Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

  Martyn’s stomach sank. “You’re still a Christian? After everything that happened?”

  “Yes. Of course.” Owen cocked his head. “You aren’t?”

  How could he explain to Owen the years he’d spent under Respen, the way he’d lost all faith and replaced it with logic? And the fact that he still didn’t think faith was real?

  “No. I was a Blade, remember?” Martyn turned on his log. “We’d better get some sleep before nightfall. I’ll take first watch.”

  Martyn didn’t look to see if Owen followed his order. He needed time to think.

  Martyn woke to the crisp night caressing his face. The pine trees created a dense darkness. Owen’s shape and that of the horses were barely discernible.

  After getting to his feet, Martyn nudged Owen’s shoulder. Owen jumped and whirled, but Martyn clapped a hand to his mouth. “It’s only me. Time to get moving.”

  All they had to do was tighten girth straps, then they set out into the night, leading their horses. A chorus of frogs chirruped along the creek bank and in the trees surrounding them, masking any slight noises the horses made. The air was dead still, not even a whisper in the branches overhead.

  At the edge of the creek, Martyn halted Wanderer and raised a hand to stop Owen. The moon had yet to rise, and the creek lay black before them, gurgling and rippling. Martyn scanned the banks on both sides. Nothing moved. Not the grass. Not the trees. Not even the night breeze.

  He stepped into the creek, feeling with his feet for holes or rocks that would cause the horses to stumble. Wanderer resisted for a moment before following him in. The horse’s ears remained pricked, his nose flaring to pick up any lingering smells. Martyn gazed around them, never focusing in one spot for too long.

  They reached the bank on the far side. Wanderer’s hoof scuffed against a stone as he scrambled upward into the treeline.

  Behind him, Owen let out an audible breath, but Martyn didn’t relax. The trees crowded around them in blurred, black shapes.

  They couldn’t ride. Not in this darkness and this terrain. Once the moon rose, they would be able to move faster. They just had to get up and out of this valley before that happened.

  Upward, ever upward. Martyn tried to peer through the branches, but he couldn’t see enough of the sky to figure out the direction they traveled. It probably didn’t matter. As long as they kept heading up the mountain, then down the other side, they wouldn’t get lost. He could always halt them in a place to hide for the rest of the night if he didn’t think he could safely navigate once they were free of this valley.

  The forest opened in front of them next to a black mass that rose toward the sky. Martyn paused at the base of the cliff. It extended as far as he could see in either direction. Which way would lead to safety?

  To the left, most likely. The ground seemed to continue to rise in that direction.

  He turned left, and they trudged along the cliff. Martyn’s calves burned. Behind him, Owen’s ragged breathing rang through the forest.

  Was it just him, or was the cliff face getting shorter? And was that a gap in the trees ahead with sky beyond? The way out, clear and open in front of them.

  Wanderer snorted and shied. Martyn reached for his knife, but even as his hand closed around the hilt, a torch flared in the forest to his left.

  More flames burst to life beside, behind, and in front of them. One torch moved, and a black shape sauntered between them and the valley’s exit. “Really, First Blade, I expected more out of you. Did you think we wouldn’t know all the routes out of this valley, and we wouldn’t guess you’d try to take this way? It is the most logical escape route.”

  Martyn gritted his teeth at Quinten Daas’ mocking tone. Even worse, he was right. Martyn should’ve guessed Daas and the other Blades would know every inch of the valley after spending the winter there. He should’ve known they would head him off rather than blindly chase him.

  Leith would’ve known. But Martyn hadn’t.

  He glanced around at the five torches. None of these Blades could throw knives. If he and Owen moved quickly enough, could they mount their horses and gallop free before the Blades pounced?

  He might be able to do it, but how fast was Owen? He had army training, but could he react fast enough once Martyn gave the signal?

  Even if he did, chances were they’d ride off a cliff in this darkness.

  “Drop your knife. Maybe you think you’re good enough to take us on, but does your friend here have the skills to fight off several Blades?”

  Tension curled through Martyn’s stomach and down into his toes. He glanced over his shoulder. The whites of Owen’s eyes glinted in the faint starlight.

