When they reached the courtyard, Warden dispatched soldiers to imprison Vengral, but he did not see to the matter personally. He and Selene accompanied the group back to Gereth’s camp outside the city. Many led their horses by the reins while a few rode. A feeling of relief spread through the camp, leaving men joking and working together to rebuild what was lost.
Along the eastern wall, bandit and miner alike helped bury the dead. Fellow soldiers were buried in separate graves, but the Perversions were thrown into one freshly dug pit and set aflame. Thankfully the wind blew away from the city, carrying the stench of death and decay out of reach of their nostrils.
"How did you get them to work together?" Honmour asked Gereth.
"Compromise," Gereth answered. "The bandit princess Kaltor refrained from killing on our first encounter helped us a great deal. I convinced them that for saving this city they could receive royal pardons and perhaps even titles— a place in the kingdom."
"‘A place in the kingdom’?" Warden asked, eyeing the pile of Perversions nervously. He never had gotten the chance to fight any of them, and their larger size and black veins were not a pleasant sight. "Shouldn’t they be locked up? What if they take to burning and pillaging again?"
"The king’s thoughts exactly," Gereth said with a grin. "Should we ever be invaded, they will be dispatched to help protect our supplies from similar attacks and perhaps engage in a few of their own."
The Stunts grinned. Everyone knew that before Master Taneth’s heroic efforts during the last war, he had been a simple thief and a scavenger. A horn sounded a few hundred yards south of them, announcing Taneth’s return from the city. One of the Stunts sounded a horn in answer, and in a few minutes they found Taneth sitting upon a log before a campfire in front of Gereth’s tent.
The Battleborn Master wore leather armor similar to that of his students. Over one bicep a half dozen throwing blades were sheathed. A large number of daggers were deposited in his armor as well, some visible, some not. His exposed skin was coarse and weathered by the elements, but his eyes were still young and vibrant.
He was twenty years older than Kaltor, but the Blood Breaking had left his body much older, making him appear to be in his late-forties. He sharpened a long hunting dagger, a large, dead Perversion lying next to him with its face on the ground. Krin stood beside him, smiling in warm relief at their approach.
"Glad to see you boys again," Taneth said with a smile. Turning to Gereth he continued. "The city is secure. We’re gathering what few bodies of the Perversions were not over the wall attacking us. The townspeople have been assured that all is well, and most importantly," he kicked the body next to him, flipping it over to reveal Melshek’s deformed fangs and claws. "I brought this one back, too," he finished.
Gereth nodded grimly, leaning down over Melshek’s body. "Did you find anything else?" he asked. "Anything that explained what happened at the vault?"
"It was an amulet he wore," Kaltor grunted from his stretcher. "He started to die when I ripped it from his chest."
"‘Ripped it’?" Honmour asked.
Taneth nodded, pulling a wadded handkerchief from his pocket and tossing it onto the ground. It fell open, letting the trinket roll freely upon the ground. When it stopped rolling they could all see the black tendrils still extending from one side like a plant’s roots, wrapped around fragments of flesh.
A few of the Stunts retched at the sight, realizing how the amulet had manipulated Melshek’s powers, integrating itself into the pouches of magical power around the Varadour’s heart. Gereth leaned over, studying the object. He suddenly gasped, sprinting across the ground and landing before the amulet, hands digging into his pack with a renewed sense of desperation.
Everyone watched as he drew out his mace and a piece of parchment with a loose sketch of the object. Kaltor recognized the record as one of those the king’s historians had made when they’d first entered the vault, when the amulet had lain around the throat of the sculpture at the vault.
Gereth poked the trinket with his weapon, pivoting it so the engraved top faced him, eyes bouncing between his parchment and the relic. "By the Gods," he muttered, his face turning white. "What have we done?"
"Gereth—what’s going on?" Taneth asked, fear slowly gathering around them like a light rain announcing an approaching storm.
"In my tent!" Gereth ordered. "Now!" He turned toward their small caravan. "Krin, Kaltor, and Honmour will come with us," He pointed a finger at them all. "If Taneth senses any of you trying to eavesdrop, I will take away your sense of touch," a few of the Stunts gulped.
