“I know. I have read the Bible.” Well, most of it. Martyn yanked against the ropes binding his hands. If he yelled loud enough, could he convince Daas to lock him up somewhere away from Owen?
“You just don’t trust that it’s real.”
“No.”
Owen snorted. “Do you trust anybody?”
Martyn opened his mouth. Did he trust anybody? He’d trusted Leith, until Leith betrayed him.
But how much had Martyn ever trusted Leith? If their roles had been reversed and Martyn had been the one to have doubts about the Blades, would Leith have listened?
He probably would’ve. He was annoying that way.
Martyn snapped his mouth shut. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word no. How could he ever trust anyone when everyone always failed, betrayed, or abandoned him?
“Of course you don’t trust anybody. You can’t. Not when you don’t trust God, the only One who will never break that trust.”
Martyn sighed. Of course, it would get back to that. Did his brother have to be this irritating?
Owen’s voice rose and hardened. “You know what I think? You’re just as guilty of hypocrisy as everyone you’re accusing. You’re self-righteous about your lack of faith, and you’re plenty quick to condemn others. Now I’m going to get some sleep. I’m done talking.”
Owen rolled over and wiggled, putting more distance between them.
Martyn stared at his brother’s back. Was he being the hypocritical one? Was he doing exactly what he always accused others of doing?
26
A branch slapped Martyn’s face. Squinting into the rising sun, he tried to duck the next one, but the ropes tying him to his saddle and binding his hands behind his back restricted his movements.
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The Blades hadn’t given him or Owen much in the way of water and nothing for food since their capture two nights ago.
He craned his neck to peer over his shoulder. Owen swayed and his head lolled in time with his horse’s stride.
This was too much for him. He didn’t have the kind of training and discipline Martyn had.
The command to halt worked its way down the column of men. Daas drew his horse to a stop, and Wanderer, attached by a lead to Daas’ saddle, paused too.
Lord Norton cantered his horse along the line and skidded to a halt. “Offen, Daas, Crossley, and Tooley, you’ll come with me. Uldiney, you’ll remain with the men and report to General Wentle until I return. And, Daas, gag our prisoners.”
Martyn didn’t resist as Daas shoved a rag into his mouth, then tied another rag over his mouth. Martyn coughed. The fabric clung to his already dry tongue.
What was Lord Norton doing? Martyn’s stomach twisted. They weren’t far from Flayin Falls or Kayleigh’s cabin. Surely Lord Norton wouldn’t target Kayleigh, would he?
Five soldiers dropped out of line and joined them, including that Rover Captain Loust. Martyn yanked on the ropes holding him to the saddle. At a signal from General Wentle, the army began moving again. It would probably circle around Flayin Falls before striking south for Stetterly.
Martyn could do nothing but uselessly twist and jerk against the ropes binding him tightly to the saddle. He chewed on the gag, but the wad of fabric in his mouth prevented him from digging his teeth into the fabric without choking himself.
As Lord Norton set out headed directly south toward Flayin Falls, they passed close to the familiar rise overlooking Kayleigh’s cabin.
If they made enough noise, would Kayleigh hear? If she spotted them, would she think to warn someone?
Martyn had to do something. He couldn’t make more than a muffled croak against the gag. He couldn’t move more than his upper body and his heels.
It had to be enough. He dug his heels into Wanderer’s ribs harder than he ever had before. Wanderer jumped and snorted loudly.
Lord Norton swiveled in the saddle. “Keep that horse quiet.”
Daas turned in his saddle, trying to shush the horse.
Martyn kicked Wanderer again. The horse reared, and Martyn leaned forward to keep himself and the horse balanced. If Wanderer toppled over backward, Martyn had no way to get free before being crushed.
Daas’s eyes widened as he was dragged from his saddle by his grip on Wanderer’s leadrope. His own horse snorted and shied away, freeing Daas to dangle from the end of the leadrope.
Wanderer crashed to the ground, his front hooves missing Daas’ leg by inches, and trumpeted a whinny.
