“I...” Darius pulled her shoulder, saw the marks of the lion clawed across her back. “Shit.”
“Please, help. I don’t want to die like this.”
Darius gently laid her back down.
“I can’t,” he said. “I don’t even know what you are, Valessa. I don’t know what I can do.”
“Not that.”
She reached with her good arm to the blade that lay dark beside her, lifting it up an inch before dropping it. A shadow passed over Darius’s face.
“No,” he said. “We’ve won. We’ve crushed them and retaken the tower. We’ll beat Cyric next, and it’ll be you who cuts his head off, I promise. And after that, you can spend the rest of your unnatural life trying to kill me.” He laughed. “We’ll make a game of it, right Valessa? You’ll keep trying, I’ll keep living, until we both get bored and I get old…”
A shiver ran through her. This was not how she wanted to die. The Abyss was waiting for her, and she would not be safe from its cleansing fire.
“Do it,” Valessa said. “I won’t be a coward, and I won’t let that damn lion be the one who kills me.”
Darius reached for the blade, and his fingers touched the hilt. It shone a soft white. For an instant she felt the light bathe over her, burning away the pale color of her flesh and exposing the shadow swirling beneath. And then Darius released it.
“No.”
He turned her over, and she did not resist. His bare hands pressed against Lilah’s cuts. The pain of it was intense, and her fingernails clawed against the dirt, periodically sinking through to fall into the earth itself. And then she heard him pray.
“I’ve never healed anyone before,” Darius whispered. “And forgive me if I’m insane to do so now.”
Valessa had felt the light from Darius’s blade burn her. She’d felt Cyric reach into the core of her being and try to rip it to shreds. This was beyond any of that pain, so strong her body felt paralyzed. Darius’s hands dipped into her, and amid her delirium she heard his gasp. The paralysis suddenly stopped, and with strength born of pain she flung herself onto her knees.
Screaming, screaming, always screaming.
The light on her back wasn’t leaving, even though Darius’s hands no longer touched her. It was growing, burning away everything. She beat against the dirt, and from her eyes fell tears that shimmered red like the blood of the sun.
“Stop fighting it!” she heard Darius shout, as if from a different world.
Fighting what? She didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Fight against the pain? It was killing her, consuming whatever darkness that was her. And he wanted her to let it? So be it. She fell onto her haunches, arms out at the sides, and shrieked out every shred of her misery and torment and anguish and abandonment that had consumed her since that terrible moment her god had demanded she take the life of a simple wayward paladin named Darius.
And then, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. She collapsed onto her back. Afraid, she lifted shaking hands before her eyes. Her skin was pale as it always was, but she knew something was different. Something had changed. Sitting up, she forced away the false flesh, the afterimage of herself she superimposed across her vessel.
Her hands were made of shadow like always before, but not quite. Swirling amid it was an equal tendril of white, shining like the light of Darius’s sword. All across her shadowed body snaked the tendrils, like two opposed serpents hopelessly entwined. And then it faded, and her hand was flesh once more. The pain she’d felt every moment of her existence was gone. Curling her knees to her chin, arms wrapped around them, she looked at Darius and wept. The tears ran down her face, and when they landed atop her knees, they alternated silver and blood.
“What am I?” she asked, voice trembling. “Gods help me, what am I?”
8
Jerico was just sitting down to eat his dinner when they came requesting his presence. The warmth of the fire before him was tempting, but the hard bread he held in hand was not, so he tossed it aside and stood.
“Lead on,” he told the soldiers who’d summoned him. “Though I’d like to know why.”
“We were not told.”
Jerico shrugged his shoulders and followed as they wound through the increasingly large camp. They stayed on the road now, for the Castle of the Yellow Rose was growing steadily closer, and there seemed little point in hiding. What had been a small force now resembled an army, with bannermen slowly arriving with each day to pledge their men to Lord Arthur. Today had seen the largest group so far, three hundred or so, flying a yellow and black checkered flag. Jerico had a hunch that Lord Arthur wanted to introduce him, as he had when others joined. He was their mascot, their good luck charm. Everyone wanted to kiss his feet and touch his shield.
