Redemption (Book 6)

by Ben Cassidy

  The Chronicles of Zanthora: Book Six

  Redemption

  By

  Ben Cassidy

  Copyright 2014 by Ben Cassidy

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2014

  Books in the Chronicles of Zanthora:

  Ghostwalker

  Throne of Llewyllan

  Soulbinder

  Demonbane

  Oracle

  Redemption

  The Raven in the Sea (Coming Soon)

  Tales of the Two Rings:

  Daughter of Llathe: A Tale of the Two Rings

  Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 1

  Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 2

  Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 3 (Coming Soon)

  To join an email update listserv for future releases, contact:

  ChroniclesofZanthora@yahoo.com

  Dedicated to Randy Ingermanson,

  For everything he has taught me

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 1

  Joseph saluted, the blade of his rapier almost touching his face. He swished the cold steel of the weapon down into a ready position. “On guard.”

  Maklavir wrinkled his nose. He took a step back, and glanced down uneasily at the shaggy grass of the field. “You know there’s manure out here, right?”

  Joseph’s face didn’t move. “Come on, Maklavir. Stop stalling.”

  “Hold on.” Maklavir tugged at the purple cape that was fastened around his neck. He disengaged the clasp with some difficulty. “I don’t want to get blood on this.” He looked around the dew-covered field anxiously. “There...isn’t really anywhere to put this down, is there?”

  Joseph’s frown deepened. “Hurry it up, Maklavir. We don’t have all day.”

  “The fence, I suppose?” Maklavir stepped carefully through the grass, strategically avoiding the half-hidden cow-pies in his path. “Won’t be a minute.”

  Joseph sighed and closed his eyes. “Maklavir, for the love of all that is holy—”

  “Yes, well,” Maklavir responded over his shoulder, “I don’t think you have any idea just how difficult it is to get blood out of silk.” He cast a wary glance at the ground. “Not to mention dung.”

  A black and white cow loomed up close to the fence. It shook its head and lowed.

  “No need to take offense,” said Maklavir to the beast. “I wasn’t casting blame on you specifically.”

  The cow turned away, swishing her tail.

  Joseph glanced out over the misty field towards the orange glow in the east. “Sun’s already rising, Maklavir. If we’re going to do this—”

  “Yes, yes,” said Maklavir irritably. “You can stab me with that thing soon enough.” He folded his cape carefully, looking at the fence with a critical eye. “Great Eru, look at all the dirt. I don’t think there’s a single spot that isn’t completely filthy.”

  Joseph glanced at his own greatcoat, which had been tossed in a heap on the grass of the cow pasture. “Come on, stop being so prissy and let’s get a move on.”

  Maklavir gritted his teeth and set his folded cape as gently as he could across the fence of the pasture. “You have no idea how much this hurts me.”

  “You don’t know pain yet.” Joseph gave his rapier a slash through the early morning air. “Now hurry up,”

  “Yes, yes, I’m coming.” Maklavir began striding back through the uneven grass.

  “For a second time,” Joseph said, saluting with his sword yet again, “on guard.”

  “Regnuthu take it all!” Maklavir howled. He raised a booted foot, stamping his heel down into the grass. “I stepped right in it.”

  Joseph clenched his hand on the hilt of his rapier.

  Maklavir began to saunter sideways across the field, dragging his booted foot across the grass. “That’s disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Who lets these...these beasts wander around out here unsupervised?”

  Joseph lowered his sword and glanced around the field. “It’s a cow pasture, Maklavir.”

  “Don’t you think I bloody well know it?” Maklavir made a face as he rubbed the bottom of his foot across the ground. “Say what you will about Valmingaard, at least it has some proper forests. Arbela seems like one big cow field.”

  Joseph straightened his arm. The blade of his rapier gleamed in the light of the rising sun. “You’re stalling again.”

  Maklavir looked over at him disdainfully. “I’m not stalling. I have bovine filth all over my heel.”

  “Look,” said Joseph as he swept his blade through the air, “if you’re too scared to do this just say so.”

  “I didn’t say that,” said Maklavir. He scraped the last bit of manure off his foot and sighed. “This boot will never be the same again.”

  “Oh, for Eru’s sake.” Joseph swatted away a fly. “It’s a boot, Maklavir. It’s supposed to get dirty.”

  “Spoken like a man who has no culture.” Maklavir stepped carefully back over towards the center of the field. “All right, I’m ready.”

  “You’re sure?” Joseph examined the blade of his rapier. “I wouldn’t want to rush you or anything.”

  “Very funny.” Maklavir picked up another rapier off the grass, and weighed it in his hand. “I can never get used to how light these things are.”

  “It’s a gentleman’s weapon,” Joseph said.

  Maklavir gave the blade a cut through the air. “I suppose. Still, I think something with a little heft to it would be better.”

  “Fencing is about grace. Form, skill, balance.” Joseph bent his knees and gave a few practice thrusts with his sword. “Not brute force.”

  “Still,” said Maklavir philosophically, “a little brute force now and again never hurt anything.”

  Joseph saluted with his blade. “On guard.”

