by David Benem
Fencress snorted, amused. “I said we should ask the fellow some questions, not pop his head off like a wine cork. Head out back and get your horse. Make your way to the town’s northern edge and keep your eye on him, but do it casually so as not to look suspicious. I’ll tell Karnag we’re foraging for supplies and that we’ll meet him up the road.”
Karnag stared down the road, his flint-colored eyes fixed to a point dead south. He remained still as Fencress approached.
“There,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, “a vanguard of the Arranese army. Seven men on horseback moving this way. They’re scouting the area ahead of a horde ten thousand soldiers strong.”
Fencress followed the line of Karnag’s stare but could see nothing. The road, though straight, was obscured by a thick haze from the rain.
Karnag inhaled deeply. “They’re hungry for blood. They had a taste of it in the mountains but it sated them not.”
Fencress looked again down the road. There seemed to be the faintest outline of riders but she could not be certain. “We should leave this place. Paddyn and I found a few supplies in the tavern but not nearly enough. We’re going to toss the homes and then make ready to leave.”
The highlander said nothing.
“We’ll leave here, then?”
Karnag eyes drifted skyward and he seemed to laugh softly. “My thirst for blood has not been sated, either. The Arranese should have a proper welcome to Rune.”
“I never figured you a patriot, Karnag.”
“This is my land. I will not abide trespassers.”
Fencress huffed. “You’re no soldier, Karnag. You don’t intend to fight the High King’s war for him?”
Karnag remained silent.
“Seven trained men with an army behind them means poor odds for us. What’s more, we have no stake in this fight. We serve no cause but our own. We need to get clear of this place before we’re crushed between two armies.”
The highlander turned to her and stared, his expression blank. “You will leave here, along with the others. I have been called to another path.”
Fencress found her hands seeking the hilts of her twin blades. Speaking with Karnag was a dangerous dance now. He was random and violent, like a great force of nature. “Karnag… We have been through much, you and I. This is how we leave things?”
“Our paths diverge, now. Go.”
The look in Karnag’s eyes told Fencress argument was futile, but she could not leave her questions unanswered. “The whispers in your head? You worry me, Karnag. Has so much changed? What is this you’ve become?”
Karnag’s gaze was unwavering. “Something powerful. Something eternal. And with my sword I will recast the fates of all men. To what end, I do not yet know, but the answers will be written in blood. I have foreseen it.”
“How can this be? You are no sorcerer.”
“No. I am more.”
“But what? What are you, Karnag?”
Karnag said nothing, but stared at Fencress with the eyes of the dead.
Fencress knew then there was no use talking to the man, and no chance of reasoning with him. She suppressed a shudder and broke away from Karnag’s stare. Paddyn was a hundred yards up the road, ambling ahead on his horse and making a good show of inspecting the ramshackle buildings lining the road. “What of the gold?”
Karnag grunted, his sound one of disgust. “I care for it not at all.” He returned his eyes to the road. “You will leave me now.”
“Karnag…”
“I have need of you no longer.”
“But…” Fencress stopped short. The look in Karnag’s eyes made her realize he was no longer the person she once knew. There was no use in saying some poetic fare-thee-well or long goodbye, and no sense in trying to help the man. Karnag appeared far beyond that. Fencress turned about and found her horse, her heart heavy with sadness as she moved away.
Fencress brought her horse alongside Paddyn’s at Hargrave’s northern edge, near a rundown home with a hole in its roof. “You’ve watched him?” she asked.
Paddyn nodded at the road ahead. “Aye. He’s up the road a few hundred feet or so, weaving between the trees lining the road. I figure he has a horse tied up somewhere, and probably one faster than ours.”
“We can track him. This country’s too hard for him to try to ride in the wild, so I’d wager he’ll stick to the road. Any sign of Drenj?”
“Nothing, but if what you’re saying is true then he’s likely on the road as well, perhaps only a league or so ahead.”
“We’ll find him and give him his share of the coin,” said Fencress. “He’ll know not to head back to Raven’s Roost, and Riverweave makes the best sense of any place right now.”
