Taunting the Devil (The Bastard Cadre Book 5)

by Lee Carlon

  Vincent held back the response that occurred to him. You should have let him die. He turned to leave. “I have to go.”

  “Before you do, I would like to know your intentions,” Marlan said.

  Vincent was halfway through the door, but he stopped. Without turning to face Marlan, he asked, “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “Because I do not want to make the same mistake with you as I did with your father.”

  Through the doorway, Vincent saw two members of the cadre that had been with Marlan earlier. He guessed the rest of the cadre was with them, just not in sight yet.

  “I will keep my word and go to Damar with Walden,” Vincent said, he resisted a cold shiver that threatened to breakout on his shoulders.

  “And will you allow Walden to take Maiten’s heart?”

  Vincent turned to face Marlan now. He owed this man nothing, and he could refuse to answer, the cadre waiting in the corridor could not stop him. “I have no desire for it.”

  Vincent started to leave, but he stopped again and asked Marlan, “And what of you?”

  “What do you mean?” Marlan asked, surprised to be questioned.

  “Will you honor the promise you made to Lord Obdurin?” Vincent asked.

  Marlan nodded. “You and I are the same. There is no honor in the world except what each of us brings to it.”

  Hating this man before him for allowing his father to take Rhysin’s heart, and knowing that he was being irrational, Vincent probed cruelly, “Even if you and your wife are blessed with a child? You will send that child to Rhyne to be bound into—”

  Marlan’s cheeks darkened in anger, and the God’s heart on his wrist flared. “Leave. I came here to offer you a place in Turintar if you wanted it, but now I would like you to leave my home.”

  “It would have been a mistake,” Vincent said.

  He stepped through the door into the corridor and, keeping his pace deliberately slow, he made eye contact with the bondsan lining the corridor. He clenched his fists to stop them trembling with rage.

  7

  Meticulous Plans

  “We’d almost given up on you, Green,” Pete said as Vincent followed Mattatan Chi’Obdurin Bondsan into a dark room where Pete and a dozen other people waited. The rest of Mattatan’s cadre and Councilor Walden followed them inside. Somebody closed the door, sealing them in darkness.

  Vincent took a nutri-vial from his pocket. Sorros had given him four of them before he left with Lord Obdurin. Vincent knew that Sorros was going on to Fralit Mars after stopping at Frake’s Peak. He’d wished the immortal well, but not luck. The immortal was playing as many games as Obdurin and possibly the Gods themselves, and that was entirely his own doing.

  Before leaving, Sorros had said, “Get Walden as close to Maiten’s heart as you can but keep your own distance. I’ve known very few people who can deny two Gods in a single day.”

  Vincent had nodded and pushed the vials into his pocket. He’d said, “Rhysin didn’t want me. I was available and better than Warwick, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure?” Sorros had asked.

  “The Gods don’t care about us. We’re tools to be used and thrown away.”

  In the dark room, Vincent unzipped the flap over his nutri-port and ejected the old vial. He slotted the new one into place and felt a rush as the stimulants entered his bloodstream. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the weariness and anger fall away from him like a snake shedding its skin.

  “Well this is cozy, ain’t it?” Pete said. ”It ain’t the way I usually celebrate a successful mission. What about you, Ulri?”

  Ulri didn’t answer. Vincent had rarely heard the first-sworn say more than three words together unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “Not talking, hey?” Pete continued. “Fair enough. Then again, I don’t even know if this was a successful mission. Anyone know?”

  “Lord Obdurin achieved his objectives,” Councilor Walden said.

  “Achieved his objectives, spoken like a true politician,” Pete said.

  “Remind me again why you’re coming to Damar,” Walden said.

  “To keep you from cutting your own head off with that pretty new sword you’re carrying around. Has anybody shown you which end to hold onto yet?”

  Mattatan spoke for the first time. “You talk too much.”

  “Aye, well what else are we supposed to do in here?” Pete asked.

  “We need to get used to the dark, Pete,” Walden said, his tone strained.