  Maklavir planted his feet, wobbling a bit as he looked about him for cow pies. He brought his own sword in front of his face in salute.

  Joseph lunged forward. He cut hard and fast with his rapier.

  Maklavir jumped back. His blade flashed in the rising sun.

  Two sharp clacks of steel echoed out across the nearly-empty pasture. The swords of the two men met faster than the eye could track.

  Maklavir gave a sudden cry of pain and collapsed back into the grass.

  Joseph turned away, stretching his neck. “Point.”

  “You cut me.” Maklavir hobbled to his feet. He put one hand to his leg and brought it away with a streak of blood across his fingers. “You bloody cut me.”

  “You’re too slow,” said Joseph without a trace of sympathy in his voice. “You move back when you should move forward. Defend when you should attack.”

  Maklavir spun in a circle, trying to check his back. “These pants are absolutely ruined. And I’m sending you the cleaning bill for my shirt. I have grass stains all over it. Ugh, I can’t believe you cut me.”

&nbs
p; Joseph turned back towards the diplomat with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Look, this is fencing. You can’t swim without getting wet, and you can’t learn to handle a sword without a few cuts and bruises. And if you want me to teach you, this is the way it works.”

  “Teach me?” Maklavir gave a sardonic chuckle. “I’d hardly call what you’re doing teaching. Drag me out of bed before dawn and chop me apart in a cow field? How in the Void does this teach me anything?”

  Joseph grabbed a cloth rag and wiped off the end of his sword. “In real battle the enemy doesn’t give you time to fold your cape. He doesn’t wait until you’re ready. And he’s trying to cut you, Maklavir.” He slashed his rapier through the air in a figure-eight motion. “All right. Again.”

  Maklavir gritted his teeth, but said nothing. He tottered painfully to an upright position, and saluted with his rapier. “On guard,” he said coldly.

  Joseph returned the salute.

  Maklavir lunged forward. He lashed out with his rapier.

  Joseph parried the clumsy attack. He slashed in with a swift strike of his own.

  Maklavir gave a strangled gasp. He dropped his rapier and stumbled back, a hand pressed to his side.

  “Point,” Joseph said again.

  Maklavir gingerly prodded the cut in his shirt. His fingers came away touched with blood. He looked up at Joseph. “Are you going to cut me to ribbons?”

  “I’m trying to teach you,” Joseph said.

  “Really? Because I’m not learning much.” Maklavir winced, putting a hand to the cut in his chest. “This really stings.”

  “I didn’t cut deep,” Joseph said.

  “Oh, I suppose I should be thanking you, then?” Maklavir straightened his shirt. “You’re lucky I put on some of my older clothes today. I’ll have to toss them out now anyways.”

  “Except for the cape?” Joseph said with a cheerless smile.

  “That cape was custom-made for me in Varnost,” Maklavir said sharply. “Not that you would understand the kind of quality work and effort it takes to produce clothing of such caliber.”

  “Come on,” said Joseph. He nodded towards Maklavir’s rapier, which lay in the grass. “Pick it up.”

  “So you can stab me again?” Maklavir gave a quick shake of his head. “I think not.”

  Joseph prodded the grass in front of him with his own rapier in frustration. “Do you want to learn how to do this or not?”

  “I don’t think you’re teaching me anything,” Maklavir reiterated. “It seems to me that you’re just venting a lot of repressed anger with the point of your sword.”

  Joseph gave Maklavir a cutting glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Maklavir sighed heavily. “We haven’t talked about it, Joseph.”

  The pathfinder looked blithely away. “About what?”

  “You know what.” Maklavir looked down at his fallen rapier. “Ever since Vorten we’ve—well, we haven’t discussed what happened, have we?”

  Joseph’s face darkened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Pick up the sword.”

  “We’ve been on the road for four weeks,” Maklavir said. “Four weeks, Joseph. Shawnor is a day’s travel away. We’ll be there by tonight, Eru willing.”

  “I admit we’ve had our share of trouble,” Joseph said quietly.

  “If by trouble you mean navigating our way through a warzone between the entire Arbelan army and the Cultists of the Fiery Dawn, then yes,” Maklavir agreed.

  “Things are crazy in Rothland right now,” Joseph said with a shrug. “There have been more delays than I expected.”

  “I’m not talking about the delays, Joseph,” Maklavir said heatedly. “I’m talking about you, and me, and...Kara.”

  Joseph turned away. “Pick up your sword,” he said gruffly.

  “You heard me in Kara’s room, back in Vorten,” Maklavir said. “I know you did. There’s been a wall of ice between us ever since. We need to talk about it, and every time I’ve even tried to bring it up for a month now you’ve deftly changed the subject.”

  Joseph spun around. “Real men don’t talk about their feelings, Maklavir. They grunt and hit each other with weapons. Now pick up the blasted sword.”

  Maklavir crossed his arms. “No.”

  Joseph’s face simmered in anger. “You want to talk about this? You really want to talk about this, right here and right now?”

  Maklavir glanced around the misty cow pasture. “Considering that we’ll most likely be on a ship for Redemption in the next day or two...yes, I do.”