  If it had been Leith at his back, Martyn would’ve taken these five Blades on, no question. But Owen? He wasn’t trained to fight Blades. Especially not in the dark.

  His chest ached. They couldn’t win. He’d failed to warn Leith. He’d failed to keep Owen safe.

  He released his grip on his knife. Nothing he could do but surrender.

  25

  Martyn’s knees crashed into the plank floor of the command cabin. Daas’ hand gripped the back of his neck.

  General Wentle’s polished black boots stopped a few feet away. “Good. You caught him.”

  “Wasn’t that hard.” Daas’ fingers dug into the back of Martyn’s neck.

  Martyn gritted his teeth. If his hands weren’t tied behind his back and former Blade Crossley didn’t have a knife to Owen’s throat, Martyn would show Daas just how hard capturing a former First Blade could be.

  “It took you long enough to earn your keep.” General Wentle snorted.

  “The Blades did well. As I knew they would.” A pair of boots strode into the room and halted next to General Wentle. Martyn craned his neck against the pressure of Daas’ hand to glare at Lord Norton’s slim face. The man’s light blond hair fell in a straight, short cut above his piercing brown eyes. “Second Blade Crossley, please fetch Captain Loust.”

  “Yes, sir.” The thud of a fist thumping into a chest accompanied Crossley’s voice.

  Martyn grimaced. He’d guessed right. Lord Norton was truly trying to return to Respen’s reign. Giving the Blades ranks again. Using the Blade salute. It was as if nothing had even changed with Respen’s death.

  But it had. Everything had. Acktar was better off—would be better off—with Keevan as its king. The terror that the Blades had once been couldn’t be allowed to return.

  What could Martyn do? He’d led Owen right into a trap, and the two of them were no match for five Blades, as well as General Wentle, Lord Norton, and all the guards and men they could call up in a moment’s notice.

  “Sir, we also found this in Hamish’s saddlebag.” Uldiney stepped forward and held out a leather bound book.

  Martyn groaned, barely biting a curse. The Bible Leith had given him. Of all things to get in trouble for. He hadn’t even managed to read the whole wretched thing. He’d avoided having to admit to Kayleigh that he’d lost their deal. Not that it really mattered. Having to clean out the horse shed was a far cry better than where he was now.

  Lord Norton took the book, examined it, then stared down his nose at Martyn. “I see you’ve been taken in by this foolishness.”

  Somehow, Martyn didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t, as if a shared lack of belief would make them similar.

  Footsteps stomped on the porch and lumbered to a halt a few feet behind Martyn. “You wanted to see me?”

  This time, Martyn gave vent to the torrent of curses. Of course it would be that good-for-nothing slug of a Rover leader Martyn had chased out of Kayleigh’s cabin last fall. The man couldn’t have just gone off and died in some hole as worms like him should.

  Lord Norton smirked and waved a hand in Martyn’s direction. “Is this one of the Blades you had trouble with last fall?”

  Captain Loust trudged into Martyn’s peripheral vision. “Yep, that’s the one I ran into near Flayin Falls.”

  “
You may go, captain.” Lord Norton crossed his arms and met Martyn’s gaze. “It is as I guessed. You were the troublesome Blade in the Hills while Leith Torren is in Stetterly. I knew Lady Faythe, wilting flower that she is, wouldn’t let her man stray too far from her grasp.”

  Martyn scowled. Lord Norton didn’t know Renna. She’d thrown herself between Leith and Respen and challenged Respen to kill her. She’d brought about Respen’s downfall. Wilting flower? Not a chance.

  Heat flared down Martyn’s arms and into his chest. Enough listening to Lord Norton’s taunts and questions. “What do you think you’ll accomplish? Respen’s dead. The war’s over.”

  “Is it?” Lord Norton stiffened. “How long will it be before Keevan quietly has me and the other lords who supported King Respen assassinated? I suspected he’d try something. He was too gracious at the end of the war. Then I learned he had you and Torren, two of Respen’s best assassins, on his side. It would only be a matter of time before he used you. What am I supposed to do? Stand by and wait until my wife and children are killed in front of me?”

