The Broken Pieces

by David Dalglish

  “You won’t die to them,” he promised. “You’ll die on your terms, and only after Cyric, not before.”

  “Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” she said.

  “It is a promise I can keep,” he said. “If you’ll help me.”

  Two hours before dawn they rode up to Tower Red, just a pitifully small band. Daniel’s men welcomed them warmly despite the early hour. Many were led to the docks without a moment of rest, to board boats kept waiting all that time.

  “Was it worth it?” Daniel asked Darius as he met him at the gates.

  “Worth it?” Darius said. “Thirty will live that might have died. Yes, it was worth it.”

  “Funny, then, that you don’t look so eager to celebrate.”

  “I said it was worth it,” Darius said. “I never claimed it was easy. Get us to a boat. I want to be miles from here when Cyric comes with his damn wolf-men.”

  Daniel clapped him on the back, eliciting a groan of pain.

  “You try to do too much, paladin,” he said. “It’ll get you killed one day.”

  “Better to die trying for too much than dying old having done too little,” Darius said, earning himself a chuckle.

  “You’ll get your chance,” Daniel said as they approached the docks. “Once we hit Tower Silver, we’ll be abandoning the river, instead making a run toward the Castle of the Yellow Rose. I’m sure you’ll get plenty of opportunities to die along the way, you and your demon girl.”

  18

  They marched out at dawn, and Jerico felt like a sheep among wolves as they passed by Lord Arthur’s camp. He kept his armor on, and his mace clipped to his side. Against the glares from the other priests and paladins it was meager protection. He touched his shield often, and only from its soft light did he receive comfort.

  “Help me out here,” Jerico muttered to Ashhur. “I think I’m in way too deep.”

  Luther had made it clear he was a guest, so he walked to the outskirts of the camp and waited. Many men saw him, and it didn’t take long until Arthur himself arrived.

  “Jerico!” he called out, and the relief was palpable in his voice. Amid it was guilt, and despite everything, it made Jerico smile.

  “Rule well,” he said. “Rule fair.”

  And that was it. He gave him no other wisdom, no other knowledge of why he lived or where they were going. He’d thought briefly of trying to enlist Arthur’s aid in fighting Cyric, but Luther appeared insistent on dealing with the mad priest on his own. Was it pride? Jerico didn’t think so, but then again, he couldn’t pretend to know Luther all that well.

  “I will,” Arthur promised as he walked away. “I would have you proud of me.”

  Luther’s army marched along the road, well-disciplined and well-supplied. Jerico knew without a shadow of a doubt it could have crushed Arthur’s army, without need for walls and castles. Luther’s plan had been flawless, and after Arthur’s death, it wouldn’t have taken long before Sebastian was reinstated as their puppet ruler, always in fear for his life. That all this had been abandoned because of Cyric only reinforced how great a threat he was to the North, if not all of Dezrel.

  Jerico kept to the rear of the army, with the rest of the mercenaries. Most paid him no heed other than the occasional glare. Far better that than the aura of loathing he felt from the priests and paladins at the vanguard. When they stopped for their midday meal, a young squire found him sitting amid the grass far from the road.

  “My master, Luther, asked that I ensure you have enough to eat and drink,” said the freckle-faced boy. As he said it, he offered a waterskin as well as a wrapped package that smelled of smoked meat. Jerico took both and thanked him, and in silence he ate, enjoying the momentary privacy. Before him stretched fields of farmland, stopped only by a distant pine forest. They traveled to the river, and from there they’d head north. Jerico wondered how Darius fared. He’d gone to the Blood Tower in hopes of removing the bounty on his head, and he must have been there when Sir Robert was overthrown. Had he survived? If so, where was he now?

  As Jerico wondered, he saw a thin trail of smoke rising from the distant forest. He thought little of it, and then came the call to resume the march.

  Come nightfall, Jerico wanted to do little more than stretch out his sore legs and sleep in the soft grass. Instead the same squire returned, inviting him to Luther’s tent. With a sigh, the paladin agreed, and to the north of the army he went.

