Deliver (The Blades of Acktar Book 4)

by Tricia Mingerink

Martyn gritted his teeth. They weren’t listening. Of course not. Why should they when he was so obviously a Blade and Lord Norton looked like such a hero for turning him over to them?

  Some of Westin’s guardsmen fanned out in a wide circle around Martyn and the jailhouse, walking back and forth in a steady patrol.

  “Martyn?”

  Martyn craned his neck to peer over his shoulder at the sound of Owen’s voice. In one of the windows at the side of the jailhouse, a face peered between the bars. What could Martyn say? They had no escape. Maybe he could lie and tell Owen it would be all right, but Owen wouldn’t believe him. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry.” Owen gripped the bars. “I got you caught, didn’t I? Without me, you would’ve gotten away.”

  “But I wouldn’t have known I still had a brother.” That was the one good thing that had come out of all this. Or was that a good thing? In the end, Owen would have to watch his brother burn to death in front of him. Perhaps it would’ve been better if they’d never seen each other again, the same way it would’ve been easier if Leith had never returned to Nalgar Castle.

  Though if Leith had never returned, Respen might never have been defeated. And Martyn would still be loyally serving the man who lied to keep him from his parents.

  A flash of green caught Martyn’s eye. He faced forward again as Kayleigh crossed the square, her head held high. What was she doing? She should get out of here before the dispersing mob turned its violence on her.

  She strode straight to one of the men patrolling around Martyn and Owen. “I need to speak with the Blade.”

  The guard crossed his arms. “So you can set him free?”

  “Of course not! My father was killed by a Blade.” Kayleigh stabbed a finger at Martyn. “I have to know if this is the Blade that did it. Please. You served with my father. You knew him, and you used to know me. You know I’m not about to let this Blade go, especially not if he killed my father.”

  Martyn squeezed his eyes shut. He had thought he’d wanted her hatred, but this…it tore something deep inside him.

  “Fine. But I’ll have to search you.” The guard’s voice remained hard.

  Martyn’s heart thumped loud in his ears. When he forced his eyes open, Kayleigh had stopped within arms reach of him, close enough for him to see the lighter glints in her dark brown hair and the flashes of sunlight on the floral pattern of her shirt. How had he ever mistaken her for anything other than a beautiful girl?

  “Owen Hill, how could you?” She slapped him across his uninjured cheek.

  He flinched. How could he what? Lie to her? Be a Blade? Kill her father? She had so many reasons to slap him.

  Martyn stilled. She’d slapped him. But Kayleigh wasn’t the slapping type. If she’d truly hated him, she would’ve punched him hard enough to break his nose.

  Had the slap been for show for the guard? Did that mean she didn’t hate Martyn?

  “It’s Martyn, actually.” He cleared his throat. Really? That’s the first thing he could come up with right now? His name? But right now, it seemed important that she know his real name. As if she’d remember him or some such rot once he died. “My real name’s Martyn Hamish.”

  She dropped her hand, something dying in her eyes. “Oh. I guess I should’ve realized that was a lie too.”

  Martyn winced. Yes, that’s how she’d remember him. The man who’d lied to her about everything, including his name. Just the person she’d think about fondly after his terrible death-by-burning. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you the truth.”

  “Yes, you should’ve. You should’ve stuck around long enough to tell me. Instead you ran.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides, her gaze focused on the ground. “Were you the Blade who killed my father?”

  “No. I was in Uster that night.” And he couldn’t be more thankful for that. “Fourth Blade Craven killed your father. And I really am a scout for King Keevan. He granted me clemency.”

  “Then what you shouted is true? About Lord Norton and the Blades?” She searched his face, her voice lowered.

  Martyn glanced over her head at the guards. The guard who’d challenged her stood still, arms crossed, as he watched the two of them.

  “Yes, he has five hundred men, including five Blades. He plans to take over Stetterly and ambush King Keevan when he arrives for his cousin’s wedding.” Martyn tugged on his bound hands. He had to warn Renna and Leith. Somehow.