  Martyn could try to defend himself. But Lord Norton wouldn’t believe him when the evidence pointed otherwise. Respen had lured his enemies into a false sense of security, then sent his Blades after them. Why would Lord Norton expect King Keevan to be any different? Of course he’d take measures to prevent Keevan assassinating him and his fellow lords. It was no more than what Lord Alistair and the Resistance had done.

  How well did Martyn really know King Keevan? Would the king take revenge once the country had settled down into peace? Would he try to use Martyn and Leith as assassins once again?

  No, Leith wouldn’t stand for it, even if King Keevan tried. And, either way, it didn’t matter. Martyn had to stop Lord Norton from killing Leith. Somehow.

  “Thank you for saving me the trouble of tracking you down.” Lord Norton waved at the Blades. “Take Hamish and his friend to the guardhouse and see that they are well tied and guarded.”

  Several pairs of hands grabbed Martyn and dragged him to his feet. Daas and former Blade Offen marched him out the cabin. Ahead, Crossley and Tooley gripped Owen.

  They approached a squat cabin with iron bars across the window. Two beams and three latches locked the heavy door.

  Uldiney was there already, gesturing as he gave the two guards standing at the door orders. After a few minutes, the guards unlocked the door and dragged three men outside, probably men who’d been caught stealing or otherwise causing trouble in the camp.

  Daas and Offen hustled Martyn inside. Something smashed into the back of Martyn’s knees, and his legs buckled. His knees struck the stone floor. Another kick crashed into Martyn’s back, and he landed heavily on his shoulder. Pain stabbed down Martyn’s arm. That would form a nice bruise before the night was over.

  Daas knelt and dug a knee into the small of Martyn’s back. He tied Martyn’s ankles, then ran a length of rope between Martyn’s bound hands and feet, tightening it until Martyn couldn’t straighten his legs.

  Martyn gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain still. Lashing out and kicking Daas’ face was a rather appealing thought, but the Blades would retaliate against both Martyn and Owen.

  Daas stood and swung a kick into Martyn’s stomach. Martyn gasped and doubled over as much as the rope binding his hands and feet would allow.

  After another kick, Daas whirled and followed the other Blades from the jail. The bars, bolts, and other locks shoved into place.

  Once it was quiet, Martyn twisted and managed to roll over. The interior of the cabin remained black except for the faint glow around the one, barred window next to the door. “Owen? Are you all right?”

  A shuffling sound came from the darkness a few feet away. “I’m fine, except that my fingers are already numb.”

  Martyn wiggled and rolled until his feet connected with something solid, yet giving.

  Owen grunted. “That’s my stomach you’re kicking.”

  “Sorry.” Martyn used his shoulders and feet to inch down until he faced Owen. Even this close, all he could make out was his brother’s vague form. “And I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

  Not that it was entirely his fault. If Owen hadn’t bellowed his name loud enough to draw Daas’ attention, they both would’ve been better off. Nothing either of them could do about that now.

  “You can stop apologizing and start getting us out of this mess.” Owen wiggled, his bootheels scraping against the stone floor. “You’re a Blade. Pull out a knife or something and cut us loose.”

  Martyn heaved a sigh. If only it were that simple. If he’d been facing another opponent, maybe. But these were his fellow Blades. They knew all his tricks. “They took my knives when they searched me.”

  “Maybe we can untie each other?”

  “We can try.” Martyn rolled over so that his back faced Owen. He scooted closer as he heard Owen roll over and shuffle around. Martyn’s fingers brushed Owen’s hand, then the rough rope binding him.

  With his own hands bound, Martyn struggled to move his fingers enough to explore the knot and find where to loosen it. He couldn’t picture the rope and how it had been knotted. It just felt like a jumble to him.

  He tugged. Rope slivers clawed under his fingernails. Even if he could find the knot, he couldn’t get a good enough grip to pry it apart. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Let me try.” Owen’s fingers patted across Martyn’s hand until reaching the rope. Martyn held still, hardly daring to breath, as the rope around his wrists was tugged and pulled and yanked.

  Owen growled out a breath and slumped. “It isn’t budging.”

