the corner, waiting, but it was a trick of the light. Laughing, Ulrich dressed himself. As he was fighting with his twitching fingers to button his shirt, he heard shouts from down below. At first he thought it was the rest of the merchants, thrilled about his discovery, but he hadn’t told them yet. Then what?
The clang of steel pierced his haze. Fighting? Screaming? But why?
He opened his door and stepped out. From his balcony he looked down and saw armored men rushing in through his front door, fifty of them at the least. The few guards he had were fighting valiantly, but they were badly outnumbered.
“Shit,” Ulrich said, and he spoke it so calmly it surprised him.
He dashed back into his room, slammed the door shut, and pushed in the lock. Hitting his head against the door, he tried to think, to understand what was going on. Nothing was coming to him. The King? The Trifect? Who would dare strike against him? He felt his hands reaching for the pouch with the Violet, but it was empty, and screaming, he flung it against the door. His troops, his loyal men that he’d had Darrel buy, were still scattered throughout the city, awaiting his orders. Gods damn it, he needed them
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.
