Redclaw spun and fought in the largest group, his long arms leaving afterimages of red with each slash. Each kill, each step, some leapt to attack Redclaw, while many more fell to their knees and shoved their noses to the dirt. But not all focused on him. Many-Bruises’ pack rushed Redclaw’s, and with them bowed face to the dirt, Redclaw’s faithful would die in seconds. Cyric shook his head, knowing he should not be surprised by the pitiful creatures’ stupidity and stubbornness. It was like trying to teach a child a complicated truth. There’d always be a few who’d never believe, no matter how intelligently explained.
“You defy a god!” Cyric yelled to Many-Bruises’ pack, lifting his arms to the sky. Cracks split the earth, and they belched fire as the wolf-men leapt over. Dozens burned, and others yelped and fled. About a third continued on, clawing and biting at the bowed members of Redclaw’s tribe. Others rushed through their ranks, their target solely Cyric, who smirked at their approach. A handful of wolf-men sought to take down Karak’s physical manifestation? They’d have better hope of ripping the moon out of the sky with their claws.
Cyric crossed his arms over his chest, summoning his magic, but was given no chance to use it. Another pack of wolf-men struck from behind, overcoming them with impressive speed. In moments the entirety of the Gathering either knelt in submission or lay bleeding. From the ranks of Redclaw’s tribe emerged Warfang, who dipped his head low before Cyric.
“I see the strength given to Redclaw,” he said. “I would have that blessing.”
“What of Karak?” Cyric asked him. “What of your faith to the moon?”
“The moon would let us die this night,” Warfang said, glancing upward. “The moon has never blessed my claws with fire. I trust what I see. I will bow to Karak.”
“You?” asked one of the dying wolf-men that lay near Warfang’s feet, his intestines piled in his paws. “You would bow to a human?”
“I bow to no human,” Warfang said, his eyes meeting Cyric’s. “I bow to a god.”
Careful with this one, thought Cyric. He knew Redclaw intelligent for his kind, but this one might be even wiser. Still, he’d slain his attackers, and professed faith. Such things should not go unrewarded.
“Kneel,” he told Warfang. The wolf-man did so as Redclaw returned to his side, the gore on his fur sizzling. Cyric put a hand on Warfang’s head, and he bestowed a fraction of the strength given to Redclaw. Warfang breathed in deep, and when he flexed his claws, they flared red, like embers being blown upon.
“To all of you who kneel,” Cyric cried, taking a step back. “To all of you shoving your snouts into the dirt, professing faith to a name you have never known before, know this! Your faith is weak, your knowledge pitiful. But you will still be blessed! You will learn of the god you serve. You will gain wisdom and power beyond anything your kind has possessed since the day the gods waved their hands and bade you to stand. You were made for war, and I will bring you that war again. The humans beyond the river, they are weak, and tremble at the thought of you crossing into their lands. But you will cross the rivers, you will tear down towers, and you will surround their villages and farms. Those who do not bow, as you have bowed, must know death. Bring it to them!”
“We are one tribe now,” Redclaw said as Cyric fell silent, and the hundreds of wolf-men rose to their feet. “Not Warfang, not Many-Bruises, not Gutdancer. One tribe, Karak’s tribe, and Redclaw is his champion!”
Chants filled the clearing as the burning wolf-man climbed the bones and let his full strength flare.
Redclaw! Redclaw!
Cyric frowned, even though he knew he’d blessed Redclaw for such a reason. Beside him, Warfang stood with his mouth open, chest shaking, a gesture he recognized as laughter.
“Careful,” Cyric whispered to him.
“Glory to Karak’s champion,” Warfang growled before resuming laughing. “All the glory…”
Later that night, Cyric sat before an enormous bonfire. It was the pile of bones, used by the wolf-men in their heathen ceremonies. With a wave of his hand, Cyric had set it to burning, commanding the dead and dying to be thrown into its flames. Not all of them, of course. His wolf-men were hungry. A few had grumbled seeing their sacred bones destroyed, but not many, not after the display they’d just witnessed. Not when they could count the dead being tossed into the fire.