The skies were dark, but a fire glowed within the great tent in the center of the camp. The guards let him pass without inspection, so in Jerico stepped, and was immediately welcomed.
“Ah, now he shows,” said Arthur. Despite the gray in his hair, he looked more lively than when Jerico had first met him, trapped in his castle by his brother’s besieging army. Grabbing the paladin by the shoulder, he pulled him closer into the light of the fire. “Jerico, I’d like you to meet Kevin Maryll, one of my youngest and finest bannermen. Kevin, this is Jerico of the Citadel.”
Kevin was indeed young, though still older than Jerico. He looked to be in his early thirties, his hair dark, his short beard darker. He had a soft face, but his eyes were hard when he bowed low and offered his hand in greeting.
“It seems all the North echoes with stories of your greatness,” Kevin said.
“Are they still getting the name wrong?” Jerico asked.
“At times,” Kevin said, smiling. “Though at least they agree on the redness of your hair. I’d have known who you were without ever hearing your name.”
It was flattery, all of it, and for some reason it annoyed Jerico tremendously. His dinner might not have been the most appetizing, but at least it was better than parading about like a particularly magnificent horse. How long until Arthur had him performing tricks for carrots? The thought was unfair, of course, but he couldn’t stop it.
“While I’m here, anything to eat?” Jerico asked. “Maybe some carrots?”
Sure enough, Lord Arthur feasted far better than his men, and offered Jerico whatever he wished from a table set beside the fire. Tired from the days of march, and more so the nights spent greeting soldiers, bannermen, children, and hundreds of common folk wishing to fight alongside Kaide the Cannibal and his blessed paladin pet, Jerico didn’t bother with any particular manners and just ate where he stood. His thoughts still surprised him. By Ashhur, he was getting cranky. More than ever he missed his little services at Durham.
Arthur and Kevin talked while Jerico ate, and trying to pull his mind out from his own childish grumblings, he listened in on their conversation.
“Sebastian’s put a call out for any able bodied man that remains loyal,” Kevin said, settling into one of the chairs brought in and set before the fire. “I’m sure you can imagine how much of a hurry such an order has inspired. Everyone expects you to win now. No matter what Sebastian’s done, he can’t seem to crush you. Defeated you in the field, put siege to your castle, yet still here you are, on your way to his very doorstep.”
“I’ve been blessed by good men who have fought and died for me,” Arthur said. “I am humbled knowing so many rally to my name.”
“And Kaide’s,” Jerico interjected.
Arthur glanced over, his look placating.
“And Kaide, of course,” he said. “We cannot forget the rebel.”
“We’re all rebels now,” Kevin said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What is Kaide like, anyway? I suppose I should meet the man who’s raised the peasant army. Is it true he is a cannibal?”
While Arthur had been placating, Kevin’s tone was purely dismissive. Jerico thought of all Kaide had suffered, all he’d lost, trying to help Arthur in overthro
wing Sebastian. His underhanded tactics in particular had caused immense pain to Sebastian’s men, disrupting their supplies of food and clean drink. Jerico’s opinion of Kevin was forming rapidly, and it wasn’t a good one.
“It is,” Jerico said, his appetite souring. “He’s the most bloodthirsty vicious monster you’ll ever meet wearing the skin of a human. They say his blood-thirst is greatest when he’s slicing into the flesh of his victims, and that to enter his army you must cut a sliver of your own belly, cook it over a fire, and then set it on your tongue for five minutes. It’s how he builds the loyalty of his men, introducing them to his twisted fetishes. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking that dagger of his to your skin in particular, Kevin. So smooth, so pale, I bet he’d tell me it’d taste just like…”
“Like what, pray tell?” Kaide said, shoving open the tent flaps. His hair was tied behind his head in a ponytail, and his eyes simmered with fury. Beside him was a man dressed in armor, his hands bound behind his back. Jerico felt his neck flush. He knew Kaide hated the title, hated the stories, but the growing shock in Kevin’s eyes as he told his little tale had been too amusing.
