Jerek smirked, then led him into the castle. He didn’t make it far. Men in armor Jerico had never met before waited in the next room, and they slapped his back and congratulated him. Jerico couldn’t tell if it was for surviving the Green Gulch, or just the travel through the damn tunnel. All of them looked tired, their strength sapped by the controlled rations and constant stress. His presence buoyed them, and Jerico did his best to smile and accept their greeting graciously.
At the door to Arthur’s room, Jerek knocked several times, then stepped aside. As it opened, Jerico knelt in respect and dipped his head. His knee smeared mud across the floor, and a chunk of dirt fell from his red hair and onto the carpet.
“Milord,” Jerico said, grinning up at Arthur’s stunned expression. “I heard you could use an extra shield on your walls, and I’ve come to offer mine.”
Arthur embraced him, either not noticing or not caring that he dirtied his expensive bedrobes and left his hands wet with mud.
“That I could, paladin,” Arthur said. “That I could.”
19
Valessa walked through the walls surrounding the Blood Tower to the empty land beyond. The silence was blessed to her. With a sigh, she let her armor and cloak vanish, adopting the image of how she had always been, plain clothes and all. With Cyric remaining in Willshire, along with half his men, she’d assumed his mantle of leadership. Not that the lions didn’t have their say. Kayne and Lilah were always about, patrolling, watching. They spoke little, but when they did, they were obeyed without question.
Night had fallen, and while most guards slept, Valessa would not. She looked to the clear sky and tried to ignore the burning red star shining in the distance, mocking her, always reminding her of her failure, her unfinished mission.
Soft footsteps padded behind her. She looked back, saw one of the lions there. She held back her grimace. Over time she should have grown more comfortable in their presence, but so far she had not. Her nocturnal visitor was Kayne, the male, slightly larger and with a fiery mane about his neck.
“You are troubled,” Kayne said, resting on his haunches beside her.
“I am tired. I was trained for stealth and assassination, not preparing defenses and managing supplies.”
Kayne breathed out heavily through his nose.
“You know that is not what I speak of. I am of a world you do not know, and my eyes glimpse what mortal eyes cannot. I see the uncertainty of your faith. I smell your doubt. The rest sleep, and we have solitude here. Tell me your fear.”
Valessa looked to the distance, imagining the people of Willshire watching Cyric’s preparations. What would they think? What would they believe?
“He says he is Karak,” she said to the lion. “Not that he works his will, or hears his voice, but that he is Karak, returned in mortal flesh. In my training to be a gray sister, we heard of Karak’s return, of his freedom from the elven whore’s prison...but it was always a day of glory, an ultimate defeat of chaos and false gods. The world was to shake, and a million voices cry out in triumph.”
“You doubt him?” Kayne asked, his voice even deeper than Lilah’s. Heat wafted over her from his mouth. It felt like an inferno rumbled in the lion’s belly.
“Of course I doubt him. How is what he says not blasphemy? Shouldn’t Karak strike him down for such claims?”
Kayne shook his head, an odd motion to see from a creature so large and magnificent.
“In many ways, Cyric is Karak made flesh. His power embodies him, his presence fills him, and he does speak our god’s words in all matters of faith.”
Valessa frowned. That wasn’t good enough. Kayne was avoiding the question, giving her excuses and explanations instead of real answers.
“Then he’s wrong,” she said. “He isn’t Karak, not in the way our prophets have foretold.”
Kayne looked at her, and the intelligence in his eyes frightened her in a way no mortal weapon ever could.
“No,” the lion said at last. “He is not.”
“Then it is blasphemy.”
“It is a mere reflection of the truth.”
“There is only one truth! Karak cannot let this go on!”
Kayne leapt toward her. His eyes met hers, his teeth were bared and stopped just inches from her breasts.
“Would you tell a god what he can and cannot do?” asked the lion. “Cyric will accomplish what none have done in ages. He will bring back the old and true ways to the North, and beyond. The faithful will grow numerous, honed with fire and blade. So long as the priest serves, and furthers the cause of our god, then I am to protect him. As should you.”
