“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…”
17
Haern 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.
After watching that, Haern knew it was only a matter of time before the merchants retaliated, even if Zusa was right about the Keenan mansion being able to repel an attack. Given Haern’s distaste for both of them, he had no intention of stopping it, so long as the violence didn’t spill out among the innocents.
As he looked upon the ruins of the Goldsail mansion, lost in memories, he felt a tingle in the back of his mind. Peering over his shoulder, he spotted a hunched shadow, nearly invisible in the darkness. Someone was following him.
“Let’s play,” Haern whispered, suddenly bolting to his right. Figuring it was the Wraith, he moved at full speed, his legs pumping. He weaved through the quiet street, then cut into an alley. A glance behind showed no pursuer, but he knew that wasn’t true. That left but one place. Digging in his heels, he changed directions, running straight at a wall. Leaping into it, his knees pressed into his chest, he somersaulted into the air. As he’d guessed, his pursuer came crashing down from the rooftops, blades slashing. He hit nothing, unprepared for Haern’s maneuver. As Haern landed, he drew his swords, his eyes narrowing.
Whoever this attacker was, it wasn’t the Wraith.
“Why do you follow me?” Haern asked, his whole body crouched low and ready to spring, his sabers angled outward.