They carried Kaltor into Gereth’s tent and set their patient on the nearby bed. All turned to face the anxious Sight Seeker, now in the process of tearing open various drawers from his desk and pulling out a handful of sketches.
He was muttering to himself now so quietly that even their enhanced hearing failed to pick up the details. Such was his mood when he arrived at a discovery, for good or ill. Finally, his internal tirade halted.
Pulling up a chair, he sat down, obviously trying to calm his racing heart. "Kaltor," he said seriously. "Exactly what happened when you killed him? Tell me everything."
For the next few minutes Kaltor related the events of the previous night. When he got to the part where he had cut Melshek’s amulet free, Gereth raised his hand to stop him and ordered him to repeat his description of the scene three times. He followed Kaltor’s every word with his quill on a fresh sheet of parchment. When he got to Melshek’s last words, he hesitated, shuddering as if from a chill.
"Well, my son?" Gereth prodded. "What did she say?"
Kaltor glanced toward everyone else. Did he dare tell them of the vision afterward? After the events of the last week they would probably believe him. With a gulp, he continued. "She, the demon, said ‘the plan worked perfectly.’"
"This was all AFTER you killed him?" Taneth pried. "After you beat him and his invasion failed?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?" Honmour balked. "After all this, he’d PLANNED to die? What kind of sense does that make?"
"A lot," Gereth answered, his tone depressed as he tossed two sheets of parchment their way. Their drawings were very similar. A line was present in one symbol which the other one lacked. "The words ‘destroy’ and ‘decoy’ are very similar in the dead language," he explained. "Remove the center line and ‘destroy’ changes to mean ‘decoy’."
Taneth’s eyes narrowed. "What does this have to do with the amulet?"
Gereth held up two drawings. "The one on my left is a sketch of this device BEFORE it was removed from the vault," He waved that page slightly for emphasis. "You can see that the title ‘Destroyer’ was engraved upon the surface."
Putting that page down, he held his right hand and its precious cargo up for all to see. "What’s wrong with the amulet as it is now?" No one responded for a moment, realization washing over them like a sea at high tide.
"The center line is missing," Krin said, her voice numb with shock. "Now it says ‘Decoy’."
"Indeed," Gereth grunted. "In other words, Melshek’s antics here in the city were a distraction. The true threat, the Destroyer, is still out there. An actual shard from the amulet broke off to create the word ‘Decoy’, so I assume that that piece of this trinket carried the real threat."
Kaltor suddenly felt a lot weaker, their triumph over Melshek fading in importance. He thought of the vision of the woman attacking him and recalled her last words. ‘Their world will now burn.’
This isn’t over, he realized, suddenly feeling very tired. It’s just beginning.
"Taneth," Gereth ordered, stuffing his papers back into his desk hurriedly. "I need to you gather the miners. Many sent their families away after the first night. We need to know where they went, and with whom. If I were to distract an enemy with bait, I would flee in the opposite direction."
"Me, too," Taneth grunted, ducking out of the tent.
"Krin, gather the other Peacebi
nders, please," Gereth said. "See if they’ve noticed anything out of place once Taneth is done with them."
"Should I talk to the Bandit Lords as well?" Krin offered.
"Doubt it," Gereth replied. "None of their people were close enough to Melshek. The princess was at the camp, but she hasn’t fled yet," He paused for a moment. "On second thought, see if she will let you examine her without telling her father. Just in case."
Adjusting her tasseled shawl, Krin left the tent as well. Kaltor sat up with a grunt of effort, his wounds still fresh, held shut by his steadying supply of Varadour power flowing from his heart. "What can we do, Father?" he asked.
Gereth glanced toward them as he withdrew a number of maps from another drawer. "Take care of your friends and keep training," he advised. "I have a feeling we’re going to need all the assassins we can get," Kaltor sighed with a fatigue that had nothing to do with his wounds.
How long ‘til Mom figures it out? he thought. How will she handle it when she realizes I went after Melshek, not the other way around?