Redclaw hunched down beside Cyric, a large slab of meat in his left hand.
“Am I to be like this even when asleep?” the wolf-man asked, the grass where he sat shriveling black from the heat. “Can I not touch a mate without burning her fur?”
“The power is yours to control,” Cyric told him. “So control it.”
Redclaw growled but did as commanded. He closed his eyes, brow furrowing from concentration. Slowly the red glow faded from his fur, the tips of his claws becoming the deep brown they once were. When Redclaw opened his eyes, his lips pulled back in a macabre smile.
“Better,” he said. “But I am still not pleased. You blessed Warfang. Why?”
Cyric stood so he could step closer to the fire, feel its heat against his skin.
“You dare to question a god?” he asked.
“When a god does stupid things, I question, yes.”
Cyric shook his head.
“You are not the only wolf I may use for my ends, Redclaw. Remember that the next time you would insult me. Warfang was faithful, and with his aid the disjointed tribes will be far more loyal. Nearly four hundred wolf-men, all blessed in some way for when we cross the river. With your speed, your strength, we can swarm the North and crush armies ten times your number. But your faith must be strong. Karak’s name must be on their lips…not Redclaw’s.”
“I am fire,” Redclaw said. “I am their champion. Why not let them cry my name?”
In answer, Cyric stepped into the bonfire. Bones crushed beneath his feet, and the flames licked at his robes. The fire swirled across his skin, like sand blowing across a desert, and not a hair on his body was burned. Cyric turned about, let Redclaw see.
“Because I cannot be burned with fire,” Cyric said, pleased to see the wolf-man intelligent enough to fall to his knees. “I am of the Abyss, Redclaw, and your strength is my strength, and mine alone. Send out runners, and gather every wolf-man scattered about the Wedge. I want them here, all part of a single, unified army. And when we march into the first village, one of very many, I assure you, I want to know that it will be my name my army cries out in worship.”
“They will worship Karak,” Redclaw said. “I promise.”
“No,” Cyric said, shaking his head. “Not Karak. Karak made flesh. Cyric.”
“As you wish,” Redclaw said, the tips of his fur glowing. “Forgive me, I must go see that my pups are well fed.”
“You are a father?” Cyric asked, honestly surprised. He thought the brute would be a solitary creature for some reason.
“Two pups,” Redclaw said. “They are not old enough for names. But they will have them soon.”
“Do you know what you’ll call them?”
Redclaw hesitated, then nodded.
“I do,” he said. “But only if you are who you say. Only if we conquer. Manslayer and Manfeaster, they will be called.”
“Names to be feared throughout the North,” Cyric said, and he smiled. “Though if we conquer, perhaps you should name them after the god that has led them to such glory.”
“Perhaps,” Redclaw said, and left without saying more.
5
“It is a stupid thing to shut me in here,” Valessa said as Darius prepared his bed.
“I’m sorry if my snoring keeps you awake,” he said. “But surely it isn’t that bad.”
“I do not sleep.”
Darius shrugged.
“Well, then never mind about the snoring.”
“Just because I do not sleep doesn’t mean the sound is pleasant.”
Darius laughed. He pulled off his armor piece by piece, setting it beside his bed. His sword he put by h
is feet, and was careful not to touch it for long. He didn’t want its light to burn Valessa, for though she would not admit it, he knew it caused her tremendous pain.
“You once served Karak,” Darius said, easing into his bed, which was really a cot with a bit of extra padding. “Surely you can understand Daniel doubting you, especially after all he saw at the Blood Tower.”
“You once served Karak as well,” Valessa said, crossing her arms. “How easily they forget.”
“They haven’t forgotten. I’ve proven myself. You haven’t.” Darius opened an eye, closed it. “You’re not going to stand over me like that all night, are you? Just because you don’t have to sleep doesn’t mean you get to be weird.”
