The Lord of Frake's Peak (The Bastard Cadre Book 4)

by Lee Carlon

  Obdurin stood up. “You all think this is easy. That I am giving up. Giving Warwick Rhysin’s heart—”

  Exasperated, Sorros snapped, “I thought you understood this isn’t about the hearts. The Gods have given you a game to play to keep you distracted. Whether you hold a God’s heart or give it away is irrelevant. Who holds the God’s heart is irrelevant. Either way, you’re still playing their game, and it’s a rigged game. You cannot win.”

  Sorros turned to leave, but the door opened before him. Two of Siaveen’s bondsan stepped into the room to either side of the door. Lord Marlan, Valan, and Warwick entered after them.

  16

  Chosen

  By Vincent’s side, Fahlim whispered, “A rigged game. What a curious notion.”

  Vincent looked at him sharply, and Fahlim smiled but said nothing more.

  Pressure was building behind Vincent’s eyes signaling the onset of a headache. He was tempted to skim through the wall and leave. Let Obdurin, Fahlim, Sorros, and everybody else here play their games. I’ve seen too much today. He remembered holding Chen’s hand at the end. It’s not right that she died, but these men get to live and play politics. Her death is on them.

  Lord Marlan entered the conference room first. His puzzled expression moved from Sorros who stood by the door to Lord Obdurin who stood at his place at the table. Marlan raised his eyebrows at Obdurin, but Obdurin said nothing.

  Fahlim continued quietly at Vincent’s ear, “There is another way.”

  Vincent scowled back at the immortal.

  “I am merely echoing Sorros’s words. There are always other options. If Obdurin is determined to relinquish Rhysin’s heart, we can do better than that brute.” Fahlim nodded at Warwick who had just entered the conference room with Valan.

  “You’re just worried he’ll have you executed,” Vincent whispered back and flinched against the pressure building in his head.

  “Of course I am,” Fahlim said. “Self-preservation and all that. You could do with a dose of it yourself.”

  “Are you ready, old man?” Warwick asked in a subdued tone as he entered the room.

  Lord Obdurin glanced around the room at his companions without meeting any of their eyes.

  Doran slid off the edge of the table where she sat. “Obdurin—”

  “It’s okay.” Obdurin glanced at the girl. “The Gods want peace and this is how we get it.”

  Around the room, people murmured to themselves, but nobody protested.

  Vincent’s eyes found Rhysin’s heart, the stone pulsed faintly, and the pressure in Vincent’s head receded a little.

  Siaveen’s cadre filed into the room and took up positions around Lord Obdurin, apparently determined to fulfill their obligation until the moment of his death.

  Valan advanced into the room on a splinted leg. His face still bruised, he moved with difficulty. He pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. Valan glanced at Sorros and then Vincent, but his attention rested on Lord Obdurin. “You have my admiration, Obdurin. Men with the courage to act are rare indeed.”

  Vincent ignored the words even though he was sure they were meant for him as much as they were for Obdurin. He continued to examine Rhysin’s heart.

  Obdurin nodded at Valan and was about to speak when Ethan brushed past him.

  “I should have killed you,” Ethan told Valan.

  “Go ahead. Try. You won’t be the first,” Valan said.

  Restless, Warwick shifted his stance and repeated his question. “Are you ready, old man?”

  “I am, but before we do this, I have some words for you, Warwick.” Obdurin’s voice was clear and steady.

  Warwick moved closer, but Ethan rolled his shoulders and put himself between Warwick and Obdurin.

  “Ethan, my decision is made,” Obdurin said.

  “Mine isn’t,” Ethan said.

  “It’s not your decision to make,” Obdurin said.

  Vincent watched Ethan, but he glanced at Valan and Sorros. They didn’t believe it was Obdurin’s choice either. Vincent leaned back against the wall. This wasn’t his game. The pulsing of Rhysin’s heart captured his focus again.

  “Choice,” Ethan snapped. “That’s what you always say. We always have choices. Even when the only choice is how to face the world when we have no more choices left.”

  “Wise words,” Fahlim whispered in Vincent’s ear.

