Traver strode up to him, squeezing Kyel by the arm. “This is bad,” he said. “But there’s worse up top. You need to come see it.”
Kyel nodded, too ashamed to respond. He knew Traver suspected he’d murdered Craig. The captain didn’t have any proof to support his hunch, but the suspicion was there, written in his eyes. Kyel followed Traver out of the dungeon and onto the stairs, walking in silence all the way to the surface. They emerged from the stairwell into the fire-fed shadows of the courtyard.
Kyel stopped and glanced around in an attempt to get his bearings. The ward was roiling with soldiers and smoke, the garish flames of bonfires casting tortured streaks across the ground. The scene was chaotic, a turmoil of commotion. There was a lot of dead, he realized. The bodies of the fallen littered the inner ward, blood winding through channels in the cobbles. In some places, the dead were piled up on top of each other.
A gruesome corpse lay only paces from his feet. The face was locked in a rigid scream, the skin blistered and oozing. Kyel recognized the man: it was the soldier who had called him a darkmage to his face. He couldn’t guess the cause of death, but he could tell it had been awful. Kyel took a step back away from the corpse. Then another.
“Kyel!”
He turned to find Meiran rushing toward him, Cadmus following as fast as his portly carriage would allow. She looked relieved to see him. “Where have you been?” she demanded, looking him over as if assessing him for injury.
Traver said warily, “I found him in the dungeon. Craig’s dead. So’s the priest.” He shifted his weight nervously over his feet, glancing sideways at Kyel.
Meiran’s face went slack. She looked from Traver to Kyel. “Are you injured?”
Kyel shook his head, looking out at the mass of bodies sprawled before him like a personal vision of hell prepared just for him. “No.”
Meiran looked at Traver, demanding, “What happened?”
“Darien escaped and carved his way out of here.” Traver sounded more frustrated than upset. “It’s not pretty.” He pointed to where gray-cloaked men were dragging corpses toward the edge of the yard, laying them out along the wall.
“Darien did this?” Kyel whispered in dismay, eyes raking over the carnage. It sunk into him then: this was all his fault. If he hadn’t killed Craig and the priest, then these men would still be alive. Their deaths were on him. Aghast, he turned his back on the grisly scene, covering his mouth as he resisted the urge to vomit.
“What about the woman?” Meiran asked.
“She’s dead. They burned her,” Kyel responded woodenly, glancing at the nearest clump of bodies. Some of them appeared melted, as if doused with acid. Some were still smoldering.
Traver said, “I thought the magic field didn’t work here. How did Darien do any of this?”
Meiran looked around, surveying the extent of the damage that surrounded her. “This wasn’t the magic field that did this. Darien used the Onslaught. Maybe when he killed the priest…”
Kyel continued his relentless study of his boots as her voice trailed off.
Traver threw his hands up. “That’s it, then. I can’t keep either of you safe. You’re both powerless here, but apparently they can come and go as they please. And after what we just did to the pass, you can expect they’re going to retaliate.”
“What did we do to the pass?” Kyel looked up at Traver in concern.
“We blew the powder and brought half the mountain down on top of them.”
Kyel stared at the man. Then his eyes shot toward the dark ridgelines in the distance. Alarmingly, the view was very different than he remembered. The number of casualties…
Kyel spun away. He couldn’t look at Traver. Darien’s people had been evacuating through the canyon. He wondered how many had been buried. How many civilians. He felt betrayed. He’d given his word to Darien that his people would be safe. He’d never thought Traver or Craig would go that far, stoop to such depths of dishonor. He’d underestimated them.
“How many…?” he whispered.
“At least eight thousand casualties. More if we’re lucky.”
Lucky? Kyel closed his eyes as the number seeped in. He felt a numbness in his belly that clawed at his heart. So much evil. He gazed around at the corpses of the fallen. There was no right side. No good choice. It was all wrong, from every perspective. He felt sick that he’d ever been a part of any of it.
“Prime Warden, we need to get you both off the mountain,” Traver said quickly. “Before they come for us.”
