“Have you killed?” he asked.
“No.”
“Have you raped?”
“No.”
“Have you tortured?”
No answer. So there were things here, deeds here. Cruelty. If he killed the boy would he free him? Or consign him to annihilation? Cade watched him for a moment. A choice must be made. It was so hard with the young. Kill them in their innocence and they are freed. Or are they? Is innocence ignorance? Mustn’t they be given the chance to decide, to choose their path and therefore their destiny? Cade felt sorry for the boy, but then again he felt sorry for all men.
But this one had no chance. And he was so much like . . . but leave that thought. Still, one day Cade would die. Who would take up the war then? Who would defy the lords of hell when Cade finally felt and went to the emptiness? For of course Cade knew that there would be no better world for him. Madness can be a fine thing. Cade knew he was evil.
Still, he could give the boy the chance.
“Raif,” his voice soft, “this is hell, do you understand?”
The boy just stared.
“In hell, all choices are hard.” He took a deep breath. “We will sit here, you and I, in your best hideout. We will sit here and you will tell me of the Sharp Side. Then we shall leave together. And together we shall kill them all.”
“All?”
“All. We might kill those we shouldn’t, but we must kill them all, or they will retaliate, against you, against me. The burden is mine. I ex- ceeded my allowed debt long ago. You shall have a chance.” And then he laughed. Laughed truly. For Cade would do it. He would free this boy of Sanctuary’s chains, let him roam and fight hell on his own terms. Give him a chance to be a hero as poor Targ was always dreaming of. Yes, that was it. He would do this as so long ago at the same age he dreamed of someone saving him. And Cade laughed harder. The sound reverberated in the dank tunnels, but somehow it was a comforting sound. It had power, and passion. But it was a gentle sound.