"There’s one more thing, Dad," Kaltor said. "Honmour knows," He extended his right hand and, wincing in pain, forced it open. A silver scar the color of the moon radiated a faint light in a horizontal line across his palm, from the base of his thumb to the bottom of his pinky.
Gereth gulped, eyeing Honmour distrustfully. "Tell me everything."
Honmour nodded, looking nervously from Kaltor to Gereth. He explained his participation in the battle at first. Secretly, he’d guessed that his friend had gone after Melshek alone, and as he’d searched the city he had felt the massive use of a Varadour’s power. He’d followed it, keeping out of sight until the opportune moment. Then he described Kaltor accessing the Sight Seeker power to heal himself.
Gereth listened to the entire exchange, watching Honmour very carefully, his eyes burning brightly with Sight Seeker power in search of deception. "Now that you know my son is the Remnant of the Varadour Power, what will you do?"
Honmour bit his lip, glancing Kaltor’s way. "One thing I love about being a Battleborn," he said, "is the chance to really make a difference to my family and the people of our kingdom," He paused a moment, taking it all in. "This is bigger than even the kingdom, isn’t it?"
Gereth and Kaltor nodded. "My son is linked to his brother, the Sight Seeker Remnant," said Gereth. "It seems his Blood Break managed to shatter the lock I had in place to seal that connection. They both are connected now. They will need your help."
With a content smile Honmour patted Kaltor’s shoulder. "What better fighters to have guard your back than Battleborn, right?"
Kaltor paused at that comment, looking at his scarred hand. I couldn’t stop Melshek, he thought. Even after I tore his amulet free, he was going to kill me before he finally succumbed. Yet Honmour saved me, and my brother’s connection to me healed me.
He smiled up at his friend, nodding in agreement. What’s coming will be like nothing we’ve ever imagined. But together, we just might have a chance.
"Very well," Gereth said with a smile. "Keep this secret. Tell no one. Now, please take Kaltor outside before your friends’ curiosity gets the better of them," He tossed a wool glove to his son, the fingers removed so it would cover his hand without restricting the movement of his fingers.
Honmour called one of the Stunts over and they carried Kaltor outside to the warmth of the campfire and the crisp breeze. The rest of the Battleborn gathered around. Talen stood a bit taller than normal, Varadour power rushing through him as he stared at his hands with wide eyes, his fingernails much longer than normal.
Looks like you Blood Broke, too, Kaltor thought. It must have been quite a battle. "Can I borrow your knife?" he asked, holding his hand up to Honmour.
All present gawked at his hand, recognizing the growth in his fingernails. "That’s how you beat him, huh?" one Stunt asked. "You Blood Broke, too?"
"Yeah," Kaltor admitted, staring at his hand. That’s it, then, he decided. I will make the most of my time in life, even if it’s only half of what most people have. I can find and protect Keevan in that time.
"The fight’s only just begun," Honmour said, reciting Gereth’s discovery regarding the amulet to the Stunts. Their faces mirrored Kaltor’s feelings of fear, concern, and excitement.
Kaltor glanced to each one of his friends’ faces. The Destroyer is free. But I can’t imagine a better group to face her with.
Lying down gingerly, he closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the warmth of the fire, coupled with the cool breeze. Together, we might have a chance against the Destroyer.
Together, we just might manage to save the world.
###
Sample Chapter of ‘Deluge’
The thick, pre-dawn fog crept silently through the sea of tents outside Shaylis’s main gate like a nest of serpents looking for a new lair. It poured easily through various holes in the western wall. Kaltor’s nostrils flared, trying to pull in the necessary oxygen without dwelling on the lingering smell of burned flesh or the rancid odor of the rotting corpses piled just north of the camp.
Kaltor sat on his haunches atop a nearby hill overlooking the devastation, rhythmically flipping a dagger into the air with his left hand. Cutting one last handful of hair from his head, he added it to the growing pile beside him. Growing it out allowed an opponent too much control of your head, should he manage to grab hold.
He drew comfort from the feel of the sturdy handle in between his fingers. With a demon like the Destroyer on the loose, his weapons were the only thing truly within his control. Linen bandages wrapped tightly around the wound in his right hand.