Paddyn was quiet for a moment before speaking. “You spoke with Karnag?”
Fencress turned in her saddle and looked back. Karnag stood in the same spot. He’d unsheathed Gravemaker and was moving the great sword about in a practice form, thrusting it forward, swinging it in a wide arc, spinning it in a circle overhead. Beyond him, Fencress could now see the forms of riders on the road south, clad in the heavy hides and flowing cloaks favored by the Arranese. The war drums continued to sound from far away.
“Did you?” Paddyn persisted.
Fencress turned to face north along the road and pulled her cowl low over her eyes. “I spoke with a man named Karnag, but I’m no longer certain he’s the man who was my friend.” She shook her head. “Let’s ride.”
15
PROTECTOR OF IRONMOOR
LANNICK STARED INTO the mirror, absent-mindedly scraping a whetstone over his knife. He’d never been a particularly handsome fellow, but he was a good sight uglier nowadays. There was the pinkish scar that’d pinched his cheek for the past few years now, a reminder of a drunken brawl he could hardly remember. And now there was the chip in his front tooth—useful for whistling, perhaps, but it lent him a half-witted look. He tried closing his mouth, but things didn’t quite fit together with his jaw now shifted askew. His nose was bent also, but in the way opposite his jaw.
He regarded his misdirecting, damaged face and smirked. At least no one will know where I’m headed. He laughed, but the painful catch in his ribs brought a quick end to that.
He brought the knife to his throat and cut away at the stubborn remains of his beard. He pulled the blade from his neck, watching how his hands shook unsteadily. He grinned again, thinking of the irony of accidentally slitting his own throat after surviving the horrors he’d endured. Perhaps a most fitting end for Captain Lannick deVeers, Protector of Ironmoor.
He cleaned the blade in the washbasin and placed it on the shelf below the mirror. He then moved upon painful limbs to the room’s table and found there his jug of red wine, delivered just as he’d requested. He filled a cup and sipped it slowly, judging it best to show restraint this early in the day. It was delicious, far better than the stuff Horus had slipped to him in his cell. After a moment he tilted it back, finding he could not help but drain the cup.
He walked to the room’s window and opened wide its shutters. He breathed in the morning air, noticing how differently it smelled here than it had in his cell. No longer did the air carry the salty scent of the sea or the greasy stink of the brig. It was a cleansing odor, and Lannick felt old strength returning to him as he pulled it in.
The landscape before him was all rolling hills, trimmed hedges, and tilled fields. At least a dozen leagues from Ironmoor and all the things that haunted the place. A donkey brayed in the field below, pulling a plow ahead of a brightly dressed farmer. Beyond them, a home of red brick squatted atop a hill, its chimney puffing smoke. Lannick imagined a family breakfasted within, sitting before their hearth’s crackling fire as it chased away the morning chill.
It was the sort of place he’d dreamed of having in happier times, perhaps retiring there after years of loyal service to the Crown. A safe place. A simple place with only simple troubles.
There came a sharp knock at his door.<
br />
Such dreams are dead.
They sat about a table in the inn’s common room, eating the breakfast of cheese and berries in relative silence. Lannick ate quickly, but even after he’d finished he found it difficult to move his eyes to any place other than his plate. He felt ashamed of how he’d spent the bulk of the last decade, how he’d turned his back on his order, and how he’d cursed their names while drunk in countless taverns, blaming them for failures he knew to be his alone.
A hand brushed against his. Alisa. She’d not been a Variden when he’d disappeared all those years ago, and she leveled no accusations. It was comforting to have her near. The other two—Ogrund and Wil—had been there, and being near them was disquieting. Lannick could sense their hard gazes upon him and hear their unspoken indictment: “A Variden never abandons his watch, honoring his cause eternal.” It was said the Sentinel Valis had given the Variden that very charge, first and foremost, when he forged the order centuries ago.
And I violated it.
“You have suffered much,” Alisa said, her voice soft.