She refused to back down, to let the creature see her fear.
“I will listen,” she told Kayne. “And I will obey, but I will not call him god, nor call him Karak.”
“Tread carefully,” Kayne said, snarling. “My teeth can consume more than flesh. You are not safe, not from me. Do not think yourself forgiven for your failure.”
“I would never,” she said. It took all her strength to walk past his bared teeth. She had thought herself unable to feel worldly sensations, but the creature was not of their world. The heat of his body radiated across her, made her feel alive for the first time since Darius killed her. But that only heightened the awareness of her pain, made her realize how much had been taken from her.
At the entrance to the Blood Tower, she stopped and looked up at the high window, which was lit with a candle.
“Your home is overrun by a madman,” she whispered, thinking of Robert locked inside, helpless as Cyric as filled the heads of his men with promises of eternity. When Cyric spread his influence south, when he conquered the priesthood in Mordeina and began to travel east, might she one day feel the same?
Icy fear stung her non-beating heart. Dangerous thoughts, she realized, far more dangerous than she’d believed herself capable of. Cyric did Karak’s will. She had to trust that. She had to believe.
Because the alternative was so much worse.
In the first village Sandra had come to, walking on bleeding feet and with an empty stomach, they’d fed her, repaired her clothes, and sent her on her way. They’d known her, supported her brother, but did not know where he’d been. Tombrook, they told her. Go to Tombrook, and someone there would know. And so she did, carrying her dagger in one hand and a satchel of dried food in the other.
At Tombrook, when she mentioned Kaide’s name, they hushed her and took her to their village elder, who summoned one of his grandsons.
“He’s a fast lad, and knows many paths,” the old man said, his eyes milky white and his teeth black. “I trust he might take you somewhere you want to go.”
The grandson was a boy of fourteen, and he carried a large sack of loaves over his shoulder.
“Will we need that much food?” she asked him.
“Food ain’t for you,” had been his reply.
And so she followed him out to the hills. Arthur’s castle was close, she knew, and for much of the time they walked along the only road toward it. After a time, the boy veered off, into a heavy patch of brush and thorns that seemed to stretch for miles. Briars pulled at her clothes, and her skin bled from many cuts, but the boy endured without complaint, and so would she. Then they reached the camp, a large clearing painstakingly cut into the brush. They hadn’t built any fires that might reveal their presence as they sat hidden, yet so close to the road.
“You’re a godsend,” the first guard said to the boy, grabbing the sack. His eyes had swept over her without seeing her, and she smiled at him with her arms crossed.
“Hello, Adam,” she said.
He froze as if hit by lightning. The big man’s grin grew, and then he wrapped her in a bear hug.
“Sandra!” he cried, and with that, many hurried her way. She greeted the men as best she could, then pushed them away.
“I must see my brother,” she said.
“And I seek my sister,” Kaide said, pushing Adam aside. A smile was on his face, and Sa
ndra immediately felt relief at seeing it. He bore her no ill will, no anger, only an embrace she gladly returned.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” she asked as the men returned to their posts. Kaide gestured to the sprawling camp.
“No walls, no tents, no homes,” he said. “Though there’s a stream a bit farther in. We can walk there, and talk along the way.”
The brush had been carefully cleared, creating a pathway that weaved and curled so as to be unnoticeable from afar. Kaide led the way, and Sandra followed a step behind him.
“So what has my little sister been up to?” he asked her. She could tell he was dying to know, but kept his tone gentle, uninterested.
“Not near as much as you,” she said. “How goes the siege?”
“We’ve not been here long, but we’ve assaulted nearly every supply wagon that’s tried to slip past. Twice now we’ve even sneaked into Greg’s camp and stolen food.”
“Greg?”
“Sir Gregane,” Kaide said, glancing back at her. “He’s in charge of the troops. You think Sebastian would be brave enough to leave his castle?” Her brother laughed. “Not likely. He won’t venture out until both mine and Arthur’s heads are on stakes. But it won’t happen. We’ll only get bolder. A hungry army poses little threat, and if we’re lucky, I can assault...”