  “Welcome,” said Luther as he stepped inside. “I am glad you chose to join me.”

  “The last time I was in your tent I tried to crush your skull with my mace,” Jerico said. “Are you sure I should be so welcome?”

  Luther lay propped up on pillows, his face pale. When he spoke, each word came out labored.

  “I remember,” he said. “You promised to kill me, if I recall correctly. That is why you should never promise to take another’s life. The gods might decide to amuse themselves.”

  Whatever wound he suffered was affecting him greatly, and Jerico could tell he was worse off than the day before. He knew he should ask, but didn’t want to. Part of him enjoyed seeing the priest in pain, as much as it shamed him.

  “What is it you want?” he asked. “Or am I here just to reminisce about good times?”

  Luther shifted the pillows so he might sit up higher.

  “I have not known many paladins of Ashhur,” he said. “But all I met were the same. Men who thought they were good. Men who thought they were better than everyone about them. Most of all, they hated the very sight of me. You were different. Even when you were my prisoner, you did not look upon me with hatred, not that first time.”

  He shook his head.

  “Now you are like all the others. The world will not weep for your passing, Jerico. Not anymore.”

  Jerico breathed in deep, and he begged Ashhur for patience. There was some truth to Luther’s words, however bitter they were to hear.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I should not hate you, and it shames me still. But I don’t hate you for what you are, Luther. I don’t hate you for the robes you wear, or the god you worship. I hate you for what you’ve done to me. I hate you for what you did to Sandra. You took her from me, and for what reason? A colder, crueler man I have never known. Ashhur asks that I love all the world, from the sinners to the kings. In this, I fail him. In you I see little to admire, and nothing to love.”

  Luther listened to this with his head bowed and his eyes downcast. When Jerico stopped, silence lingered between them, broken only by Luther’s raspy breathing.

  “I have thought often of her since that day,” Luther said when Jerico stood to leave. “I never expected to. When I cast my spell, I saw the light in your eyes die. I saw your hope crushed, and it was everything I’d desired. But to see the joy on that woman’s face suddenly extinguished…she had never harmed me. No, she didn’t even disobey me, for Kaide is far too stubborn a man to listen to anyone, not even his sister. Yet I killed her. I thought I’d teach you, teach Kaide, teach the whole North a lesson. But it was…wrong of me to do so in such a way.”

  Jerico stood there, lost in a swirl of emotions he could not make sense out of. Looking at the priest, he tried to understand him. Ashhur’s gift assured him the man spoke the truth, every word of it. But what did it mean? What did it change?

  “You took the life of another, all to torture me,” he said. “I strive to not hate you, yet you so openly hate me. What have I ever done to deserve this? Or is the god you serve so terribly cruel? What a joke this is, that we march to stop Cyric as if the Karak he envisions is any worse than the god you serve.”

  His heart hammered in his chest, and even then Jerico had to fight down his rage. It would be so easy to attack the priest, to give in to his fury. Crushing the skull of a wounded man…what a way to honor Sandra’s memory.

  Luther breathed in deep, then let out a sigh.

  “I do not expect you to understand, but I will try,” he said. “There is fire in the A
byss, and who better knows how to avoid it than the god who rules amid it? We preach an ironclad law, a way to live so that men may escape the purifying fire through their works. Yet you paladins of Ashhur would show men a different way. It is easier, to be sure. Weaker. You elevate the sinner instead of condemning him. You cast aside all laws and rituals in favor of a single moment of repentance. You lead men astray, Jerico, how can you not see that? You heal wounds with your hands, but we purify the wretched with fire. We spill the blood of thieves and murderers, and like a gardener we pull away the weeds so the pure may become numerous. You are a destroyer of souls. Your words send men and women to an eternity of torment until Karak’s fire can purge away every last bit of their sin. And then you wonder why I hate you. You wonder why we so desperately desire the blight of your faith removed from the world. Is it not obvious? Is it not, even to one of the blasphemers, something so easy to understand?”