Crossley and Tooley scrambled from their horses and grabbed Wanderer’s bridle on either side of his head. Daas leapt to his feet, groaned, and clutched his left shoulder. “I think that horse pulled my arm from its socket.”
Lord Norton turned and glared at all of them. Daas stopped moaning but continued to grip his shoulder.
Dallen Offen, now Lord Norton’s First Blade, sighed, swung down from his horse, and marched to Daas. “Hold still.” He gripped Daas’s arm and shoulder, twisted to hold the arm straight, and shoved.
Daas cried out and collapsed to his knees, moaning again.
A few yards away, Owen stared at Daas, a wrinkle forming between his eyes as if in pity. Martyn shook his head. Daas didn’t deserve pity. Not after all the torture he’d inflicted so willingly on others.
Was Martyn’s commotion enough to warn Kayleigh of trouble? Martyn would have no way of knowing.
Lord Norton wheeled his horse and stopped beside Martyn, his face impassive. Martyn met his gaze. This was the moment Respen’s fist would’ve lashed out.
But Lord Norton remained cold and calm on his horse. “You may think you accomplished something with that prank, but you will pay dearly for it.”
Martyn didn’t look away, gritting his teeth against the gag and the words he couldn’t say. If Leith could handle Respen’s torture, then surely Martyn could hold up under whatever punishment Lord Norton had planned.
A smile touched the corners of Lord Norton’s mouth as if the man laughed at Martyn’s show of defiance. “I’m not going to lay a finger on you. Nor will the Blades.” Lord Norton nudged his horse, and the Blades rushed to remount.
What did that mean? Martyn glanced over his shoulder at Owen as Daas once again tugged Wanderer into line. A knot formed in Martyn’s chest, snagged his breath. Was Lord Norton planning on torturing Owen to punish Martyn?
But to what end? He didn’t have to punish Martyn to keep the Blades in line, like Respen had to. As far as Martyn could figure, Lord Norton didn’t know Owen was Martyn’s brother, just that they’d been trying to escape the camp together.
Why was Martyn still alive? Lord Norton would’ve been smart to kill Martyn right away rather than risk him escaping to warn King Keevan.
The knot in Martyn’s chest tightened when Lord Norton turned, not in the direction of his army, but toward Flayin Falls. Flayin Falls hated Respen and everybody and anybody connected even remotely to him. As Respen’s biggest supporter, Lord Norton would hardly make their favorite person list.
Apparently, Lord Norton didn’t care. He rode straight down the main street. People darted out of his way, peeking between doors and shuttered windows. Ahead, one young man took off toward Flayin Falls Manor at the far end.
Lord Norton halted in the main square and waited, one hand resting lightly on his thigh as if he hadn’t marched into the middle of a town that was liable to kill him. For a few minutes, the square remained empty except for Lord Norton and the single iron lamppost rising off to one side.
Men poured from Flayin Falls Manor, racing toward the stables. More men began appearing on the boardwalk and porches with swords, axes, and pitchforks in their hands. The healer was there, glaring at Martyn, as was the shopkeeper, who crossed his arms and frowned.
Martyn tugged at his hands, trying to loosen the ropes. What was Lord Norton planning? If a fight broke out, he didn’t have nearly enough men to stave it off, and, defenseless as they were, Martyn and Owen could be killed in the crossfire.
His gaze snagged on a figure huddled in the shadows in the alley beside the general store. Her brown hair was tied back from her face, and her dark green blouse stood out against the dusty brown of her divided, buckskin skirt.
Kayleigh. She hadn’t been in her cabin. She was here.
Their gazes locked, and her mouth gaped. Martyn shook his head and turned away. Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want to draw attention to her.
A group of riders set out from the manor and cantered down the main street, the hilts of their swords glinting in the morning sunlight. At the far end of the main square, they halted. The man in the center walked his horse another few yards into the square before he too stopped, facing Lord Norton.
Based on his quality silk shirt and his air of authority, this had to be the late Lord Westin’s younger brother, the one put in charge until Lord Westin’s son Kurt grew old enough to take over. If Martyn remembered right, the young lord was being raised by his mother’s brother and his wife to prevent this younger Westin brother from getting any ideas of dispatching of the boy and taking the lordship of Flayin Falls for himself permanently.