“Kaide,” Sandra said, grabbing his arm and stopping him. “I...Jerico and I were captured by a man named Luther. He leads an army to aid in the siege.”
Kaide’s jaw clenched tight, and she could see the anger her words brought. Not at her, but at the thought of all his plans crumbling in an instant.
“How many?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But at least four hundred, maybe five. He has paladins with him, too. Whatever chance we had, it’s gone now. We must withdraw.”
Kaide nodded, but she knew he was only thinking, not necessarily agreeing with her. Her brother’s hands clenched into fists, then loosened.
“You said you were captured. How did you escape?”
“They let me go,” she said. “I was to bring you a message. Luther said for you to not interfere, and if you left now, we’d be rewarded.”
“Rewarded?” Kaide snapped. “Rewarded? How? Will he give me Sebastian’s head? Will he give us vengeance for Ashvale? Of course not. They’ll keep their puppet lord alive, and when Arthur’s hanging in a gibbet, they’ll come for me. For us.” Kaide shook his head. “If he wants me gone, that means his victory is not so certain as you might think. I will not run now, not when Gregane’s army is so close to breaking. If Arthur would just ride out...”
“Jerico’s alive, too,” she said. “I thought you might like to know, being his friend and all.”
Kaide crossed his arms.
“Don’t look at me like that. Of course he is my friend, and I’m glad he lives. Where is he now?”
“I think he’s with Arthur.”
“How? They have the castle surrounded.”
“Do you think that’d stop him?”
Kaide laughed.
“No, I don’t. Then let us hope we meet him on the field of battle as we crush Sir Gregane from both sides. We’re not leaving, Sandra. I fear no man, no army. When we break this siege, Arthur will rally the rest of his host, and we’ll march south to the Castle of the Yellow Rose. We’ll hang Luther’s head next to Sebastian’s, how does that sound?”
“Sounds like a fool’s hope,” Sandra said, and she did her best to smile.
“A fool’s hope,” Kaide agreed. “We’ve lived on that for years. Perhaps, just once, we might find something more. If you’re thirsty, follow the path. I must return to camp and send a rider to discover how much time we have before this Luther fellow arrives.”
Sandra kissed his cheek, then let him go. Amid the thorns and brush, she watched him, and thought of Luther’s words.
Should he listen, well...Karak’s mercy will smile down upon him for it.
She would have to pray he was wrong.
20
Sir Gregane stood at the entrance of his tent and stared at the castle. The sun was starting to set, and from the high walls, he watched one of Arthur’s men wave a loaf of bread then duck below the ramparts before someone shot him with an arrow. Gregane rolled his eyes and stepped back into his tent.
“They’re still getting food,” he told his trusted advisor, a seasoned knight named Nicholls. “Damned if I know how, though. How many of their tunnels have we collapsed?”
“Eighteen, if I remember correctly,” Nicholls said. “Though to be honest, we’ve dug in so many I’ve lost track. Are you sure they aren’t waving the same loaf over and over again? It might be tough as stone by now, and they’re down to eating rats.”
“We’ll be there soon ourselves,” Gregane said, walking over to his desk and glancing over his most recent tally of their supplies. “Three wagons, all raided and burned to the ground. No survivors. Our private stores dwindle, yet our guards see nothing. What does it sound like to you?”
Nicholls sighed.
“It sounds like Kaide finally made his way here.”
“That’s what I think, too, and it hasn’t been for long, either. Four days, five at most. Yet look at what he’s done with so little time. I’ve already had to cut our rations in half. Morale wasn’t great to begin with, and now the men grumble behind my back when they think me too far to hear.”
Nicholls cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. Gregane knew he was about to hear something he wouldn’t like, but demanded that his friend spit it out anyway.