  When she looked up at him, new steel gleamed in her eyes, and her voice lowered further. “I couldn’t bring a knife this time, but I’ll try to sneak back tonight.”

  For a moment, it was so tempting. Escape from this town and the death that waited for him. Martyn’s chest ached to do anything to avoid the flames.

  But Westin wouldn’t relax his guard tonight. If Kayleigh was caught, she’d suffer at the hands of the townsfolk. Would they be angry enough to make her join him at the stake?

  More than that, Martyn couldn’t risk having her wait around for a mere chance she could save him. He had to get the information he knew into the right hands to save Leith and King Keevan. He couldn’t jeopardize that even for escape.

  With a warning, Leith would survive. He’d marry Renna, and they’d have a whole pack of children. One of them would probably be named Martyn, and Leith would tell him stories about how his namesake sacrificed his life to save Leith’s.

  Martyn could die for that.

  “No, I need you to get out of here.” Martyn opened his eyes and didn’t continue until she met his gaze. “It’s our only chance to warn King Keevan.”

  Where should he send her? Sierra was closest, but Lord Norton’s army marched between Flayin Falls and Sierra on its way toward Mountainwood. If Kayleigh went to Nalgar, she’d have the same problem.

  It had to be Walden. All Kayleigh would have to do was mention Leith’s name, and Lord Alistair and Shadrach would trip over themselves in their haste to help.

  “Ride to Walden. My horse should be in the town stables. Fetch him and another horse that looks like it has stamina. Alternate walking and loping the horses, switching between them to give one a rest. Once you get to Walden, tell them Leith Torren is in trouble, and Martyn Hamish sent you. That’ll get you brought to Lord Alistair right away. He will know what to do from there.” He cleared his throat. “Lord Norton also caught my brother.”

  Kayleigh’s stance stiffened once again. “Your brother? So all that about your parents and brother was a lie too?”

  “No, I really thought he died. He finally managed to track me down a few days ago and got caught with me. Please ask Lord Alistair to send men here to get him. If they get here in time, they might be able to stop the townsfolk from doing anything to him.” Whatever happened, Martyn had to keep Owen safe.

  “All right.” She squeezed her hands into fists. “They won’t be able to get here in time to save you, will they?”

  “No.” The word tore through him. Sending her away was as good as giving himself to the coming fire.

  What choice did he have? He had to save Leith. Maybe this was the reason he hadn’t died in Nalgar Castle. He was supposed to die here so that his friend could live. Like that story of David and Jonathan that Brandi had told him all those months ago.

  “There’s nothing you can do to help me. You’ll only be caught.” Martyn shook his head. “Leith Torren is at Stetterly. He was like a brother to me, but I betrayed him. I let Respen torture him. I can’t let it happen again. Please. I need you to go.”

  Her eyes wide and wet, Kayleigh reached out and rested trembling fingers against Martyn’s cheek. He closed his eyes. He’d been such a fool to run. To think that he could fight the warmth growing in his chest.

  But it didn’t matter. He’d lost whatever chance he’d had, and now it was too late for him to ever discover if he could’ve been more than a Blade.

  “I’ll go, but only if you make one last deal with me.” Kayleigh’s firm tone compelled him to look into her brown eyes.r />
  He forced himself to grin. “I lost our last deal, you know. I didn’t finish reading the Bible. I got stuck somewhere at the end of Hebrews. And I skipped Leviticus. And Nehemiah. And several other parts that got a little too boring. Guess I owe you a month of shed cleaning.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I cleaned the shed the day you left while trying not to use every swear word I learned from you.” She grinned back, but a tear still leaked from the corner of her eye and trickled along the base of her nose.

  “I hope you kept the soap handy. I have.” He glanced past her. The guard took a step toward them. They were out of time.

  She cast a glance over her shoulder, another tear joining the first. “Promise me you’ll consider everything I said about God and the Bible and faith. I don’t want to leave knowing that you…you died hopeless.”