  It had been a false hope all along. The Blades knew better than to leave captives with faulty knots.

  Martyn rested his head against the stone. He wasn’t going to escape. He just had to accept that.

  Leith would die, never knowing that Martyn had even tried to save him this time. Owen, the brother he’d finally regained, would join them in death for no other reason than that he’d been seen with Martyn. And Kayleigh. She’d go on thinking the stranger called Owen Hill had been a heartless Blade who’d done nothing but use her generosity for the winter.

  Martyn might as well have abandoned them in a blizzard for all the good he’d managed to do. It would’ve been better if he’d died during the Battle for Nalgar Castle. At least then Owen and Kayleigh wouldn’t have been hurt.

  “We’ll have to wait until morning and hope we have a chance to escape once they take us out of here.” Martyn sagged onto the floor.

  Did Owen believe it? Martyn couldn’t convince himself. The Blades wouldn’t let Martyn out of their sight.

  He was well and truly trapped.

  Owen heaved a sigh, and his clothes scraped against the stone as he rolled. He drew in a deep breath and held it like he was preparing to ask a question.

  Martyn braced himself. What question would he ask? Something about Martyn’s past? His life as a Blade? How many men he’d killed?

  “Why aren’t you a Christian anymore?”

  Martyn rolled. In the darkness, all he could make out was Owen’s black shape. “Of all the questions you could’ve asked, that’s the one you went with?”

  “It’s the most important one.” Owen moved, in a shrug perhaps. “I know you were a Blade, and I already told you what happened to me. There’s nothing else to tell.”

  Martyn itched to drag his fingers through his hair. That pretty much summed it up, but he’d rather confess what he’d done as a Blade than discuss this topic. “Look, I told you what that minister in Blathe did. Then I became a Blade. Do you really need more of an explanation than that?”

  “Yes. Because I don’t believe faith can die that easily.”

  Martyn gritted his teeth, fighting the heat pulsing in his chest. Then again, why fight it? Why hold back? “I never bought into it. Not even when we were kids. Is that the answer you want?”

  “No, and I don’t believe it either. I can
’t believe the brother who told me Bible stories and made me say my prayers before bed even when Mama and Papa forgot doesn’t exist. That part of you is still there. I have to believe it.”

  Blind, illogical faith. Martyn clenched his fists against the ropes binding his wrists. “The brother you remember never existed. Even then, I thought Mama and Papa were foolish for dragging us to church on the occasions when they did. I decided it couldn’t be real because Mama and Papa never took a stand for anything, not even their own beliefs.”

  Martyn bit his tongue. He’d already said too much. How could he possibly explain the emptiness he’d felt as a child watching Papa waffle between opinions and drift in and out of churches and towns as if truth was as solid as prairie dust on the breeze? He’d struggled to understand how the Bible could say one thing when the people in church lived either like self-righteous prats or waffling fools who didn’t know what they believed. The only thing that made sense was that it wasn’t real.

  “Mama and Papa changed after they thought you died. Yes, it broke them. But it also made them more firm in their faith than before.”

  Martyn couldn’t suppress a snort. Clinging to a useless faith even more tightly after a tragedy. How typical.

  “After I learned you were still alive in the Blades, I asked around. That minister you were left with? He’d only been there about a year after the previous minister was kicked out under mysterious circumstances. Respen put his own lackey in place instead.”

  Guess that figured. It would explain why he was so ready to lie. But it didn’t change anything. Not really. “He was hardly the only hypocrite I’ve met.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But surely you’ve met some Christians you feel are actually living their faith?”

  Renna. Brandi. Kayleigh. Even Leith, there at the end when Martyn had pressed his dagger to his throat and all Leith had said was I don’t blame you. Even Shadrach Alistair, for all his insufferable perfectness. “A few.”

  “And it will always be a few. Personally, I think Christians are the worst bunch of people imaginable. We know the truth, but often we don’t follow it. The thing is, Christians have more opportunities to sin because we know better and still sin anyway.” Owen’s voice dropped. “That’s what makes salvation so amazing. God loves His people, awful as they are, and sent His Son to die for them.”