Lannick looked upward. Alisa’s large, brown eyes were filled with a warmth Lannick had forgotten people could possess. It was nearly enough for him to disregard the presence of the other two beside her. Nearly.
“I searched for you for a year,” Ogrund said in his gravelly voice. He looked as he ever did, squint-eyed with only the vague rumor of a neck between his shaven head and muscular shoulders.
“We thought you dead,” said Wil, his face round and soft but his eyes fierce.
Lannick cleared his throat. “I pretty much was, if that provides any consolation to the two of you.”
Wil sniffed derisively. “Dead drunk, perhaps. Your reputation as the kingdom’s greatest drunkard has become known to us, but you’ll not excuse betrayal so easily.”
Ogrund raised his chin, as though he squinted so hard he could not otherwise see. “How can a man waste so many years of life, knowing each to be a blessing from Illienne the Light Eternal?”
Lannick looked back at his plate and found a crumble of cheese. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, and I need not be patronized.”
“Ah,” said Wil, bowing his head. “Our deepest apologies, then. We’ll not speak of the fact we’ve spent the last nine years waging a secret war against the Necrists, desperately trying to protect Rune, while you’ve been guzzling wine and courting harlots. We’ll not talk of how our old foes have gained in strength while we’ve had to hide and peek about like church mice. We’ll not mention how you betrayed us to General Fane and then abandoned us when he and his Scarlet Swords hunted us down like dogs.”
Lannick bristled. “I betrayed no one.”
Wil rubbed at his cheek, scowling. “No? A remarkable coincidence, then. You see, just after you were charged with treason, Fane and his brutes stalked us, taking four of our number. Meanwhile, you, it seems, were sitting safe and sound in an alehouse. It seems to me you bargained away our lives for your own.”
Lannick leveled his gaze at Wil. “Safe? My family was murdered. Only the High King’s pardon because of my service prevented me from being jailed or killed. And Fane? He discovered my affiliation with the Variden on his own.”
“Did he? And whatever drove him to do that, I wonder?”
“I did not provoke him, Wil.”
Wil laughed mockingly. “No? Forgive me, Lannick, but as I recall, you soaked in all the praises, smugly accepting the title of ‘Protector of Ironmoor’ from High King Deragol in spite of our strict edict of secrecy. You may as well have spat in Fane’s face from that pedestal. Where is your trinket, I wonder? Your little decorated blade for winning the High King’s favor?”
“Fane took it,” Lannick grumbled. “Took it after his dogs beat me down.”
“You were foolish, Lannick,” said Ogrund. “Your Coda found you. It found you for a reason. You were chosen to observe the army from within, not to lead it.”
“You claimed glory,” continued Wil, “and in doing so provoked an enemy. What gave you the notion that a Variden accepting such a prominent honor was a sound idea? Did you not foresee how that would shame the general after his blundered attack on Pryam’s Bay and his capture? How embarrassed the commander of the High King’s armies would be, having to applaud as his rescuer—the most obvious reminder of his mistakes—was revered by the High King and credited with victory? Did you not think he’d seek to humble you?”
“I was careful,” said Lannick. “I was always careful in keeping my identity as a Variden a secret.”
“And what of your Coda? Any fool could see it brandished upon your wrist, and any man with enough ambition and access to the Kingdom’s archives could discover its meaning.”
“I never would have thought he’d dig so deeply.”
Wil smacked the table. “Yet he did, didn’t he!”
“And what,” added Ogrund, “became of that Coda? Did you pawn it for wine, or perhaps lose it in a game of dice?”
Lannick gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain in his jaw. “It is secure, Ogrund. Unlike the corpses of my wife and children.”
“Gentlemen,” said Alisa. “Lannick’s been through much. Perhaps the time for this talk has not yet arrived.”
“This is difficult for you,” said Alisa.
Lannick stared at his new boots, already covered with dust. “Walking?” He took a few quick steps down the winding, sunlit path. “Not at all. None of my wounds was so grave as to hinder my graceful stride. My toe may have been broken, but I reckon every bit of me is so thankful to be free that I hardly notice it at all.”