  The pressure in Vincent’s head increased again as he listened to Fahlim’s words. He dismissed them from his mind and was transported back through time to when, as a child, he’d examined Rhysin’s heart with such intensity.

  “How do you choose, Ethan?” Obdurin asked.

  “I choose to leave,” Ethan said. “You have made your choice, but I won’t stay for it. I will leave now.” Ethan stared at Warwick as he spoke the last sentence. He walked toward Warwick. The big Damarian held his ground, and Ethan passed him without incident and then he was at the door to the conference room and gone.

  Obdurin looked smaller without Ethan by his side.

  Vincent looked back at Rhysin’s heart. Until this moment, he’d forgotten the calming effect Rhysin’s heart had had on him as a child.

  “Your words?” Warwick asked.

  “Fahlim was right, your rule as Lord of Rhyne will be decided in its first moments, but it’s not just the way you take the heart that counts. It’s also the thought in your mind when you place Rhysin’s heart on your wrist that will determine the tone of your rule and your relationship with Rhysin.”

  “I understand,” Warwick said.

  “When I took Rhysin’s heart I was very angry, and I have been angry ever since,” Obdurin said. “Lord Benshi murdered my friends and the only family I ever knew,” Obdurin’s eyes shifted in Valan’s direction, but he corrected his gaze and continued to look at Warwick. “He burned my home to the ground. I didn’t want Rhysin’s heart. I didn’t go to Frake’s Peak to kill Lord Benshi. I just wanted to know why.”

  Pete stepped forward from where he stood. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Obdurin nodded once in Pete’s direction, but his words were for Warwick. “When Rhysin’s heart fell into my hands I was furious, and I took it, determined to stop the Chosen from hurting more people. I have spent my reign in conflict with the other Chosen. Perhaps, I never could have achieved peace. The Gods amplify our desires and use them. If you want peace, think only of that when you put Rhysin’s heart on your wrist.”

  Warwick nodded. “Thank you.”

  “He doesn’t have a peaceful thought in his head,” Fahlim whispered to Vincent. “In Damar they call him Rarick’s executioner.”

  Fahlim’s words floated across Vincent’s awareness and were gone.

  Obdurin walked slowly toward Warwick, but he stopped at Siaveen’s side and said, “Thank you. You’re a remarkable person, and I would have liked the chance to know you better.” Obdurin paused for a second and then said, “You will find Gordon at Frake’s Peak. You’re free to leave now.”

  Siaveen stayed where she was. “When this is over, we will go there, but until then you have our protection. I can’t stop you from doing this, but if you change your mind, we’re here.”

  Obdurin bowed his head once in appreciation and then stepped past the first-sworn.

  “I imagine Warwick will be even worse than Benshi,” Fahlim whispered to Vincent. “He doesn’t want peace. Look at him.”

  Doran moved through the circle of Siaveen’s cadre, so she was closer to Obdurin and Warwick. “Obdurin, please.”

  Obdurin knelt before Warwick and said, “Think only of peace.”

  “I will,” Warwick said.

  “Liar!” Fahlim whispered. “He’ll say anything to get Rhysin’s heart.”

  Rhysin’s heart? Vincent pushed himself away from the wall.

  “For peace,” Warwick said, the rasp of his sword being unsheathed accompanying the words.

  The amber pulsing of Rhysin’s heart pulled Vincent forward
with a sudden sense of urgency. Vincent skimmed across the room, reaching into his sleeve as he went. He drew one of the daggers he’d taken in Valan’s suite. He reappeared behind Warwick and used his momentum to drive the dagger into Warwick’s back and through his heart.

  Vincent let go of the blade, leaving it inside Warwick. Warwick started to turn, to see who had killed him. His sword clattered to the floor, and then he followed it, landing on his side with a thud.

  Vincent staggered back. He hadn’t intended to act. He’d decided to leave the Chosen to their games. He didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t want to play games with the Gods.

  Obdurin gasped where he knelt and looked up at Vincent. The Chosen’s expression was confused, he’d been so committed to his course of action it took him a moment to understand, but as he did his expression turned furious.

  “How dare you!” Obdurin snarled at Vincent.

  Rhysin’s heart pulsed, drawing Vincent’s eyes.