“What if we break siege?” Nicholls asked. “We’ve already beaten Arthur in the open field, and he was damn lucky to escape then. Why not fall back, resupply, and catch him on the road south? If we cannot deny them food, and it is our men dying in the night instead of theirs, what good is it if we stay?”
Gregane put his hand on the parchment before him and stared at the numbers as if he could make them grow through sheer force of will.
“We cannot,” he said. “Our lord gave us our orders, and we must follow them. The siege continues until victory, or our deaths. We have numbers, supplies, and time.”
“Forgive me, sir, but time is not on our side, and it seems everyone but our lord knows it.”
Gregane struck his desk with his fist.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” he asked. Embarrassed by his outburst, he looked away and took in a deep breath. “Kaide’s only gotten better at this...dishonorable way of combat. If we sit here, he’ll starve us of supplies. If I send out escorts, he’ll pick off my men one by one, and if I send too many, I risk leaving us vulnerable to an attack from Arthur. No, only one option remains. Is the battering ram finished?”
Nicholls blanched.
“It is, but we’ve yet to reinforce the top. Arthur’s archers...”
“Will not stop us,” Gregane said. “Is that understood? Come first light, we smash open his gates and hang his soldiers from the ramparts, along with their loaves of bread. If they want to flee through those caves of theirs, then so be it. We’ll claim the castle, and Arthur will have his second defeat. The common folk will not consider him their savior after that.”
“If you say so, sir.”
“I do. Now go.”
Nicholls left, and in the following silence, Gregane felt his frustration boil over.
“Damn you, Sebastian,” he said, scattering his reports to the dirt. Come morning, he would end it all, one way or another. And if he failed, then so be it. At least then the better lord had a chance of victory.
“First light,” he whispered. “First light, Arthur, we settle this. I pray you have the wisdom to surrender.”
Arthur wouldn’t, though. Not to him, and not to his brother. Much as it saddened him, their conflict was to the death, and they all knew it. Buckling his sword to his waist, he stepped out to observe the final preparations, and ensure every last detail was set. Next morning, hundreds of his men would
die. The best he could do now was minimize the loss.
“Are you sure you’re still up to this?” Daniel asked him.
“No,” Darius said as he adjusted his plain shirt and slacks. “But we don’t have much choice, do we? The blood moon’s tomorrow, and I’m not expecting any knights to come riding in to the rescue.”
They stood by the bank of the river, on the opposite side of Tower Silver, with Darius and six other men dressed as common villagers. The only things uncommon about them were the swords they held, and Darius’s greatsword strapped to his back.
“The people of Durham will recognize you, even if Cyric doesn’t,” Gregory said softly, standing beside him in similar plain clothes. “Are you so certain they will protect us?”
“No, I’m not,” Darius said. “But I have to trust them. Whatever fear they have of me, I think they’ll fear Cyric more.”
Daniel paced before the men after shaking their hands.
“You make me proud,” he told them. “Every one of you deserves a song sung in your praise.”
“And we’ll sing it nice and loud when we come back with that bastard’s head,” one of the seven said, and the others laughed. Daniel smiled, and clapped the man on the shoulder.
“Damn right,” he said. “And no one will be singing it louder than I. My men will arrive on time, don’t you ever doubt it. Try not to die before then.”
“No promises,” Darius said, bowing low. “Have fun at the Blood Tower.”
He looked at the rest of men, and the way they looked back, he knew he was their leader now, the one they put their faith in. He prayed he wouldn’t disappoint.
“Let’s go,” he told them. “We have a village to save.”
They traveled north, keeping the Gihon to their right at all times. Darius’s hand often reached for his sword, and he kept expecting Valessa to be behind every tree, or lurking in every shadow. Each time, nothing, but his nerves remained on edge nonetheless. The rest of the men said little, even Gregory falling silent as they marched. They had many miles to cover, so they saved their breath. An hour in, Gregory spotted a road, and they followed it away from the river. It wound through the flatlands and fields of wild grass. Darius felt naked without his armor, but was glad for the lack of weight as the miles passed.
Paladins: Book 03 - The Old Ways Page 20