Alisa smiled, although Lannick perceived her expression carried a hint of sadness.
They walked along the path in silence for a time, much to Lannick’s liking. It had been a long while since he’d taken a walk for the sake of walking, and a long time since he’d chosen to spend an afternoon out of doors rather than perched upon a barstool with a bottle before him.
He admired the neat walls of piled stones lining the path, the tilled fields beyond them, and he inhaled, savoring the scent of things growing. But soon his thoughts drifted to the jug of wine in his quarters and the casks of ales crowding the wall at the rear of the inn’s common room.
I could enjoy such things in moderation, perhaps? He shook his head. I shouldn’t go back to that life. Then he shook his head again. Well, not all the way back, anyway.
“I did not mean walking,” said Alisa. “I meant this place.” She gestured back toward the countryside inn which served as a safe house for the Variden. “I meant Ogrund and Wil. And me.”
Lannick heaved a sigh and scratched at his head. He’d cut his hair short, as he’d done long ago, and his fingers moved freely across his scalp rather than becoming entangling in a matted mess. It was the short fashion worn by soldiers, an appearance he’d avoided ever since his family was butchered. He sighed again.
Alisa touched his arm, her gesture unassuming. “I imagine you have no shortage of questions for me.”
“I reckon I have a few,” he said, turning to look at Alisa. “Why me? Of all the men in Ironmoor, why did you choose me that night with Fane’s daughter?”
“The spirit of Valis moves within all the Variden. It must have been his design. There was a reason I discovered you, and helped set in motion the events that pulled you from that life you were living.”
“Bah,” Lannick said. “You couldn’t have been thinking that at the time. Why did you pick me out of that crowd?”
She shrugged. “You seemed the sort who’d be willing.”
“I seemed desperate, you mean.”
“You seemed the sort who wouldn’t ask questions, and wouldn’t pose a threat if things went awry.”
Lannick sank to a seat on the stone wall. “Desperate and weak, then.”
Alisa didn’t answer.
“You know,” he said, “when I was mercilessly beaten by Fane and his Scarlet Swords, I gathered a few things.”
“I am
sorry for that, Lannick. Fate can create terrible events as it unfolds. I wish it hadn’t led you to such pain. When I noticed the Variden symbol on your arm, when you were naked—”
Lannick waved dismissively, embarrassed by any discussion of the details of that evening. “When I was being beaten I gathered General Fane intended to sacrifice his daughter, that he had some plan requiring her virginity.”
“An exchange with the Necrists. The life of his virgin daughter in exchange for some dark power. We know not the details, as their blood rites and other methods of communication remain a mystery to us.”
“And you needed someone to upset the deal?”
“Yes.”
“That was all, then? You intended me to be used and then discarded? And that’s why the girl was playing along?”
Alisa took a seat beside Lannick and held his gaze with her large eyes. “I’d told her of her father’s bargain, Lannick, and she was willing to do anything to avoid death. That was all. It was a simple plan, and the most obvious way of spoiling the sacrifice without confronting General Fane or the Necrists directly. I never would have guessed you’d object to your role in the scheme. You saved her life, Lannick, if it makes you feel any better. She was beaten, but not killed.”
Lannick’s head sagged. “That’s good to know, but that evening caused my life to take quite an awful turn.”
She rubbed his shoulder, roughly. “You’d best toughen up, Lannick, for things will get no easier. There is a storm coming, a war for the ages. As Wil said, our old enemies have grown stronger. Rune has weakened, and has few allies to protect it. Even some of the thanes refuse to honor their oaths to the Crown. Old allies like Thane Meledin and Thane Brandiss withhold their oath-bound soldiers. The Lector of the Sanctum—the Sentinel Castor—was seeking out the other Sentinels when he was slain. To what end? One of our number, Karab, was killed along with him. I fear the coming days will be fierce and fraught with peril. Your strength will be needed, but not your self-pity.”
Lannick looked away, back down the path and toward the inn. There was the faint smell of a wood fire in the air, and Lannick reckoned the innkeeper was preparing supper. His thoughts turned again to his wine.