“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.”
“The Wraith,” Haern whispered when she removed her hand.
“Will he stop us?”
He shook his head.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Then let us hurry.”
He heard a clinking sound from above as Zusa began picking the locks of his chains. Haern kept his breathing steady as his pulse began to rise. No matter how many guards Zusa and the Wraith took down on the way in, escaping would be no easy task. The sheer fact that it was still daylight would prove problematic. With a loud rattle, one of the chains slipped loose and hit the floor. Further down the corridor, several prisoners called out in mocking tones.
“How bad is your wound?” Zusa asked.
Another chain slipped free, this one carefully brought to the ground. Haern tested his shoulder, and he had to bite his tongue to hold in a pained cry.
“Not good,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Can you run?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not if you want out.”
“Then I can run.”
The last of the chains loosened from around his body. Despite Zusa’s care, their rattle seemed thunderous in the stone cells.
“Who you got with you?” someone shouted from nearby. “You got yourself a whore?”
Zusa grabbed Haern’s hand and pulled him to his feet. His wounded shoulder throbbed, and he gingerly touched it. His fingers came away sticky and smelling foul. Most likely infection, thought Haern. Fantastic.
“Where are my things?” he asked.
“At the front, I believe, still guarded. We’ll get them on our way out. Ready?”
“Ready.”
She took off at a blistering pace, her hand firmly clutching Haern’s wrist. From the darkest reaches of the dungeon they emerged into torchlight, and their passing raised a ruckus from the prisoners, who hooted and hollered. At a doorway he saw a guard slumped against the wall. Blood coated his neck and chestplate. Zusa paused to listen for any approaching guards.
“He your doing?” Haern asked.
“Was unconscious when I found him,” Zusa said, glancing at the dead guard. “I only cut his throat.”
If any guards heard the ruckus behind them, none came to investigate. Haern dared breathe a sigh of relief.
“Come,” Zusa said, pulling him along. They passed two more bodies, and Haern had no need to ask what happened to them. One lay on his side, the other on his back, both with huge gashes across their throats. At the major cross-section of the dungeon, they stopped again. To their left and right stretched rows of cells, while ahead was bright light, and escape. Behind them, more prisoners shouted in either encouragement, anger, or jealousy.
“The guards remain there,” Zusa whispered.
“How did you get by?”
She pointed toward one of the side tunnels.
“Shadows are my doorways, but I cannot take you with me.”
Haern didn’t like the thought of killing more guards, and any more prisoners hanging, but he prayed Ashhur would forgive him.
“Get me my swords and cloak,” he said. “We’ll cut through.”
He saw her glance at the wound to his shoulder, and he shook his head.
“I can fight through pain. Now go!”
She strode ahead, letting go of his hand to draw both her daggers. At the doorway, a guard stepped out, no doubt to finally check why the others had not silenced the prisoners. Zusa caught him flat-footed, one dagger ripping open the belly beneath his breastplate, the other piercing his windpipe to choke down his death rattle. She kicked him aside and then ran on. Haern followed.
Three more guards sat about a small a table, a rack of weapons and crossbows behind them in the small