  The guard stalked closer. Martyn swallowed. “Deal. I’ll think about it. Now I need you to go. The king’s life depends on you.”

  She nodded but hesitated for another second. Standing on tiptoes, she leaned closer and for a moment, her lips brushed his jaw. Then she turned and marched away, swiping at her face.

  Martyn leaned his head against the lamppost, aching both outside and in, and closed his eyes. She was going to leave. Hopefully she realized that, in the end, he was going to win one deal. She would have to move after she’d linked herself to him in front of the guard. That, and the town might consider her a horse thief.

  Shadrach was too disgustingly chivalrous to allow her to return without an escort. He’d figure out what was going on and make sure she was taken care of properly. He’d do the same for Owen.

  As would Leith. He and Renna would step in and make sure both Kayleigh and Owen never lacked for family and friends again, like David in Brandi’s story adopting Jonathan’s son into his own house. They’d all live long, happy lives. Perhaps they’d think about Martyn every once in a while. Like he had to his parents, he’d become better as a memory than he’d ever been in real life.

  Hoofbeats clattered in the road’s hard-packed dust. Martyn cracked his eyes open as Kayleigh galloped through the town square on Wanderer, a small black horse running on a leadrope behind her. The guards shouted, shaking their fists. Two dashed to the stables, but she would be long gone by the time they got horses saddled.

  Martyn sagged against the lamppost. She was gone. And with her went his last chance of escape.

  Tomorrow morning, he’d burn.

  27

  “You told her your name was Owen?”

  Martyn sighed and turned his head so he could see the hazy shape of the jailhouse window out of the corner of his eye. “At the time, I thought you were dead, so it seemed like as good a name as any.”

  “So who is she?”

  Even now, he wouldn’t be able to avoid annoying, little brother questions. But, Martyn probably should tell someone about Kayleigh. When Owen was rescued—and he would be rescued, Martyn couldn’t let himself believe anything else—Owen would tell Leith and Shad about Kayleigh, and Leith would figure out how much she’d meant to Martyn. “I stayed the winter in a cabin near hers. She’s…”

  Special. But there was no way Martyn would ever say that out loud.

  A group of women walked past the guards, several of them carrying baskets. The guards grinned and turned to face his post. One of the women pulled a rock from her basket.

  Martyn braced himself. Of course they wouldn’t let him spend his last day alive in peace. He managed to dodge the first stone, but the second smashed into his ribs. A third glanced off his shoulder.

  He grunted. Rocks peppered his body and his legs. Pain cracked through his skull. Insults hurled along with the rocks, but the ringing in his ears drowned them out.

  Eventually, the women ran out of rocks, and insults that were acceptable for polite society. If Martyn’s mouth wasn’t so dry and his head aching, he would’ve snorted. He could’ve come up with much better insults, if he hadn’t had swear words soaped off his tongue.

  Martyn pressed his bleeding forehead against his arm. He raised his voice loud enough for Owen to hear. The guards would hear too, but Martyn didn’t care. He only had these few hours left with his brother. “What was it like growing up in Surgis?”

  Owen might’ve said he had nothing to tell, but now he shared story after story of the years he’d spent in Surgis. Mostly funny stories with Owen getting into trouble.

  Martyn closed his eyes. He should’ve been there, getting into trouble with Owen. Seeing his father’s disappointment and his pride. His mother’s gentle hand stroking his hair.

  He fought the lump gathering in his throat. All those years in the Blades, he’d pushed the memories so far into a hard, bitter corner of his chest that he’d nearly forgotten so much. His father would tell him and Owen stories each night before their mother tucked them into bed, singing them to sleep while stroking their hair. If Martyn concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the tingles along his scalp.

  Somewhere during that day as the sun dragged into the afternoon, Martyn found himself telling Owen stories about the Blades. Some of the more mundane missions he and Leith did together, like scouting the Sheered Rock Hills. Training. Tracking down Rovers. Martyn spoke until his words scraped in his raw throat.