  “Sorry, Walden. Standing around in here ain’t going to achieve that.”

  Walden started to respond, but Vincent spoke over him. “He’s nervous. That’s why he’s talking so much.” Even to his own ears, Vincent’s voice sounded clearer.

  “Of course I’m nervous, any of you morons not nervous?” Pete asked. “It ain’t enough that we dealt with Rarick’s lumbering idiot brother and forced Turintar onto its knees to stroke Obdurin’s, er… ego, now we’re off to Damar to say hello to Lord Rarick Chi’Maiten Chosen. Hello, old mate, we killed your baby brother, now it’s your turn, come on, hand it over. Who knows, if we’re lucky, we might even bump into Valan while we’re there and discover the sly bastard ain’t betrayed us. So come on, who’s not nervous? Who thinks this is going to be a good lark?”

  “Look on the bright side, if you die today, you get to serve Lord Obdurin in the next life too,” Vincent said. He took another cleansing breath and felt stronger than he had in a long time. He wondered, What was in that vial?

  “Aye, well it’s better than putting one of those damn God’s hearts on ain’t it. I’d give Obdurin five lives before doing something that stupid.” Despite his words, Vincent thought Pete sounded less agitated, like having somebody to riff with was calming his nerves. “I’ll leave that kind of stupidity to the likes of you and Walden.”

  I am not my father.

  “You know, Obdurin never intended for you to take Turin’s heart from Lord Marlan. Obdurin knew he was talking to a bot, that Lord Marlan was not even in the room with us,” Walden said.

  “Of course I know that,” Pete said. “This way, I get to keep killing Obdurin’s enemies, even after they kill me.”

  That morning, Vincent had considered Pete reckless, but now he thought Pete and, he suspected, his regular companions, Stan and Hull, were killers who knew the truth. Any minute could be their last, hiding from that truth was for weaker men than them. These men reveled in that truth and goaded each other into expressing their disdain for the world and themselves through more and more outrageous acts of reckless bravery.

  Walden’s words came back to him, A singularity of purpose.

  Walden said, “Just remember why we’re going to Damar. If I can take Maiten’s heart, we will have peace between Rhyne and Damar.”

  “Peace, sure. Tell yourself that,” Pete said. “Of course, you got to make sure ol’ Green don’t get to it first.”

  “I have no interest in Maiten’s heart or any other God’s heart. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. After today, you can all play your games without me,” Vincent said.

  “After today?” Pete laughed. “That’s a good one.”

  “There is no conflict or competition between Vincent and I,” Walden said.

  Vincent heard the tremor of doubt and the question in Walden’s voice, but he said nothing to reassure him. Walden, like Obdurin and Sorros, was a willing participant in these games.

  Walden continued, “I will take Maiten’s heart, and there will be peace.”

  “That’s the plan as it was given to you, but Obdurin is a slippery old bugger, ain’t he. Plans within plans he has. Vincent is here because Maiten might not take a fancy to you and he’ll need a second choice,” Pete said.

  “You know the plan as well as the rest of us, Pete,” Walden said.

  “Aye, I do. And I’ll tell you this; I know it won’t work. We’re bloody fools to think it will.”

  Walden said, “It�
�s simple, Tralit d’Arathan will kill Lord Rarick. We stay out of his way, and when he’s gone, I will claim Maiten’s heart.”

  “Tralit, aye, relying on that blackhearted bastard is a stroke of genius,” Pete said.

  “We won’t interfere with Tralit, and he won’t interfere with us,” Walden said.

  “On account of him being so reasonable?” Pete asked. “Anyway, what was it Marlan said? Something about holding the knife yourself if you want to take a God’s heart.”

  Vincent remembered it well. Warwick had just told Marlan that he would have been Rhysin’s new Chosen if his men hadn’t been stopped from killing Lord Obdurin. Lord Marlan had responded that if one of Warwick’s men had killed Lord Obdurin, that man would probably have been Rhysin’s new Chosen.