Westin eyed Lord Norton, one hand fisted at his side and the other clamped on the reins. His horse pawed and flicked its tail. “What do you want, Norton? The king will not take kindly to any intrusion here.”
“I come here as a peaceful gesture only.” Lord Norton kept his hand loose at his side.
Martyn snorted, the loudest sound he could make past the gag. Sure, this was a peaceful mission. Please ignore the five hundred men sneaking through the prairie outside of town.
Martyn’s snort hadn’t been loud enough to pause Lord Norton. He raised his free hand, palm up, toward Westin. “Until the last few years, Kilm and Flayin Falls have always been allies. Together with Walden, we guard Acktar’s northern frontier. I would like to re-establish the friendship our towns once had.”
Lies, lies, and more lies. This was nothing but a diversion.
But why had Lord Norton taken Martyn and Owen along to see it? Having two bound men in tow wasn’t the way to go about convincing Westin of peaceful intentions.
Westin glared, his hands fisted so tightly on the reins that his horse tossed its head and dug a deeper hole with its pawing hoof. “Why should we believe you? My brother is dead thanks to Respen’s Blades.”
“I never agreed with all of Respen’s policies, and his use of assassins was deplorable.”
Said the man with four disguised Blades guarding his back.
Lord Norton smiled and waved at the men behind him. “I know you don’t believe me. That’s why I’ve brought you and your town a gift.”
A gift? What—Martyn stiffened as Daas and Offen dismounted and sliced through the ropes binding him to the horse. Daas grabbed his bound hands and dragged him from the saddle. Martyn fell onto his shoulder, his legs too stiff to move.
Daas and Offen yanked him up by his shoulders and marched him past Lord Norton into the open space. They shoved him down, and gravel bit into his knees through his buckskin trousers.
His stomach tightened. He was the gift. Delivered like a trussed up calf for a feast. That’s why he’d been gagged. He couldn’t explain that King Keevan had granted him clemency. He couldn’t tell Westin that Lord Norton was protecting the five Blades that weren’t supposed to be in Acktar.
Daas grabbed a handful of Martyn’s hair and yanked his head back. He blinked at the pain tearing across his scalp. Something cold and sharp pressed against the vein in his neck. Daas grinned and said low enough for only Martyn to hear, “Don’t move. I’d be more than happy to slit your throat.”
“What’s the meaning of this?” Westin’s voice accompanied the clatter of his horse’s hoofbeats trotting a few steps closer.
“This man is a Blade. My men caught him trying to sneak into Acktar with this young Rover. You can have them, along with their horses. Such fine animals will probably fetch a nice price at Nalgar.”
Knees scuffed into the dirt next to Martyn, followed by a grunt. Out of the corner of his eye, Martyn caught sight of Tooley and Crossley pinning Owen on his knees next to Martyn.
Offen gripped Martyn’s right sleeve, drew a knife, and sliced through the fabric near the shoulder, then slit the fabric down Martyn’s arm to his wrist. When he let go, the two ends of the fabric flopped open.
Gasps tore through the people gathered on the boardwalks. A few of Westin’s men muttered under their breath.
Martyn didn’t have to look to know what they saw. The parallel lines of his marks marched down his right arm, now exposed for the entire town to see.
Even if he could speak, nothing he could say now would make a difference. People who were bitter enough to turn away an innocent, injured girl because she was distantly related to Respen would do far worse when presented with a not-so-innocent Blade. It didn’t matter that Martyn hadn’t been the one who’d killed Lord Westin and his wife. He was a Blade, and that was enough.
“I know it will not bring back your lord and lady, but I believe the execution of a Blade would go a long way in procuring the justice the king denied you.”
Martyn jerked, causing Daas’s hand to tighten in his hair. That was Lord Norton’s plan with all this. That’s why he’d spared Martyn.
Shouting started along the boardwalks. Footsteps clattered.