  Jerico opened his mouth, then closed it. Against such a mind, his words would mean nothing.

  “I am not a strong man,” Luther continued. “Nor am I a good one. But I am faithful. I pray that faithfulness will lead us to victory in the end. But what I did to Sandra was done out of spite. It was done out of malice. I will not ask for your forgiveness, for it is folly to ask for forgiveness from sinners. Karak’s forgiveness is all I will seek.”

  “Then why tell me?” Jerico asked.

  At last Luther met his eye.

  “Because you are a good man, and seeing hatred in your eyes sickens me. If only you were as faithful as you were good. To have you at my side would be a wonderful thing. Imagine us together, instructing the weak of this world, and through our strength helping Dezrel become a new kingdom of righteousness.”

  Jerico felt something in his heart finally give way. Luther’s words had helped him, though not in any way he might have expected. He knelt before the priest. Reaching out a hand, he touched Luther’s chest, and immediately he felt the wound. Closing his eyes, Jerico began to pray. His hatred, while not gone, was greatly lessened. Instead it had been replaced with pity. White light shone about his hands, and after only a hesitation, he plunged it into the wound. Luther gasped in air as his body straightened. Finished, Jerico stood.

  “We save this world by healing it,” Jerico said. “Not with fire, not with destruction. I pray you one day realize this, and believe.”

  Luther touched the bandages on his chest, and when he spoke, his voice was firm, healthy.

  “A good man,” he said. “But we don’t seek to make good men. We seek believers. Go your way, Jerico. I will ensure the rest of my brethren treat you with respect.”

  Jerico stepped out of the tent into the far reaches of the camp. The privacy was welcome after such a long day amid the mercenaries. For a moment Jerico looked over the rows of campfires and tents, seeing an army sworn to kill, fight, and destroy in the name of Karak. It made him sad, but at least it might accomplish something worthwhile if they stopped Cyric’s conquest. As he walked away, he glanced back, thinking of the torn, twisted priest inside.

  Shadows moved, and then the tent shook as several men entered.

  Pulling his shield off his back, Jerico charged, knowing he had not a second to waste. Through the tent flap he barged. In the confined space he found Kaide standing in the center, his dirks drawn. The wizard Bellok stood beside him, Adam and Griff each holding one of Luther’s arms. The priest himself was gagged, and his face reddened as he struggled to breathe.

  “Kaide,” Jerico said, for he knew not what else to say. The brigand was at first startled by his entrance, but seeing who it was, he smiled.

  “It was a cowardly thing Arthur did, trading you,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re alive. You should be here with me when this bastard dies.”

  “Don’t!”

  Jerico flung himself between him and Luther. The dirks bounced off his shield. Nothing could match the shock and betrayal he saw in Kaide’s eyes.

  “How dare you?” he asked. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Get out of here Kaide,” Jerico said. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I do,” Kaide said. “Sebastian’s dead, and by my hand. It felt good, Jerico. It felt so damn good, but it didn’t last, and you know why? Because Luther is still alive. He killed Sandra. She died in your arms for the gods’ sake. How can you defend him?”

  With his shield still blocking Kaide, Jerico pulled free his mace and pointed it at the two Irons twins.

  “Let him go,” he said.

  Adam leaned to the side so he could see Kaide.

  “We could break his neck, if you’d like,” he said.

  “No,” Kaide said. “No, his life is mine. Move out of the way, Jerico. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “And you won’t,” said Jerico. “Last time, get out now. Go to your daughter. Find happiness, but not through this. I traded my life for Sebastian’s, yet you killed him anyway? Save yourself, Kaide. Save yourself before it’s too late.”

  The standoff continued, Jerico bouncing his attention between both sides. Either of the twins was capable of wrestling him to the ground, and Jerico had seen firsthand the speed and skill Kaide possessed with those dirks. So worried about them, he almost didn’t catch the subtle waggling of Bellok’s fingers as he cast a spell.