  “Arrest him!” Marlan shouted.

  Bondsan responded. Vincent noted Siaveen and her cadre stayed where they were.

  Somebody, Doran perhaps, screamed, “No!”

  The sorcerous mist that had descended in the throne room gathered around him. He lost sight of the male bondsan Marlan had ordered to arrest him, and the only people he saw in the mist were Doran and Obdurin, but his eyes sought Rhysin’s heart.

  Obdurin shouted at him, “This was not your decision to make.”

  Vincent stooped to pick up Warwick’s fallen sword.

  “How dare you!” Obdurin shouted. “There would have been peace!”

  “No,” Vincent said.

  “Warwick understood,” Obdurin said. “He would have helped his brother understand and there would have been peace.”

  The mist swirled and thickened around them.

  “No. You cannot abdicate responsibility for your people,” Vincent said. “You took Rhysin’s heart and accepted the responsibility.” Vincent’s eyes tracked Rhysin’s heart on Obdurin’s wrist. The stone continued to pulse with its offer of contentment. “Warwick is like Benshi.”

  “It wasn’t your decision to make,” Obdurin shouted again. His voice fading, Obdurin asked, “Vincent, what are you doing?”

  “I’m stopping Warwick. Warwick must not take Rhysin’s heart.”

  “Warwick is dead,” Obdurin said. “You killed him.”

  Vincent glanced at Warwick where he lay on his side, but his eyes returned to Rhysin’s heart and the promise of peace. Something moved in Vincent’s peripheral vision, and he skimmed. There was no time to check the movement, but he instinctively knew what it was.

  He skimmed again and slammed himself into the bondsan, he didn’t know if it was Siaveen or one of her bondsan. He hit her in the back of the head with the hilt of his stolen sword. She dropped to the ground, and Vincent skimmed as another bondsan advanced on him. Again he reappeared behind the woman and struck her with the hilt of his sword. His eyes returned to the warm amber glow of Rhysin’s heart, and he remembered that night when his father had prompted him to take the stone.

  One quick thrust and it’s yours.

  Now, as then, a sense of confidence in his ability to affect the world around him swelled inside him.

  Still, with his eyes on the God’s heart, he skimmed left.

  He incapacitated the bondsan who had been coming for him and skimmed right. He struck another bondsan in the throat, and she dropped to her knees, struggling to breathe. Four more came for him, and almost without thought, he reacted, felling each one as they came.

  In the mist, somebody screamed, and Vincent heard the snuffling sound of the blind beast that had so deftly brought death to the throne room earlier.

  Vincent skimmed through the mist, taking the three remaining members of Siaveen’s cadre by surprise and putting each of them down.

  He skimmed back to Obdurin. Doran and Corsari stood off to one side, and he sensed somebody else moving in the mist, but there were no more threats. He advanced slowly on Rhysin’s heart. The sense of contentment and peace grew with each step. The memories of his fallen comrades and his dead family faded. His feet moved, but he felt lighter than he had in years. He could let it all go. He floated across the ground.

  “Vincent, don’t,” Corsari said, but he ignored her.

  His regrets and his sorrow left him, and he basked in the golden amber light of Rhysin’s heart.

  The answer had been there all along.

  Forget all the pain, he thought. Let them all go.

  The thought didn’t sound like his own, but the words had been said inside his mind and couldn’t have been anybody else’s.

  Let them go. Let them rest.

  Vincent nodded to himself. It was the right thing to do. He understood for the first time that by carrying his memories of the dead, Luke, little Grace and his wife Kilara, Chen and all the comrades he had lost, he was denying them peace.

  Rhysin’s heart pulsed brighter, inviting.

  Vincent adjusted his grip on his sword and looked at the heart’s bearer.

  The old man, weak and frail and on his knees, looked back at Vincent.

  “It’s mine,” Vincent said. The words his own, but said in a voice he didn’t recognize. My voice without the pain and sorrow.

  Obdurin whispered, “You have become your father.”

  Benshi. Let him go too.

  Vincent closed the distance between himself and Obdurin and pointed the sword at Obdurin’s throat.