“I’m sure what Jerico says is all in good humor,” Arthur said, trying to calm both Kevin and Kaide. “No one in my army feasts on human flesh, and I won’t permit talk that says otherwise. Forgive us, Kaide, and please have a seat, or pour yourself a drink if you desire.”
It was only then that Arthur seemed to realize another man was with Kaide. Arthur reached out his hand to offer greeting, then froze.
“Sir Gregane?”
Jerico knew that name well. Sir Gregane had led Sebastian’s armies in both the siege at the Castle of Caves as well as the first battle in the Green Gulch. Jerico dared entertain a moment of hope. Why would Sir Gregane be there other than to offer terms of peace?
“It is good to see you, Arthur,” Gregane said. “Twice now we’ve fought as enemies, though I pray today we leave as friends.”
“You were always a good man,” Arthur said, turning his attention to Kaide. “Untie his hands. He is no threat to us here.”
“He rode to the edge of my camp and asked to speak with you,” Kaide said as his dagger easily sliced through the rope. “He carries a message he swears is for your eyes only, but I’d appreciate knowing what it reads.”
“And you have every right to hear it, as do all those here.” Arthur gestured to Gregane. “Whatever your message is, deliver it now.”
Gregane handed over a rolled piece of parchment.
“I assume this is from Sebastian?” Kevin said. “There’s no seal.”
“The handwriting is his,” Arthur said as he began to read. His brow furrowed deeper with every word. After finishing, he started anew, this time reading aloud so all could hear.
“My brother, I write this now hoping that of all the errors of my life, delaying this letter is not one of them. Your army is the greater. Of this, I am no fool. Spare me, and I will cede to you our family holdings, and all control of the North granted to our protection by King Baedan. If you accept, I beg that you make haste, and arrive at my castle while the North is still mine to give. Save me from these priests that would kill me, brother. The Lion eyes a nation of his own.”
Silence followed. The four men looked to one another as Gregane stood perfectly still, awaiting an answer.
“It’s a trap,” Kevin said, breaking the spell.
“I can assure you it is no trap,” insisted Gregane.
“Which is what you’d say if it was a trap.”
“I will have no petty bickering,” Arthur said, turning his attention to Jerico. “He speaks of the Lion eyeing a nation of his own. What do you think he means, paladin? Why would he ask us to save him from their priests?”
Jerico’s heart hammered in his chest. He thought of how Luther had arrived with his dark paladins, priests, and mercenaries, and then crushed Sebastian’s army just when victory over Arthur was within his reach. Sebastian, who had been so loyal to Karak. But eyeing a nation of their own…
“We have to do as he says,” Jerico said. “Now.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I assume Gregane could tell us, if we let him. But Luther wants the North to himself, doesn’t he?”
Gregane nodded.
“They’ll raise their swords against you,” he said, “so long as milord Sebastian writes a will leaving all his lands and titles to the temple of Karak. If not…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what they’ll do if we refuse. But Sebastian is convinced they’ll kill him.”
“Ashhur grants me knowledge to the truth of a man’s words,” Jerico said. “Gregane does not lie.”
“Perhaps Gregane doesn’t, but Sebastian might have lied to him,” Kevin argued.
“This is preposterous,” Kaide said. “We know the temple hates Sebastian, even if we don’t know why. We saw them crush his army. Now they come for him, and he begs us to save him. I wonder, though, what happens after we’ve weakened ourselves fighting such a powerful foe? What happens when Sebastian’s forces exit the castle afterward, demanding we surrender?”
“The seal,” Kevin said. “There’s no seal on that letter. It isn’t binding. Sebastian could always claim it was a forgery even if we managed to present such an argument before the King.”
“And we’ll have killed members of Karak’s temple,” Kaide continued. “Suddenly we have dark paladins of the Stronghold swarming into the North with a vengeance, and all we’d have to protect ourselves is one lousy paladin.”