“Damn fool.”
After that there was silence, and that was enough for Darius to know she’d left. Sighing, he got up from his bed, took a look around to confirm she was gone, and then hurried out of his tent. Finding her would be difficult, especially if she didn’t want to be found. She could make herself look like any man or woman, and cover herself with the finest of dresses or the lowliest rags. A frightened part of himself urged retrieving his sword for safety. Valessa still insisted she’d take her revenge against him. Was he being a fool for trusting her so?
Darius shook his head. Enough thoughts like that. Looking about the tents, he tried to think where Valessa would go. She’d want to be alone, he knew. His gut told him she also wanted to be herself, not Vale, nor any other disguise. On a hunch he headed from their camp at the edge of Willshire and into the village itself. Nearly everyone was asleep. Away from all the soldiers that looked to him for leadership, and free of the eyes of villagers who saw him as their only savior, he felt himself relax. Forget finding Valessa, it felt good to be walking alone through empty streets. His walk took him through the center of town, and he stopped to stare at the pit of ash where he’d beheaded Conn. But Conn wasn’t the only person he’d killed there. He’d fought Valessa to a standstill, slaughtered a dark paladin of Karak, and even chased away Cyric.
He shook his head. Burning that altar had been the best thing he’d done.
Continuing north, he found a large barn. It was in there the people of Durham had been imprisoned to await their sacrifice upon the altar. Darius had hidden with them, and he remembered their anger and betrayal when they first saw his face. He’d been at Velixar’s side as Durham burned to the ground. The memory made his heart ache, and he tried to remember the fiery altar, remember saving Jeremy Hangfield and his daughter from the sacrificial dagger.
But of course it hadn’t been him. One of the other soldiers, Gavin, had fired his bow to stop the descent of that blade. Darius had stood frozen amid the crowd, terrified of making a mistake.
“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?” Valessa said.
Darius looked up to see her hunched on the rafters, wearing the visage of her true self. She was dressed in plain grays, just like when she was a member of the gray sisters.
“You do anything stupid, it’d be my fault,” he told her. “And I do enough stupid things on my own, I don’t need the help. Come on down.”
She shook her head.
“Daniel is a stubborn fool. If I stay here instead of your tent, he won’t be the wiser, and honestly, I’d rather be anywhere in the world than beside you right now.”
Darius sighed.
“What is it?” he asked. “What did I do? Is it because of my sword earlier?”
Her silence was answer enough.
“You told me to do that,” he said, feeling his temper rising. “You said to show how I could control you. You can’t get mad at me for doing what you told me to do.”
“You still don’t get it.”
She turned so her back was to him. Darius stepped deeper into the barn, climbing atop a few bales so he was closer to her, and faced her once more.
“There’s a lot of things I don’t get,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm. “I don’t get why Jerico let me live. I don’t get why Ashhur allows such horrible deeds throughout the world. And I don’t get women. So please, help a paladin out.”
When Valessa looked up, a black cloth covered her face, hiding much of her features.
“You hurt me to show I would not hurt them. But all of it was a lie, and you know it. No comfort. No truth. Just a farce pretending at control. If I wanted to, I could kill this whole village, every man, woman, and child. Only you could stop me, only you. I offered to stand there to appease Daniel’s weakness. And stand there I did. If you must, I told you. If you must. You could have said no, but you didn’t. You needed that pathetic display as much as Daniel did, and I’m a fool for thinking you were better than him.”
She was blaming him? Darius’s temper flared, and he couldn’t control it this time.
“So I’m to protect you now?” he asked. “The woman who says she does not fear pain, and still vows to take my life once Cyric is gone? Who are you to me, Valessa? Just a lost, broken killer, tossed and abandoned by the same god that abandoned me.”
The second Darius spoke the words he felt a cold slap. Looking up at Valessa, her face hidden by her dark veil, he realized how lost she must feel. He’d felt it himself. He remembered holding his blade aloft with a cursed hand, begging for flame, begging for strength. He’d prayed until he cried, determined to feel the presence of his god just one more time.