Meiran shook her head, her face resolute. “No. We’ll stand with you. But not here. Take us someplace outside the node. Somewhere we’ll have a good view of the approaches.”
Kyel stared after the corpses being dragged across the yard, wondering how Meiran could think they could make any bit of difference. If Darien could do this … Kyel knew there was no way they could defend against that kind of power. That kind of malice.
“I’ll take you to the old keep,” Traver announced. “It’s far enough back behind our lines, you should be reasonably protected. Any difference you can make, well … I’d sure appreciate it.”
Darien threw back the tent flap and emerged into the shadows of day. Seeing him, a score of men sitting around a coal-fire clambered to their feet. One of them was Sayeed, and the look on his face was painful to see. It rekindled the rage inside Darien, along with a profound sense of shame. He’d led Sayeed to believe that his nephew would be safely returned. He’d been wrong about that, just as he’d been wrong about everything. Darien knew that he alone was to blame.
“I’m sorry,” he said. There was nothing else to say.
The Zakai officer let out a beleaguered sigh and shook his head. “Their hands are stained with blood, not yours. You are not to blame for their treachery.”
Darien couldn’t accept that. It was too easy; it gave none of the responsibility back to him. “I should have anticipated this. It’s my fault.”
“It was their fate,” Sayeed insisted, laying a hand on Darien’s shoulder. “Don’t trouble your heart, Brother.”
Hearing the man label him ‘brother,’ even in the face of his failure, brought Darien to new depths of shame. Anger and guilt burned together in his chest, scorching a hole right through him. “I promise you, Sayeed: Iskender will be avenged. I’ll boil their blood and scatter their ashes on the winds.”
Sayeed stared at him hard, a mercurial expression in his eyes. At last, he said, “There is a saying: ‘Anger begins with madness, but ends in regret.’”
“Not this time,” Darien disagreed. “This time, my anger has no end.”
He heard a scraping noise behind him and turned to find Byron Connel standing amongst the cluster of men. The Battlemage strode up, clasped him roughly by the arm, and jerked Darien back in the direction of his tent. Darien didn’t have a choice about going along with him. He glanced back at Sayeed as Connel propelled him through the flap.
Inside, Connel ripped off his shoes one at a time and threw them into a corner. Seeing him, Azár ducked through the partition. Connel sat down heavily on the floor, gesturing for Darien to follow. He seated himself across from the man.
Azár came back in with a tray in her hands, her eyes flashing in alarm. Wordlessly, she served tea. Connel lifted his cup to his lips without a word of gratitude as Azár seated herself at Darien’s side. She was keeping her gaze lowered, Darien realized. For some reason, that incensed him.
He reached up and took his wife’s face in his hand. Purposefully, he lifted her chin until she was staring unblinking into his eyes. A proud smile touched her lips. With renewed confidence, she turned to stare openly at Connel.
The darkmage didn’t seem to notice the interaction. Either that or he didn’t care. He sat gazing down into his cup as if seeking there for insight. Without looking up, he said, “Did you really mean what you said out there?”
Darien frowned, not certain what he was referring to. Then it occurred to him: Connel had walked u
p just when he was avowing vendetta to Sayeed. “Every word,” he said, and meant it.
“Good.” Connel’s eyes snapped up to lock on his own. “Because I’m going to give you the chance to scatter all the ashes you want.”
Darien set his cup down, his interest piqued. “Go on.”
Connel obliged him. “We’re going to hit them hard. I want you and your Tanisars to spearhead the assault. Your mission will be to penetrate their lines and encircle the keep. We’ll come behind you and mop up anything that’s left. You’re going to need to create as much shock and terror as you can. Strike enough fear into their hearts, and they’ll collapse before you. Can you do that?”
“Aye.” The hunger in his voice made Azár turn to stare at him.
To Darien, the plan sounded exhilarating. It was exactly the thing he needed, exactly what he craved. He wanted to plunge his sword deep into the heart of his enemy. He wanted to repay them pain for pain. He couldn’t help but smile, the thrill of anticipation making his blood burn hot.
Connel set his cup down on the rugs. “Get your forces ready,” he commanded, rising to his feet. “They’ll be expecting us to be licking our wounds. They won’t be expecting an attack.”