  “That’s completely different,” Walden said. “Tralit is not interested in taking a God’s heart.”

  “You don’t know that, but even if it’s true, how close do you want to get to the terrible black dragon when he’s in there with Lord Rarick? You’ll have to be close enough to snap up Maiten’s heart before some enterprising soul beats you to it.”

  “Pete, Lord Obdurin and I have worked meticulously through the plans, and we are confident—”

  “That’s the whole fucking problem, ain’t it? Meticulously? Maiten will never accept you. You’re too fucking meticulous. Too fucking clever. The Gods don’t want meticulous Chosen. They want brutal idiots like Rarick and Benshi and Warwick.”

  “Ridiculous, Lord Obdurin is neither brutal nor an idiot,” Walden snapped.

  “Aye, and here’s the truth of that, he was either clever enough to hide how clever he was when old Benshi died or else he’s become cleverer and more meticulous since then. You weren’t there when Obdurin killed Benshi, I was and let me tell you, Obdurin was just as fucking surprised as the rest of us when he stuck that knife in Benshi. Obdurin was a sick old monk who didn’t have long left in this world when he came to Frake’s Peak. If you ask me, Rhysin was having second thoughts about Benshi, he was probably bored of him, and then this doddering old monk turns up, and Rhysin thinks, why not? This could be a laugh until the next brutal idiot comes along. Only Obdurin surprised him, didn’t he? You got any surprises for Maiten?”

  Walden was silent.

  “I didn’t think so. I’m all for knocking off Rarick. He’s a fucking monster, almost as bad as Benshi was. But this notion of you taking Maiten’s heart is a joke.”

  “You fit the profile,” Vincent told Pete. “Maybe we should put you on Damar’s throne.”

  “No need as long as you’re here, Green.”

  “I will not take Maiten’s heart,” Vincent said.

  “In the end, old son, you’ll do as you’re fucking told. The Gods have a way, you see, that’s why they’re Gods, and we’re shit eating nobodies.”

  “He didn’t take Rhysin’s heart,” Walden said. “You weren’t close enough to see through that damn mist, none of us were, but I heard.”

  “Enough,” Mattatan’s voice rumbled in the darkness. “It’s time to go.”

  “We ain’t used to the dark yet,” Pete complained.

  “Form a circle,” Mattatan said.

  Vincent reached out with both arms and held onto the arms he found in the darkness.

  Nobody spoke another word. Vincent guessed Mattatan’s cadre knew when they were all in contact with each other and their passengers.

  The world shifted beneath him.

  8

  Every Eventuality

  Rain ran down Valan’s face, and the idea that it might be tears amused him. He stepped back into the shadow of the seventh circle and looked both ways along the road. The buildings opposite him were empty, but he glanced at them quickly, making sure. He closed his eyes and pictured the cell where he’d left Amir. It took a moment, but he constructed a mental model of the cell. He started with the stone bench in the center of the cell. He didn’t focus on Amir, he was the anchor, but it was the room that was important. Valan remembered the dimensions of the bench and the touch of the stone beneath his fingertips when he’d taken the EMP from its hiding place. He started to work on the spaces between the bench and the walls and the ceiling, but before he got very far, he realized the rain was no longer falling on his face.

  He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer. A panicked voice, his own but much younger, echoed across the centuries to him. We had a deal.

  Valan opened his eyes. A hotel corridor with lines of identical doors spaced at regular intervals stretched out to his left and right. The number four-hundred and ninety-two was on the door in front of him.

  Valan grimaced.

  It was the four-hundred and ninety-second year of the True Gods.

  He disliked Omar’s humor. The God reveled in ambiguity and would leave Valan to ponder if the number were a prophecy, threat, or mere taunt. To the left of the door the numbers decreased, and to the right, they increased. Valan limped to the right, a silent protest. He would not die for many more years to come. He heard that younger version of himself again. I will walk this land until the end of time.

  Tension grew in the air around him. Unseen forces vibrated in agitation against him until Valan felt them pushing him inward from every direction. He struggled to advance against them and waited until the last possible second then said the hated words. “We have a deal.”