Gregane looked furious, but clearly knew his arguments carried no weight in that meeting. There was no guarantee that Gregane even knew Sebastian’s true plans. He could just be a piece in a larger game. Jerico listened to their arguments, and he knew there was a shred of truth to them. Sebastian had shown a lack of honor before in sending assassins after Arthur. But what could he have done to earn the ire of the temple? Jerico shook his head. It didn’t matter. His own talks with Luther were enough to convince him of that. He thought of Luther ruling all the people of the North, passing their laws, controlling their fates. A terrifying precedent to set.
“We can’t let this happen,” he said. “It doesn’t even matter if it’s a trap. We can’t risk it. I know the man who leads Karak’s followers. He’s brutal, and dangerous. If he’s wanting to conquer the North, then we need to take action before he can consolidate power. This is Sebastian’s only hope to stop him, the one thing he knew Luther would not expect.”
“My brother is a self-centered coward,” Arthur said. “This isn’t him.”
“Then perhaps for once he is trying to be brave. Don’t spit in his face.”
“I’ll spit in it if I damn well please,” Kaide said, his neck turning red. “I don’t care about gods, Karak, or Ashhur. I’ll even side with Jerico that Luther needs to die after what he did to my sister. But you promised me Sebastian. I have thousands of men and women, all waiting to see me hoist that tiny little shit’s head by the hair over the walls of his castle, before slamming it down on a pike. Arthur, you cannot spare the life of your brother. It’s no longer yours to spare. It’s mine now, mine alone.”
“And who are you to tell a lord what they can and cannot do?” Arthur asked.
“The man who’s filled the ranks of half your army.”
“Filled them with farmers and sheep herders. Not warriors, not real soldiers like those my bannermen bring me. Only one in ten even has a sword.”
Jerico could feel the situation spiraling out of control, and he had no idea how to stop it. What could he do to fix their distrust, especially when much of it centered on Sebastian, a man proven to be particularly untrustworthy? He begged Ashhur to give him words, because he had no idea what to say.
“Enough,” he said, loud enough to startle them all. “Forgive me, all of you, but this bickering solves nothing, and it never will. Whether or not this offer is real, we must show haste. Karak is friend to no one here, and the temple’s treachery to su
ch an ardent supporter like Sebastian should prove that. Arthur, if what he says is true, your rule over the North is in far greater jeopardy than it ever was before. And if Karak’s army joins Sebastian instead, they will be a force that could crush us without need of walls or gates. The best thing we can do is to get to your brother’s castle and hear this offer from his own lips.”
“You won’t,” Gregane said. “He’ll be dead by then. I know it, as did milord.”
“If any priest kills my brother, I’ll hang their heads for all to see for a hundred years,” Arthur said. “But tell me, paladin, what happens if we rush into an ambush in our haste?”
Jerico shrugged.
“Then we’ll have a fight on our hands. Has that frightened you before?”
Kevin stepped between Jerico and Arthur, and he spoke low, and hurried.
“Do not listen to his folly,” the bannerman insisted. “He just wants to enlist us into his own conflict with Karak’s temple. Your brother is grasping for straws to save his life. This is his last trick. Do not fall for it!”
Arthur breathed in deep, and Jerico sensed he’d come to his decision. He prayed it’d be a good one.
“No matter what the truth is, dallying here does not help us. We’ll wait for no more lords to join us, and march flat out toward the Castle of the Yellow Rose.” He turned toward Kaide. “As for my brother’s life, I will hear from his own mouth the reasons for his aggression and betrayal. Removing him from power, and stripping him of all his lands, should be more than you ever hoped to accomplish when you first started this foolish conflict.”
“Do not cheat me a death,” Kaide said, his voice cold. “I will have vengeance, whether you try to stop me or not.”
“I do not take kindly to threats, even from close allies.”
“Not a threat. A damn fact.”
Kaide stormed out, shoving the flap of the tent out of his way. Jerico wanted to go after him, but the man wanted none of the comfort he had to offer. He wanted revenge, not forgiveness. He wanted death, not life.
“What of Sir Gregane?” Jerico asked.
The Broken Pieces Page 7