The thieves? Are you fucking stupid?”
“You can deliver my message, or I can write it with your blood across the wall behind you. Your choice.”
The man swallowed.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “Just let me go.”
Haern pulled back the blade and gestured for him to leave. He did, running at full speed away from the docks. Zusa joined his side, wiping her daggers clean on the dead man’s shirt.
“He is not to be trusted,” she said.
“Then what do you suggest?”
She knelt before one of the bodies and dipped her fingers into the gaping wound across his stomach. Once coated with blood and gore, she walked to the wall and began to write.
“Let there be no doubt,” she said, smearing the rest into a vague circle about the message.
Haern looked at the two dead men, feeling vague unease. Something about it all wasn’t quite right. He tried to tell himself it was no different than killing Brann Goodfinger, but the argument held little comfort.
“We’re done for now,” he said, sheathing his sabers. He glanced about, but no guards or drunken workers were near to see what they’d done.
“We have only begun.”
“Search if you must. After the trip here, I could use a good night’s rest. We’ve delivered the message you asked. What else could you hope for?”
Zusa gave him a disappointed look, and he tried not to let it get to him.
“To deliver it, again and again.”
Haern thought of killing more, and it put a bad taste in his mouth.
“This isn’t my city,” he said. “I’ve done enough.”
He left, and Zusa did not follow. Back at the Keenan mansion, he slipped into his room, stripped off his clothes, and climbed into bed. Several hours later, he heard the door open. Zusa slipped inside. He shifted over, to let her share the bed, but she did not. Without a pillow or blanket she slept upon the floor, still in her wrappings stained with blood.
5
Lord Ingram Murband listened to the guard’s report with a growing rage.
“You’re sure it isn’t this Wraith character I’ve been hearing rumors of?” he asked.
The captain of the guard shook his head.
“Different weapon used to kill them, plus a different name. Only one person’s lived to see him, but he also listed clothes that don’t match what the mercenaries at Keenan’s mansion saw.”
Ingram leaned back in his chair. They were in his modest throne room, for unlike most lords, he had no castle. The walls and water of the city were enough to keep him safe. His mansion was an impressive structure, however, with a surrounding wall built of stone imported all the way from Ker. In its center was his throne room, with no other purpose than meetings with various minor lords and commoners pleading for their simple definitions of justice.
“I won’t put up with this,” he said. “I want it dealt with, and harshly. Whatever the reason he’s here, we need the entire city turned against him before he sways any hearts.”
“What do you suggest?” asked the captain.
“Take it out on the prisoners, ten for every one. Make it public. I’ll bear their hatred just fine. Will he?”
“Very well,” the captain said, bowing low. “Shall I send in the first of your guests?”
“If you must.”
As the soldier left, Ingram rubbed his eyes. Things had grown so tiresome of late. First the Wraith was making his life a living torment, and now the mysterious Watcher of Veldaren had to come to his city. As if the elves didn’t give him enough trouble. Thinking of the elves, he wondered when their new ambassador would arrive. He’d been told to expect him today. He’d greatly appreciate restarting their talks.
The double doors opened, and in walked the two most powerful lords of the Ramere: Yor Warren, tall and thin, his oval face covered with a beard, and the other, Lord Egar Moss, muscular, dark-skinned, with two elegant rapiers hanging from his belt. Both bowed to Ingram, who gestured for them to continue.
“We’ve come as you’ve requested,” said Yor. “The elves finally gain some sense and accept our proposals?”
“Not quite,” Ingram said, leaving his throne. The three took a seat at one of the two tables in the room, with servants rapidly appearing to pour them drinks and bring them small meats and breads to eat.
“Then what are we to do?” asked Egar. His fingers twirled the hilt of a rapier, as if by habit. “Every week I must replace men riddled with arrows, all because they don’t want us to chop down a few trees or set foot in their sacred lands. Sacred. What a joke.”
“King Edwin refuses to declare war,” Ingram said, sighing. “In this, our hands are tied. We must reach a favorable agreement, for should war come we would stand no chance. Only if they seem the aggressor will the king come to our aid. Edwin knows of their aggressive defense, yet does nothing.”
“Probably thinks it’s our own damn fault,” Yor muttered. “You’re better off than I am, Egar. If my peasants even step within bowshot of the Erze Forest, they get an arrow through their throat.”
Egar sipped his wine.
“Given what they went through over in Mordan, it doesn’t surprise me. Still, such aggression needs to be punished. They came into our lands, built a home in our forests, and now deem them theirs without need to share. How else are we to build our homes, our ships?”
“Their ambassador should come today,” Ingram said. “We must show strength, and back down on nothing. The prosperity of our city depends on the resources they covet. King Edwin may fear war, but we will not. Besides, if the elves leave their forests, and begin burning fields and villages, he will have no choice but to interfere.”
“We play a dangerous game,” Yor said. “How do we know Edwin won’t leave us to our fates instead of embroiling Neldar in war?”
Ingram chuckled and shook his head, thoroughly amused.
“Because our king is human, Egar. No human would dare side with a lying, deceitful, worthless race of elves over his own kind. That’s as it should be, and how we must proceed in all matters with these heathen creatures. Let them worship the stars and trees like fools. We serve the true gods. Our progress is inevitable. King Baedan
