by Ben Cassidy
Kara felt her empty sheath. “I lost my dagger.”
Joseph gave the alley a weary glance. “We’ll never find it in there in the dark. Have to wait until morning.” He rubbed the rain out of his eyes. “Not that I’m exactly rearing to go back in there again.”
Kara nodded. ”No more alleys, I think.”
“I think that sounds good.” Joseph turned, but didn’t sheathe his rapier. He lowered his voice a bit. “Kara, we don’t have the slightest clue where Kendril might be in all of this. Every moment we’re here we’re in more danger.” He looked back through the wind-driven rain towards the crowded causeway that led back to the shore. “I think—” He gave an embarrassed shrug of his shoulder. “I think we might want to start getting out of here ourselves.”
Kara slumped back against the slimy wet wood of the store. She lowered her head, feeling the rain thrum against it repeatedly. A gust of wind caught her green cloak and made it flutter wildly.
Joseph held out a hand. “Come on, Kara. We might still be able to find a ship out of here. Anywhere has to be better than here.”
“Kendril’s still here.” Kara raised her head, shuddering as the cold wind cut through her wet clothes. “I know he is. We can’t leave him, Joseph. He needs us.”
Joseph turned his eyes back to the street. He didn’t say anything.
Kara stepped out from the wall, and glanced around the street they were on.
To the northeast, above the line of wooden buildings, rose the tall bell tower of the temple of Eru.
Kara stared at it, transfixed. Even in the darkness and with the rain hammering against its side, it looked exactly the same as it had in her dream.
Joseph shook water off his hand. He shivered. “All right, Kara,” he said at last. “Where do we go from here?”
“There,” Kara said without thinking. She pointed up at the tall tower. “The temple.”
Chapter 16
It took agonizingly long to ride across the shallow valley.
The blowing wind and pelting rain were constant, and lashed the horses and men. Lightning flashed and thunder exploded overhead every few minutes. The storm had turned into an all-out gale.
Everyone was soaked to the bone, and splattered in mud and filth. In the darkness it was almost impossible to see the ground ahead except in the brief flashes of lightning. The horses were nervous, and whinnied constantly. The riders were half-frozen. Ungloved hands shook so badly that many of the troopers had difficulty holding on to the reins.
And ahead, always ahead, the great fortress of Stockade loomed on top of the hill. The chants and screams of the barbarians only grew louder as the under-strength cavalry troop approached. Occasionally the lone howl of something that was not human broke over the tumult and noise.
Even Kendril, who had killed two of the inhuman beasts, felt shivers go up and down his spine at the sound.
The flash and roar of cannon fire came from the fort ahead. The chanting of the barbarians increased in ferocity.
Kendril gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes focused on the black ground just in front of him. Like the other troopers, he was sopping wet and shivering underneath his buff coat and steel armor. He wanted to kick his horse into a gallop, to draw his rapier and lead the charge. But he knew that he and Beckett’s troopers were still too far away from the barbarian lines to make an effective charge.
And so he and the other troopers continued to saunter forward at a maddeningly slow trot, the hooves of their horses clopping noisily into the sucking mud of the field.
It was a long, wet, cold ride. Long enough for Kendril to second guess every decision he had made up to this point. What if they couldn’t break through to the gate? What if Yearling and his men refused to open the gates, or didn’t get them open in time? And even if they did, what if the dragoons refused to come back to Redemption?
And then, of course, they would have to break out of Stockade again. And that would not be nearly as easy as breaking in. The Jombards would be expecting it. All in all, it sounded more and more like a suicide run.
Kendril gave his head a fierce shake, trying to quiet the clamoring voices in his own mind. There was no choice. They needed these dragoons and the arms inside Stockade to defend Redemption. It was worth any and every risk. Even if he and the rest of Beckett’s men fell here—
Well, they might as well fall here as at Redemption.