“Valessa…” he started to say.
“Get out,” she interrupted. “Get out, now. I have failed Karak again and again, and you are the reason. It is because of you I know no peace in death. It is because of you Karak turns his back to my prayers. You are a wretch and a betrayer. Do not try to drag me down with you.”
Darius climbed down from the hay and made his way to the door.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, pausing. “But what of Cyric? What does that make him? Karak cannot both bless him and deny him, only one or the other. And you stood at his side.”
“A red star hangs over your head,” Valessa said. “And a black one over Cyric’s. That is my purpose now. That is my way to salvation.”
Darius chuckled, even though he felt so very tired.
“I know an easier one,” he said. “Stay here, if you must. If Daniel complains, I’ll tell him to either trust me, or get rid of me. And if you’re willing to endure their anger and sorrow, you can walk about as yourself instead of Vale. It’s not like any of them can hurt you. Just promise you won’t hurt them in return. It’s not their fault. The last time most people here saw you, it was at Cyric’s side, and you were the one holding the sacrificial dagger.”
He left, shutting the barn door behind him. He heard no answer.
The next morning, he awoke to people shouting his name and shaking his tent. Stumbling off his cot, he stepped out into the painful daylight. Several men gathered about, and they looked furious.
“It’s her,” one said. “The one from that night. She’s come back.”
“And?”
They looked at him, baffled. Darius shook his head and gestured.
“Lead on.”
Upon the pile of ash sat Valessa, wearing her true face. About twenty surrounded her, throwing stones that passed right through her. Darius pushed to the front as several asked for his sword. Valessa looked up from where she sat, then leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. Another stone passed through her forehead and out the back. Though it caused no pain, he saw her wince ever so slightly.
“I never should have been at his side,” Valessa told him, answering his unspoken question. Another stone, followed by a dagger. The calls for his holy blade grew.
Darius left the group, ignoring their requests.
“Darius!” shouted Daniel, having joined the ruckus. “Where are you going?”
“To get breakfast. Come hollering if she causes any harm.”
“You said she’d not show herself!”
Darius shrugged.
“Looks like she changed her mind.”
S
ir Gregane stepped into his lord’s bedchambers at first light. He’d been woken in his room by a servant and told to come, and quickly. Normally he’d have been annoyed by such an interruption, especially since they’d just arrived at the Castle of the Yellow Rose, but his dreams, what little he remembered of them, were dark and brutal. Upon awaking, he’d gasped in air and grabbed the wrist of the servant shaking him.
Now composed, and dressed as best he could at such short notice, he crossed his arms behind his back, stood to his full height, and addressed his lord.
“You called for me?” he asked Sebastian.
Sebastian looked up from his desk by the window. The shutters were open, and the soft breeze made the dwindling candles on either side of his desk dance and shake. Instead of bedclothes, Sebastian was already dressed for the day, and by the dark circles under his eyes, and the lengthy parchment before him, Gregane guessed he had been awake for some time.
“How many are left?” Sebastian asked him.
Gregane frowned, caught off guard. How many left of…
“A hundred,” he said, realizing what Sebastian was asking. “A hundred men, more than half wounded from the battle. Plus your guard here, that puts us at a hundred and fifty.”
“And how many serve my brother?”
Gregane thought back to the siege, his second confrontation with Lord Arthur and his men. It’d seemed like such a small force they faced, but then had come Kaide’s ragtag army, followed by the most horrific of all: the backstabbing mercenaries and paladins of Karak.
“When we lost, they did not have great numbers,” he said. “But our siege had prevented many various houses from joining Arthur’s side, plus Kaide’s forces could not appropriately arm or train themselves. But surely you received the same notices I did on my march here. The Marylls have pledged their swords to Arthur, as have the Cranes and the Elliots. Not the most fearsome of houses, but together they’ll prove formidable. Our loss emboldened our enemies.”
The Broken Pieces Page 4