  As the stars began to blink into view in the purple-blue sky, Martyn ran his tongue around his mouth. When was his last drink? He should’ve appreciated it more. He wouldn’t get another one before he died. “You should get some sleep.”

  “Not a chance. Not tonight.”

  Martyn rested against the cold lamppost. His brother would stay with him until the end.

  A cold breeze drifted through the town, trailing cold fingers along Martyn’s bare right arm. He shivered. An early spring night like tonight would drop to near freezing. Tied to this lamppost as he was, his fingers already tingled.

  Tortured by nearly freezing before he was burned to death in the morning.

  How had Leith remained so calm while waiting a tortuous week for his death? Martyn swallowed and tried to still his shaking hands. Tension spiraled deeper into his chest until he struggled to breathe. How was Martyn going to face burning to death in the morning?

  He couldn’t. He’d scream. He’d sob. He’d break. And Owen would be forced to watch all of it. His last memory of his brother would be Martyn’s broken agony.

  Yet, Martyn had been positive Leith wouldn’t be able to face torture and death either. He’d counted on Leith’s fear to keep him from returning to Nalgar Castle.

  But Leith had returned. He’d faced Respen. He hadn’t broken. Sure, there was that one time during the torture when Respen had forced him to confirm King Keevan’s plan. But everyone in that room, Respen included, knew Leith’s courage hadn’t broken. And Leith didn’t give them any information Respen didn’t already know.

  The cold, hard fact was, Martyn knew with absolute certainty that Leith hadn’t had that much courage. If he’d had, then he never would’ve killed the first time. Or the second. Or the third.

  And Renna. Martyn could’ve sworn she had even less courage than Leith. After all, he’d seen her break. But even broken, she’d only become stronger and had faced death like a victory rather than a defeat.

  It all came down to the one thing Marytn had avoided considering. Faith.

  But he’d promised Kayleigh. Even if it meant facing things about himself he’d ignored for over a decade.

  Had he lied to Owen when he’d told him he’d never been convinced faith or God was real? Sometime back in his childhood, he had believed it, right? Before logic had taken over and told him it couldn’t be real. He no longer knew.

  Renna had once said that no child of God was ever lost. They might stray for a while, but God would always draw them back to Him. Did that mean Martyn had simply been running all these years or that he hadn’t really been one in the first place? And if he’d never been a Christian, would he never be?

  All of this could be an utter load
of nonsense. There was that pretty convincing possibility.

  Martyn shifted against the freezing iron post. His breath misted a cloud in front of his face. Someone in his situation might be tempted to make a last-minute conversion just to cover all the angles before he died. But Martyn wasn’t about to give himself over to a delusion just to make himself feel better for a few hours before death.

  No, if Martyn made that step, it would be because he genuinely believed it was all real, and he had every intention of living out that conviction for the rest of his days, however long or short that was.

  He needed proof. That was the only logical way to go about this. And all the evidence he’d built up over the years pointed in the direction of foolishness.

  What was that verse he’d just read in the Bible? Something about faith being the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.

  That was real helpful. Faith was the evidence of faith. Great argument there. Invisible thing the substance of more invisible things.

  Over the years, he’d learned to trust only in things he could see and touch.

  You can see faith in actions. Brandi had once told him, back when they’d argued on the trail to Nalgar Castle.

  At the time, all the actions he’d ever seen had proved otherwise. His parents’ abandonment. That minister kicking him out onto the streets. And right now, a town with the majority of its population calling themselves Christians was going to burn him to death in the morning.

  Yet, Martyn’s parents hadn’t abandoned him, and that minister was Respen’s man more than anyone’s. Everything Respen told him was a lie. Was he lying about faith too?

  Had this always been about Martyn believing God abandoned him? If so, then what was Martyn running from? Running implied that something chased him.

  The fool hath said in his heart there is no God.

  Respen was a fool. Was Martyn also being a fool? Or were Leith, Renna, Brandi, and Kayleigh the fools as Martyn had always said?

  No. Whatever else he’d done, Leith was no fool. Neither was Kayleigh.