I know he’ll just lie through his teeth, Kaltor stewed, glaring at the metal cage jutting up out of the center of camp. But after all that’s happened, his hatred for us must be intense. With a little prodding, he might say something useful, accidentally— anything to give us an idea as to what the demon’s up to now— it will be well worth it.
Clutching the still-healing wounds on his stomach, he rose to his feet with a hiss of pain. He slowly worked his way down the hill and across the crowded field of horses, tents, and wagons, letting his battered muscles stretch and loosen in preparation for the day.
His steps were light, like a deer crossing a viper-hound’s lair, practicing his stealth. The lack of wind this morning cut down on his mobility. Were the situation to turn dangerous, he couldn’t run and trust the sound of the breeze to cover his passage. It didn’t take long to find the only wagon with a cage fixed to its base.
"Hello, Vengral," Kaltor said. The thick mist settled on his skin like rain frozen in time. "It’s been a while."
"Ahh, the famous Kaltor Stratagar graces me with his presence," the traitor whispered through his dry, cracking lips. He leered through the thick metal bars at his surroundings, his eyes searching the wisps of fog for his visitor’s location, gritting his teeth in an effort to hide his constant shivering against the cold fog. "Do you always speak from the shadows?"
"In my profession," Kaltor said, walking right up to Vengral’s cage, "When a Battleborn strikes from the dark, you’re dead before you know who’s hit you."
"Perhaps," the traitor replied with a sneer. It was odd how the man’s contempt for Varadours still made one feel inferior, even though he lay there, caged. Vengral behaved as though their positions were, in actuality, reversed, despite his bruised skin and tattered clothes. "Yet even your training didn’t protect you from Melshek. I heard your friend Honmour had to save you and finish him off."
"As long as we saved Shaylis and the threat he carried is over," Kaltor replied sincerely, "it doesn’t matter who got the kill."
"Oh, but it does," Vengral corrected, sitting up and gripping the bars tightly as he leaned in close to emphasize his point. "You see, if SHE thinks you did it all yourself, the best you can hope for is a quick, honor-less death," he sneered. "But if she learns it was a team effort, all she has to do is divide and conquer. Very different tactics, you see."
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"Hopefully she puts more stock in rumor than fact, then," Kaltor grunted confidently. "I can take whatever the Destroyer can send my way," The statement didn’t quite coincide with the writhing sensations in his stomach at the thought of facing a demon from the Abyss itself, but his goal at the moment was to provoke the traitor. A pompous Varadour might just do the trick.
"If she comes after you at all," Vengral answered cryptically.
Brow furrowing in uncertainty, Kaltor asked, "Why wouldn’t she?"
Vengral leaned back against the opposite side of his cage, resting his head between two vertical bars, the closest thing to a comfortable position his narrow confines allowed. The traitor’s expensive clothes had long since been replaced with a thin linen shirt and a tattered pair of trousers, covered in mud, excrement and a few spattered drops of his own blood.
"Many would pay well for what I learned in her service," he said with a crooked smile, as if he still ruled the broken city behind them, or at least held the lives of its members in his hands.
Then again, maybe provocation isn’t the way to gain information, Kaltor thought. I wonder exactly how much he misses the comforts and power of ruling from the castle?
"How about this?" He suggested, waving a strip of dried venison in the air, pulling the traitor from his luxurious position to Kaltor’s side of the cage. Vengral licked his lips hungrily, eyes fixed on the smoked meat. "Would this suffice for some information, assuming I believe you at all?"
Vengral glared at the offering hesitantly. "Is it poisoned?"
"Of course not," Kaltor promised, breaking off a small portion of meat and chewing it slowly before expounding further. He rolled his eyes and savored the morsel, emphasizing his point. The traitor licked his lips as he watched the display. Kaltor gulped and continued, "I’m looking forward to participating in your trial before the King himself. It’s only a couple weeks’ travel to Levarion. You’ll hang for sure. If you’re lucky."
"Two weeks, then—" Vengral repeated slowly, taking the offering. "A lot can happen in that time. For example, two weeks ago, Shaylis stood strong and proud and didn’t reek of smoldering corpses."
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 30