Kendril peered ahead into the darkness, trying to catch sight of something to fix his sight and mind on. Anything to take his thoughts away from his own self-doubt, not to mention the freezing rain and howling wind.
Someone appeared just ahead, a figure materializing out of the darkness. A man on foot.
Kendril reached instantly for his sword. There was a chance it was a fleeing farmer or trapper, or perhaps even a lone dragoon, but the odds were far greater that it was a Jombard.
Lightning flashed. For a split-second it lit up the landscape in an eerie frozen whiteness.
Kendril’s heart leapt up into his throat.
The man in front of him was someone he knew. Atherton.
The flash of lightning faded and so did the figure. The landscape returned to the black, rain-soaked field, empty of any life.
Kendril blinked the rain out of his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart. It was his mind playing tricks on him, that was all. Atherton was dead, long dead.
Dead, because Kendril had killed him. Just like Celeste.
Thunder vibrated through the dark sky above, but Kendril hardly noticed it. The steel cuirass he wore felt suddenly impossibly heavy. He wanted to tear off his lobster helmet, to feel the wind and drenching rain on his face. The long rapier at his side, the magnificent gift that Jade had given him back in Balneth, felt like a betrayal.
He had taken a vow. A vow of penance, a vow of redemption. Never to touch a woman, never to use a gentleman’s blade, and never to ride a horse until he had atoned for the sins of his past.
Sins like Atherton. And Celeste.
A cutting sweep of wind brought stinging rain into Kendril’s eyes. The drops cut across his skin like shards of ice. His teeth chattered from the cold.
What was he doing? This wasn’t him. He had broken his promise, broken his vow. He wasn’t Lord Ravenbrook. Not anymore.
“I am because I have to be!” Kendril shouted into the screaming wind.
Wilkes, the rider closest on his left side, looked over at him in surprise. The roar of the storm had not quite covered Kendril’s words.
Kendril set his face and stared straight ahead, embarrassed by his outburst.
He didn’t have a choice. Redemption needed Lord Ravenbrook. They needed a general, not a Ghostwalker. If he was going to save the town, if he was going to defeat the Jombards, he had to do it like this, whatever the cost might end up being.
Even if it meant giving up his redemption.
The ground started to gradually slope upwards. Ahead the sky beyond the edge of the hill still glowed orange and red. The Jombards were burning and destroying everything in their path.
The chanting and howling of the barbarians grew closer. The walls of Stockade loomed higher against the dark sky.
It was almost time.
Kendril drew his rapier, resisting the urge to draw one of his pistols. With the gusting wind and rain, a misfire would be almost inevitable if the weapon were exposed for more than second or two.
The sound of drums and the tinny cry of horns sounded in the night. Ahead Kendril could make out the movement of hundreds of bodies in the dark. Probably more like thousands.
Shock and speed. That’s what it came down to. Shock and speed.
Kendril kicked his horse forwards into a canter.
Behind him the other riders followed, increasing the pace of their mounts.
Kendril sucked in a breath, pushing his head down against the driving rain. He clenched his hand tight on the hilt of his rapier.
In the darkness and with the wailing wind and rain, t
he Jombards didn’t seem to notice the small force of fifty horsemen moving up the grassy slope towards them.
Kendril mentally judged the distance between himself and the line of barbarians. He forced himself to wait, checking the speed of his mount until he was within about a hundred yards of the enemy.
Harnathu...Harnathu...Harnathu....
The chanting continued through the rain and darkness, coming from all sides at once. It was unnerving.
Kendril ground his teeth together. He counted down the seconds in his head.
A howl echoed over the black hillside.
Kendril kicked his horse into a gallop.
The temple was made of stone, one of the only buildings in all of Redemption not made of timber. Moss clung to its sides. Its bell tower thrust up into the black sky.
The front doors were closed. Kara went right up to them, and pounded hard on the heavy wood.
There was no answer.
Joseph glanced up at the stone building, still keeping half an eye on the street behind them. “You think Kendril is here?”