  The tension dissipated and it became easy to walk again.

  One day, Valan thought, I will test the boundaries of this realm.

  Words came to him, On that day, this realm will not be open to you.

  Valan forced his mind to stillness. It had been over twenty years this time, and he still forgot to guard his thoughts against Omar.

  Now was not the time to get into a conflict with the Dead God.

  The corridor he followed opened out into a foyer. To the left, there was an abandoned counter with the word reception in bold black letters painted on the wall behind it. To the right, large wooden doors stood open. Valan limped across the foyer and through the wooden doors. The room he entered was a large banquet hall with a feast laid out on tables that ran in three parallel lines. At the far end of the room, there was a stage with musical instruments set out for a band to play. Behind the stage, the back wall was a blur.

  Valan advanced the length of the room, no longer bothering to hide the twinges of pain shooting up through his leg and back. The smells of the food on the tables were tantalizing. There were dishes of steaming vegetables, sides of sliced meat, and roasted chickens bigger than any he’d ever seen before. Silverware sparkled, and plates gleamed. Knives lay ready to carve. Glasses and bottles of wine occupied the spaces between every dish. Valan turned his attention back to the wall behind the stage. The wall was easier to look at the closer he got. Only the edges of the portal were blurred now. Through its center, he saw Amir sitting on his bench, his elbows on his knees and his head hanging forward.

  As he ascended the stage stairs, Valan called, “Amir.” He deliberately made his voice deeper than it normally was. There was a chance Rarick’s people had already fixed the cameras and microphones in the cell.

  Amir looked up and around. He scanned the room but looked right past the portal.

  “Amir,” Valan said again.

  This time Amir looked in Valan’s direction and squinted as though he could see something, but he didn’t know what it was.

  “Move,” Valan said.

  Amir had been in the process of standing from his bench, but he paused and settled back down at Valan’s word.

  Valan cursed silently. Amir was a wild dog who would die fighting before accepting a command, even a command that might save his life.

  “You won’t get another chance,” Valan said. “It’s this or death.”

  Valan stopped at the portal’s edge, he could see into the cell, but he deliberately positioned himself so that the cameras would not catch him.

  Amir leaned back, his hands behind him, holding him up against the
bench he sat on. “I’m getting used to it here,” Amir said. A sly smile on his lips. “The torture is bad. I never knew such pain was possible, but Rarick’s man is talented. I think he still has a lot to teach me.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Valan said.

  “Eventually, mayhap, but I think Rarick will keep me alive until I reveal who betrayed him. Until I give him your name.”

  “When you tell him who betrayed him, who really betrayed him, he will no longer have any use for you.”

  “It’s true,” Amir said. “It’s the only leverage I have. It’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

  “Then move, this portal will close in a minute, and it will not open again.”

  “It’s funny,” Amir said, “You wouldn’t expect it, but torture brings clarity. The way I see it, I can bargain for my life with Rarick’s man, or I can go with you.”

  “You must feel spoiled for choice,” Valan said.

  Amir sneered. “I just have to figure out which is the best choice. I think maybe there’s a reason you don’t want me in this cell.”

  “It is as you say, entirely your choice, but you should make it quickly.”

  “Help me then,” Amir said. “Tell me, why I should come with you?”

  “Because I won’t torture you,” Valan said. He thought to himself, Leave him.

  “Telling me what you won’t do, but not what you will do, is a poor answer,” Amir said. “What will you do?”

  “I’ll give you vengeance on the man who tortured you,” Valan said, “But only if you come now. I won’t wait a second longer.”

  Amir stood up and walked toward the portal. He didn’t slow his pace as he approached, the way most men would when confronted with something so out of the ordinary. He stepped through confidently.

  He’s different, Valan thought. Something has changed.

  “What now?” Amir asked in a clear voice.

  “Now we leave,” Valan said and left the stage. He walked the length of the dining hall, past the tables of food and wine to the entrance. Amir followed him unhurriedly.