selling wares and all.”
Haern replaced the sword, tilted his head in a manner of respect Alyssa had showed him, then returned to Zusa’s side. They were already making their way north, toward a large open square.
“You hear it too?” she asked him.
“Partly.”
Zusa shot him a glance.
“They’re calling for the Watcher.”
Alyssa crossed her arms, and she leaned closer to them so she might not be overheard among the din.
“Do nothing,” she said. “Watch, and watch only. If either of you are revealed, the blame is mine. I have no intention of spending my stay here in a dungeon. Let’s go.”
“Watcher!” the city guard cried again, a single man bellowing above the crowd. He stood atop a wooden platform, with five nooses hanging behind him. Haern felt his mouth go dry as a row of dirty, malnourished men ascended the stairs, their arms tied behind their backs. “Watcher of Veldaren, come forth!”
“What’s going on here?” Haern asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Zusa whispered.
Perhaps it was, but Haern didn’t want to believe it. The crowd quieted as the guard began crying out anew. Worse was the tattoo he saw on the city guard’s face, the same tattoo many of the city guard wore: a sword across the eye.
“Murderer, coward, and butcher known as Veldaren’s Watcher, know that Angelport is no place for you. We will not accept your presence. Last night, you slew two of our city guard and harmed a third. For every innocent man you attack, ten from our dungeons shall hang. So saith Lord Ingram Murband.”
The crowd let up a cheer at the hooded executioner’s arrival. As he slipped noose after noose over the heads of prisoners, Haern felt his hands shake.
“How dare they?” he whispered.
Zusa squeezed his hand tight.
“Criminals,” she said. “Outlaws. Their lives are nothing.”
Once bags were over their heads, the executioner stepped down and circled around to the back of the platform. Hanging underneath were ropes attached to thick planks of wood. With a pull on a rope, it’d drop open, allowing the man or woman above to fall. Meanwhile, the city guard walked from person to person, shouting out their crimes. Murderer. Thief. Rapist. The crowd cheered as the executioner took the first rope and wrapped it around his beefy arm.
He pulled, and the man dropped.
“Not in my name,” Haern whispered. “Damn it, not in my name.”
One after another the executioner pulled the ropes, until all five were dead.
“We killed guards,” he said, feeling his insides roil. “Not thieves. Guards.”
“We didn’t know,” Zusa insisted. It didn’t matter. Two dead guards, and the third left alive to deliver his message. Thirty men and women to die in return. Haern’s rage grew, and he tried to let go of her hand. She refused, instead pulling him closer. Alyssa glanced over, her face coldly passive, but she said nothing.
“No,” Zusa whispered. “Accept no blame, Haern. Stand and watch. This is the path we chose, and we will bear the consequence of our mistake together.”
Five more, their crimes read. The crowd cheered, the executioner did his work, and then they hung. As the bodies were carted off, and the next set brought on, Haern listened to their crimes.
Avoiding taxes. Striking a guard. Stealing food. Speaking ill of Lord Murband.
They were hanged like the rest. Still the crowd cheered.
“I can stop it,” Haern said. His sabers were clipped to his belt, and every part of him screamed to draw them from their sheaths. “I can kill them all.”
“You will die,” Zusa said.
“It doesn’t matter. I could still…no. Ashhur help us, they cannot…”
Two of the next five were children, no older than ten. The executioner had them stand on stools above the trapdoors. They were called thieves as their heads were covered with bloody cloths. When the first rope pulled, Haern took a step forward. It didn’t matter he had no disguise. It didn’t matter there were hundreds of guards crawling about. Another child still stood with a noose about his neck.
“No!” Zusa cried, blocking Haern’s way and grabbing his head with her hands. He clutched her wrists, but she was strong. They stared face to face, Haern nearly delirious with anger. Her gaze held him, the force of her will incredible.
“We are the ones who own the night,” she said, pressing her forehead against his. “We are the ones with blood on our hands. Look at me, just me. Ignore all else. We are the reapers, the demons, the dark shadows wielding steel. We will not be denied our vengeance, but it is
The crowd cheered, and he felt oblivious to them, lost in a sea of dirty faces and black hearts. Her eyes were beautiful, though, and he wished he could lose himself within. But even there, he saw the child drop, the noose snap taut, followed by the image of that other lone child in Veldaren. His victim…
“When?” he asked, trying to control his fury. “And how can we do what must be done when every guilty man I kill leads ten more innocents to their deaths?”
Zusa offered no answer.
Alyssa stepped between them, and she motioned for them to go.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said as they left the gallows. “But you cannot let Ingram’s madness deter you. The Wraith must be found and killed.”
“And what of Ingram?” Haern asked. “Do you think I’ll let such an act slide?”
“He killed thieves and criminals to send a message, same as you. You’re hardly any more innocent than him, Haern. Don’t get yourself killed trying to prove otherwise.”
Her words stung far deeper than she could have possibly known. Haern pulled away from Zusa and stormed off. Zusa softly called his name, but he ignored her.
“Are you watching, Watcher?” the city guard cried behind him. “Do you see the fruits of your labors?”
He did, enough of it anyway. Wanting to be as far away as possible, he wandered the streets north, toward Angelport’s entrance. On his way, a thief, probably not even out of his teens, slipped beside him and reached for the coin purse in his pocket. Haern’s hands reached for his sabers, but the thought of killing put a cold grip about his heart. Instead he slapped the thief’s hand away, whirled, and grabbed his throat.
“You should be dead,” Haern said. “Now go.”
“Fuck you, mister,” the thief said, knocking over two other kids as he fell back. His demeanor weakened at the fury in Haern’s eyes, and he fled down the street without another word. Haern glanced at his clothes, fine silk and soft cotton, and realized he did look the noble. More than ever he wished to return, put on his old clothes, and vanish amid Veldaren’s crowds. Not wanting to be anywhere near the Keenan mansion, he passed through a second gate. The guards let him go with only a salute, but the same could not be said for those whose clothes were stained with dirt and whose hands bore the calluses of the docks.
“That’s a good lady,” one of the guard’s said, dumping half a mother’s collection of coins into his palm before tossing the worn bag at her feet. “Even whores need to pay their taxes, aye?”
The woman nodded, her heart clearly not in arguing. Haern swallowed hard, and his hands itched to draw steel. The thought of ten more swinging from the gallows moved him on. His walk took him to the city gates, and he heard a growing commotion from them. Mildly curious, he wandered closer. As he did, the crowd parted to either side of the road, and not wishing to stand out, Haern did the same. A trumpet sounded, and then he saw the first of the elves.
They walked with their heads held high, their fine clothing glittering in the sunlight. They wore earthen tones, greens and browns, but highlighted the fabric with gold trim, their belts shining with silver buckles, their ears glimmering with emerald rings. Among them were the warriors, their leather armor well-oiled and intricately decorated. Large swords hung from their backs, except for those wielding bows slung over their shoulders. Among them were elf men and women riding horseback, their lords and leaders, all heavily flanked by warriors.
Haern stood in awe of the spectacle. He could only begin to guess why they had come. He counted at least a hundred, closer to two. At first the human crowds watched, also in awe of the wealth and majesty before them. Then came the many shouts, first hesitant and from the back, but the anger and hatred spread like wildfire.