Kara didn’t bother trying to explain. She couldn’t even explain it to herself. She had a suspicion that trying to say what she was thinking out loud would not only sound ridiculous, but weaken her resolve.
So instead, she kept pounding.
Joseph came up beside her, ducking under the scant shelter of the overhanging stone arch. “Kara? Talk to me. What’s this all about?”
“We need to get inside,” Kara said. She grabbed the handle and pulled.
The door didn’t budge. It was locked.
“The priest’s probably already gone,” Joseph said. He looked back up the street towards the eastern wall. “I say we try near the gate. If Kendril’s going to be anywhere, he—”
“This is important,” Kara said. “We need to get inside.” She turned, the wind ruffling the hood that covered her head. “Joseph, please.”
The grizzled scout stared at her for a moment, then looked at the double doors. “These are probably bolted from the inside,” he said. “Won’t do us much good to try to break them down.” He pointed around the side of the temple. “There’s probably a side door.”
Kara didn’t wait for a second urging. She dashed down the slick steps of the temple, then rounded the corner.
The side of the temple was an open space off the street. The sacrificial altar sat in the midst of a walled area, blackened from countless fires and offerings.
Kara felt her way down the side of the temple in the dark, shuddering as the cold wind cut her. After a few seconds she felt the wet wood of a side door. She reached down, feeling a handle and metal lock.
“Are you going to tell me what it is you’re looking for?” Joseph asked drolly. He tensed for a moment as a rider went racing by on the street, splattering mud in his wake. “Or do you still think that Kendril’s inside?”
“My dream,” said Kara. “This temple was in my dream.” She fumbled inside her vest pocket for a moment, then withdrew her small lockpicking tools.
Joseph stood close with his back to the wind, sheltering her from the worst of the rain. “This exact temple?” He glanced back at the street, his rapier still in hand. “Kara, every little town across Rothland has a temple just like this one. It’s nothing special.”
Kara didn’t bother to respond. She fished inside the lock with her tools, trying to go entirely by feel. With her fingers numb from the cold and soaked from the rain, it was far from an easy task. The wind that constantly battered her made hearing any small noises from the lock impossible as well. Fortunately, the lock was old and not complicated. Kara could probably have picked it in her sleep.
Maklavir had never learned how to pick locks, she realized suddenly. She had almost forgotten about the cheery diplomat with everything that had happened since. The memory of his last moments onboard the merchant ship came flooding back to her. Where was he now? Had the pirates—?
She pushed the thoughts from her head. There was no time for that. Maklavir would be fine. It was Kendril who needed her help, even though she didn’t know quite how she knew that. She had to get this door open.
“Kara—?” Joseph said again.
The lock clicked, and the door pushed inwards.
Kara got up, shaking the rain off her cloak. “Come on.”
Joseph looked at the open door. “Breaking into a temple?” he said. “This is a new low, Kara.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Kara said. She slipped inside.
The temple was even plainer on the inside than it had been on the outside. There was a small altar of incense at the front of the central room, some prayer benches, and a brazier that was reduced to a few glowing coals. Some blue aromatic smoke still whiffed from the altar, bringing a heavy scent to the air. Chimes tinkled softly from somewhere near the front doors.
Kara stepped into the worship area. She looked eagerly around the room, but her face quickly fell in disappointment.
The temple appeared to be exactly what it looked like. An empty, hastily abandoned place of worship.
A muffled shout sounded from outside the temple walls, followed by the sound of more breaking glass.
Joseph frowned. He kept an eye on the unlocked side door. “We should get going, Kara. There’s nothing in here.”
“I thought—” Kara started. She leaned against one of the stone pillars. Rain dripped off her soaked clothes onto the cool stone flagstones of the floor. “I guess I figured—” She lowered her head. “I’m an idiot.”
Joseph’s face softened. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not an idiot, Kara. This is over all our heads.”
Kara sighed and looked up. Her eyes fell on a large bronze basin set against the far wall. “What’s that?”