Darien followed him to his feet, assuring him, “I’ll scatter those ashes for you.”
The Battlemage nodded. “I’ll see you in the Rhen, Darien. Or I’ll see you in hell. Whichever comes first for us.”
Darien watched him leave as Azár pushed herself up off the ground. She stood gazing at him darkly, her expression resentful. She wasn’t the type to stay behind and wait. He couldn’t blame her.
He asked, “Would you be willing to stand and fight at my side?”
Azár’s eyes widened, her cheeks flush with excitement. She gazed at him with open gratitude on her face. “I would be honored to fight at the side of my husband,” she said solemnly.
Darien smiled, feeling a vast swelling of pride. “Good. Because I know exactly how to use you.”
Lightning flared as their horses rounded a bend in the mountain’s side. A chill gust of wind came up from the direction of the Black Lands, beating at Kyel’s back. It was the same oppressive wind he remembered from the first time he’d ever looked upon the pass. Not much had changed. This was still the closest to hell he’d ever been.
He could see the foundations of the old keep above on the ridge. It was a sad and eerie sight that looked as charred and pathetic as Myria’s corpse had. Below, they had a sweeping view of the canyon, and all the way out to the plains beyond. From this elevation, the landscape looked enormous, unfolding before them like a great black heaven dotted with pinpoints of light. Kyel pointed downward, uncertain what he was looking at.
“What’s all that?” he asked.
Traver nodded in the direction of the grasslands. “The combined armies of Southwark and Chamsbrey.”
Kyel’s brow furrowed in confusion. “When did they arrive?”
“Yesterday.”
He glanced back and forth between Traver, Cadmus, and Meiran, his gut tightening. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“Because you’re too honest, Kyel,” Meiran snapped, reining in her mare and turning back to look at him pointedly.
“What does that mean?” He didn’t like the look on her face, or the accusation in her voice.
“It means you wear your feelings on your face. We couldn’t share our plans with you. Otherwise, we would have never gained Darien’s trust. He’d have seen right through you in a heartbeat.”
“So you left me in the dark on purpose.” Kyel shook his head, feeling almost sorry for her. The betrayal he felt almost seemed to justify his actions back in the dungeon. Almost, but not quite. Nothing could justify that.
Meiran turned her horse, starting up the trail toward the old keep. Kyel kicked his mount forward, coming up beside her. “I’m your Sentinel, Meiran. You can’t just keep me in ignorance.”
“If you want to be treated like a Sentinel, then start acting like one,” she snapped.
He made no attempt to mask the anger and resentment her words provoked. He’d been trying so hard for so long. But he felt hindered at every turn. Mostly by Meiran … sometimes by Cadmus. Usually by both. He was tired of the blame. Tired of the ridicule. Especially by people he felt he could no longer respect.
“I’ve tried, Meiran,” he said. “But I’ve been having a hard time understanding some of the decisions you’ve been making lately.”
The Prime Warden stopped her horse and cast a withering stare his way. “You don’t need to understand. You don’t even have to agree. All you need to do is exactly what you’re told. Can you handle that, Grand Master?”
Kyel gritted his teeth. “Aye.”
He looked at Traver, who glanced away. Then he looked at Cadmus, who returned his gaze steadily and sadly. Kyel sagged in his saddle, feeling conflicted. He’d half a mind to turn his horse around and ride back down the mountain. Only, he had no idea where he would go. He felt lost and without direction. He was embroiled in a conflict, and he didn’t agree with either side.
They dismounted and led the horses the rest of the way up the slope to the ruins. The wind whipped up again, battering Kyel’s cloak as he brought up the rear of their procession. Forks of lightning revealed the broken structure that awaited them. Not much was left, Kyel saw. Only two walls of the keep remained standing. The tower had collapsed entirely, now only a pile of rubble.
The wind exhaled a great, exhausted sigh.
By the time they gained the keep’s ruins, Kyel’s hands trembled with cold and fury. He took one last glimpse behind then followed Traver around a crumbled wall. There, he gazed down into a wide hole in the ground, what had once been the basement of the fortress. Now mostly filled in with broken rock and glistening black shafts of charred wood.