  Joseph took a breath. “All right, let’s talk. You think you have feelings for Kara.”

  Maklavir thrust out his chin. “I know I have feelings for her.”

  “Really?” Joseph gave a dark chortle. “The man who has a different woman in every town? The same man who goes to bed with every serving wench and tavern maid he can get his hands on?”

  Maklavir’s face flinched. “I’ve changed,” he said at last.

  “Right,” said Joseph with a shake of his head. “Just because you started going to temple back in Vorten with some kind of new-found religious devotion. And now you’re a changed man?”

  “I...” Maklavir hesitated, his face taut. “That’s not really—”

  “What about that cooper’s daughter back in Ollais?” Joseph shot. “That wasn’t two weeks ago.”

  “It was Edgeton, not Ollais,” said Maklavir crossly. “And that’s not fair at all. She was coming on to me, not—”

  Joseph struck off a blade of grass with the tip of his rapier. “So you valiantly fought off her advances?”

  Maklavir’s face turned a purplish hue. He took a deep breath. “All right, Joseph. I’m not a perfect man. I never have been. But Eru knows I’m trying to change, even a little. You, on the other hand—”

  Joseph looked up sharply. “What about me?”

  “What about you?” Maklavir shook his head. “You’ve been distant ever since the Despair in Vorten. You’ve become darker, edgier. I dare say Kara’s noticed it too.”

  Joseph turned his head away with a scowl.

  “You’re like a totally different person, Joseph.” Maklavir took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the cut in his side. “Certainly not the same man I met back in the Howling Woods. I saw the way you killed those bandits outside of Rella.”

  Joseph’s head snapped back around. “You’re blaming me for that? Talin’s ashes, Maklavir, I saved all our lives. Kara could still barely stand. Eru knows you were no help at all.”

  Maklavir stepped forward, leveling an accusing finger at the bearded man. “You slaughtered them in cold blood. The one was still wounded, Joseph.”

  Joseph looked over at the rising sun, the anger evident on his face. “They were all bloodthirsty killers, Maklavir. They would have slaughtered us all if they’d had the chance. We lost the cart as it was. If I had shown mercy at all, let that last man live, he would have—”

  “Yes, I know,” said Maklavir abruptly. “He would have found his friends. They would have hunted us down.”

  Joseph gripped the handle of his rapier tightly. “Then what in Zanthora are you blaming me for?”

  “Nothing,” Maklavir said quietly. He took his handkerchief away, and made a face at the splotch of blood. He pressed it back against his cut. “All I’m saying is that the old Joseph would have let the man go.” His eyes blazed. “So be careful about what you’re accusing me of.”

  Joseph snorted. “Right, I forgot. Because you’re a changed man.” He looked over at Maklavir. “You don’t even know what love is, Maklavir. How long would it last between you and Kara? A couple weeks, and then your head would be turned by another pretty face?”

  Maklavir took a measured breath. “Now you’re hitting low, Joseph.”

  “I’m telling the truth.” Joseph took a step forward. “You think you’re in love with Kara, but you’re not. I’ve had feelings for her since the first moment I laid eyes on her—”

/>   “Oh, yes,” said Maklavir sarcastically. “And how long ago was that, Joseph? All the way back in the Howling Woods? How much time have you had, exactly? Because from where I’m standing, you haven’t made a move.”

  Joseph blushed, his face twitching with embarrassment and anger. “I’ve been moving...at my own pace,” he said slowly.

  “There are glaciers that move faster than that,” Maklavir said. “So what exactly is your position, Joseph? You lay claim to a girl and no one else can court her for the six years it takes you to make your move?”

  “That’s enough,” Joseph said. His hand clenched harder on the hilt of his rapier.

  “You accuse me of not changing, but at least I know how to make a move on a girl,” Maklavir continued. “Not like you.”

  “Oh, really?” Joseph said. His voice was deathly quiet. “Then why haven’t you made a move on Kara yet? At least she knows how I feel about her. How about you?”

  Maklavir frowned. “It’s...complicated.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re the one who’s afraid,” Joseph said with a bitter smile.

  Maklavir looked intently at Joseph for a moment, then down at the rapier. In a lightning-fast move he snatched the weapon up from the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Joseph asked.

  “I’ll fight you for her,” Maklavir declared. He waved his blade through the air. “Right here, right now. Winner gets Kara, the loser backs out.”

  Joseph threw his head back and laughed. “You have got to be joking. You want to take me on...in a swordfight?”

  “What’s the matter?” Maklavir said fiercely. “Are you afraid to fight me?”

  Joseph tossed his rapier down on the grass. “Maklavir, it wouldn’t even be a fight. You wouldn’t last ten seconds.”

  “I’m willing to fight for Kara,” Maklavir said, his face deadly serious. “Are you? Come on, Joseph, why don’t you show some backbone for once. Stick your neck out for the girl.”

  Joseph put up both his hands. “Maklavir, I am not fighting you.”

  “I would advise you to pick up your sword,” Maklavir said. He narrowed his gaze. “Because on the count of three I’m coming for you whether you’re ready or not.” He raised the tip of his rapier. “One.”