Joseph snickered. “Wow. Been a while since you’ve been to prayer, huh?”
Kara gave him a cutting glance. “Not much use in a thief going to services, is there? Come on, Joseph. What is it?”
Joseph sheathed his rapier, though he still kept watch on the side door. “It’s just a wash basin. The priests use it to wash their hands before offering the sacrifices.”
“A wash basin,” Kara murmured. Before she even realized what she was doing, she crossed the floor to the bowl.
Water shimmered inside.
Joseph chuckled. “There’s nothing special about it, Kara. Sure, some of the back country priests sometimes sell it as holy water to suspicious peasants, but believe me when I say that it’s just water.” He crossed his arms and gave a good-natured grin. “That’s over three years of seminary training talking.”
Kara stared at the water, mesmerized. The image of the bell tower from her dream came back to her once again, with the water cascading from the top.
The water....
Kara snatched her canteen from her belt and unscrewed the lid.
Joseph watched her, perplexed. “What on Zanthora—?”
“This water is important,” Kara said. She dumped out the old water in the canteen on the stone floor of the temple. “Don’t ask me how I know. I’m not even sure myself.” She dunked the canteen into the basin. Bubbles erupted to the surface as it filled.
“Kara,” said Joseph softly, “I know you’ve been through a lot—”
“My vision,” Kara said, watching as her canteen filled all the way, “it showed water from the temple here in Redemption. Water that was hurting a giant wolf—” She stopped talking, suddenly realizing how foolish she sounded.
Joseph cocked his head. “Giant...wolf?” He cleared his throat. “Kara, I already told you, there’s nothing special about that water. Tuldor’s beard, it’s the same water that the townsfolk get out of the nearest well—”
Kara pulled the canteen out. She began to screw the lid back on. “I don’t understand it either. And I know it sounds stupid.” She turned around to face him. “I’m asking you to trust me, Jos—”
Joseph saw the expression on her face. He drew his rapier in a flash and spun aro
und.
“I didn’t expect to see either of you two again,” said Tomas calmly. He stood in the shadow of a pillar near the side door of the temple, the black hood of his cloak over his face.
Joseph lowered his rapier a little. “Tomas...? Is that you?”
Kara exhaled. “I thought you were—” She looked at the man’s black cloak and gloves, “well, Kendril.”
“Kendril’s not wearing the uniform of our Order anymore,” Tomas said stiffly. He stayed in the shadows by the door, his gaze entirely on Kara. “He’s Lord Ravenbrook now. General of the Redemption militia.”
Joseph slowly sheathed his weapon. “He...finally paid his penance?”
“I didn’t say that,” Tomas returned quickly. His eyes didn’t move off of Kara.
“Please,” said Kara. She latched the canteen back onto her belt and took a step forward. “Do you know where he is? We have to find him.”
“Lord Ravenbrook is riding to Stockade,” Tomas said. His voice seemed strangely chilled. “I stayed behind here to do what I could in the town.” He paused. “I never dreamt I’d see either of you here, of all places.” He stared even harder at Kara. “Especially you.”
Joseph looked closely at Tomas’ shadowy form. “Kara was in a coma after Vorten,” he said slowly. “She only recovered after the last shard of the Soulbinder was removed from her. It almost killed her.”
Tomas didn’t say anything.
Kara gave an embarrassed smile. “My chest still hurts,” she said. “It’s hard to draw back a bow.” She glanced down at the floor. “And the nightmares....”
“I see,” said Tomas. His voice was strangely cold, emotionless.
Joseph looked at Tomas very closely. Slowly, almost nonchalantly, he put a hand back on the hilt of his rapier. “It’s good to see you again, Tomas,” he said. “Why don’t you step out of the shadows?”
Tomas glanced over at Joseph for the first time. “She should not be alive, Joseph. We thought she was dead after Vorten.”
Kara’s face wrinkled in confusion. “What are you talking about? Who thought I was dead?”