  Jerico shoved his shield in the way. For a half-second he felt a terrible exhaustion clawing at his eyes, but then the light of his shield flared, and the spell broke. The motion stirred the two Irons brothers into action, Adam securing Luther with both hands while Griff flung himself at Jerico. The paladin shifted so the hilt of his mace jammed into Griff’s stomach, blasting the wind out of him. Griff was a big man, though, and that was hardly enough to stop him. As his momentum kept him moving forward, Jerico turned and pushed with his shield, flinging him in the way of Kaide’s desperate lunge. During the brief respite as the two were entangled, Jerico spun on Adam.

  “I’ll break him,” Adam said, his hands tightening around Luther’s neck.

  “You won’t,” Jerico said, and in a single smooth motion he stepped close and struck Adam with the base of his mace. It connected between his eyes, and in his daze his arms loosened, and Luther slipped free.

  Kaide, sensing their advantage almost gone, rushed Jerico, and his dirks flashed with blinding speed. Jerico blocked two strikes with his shield, and with a hard counter he sent a dirk flying from Kaide’s hand. The move put him off balance, though, and like a dancer Kaide angled about him, avoiding his feeble attempt to block the way. With nothing between him and Luther, Kaide ran, his dirk hungry for blood. Jerico shouted for him to stop but knew it was pointless.

  Luther, however, had pulled free the cloth from his mouth.

  Shadows pooled before him, forming a shield. Kaide’s dirk hit it and bounced off, filling the tent with the sound of reverberating steel coupled with a crack of thunder. The brigand tried sidestepping, but with a twist of Luther’s wrist the shadow-shield followed, remaining between them. Jerico moved to help him, but both Irons twins flung themselves atop him, each wrestling control of an arm.

  “Wait,” said Luther, his voice surprisingly calm. “I would make you an offer, Kaide, if you would give me but a moment to listen.”

  “Speak,” Kaide said, a dirk still dancing eagerly in his hand.

  “As I told Jerico, I have wronged both of you greatly in what I did to Sandra. In this, I will make amends. You may face me, Kaide, and me alone.”

  “A duel?” Kaide said, and there was no hiding his surprise.

  “Yes, a duel, a single chance for you to find your vengeance. But not yet. I must stop Cyric, a man who threatens to enslave every last man, woman, and child your army has fought to protect. Come with us. Help us kill him, as Jerico has also sworn to do. When my former pupil’s body lies at my feet, then the matter between us shall be settled.”

  Kaide looked to Jerico, still pinned by the twins.

  “Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

  “
He is,” said Jerico. “But that doesn’t mean you should agree. Go home. Go back to Beth.”

  Kaide breathed in deep, then put away his dirk.

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “Though no god will keep you safe if you dare betray me.”

  “If you say so,” Luther said, the shield before him vanishing.

  Kaide strode to the tent’s flap, and the rest followed.

  “We’ll be close,” he said.

  When they were gone, Luther straightened his robes and began to put right his things. Jerico rubbed his neck, which was sore from the awkward position he’d been held in.

  “A duel?” he asked as the priest fixed his bed.

  “Yes, a duel,” Luther said, turning. “Why, would you like one as well?”

  Jerico was so stunned by the sour humor in the priest’s voice it took a full second before a smile spread across his face.

  “No,” he said. “I’d like a peaceful night’s rest. Good night, Luther. And good luck to you when you duel Kaide. I know I’d never like to be the one facing his wrath.”

  “You just did,” Luther said, grabbing several pillows and piling them back together. “For that, I thank you.”

  “Didn’t do it for you,” he said, stepping out into the moonlight. This time, no shadows lay wait in ambush, and he found an isolated spot of grass, set down his blanket, and slept.

  19

  In the dark of night Cyric stood listening to the cries of his slaves. No one else might hear them, but he could, and it filled him with anguish. Were they still so blind to the dangers their souls faced? All they seemed to know was fear and anger. So few acknowledged him as the god he was, instead they were content to curse his name and beg for either freedom or death.

  “For you,” he told them, and though he was a full mile from his camp he knew they would still hear. “I do this all for you.”