  Obdurin looked up at him and said, “You have his look. It’s fitting that it’s you. I suspect Rhysin has been playing us all along. This was always his intention.”

  Vincent blinked, his eyes going from Rhysin’s heart to Obdurin’s face. He discarded the sword he held, pushing it away from himself.

  “I am not my father.” Vincent staggered back from Obdurin, horrified at what he’d been about to do.

  As Obdurin climbed to his feet, he studied Vincent.

  “What’s happening?” Vincent demanded. “You said Rhysin wasn’t here. You said you couldn’t talk to him, and he couldn’t talk to you, but he’s here. I can feel him.”

  Obdurin nodded. “We’re not in Newterra any more. Doran has taken us into another realm. Rhysin is here.”

  “I am not my father,” Vincent shouted, but his eyes couldn’t resist Rhysin’s heart, and he advanced a pace on Obdurin.

  Forget Benshi. Peace, Vincent thought in the stranger’s voice. They can all have peace. You can have peace.

  He took another step toward Obdurin and reached into his right sleeve to draw the second dagger he’d taken from Valan’s suite. He was only partially aware of his actions as he stepped forward again.

  Let them all go, the voice said.

  Through gritted teeth, Vincent said, “You can’t honor the dead if you don’t remember them.”

  He stepped back a pace and tried to let go of the dagger, but his hand wouldn’t open.

  The presence Vincent had felt as a child when his father pressed a knife into his hand and told him it would only take one thrust was back. As a child Vincent hadn’t recognized the presence for what it was until after the encounter, but now he knew the God and that knowledge sapped his ability to resist.

  Rhysin’s heart pulled Vincent forward with its promise of peace.

  Vincent tried to resist, but the pull was too strong. Desperately he asked Obdurin, “How do you resist a God?”

  Obdurin was on his feet, but he seemed as trapped as Vincent. It would be a simple thing for the old man to walk away, but he stayed where he was, waiting for Vincent and the blade he carried.

  “You can’t,” Obdurin said. “You can’t win a direct confrontation with a God. Nobody can.”

  The pulsing light of Rhysin’s heart, stronger in this place, called Vincent. He shut his eyes against it, but he still felt its call and knew he wouldn’t be able to resist for long.

  Still, with his eyes closed, he gripped the dagger with both
hands and raised it up above his head.

  My father lived with this? He wondered how it was possible. Vincent was not even bound to the God, but the compulsion was too strong to fight. How much worse must it have been for Benshi? For Obdurin? He knew when he gave in, and give in he would, that he would be every bit the tyrant his father had been. No man could resist this pressure.

  He was grateful that his wife and daughter were already dead, that they were not alive to see what became of him.

  No! You will not use them to corrupt me, Vincent thought, realizing the notion was Rhysin’s.

  Rather than force acceptance, the manipulation gave him a new well of strength, and he used it to draw on his mantra. “I am not my father!”

  Vincent opened his eyes and screamed. He plunged the dagger down from above his head toward his own chest. If he couldn’t resist Rhysin’s pull, he would end it. He would be neither a tyrant nor a God’s pawn.

  Corsari was in front of him. He saw her mouth go wide in a no that he didn’t hear as she ran at him. She collided with him an instant before the knife struck. She tried to turn the blade, but for all her skill Vincent was too strong and the movement had too much momentum.

  He tried to stop the dagger, but it happened too quickly.

  Corsari shuddered against him.

  Vincent let go of the dagger, but his hands froze. His body realized there was nothing he could do before his mind reached the same conclusion.

  Corsari looked up at Vincent, the knowledge she was dying clear on her face. She said, “I wish we could have danced.”

  She started to slide away as she died, but Vincent caught her and lowered her gently to the floor. Sobbing with grief and guilty relief and hating himself for it, Vincent thought, I’ve danced too much.

  The mist cleared, and Vincent saw his companions watching him. He saw Warwick’s body and Siaveen’s unconscious cadre. Doran dropped to her knees beside him and hugged Corsari. He saw Valan’s expressionless but damaged face. He saw Lord Obdurin and Lord Marlan with their Gods’ hearts on their wrists, and he thought, All this and nothing has changed.