They tied the horses up along the gutted wall and made camp in a corner protected by the wind. There was no roof, no floor. Just dirt and charred embers, crumbled stone and bitter memories.
Glancing around, Kyel grumbled to no one in particular, “What good can we do here?”
Traver didn’t look at him. In fact, he was making a conspicuous study of not looking at him.
Meiran did, though. She fixed him with the same, insufferable expression. “We’ll do whatever we can do, Kyel. Defensive shielding, creating diversions, healing the wounded—whatever the moment calls for.”
Kyel wondered at the wisdom of that. Their new position wasn’t very defensible, and the open basement could be easily overrun. He doubted it would be wise to draw attention to their location.
They carved a firepit from the ashes and made camp around it. Cadmus rummaged through his pack, finally producing a loaf of bread and a sack of jerky, passing it around. Traver took a good-sized hunk of meat and tore off a bite with his teeth. He poked at the fire with a stick, his face hardened. He hadn’t said a word since they had gained the fortress. He threw the stick down in the fire.
“I’m going to go scout around,” he announced, his face grimly set. He flung his gray cloak back over his shoulder. He stabbed a glance at Kyel. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“All right.”
Kyel stood up, dusting his hands. He didn’t like the way Traver was acting. He glanced at Meiran and, at a nod from her, started after Traver. He followed the captain out of the lee of the crumbled wall and into the infernal wind. Traver turned back, taking a quick measure of him, then motioned for Kyel to follow. They found a trail that wound around through the wreckage then cut down toward the backside of the ruin.
The wind faded as they moved behind the protection of an outcrop. Kyel walked behind Traver, taking his time about navigating the narrow path leading down the steep embankment. There, almost at the cliff’s edge, was a large boulder that Kyel remembered well. He used to sit upon that rock often, just to think. Every crack and grain of its texture was familiar to him.
“I remember this place,” Kyel said, reaching out to touch the worn surfac
e of the boulder. “I used to come here with Darien.”
Traver turned toward him, and Kyel saw that the hardness hadn’t left his eyes. If anything, it had crystalized. Kyel drew his hand back, alarmed. He glanced at the cliff. Then he looked back at Traver, unsure of his intentions.
“I need to ask you something,” Traver said, his voice more serious than Kyel had ever heard it.
“What?” Kyel sank down onto the rock, ice clawing at his chest. He thought he knew what Traver was going to say.
Traver dropped to a crouch in front of him, until he was at eye level with Kyel. He leaned forward with a hand on the pommel of his sword. “Back in the dungeon … I noticed something that struck me as odd,” he said slowly.
Kyel’s eyes lingered on Traver’s hand. He felt a sudden, ghastly chill. The rock scarp beside them seemed altogether too close.
Peering into Kyel’s eyes, Traver asked him directly, “Where did Darien Lauchlin get a longbow?”
Kyel swallowed, looking down. The world stabilized, its motion jarring to a halt. And then it condensed, contracting until the only thing left was the condemnation in Traver’s stare. Kyel couldn’t move. He kept his eyes fixed on Traver’s hand.
“Why’d you do it?” Traver asked, picking up a fist-sized rock. He turned it over in his hands, eyes coldly examining it.
“Because they shouldn’t have to die in darkness!” Kyel spat, leaping up. It was an open admission of guilt, but he didn’t care anymore. He’d had enough. He wasn’t the one in the wrong here. Out of all of them, he was the only one in the right.
“I disagree,” Traver growled, and hurled the rock.
An explosion of sparks erupted across Kyel’s vision, glittering bright.
29
Xerys’ Shadow
The demons on the wind howled like ravenous dogs, shrieking and gnashing, ripping up the topsoil and flinging it at the Spire of Orguleth. At the mountain’s base, thousands of soldiers stood, overwhelming the plain, their backs to the wind, faces to their fate. At the end of the march, there would be a dawn. For most, it would be the first dawn they’d ever looked upon. For others, it would be the last. It didn’t matter; the wind wailed at them all indifferently.
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 110