Martyn closed his eyes, trying to block the sound of the various suggestions for his death. Lord Norton couldn’t just kill King Keevan. The Resistance towns would revolt again.
But if he discredited King Keevan and gained the loyalty of several of the Resistance towns most hurt by the Blades?
He’d just secured the support of Flayin Falls and planted the first idea that King Keevan was, in fact, the one protecting the Blades. When Lord Norton revealed that King Keevan had kept not one, but four former Blades alive and pardoned in Acktar, the groundswell would build. When Lord Norton captured Stetterly, he probably planned to use Leith, Ranson, and Jamie as “gifts” to other Resistance towns. Perhaps Emilin or Ably would react like Flayin Falls was now.
Lord Norton wouldn’t have to stop there. He could bring down Lord Alistair, Lady Lorraine, and Renna by their connection to Leith and their knowledge of his past. Whatever leadership role Lord Alistair had among the Resistance towns would be undone.
Martyn struggled, but Daas and Offen held him too tightly. Daas’s knife pricked his neck, and something warm and wet drooled onto Martyn’s collarbone.
He was helpless to stop it. Lord Norton didn’t have to torture or kill Martyn. All he had to do was turn him over to the furious townsfolk and let them tear him apart.
Feet pounded closer. Daas and Offen released him and tossed him to the ground. Martyn barely had time to curl into a ball, before a stampede of people surrounded him. Boots crashed into his arms, his stomach, his legs. A woman shrieked, and her pointed heel smashed into his ribs. A toe clipped his ear, and blood gushed warm and sticky down the side of his face and into his hair.
Was this how he was going to die? Beaten and kicked to death in the street like a dog? Martyn tried to suck in a breath, but dust choked what little air he could force into his lungs past the gag and vicious kicks.
Owen? Where was Owen? Were the townspeople giving him the same beating? He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t a Blade. He hadn’t hurt anybody, not like Martyn had.
And Kayleigh. Where was she? The mob might turn on her next if they spotted her. Had she found a place to hide until she could slip away?
Hoofbeats drummed the ground. The kicking stopped, and firm hands hauled Martyn to his feet. He cracked his eyes open and tried to focus past the swirling in his head. Westin’s men gripped his arms, holding him upright.
A few yards away, Owen swayed between several more guards, one eye swollen and blood pouring from his nose. In the distance, Lord Norton, his guards, and the Blades rode freely from the town.
Westin’s voice broke through the pounding in Martyn’s ears. “�
��not like this…too quick. We should give this Blade justice! A proper execution!”
“Hang him! Hang him!”
“Chop off his head!”
One voice screeched above the others. “Burn him!”
More voices took up the cry until it became a chant. “Burn him! Burn him!”
Westin rode into Martyn’s line of sight and held up his hands. “Very well, we’ll burn him at the stake tomorrow morning. That will give him plenty of time to dread his death.”
Burning? That’s how he’d die? Martyn struggled against the hands holding him, but their grip wouldn’t budge. One guard punched Martyn in the stomach. Pain flashed through his body, and he doubled over, retching against the gag still clogging his mouth and throat.
“Tie him to the post and take the Rover to the jailhouse. We’ll decide what to do with him later. And take off their gags. We’ll want to hear his screams tomorrow.”
Martyn couldn’t resist as the men dragged him to the lamppost and tied his hands above his head to a ring set just below the glass enclosed candle at the top.
He craned his neck to watch more men march Owen into the building a few yards beside and behind the lamppost. Based on the stone walls and barred windows, it had to be the jailhouse.
One of the men untied Martyn’s gag and yanked the cloth free. Martyn spit the wad of fabric out of his mouth, barely missing one man’s face. “You’ve got to listen to me. Lord Norton is going to attack the king. He has five Blades with him. He—”
The man backhanded Martyn’s jaw. “Mangy cur. Like we’ll believe any of your lies. You’d say anything to spare your own hide.”
“Leave the dog be. He’ll get what’s coming to him tomorrow.” The other man smirked at Martyn. “I’m sure he’ll be begging for mercy by the time the flames lick his toes.”
Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4) Page 24