The fingers of his mind brushed against it. The power didn’t fill him; indeed, it felt more like a tiny spark, but for the briefest moment the warmth was there, hot and blinding. Then it was gone. Like the purple shadow after looking at the sun, an impression remained, but the Light itself was gone.
Still, his mind was clearer. The pain that had crippled his body was gone, and in its place was a tiny hint of warmth, so small it could have been nothing but a memory.
Verdant climbed first to his knees and then to his feet. He flexed his hands and stared at them. His body was whole; not as whole as he’d once been, but more whole than he’d been since Koren had awakened him. Neither blood nor warmth coursed through him now. He could sense the wind and the sun, but only in memory could he truly feel them. He could feel only that tiny kernel of Light in his breast.
He focused his thoughts on that kernel, and it seemed to pulse, then grow. He tried again and failed, his focus lost.
An hour later he had made no further progress. He walked back to the camp to rejoin his brothers. Perhaps he had imagined it all, a fever dream.
At the camp’s edge, the crippling pain returned.
More memories flooded in, this time much more recent. His friend Dain, the hospital, gathering an army to help the wood elves. Each pained him deeply.
He remembered killing an elf named Slerian, a high mage serving the Golden and threatening to kill Dain and those he cared for. This was the one he now called master. Then a searing agony struck him in his chest centered over his heart. He’d died. He felt the peace of death and, finally, the grave.
Rage and anger boiled up in Verdant’s chest where the pain of the deathblow had been moments before. Koren had killed him. His lips burned where she’d kissed him before he died. And now she’d raised him from the dead and forced him to fight his friends.
One of the camp’s guards, another Risen, saw him stumble and offered help, reaching out for him.
Verdant took the creature’s hand, and in that instant the spark in his chest roared into a blazing fire. A piece of it ran down his arm into his hand and then leaped into the other Risen, and Verdant saw the change in the warrior’s eyes.
Verdant’s pain sloughed away like dead skin from a healing wound. The spark dimmed, but he could still feel it now. The other Risen stared at his own hand in wonder, life and intelligence shining in his eyes.
“What is your name?” Verdant asked.
“Siam. My name is Siam,” the other said.
“What do you remember, Siam? What do you remember of life?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Gashan ground his teeth in frustration. A week he’d been trapped in this castle, more a prisoner than a defender. Seven days listening to the demons and undead scraping on the outer walls when he could have been helping.
“Hexen, let us help, let us do something,” Gashan pleaded with the big Paladin. “We can offer much.” Outside and on the castle’s turrets, the battle lumbered on. His Golden soldiers had been allowed to do nothing; not since helping Baron Gladstone by distracting the invaders and allowing Jin to slip away.
He should have gone with her. She had been declared queen, and his place was by her side. He knew, though, that his troops would be ineffective in the forests. Out there heavy armor would be worse than useless—it would be a deathtrap.
“I would use you if I could,” Hexen said. His eyes darted to the central keep where the Baroness would be.
Gashan could hardly blame Sera. Her brother, mother, and father had all been killed by his people. That was true for many wood elves, he realized. Little wonder they hate us.
He liked Jin’s father, the Baron; respected him. A hard man who was both tough and fair. He’d proven that often on the journey here, pursued by demons and rebellious golden elves every bloody step of the way. Curious, he hadn’t seen the Baron in some time. There were rumors, of course; word that he and a group of men had slipped out of the castle one night, but that seemed strange. What could have driven him to leave his wife and children behind?
Like his father before him, Gashan had served Elam and the royal family with pride. He was used to powerful rulers, comfortable around them. He knew much of hard men—Elam had certainly been one—but fairness in a ruler was something new to him.
Jin too had that sense of fairness, of justice, and the more he learned of his young queen the more sure he was of her own toughness. She wasn’t full of bluster. She didn’t rage or scream like Elam had. Still, there was a hint of that hard old man in her. She would be the last person he said it to, but she had a great measure of her grandfather’s drive. That raw determination to keep fighting, unyielding even when all was lost. He admired her for it.
“Will you at least tell me what’s happening?” Gashan asked.
“There…have been deaths inside the walls,” Hexen said after a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Inside the walls?”
“A man here and there. By the nature of the wounds, we think a demon is at fault. Someone may be letting it—or them—in at night.”
“Or it’s slipping in during the sieges and then hiding through the daytime,” Gashan offered.
Hexen shook his head. “Not likely. We comb through the castle after driving the invaders back each time, and they never come close to breaching the walls.”
“They could climb the walls,” Gashan offered. The one Jin had killed at the tower proved that.
“Not likely,” Hexen said, “the stones are spell-warded, and there’s no way they could climb them.”
“What are they doing with these attacks? They accomplish nothing.”
“We don’t know,” Hexen said, heaving a frustrated sigh. “They’ve filled in the moat, mainly with the bodies of their dead. Must have taken hundreds of them.”
“What are these attacks like?” Gashan asked.
“They send a few demons or Risen at us and then retreat.”
“Not their full force?”
“Never.”
It made no sense. They weren’t even bringing their full strength to bear. Why attack each day with only a token effort? Was it merely to keep the pressure up, or perhaps to lull the defenders into complacency? There had to be a reason. Brisson was a fool, certainly, but the man knew much about war.
“Do they suspect us?” Gashan asked.
“Suspect you?” Hexen’s confusion was plain. “Suspect you of what?”
“The deaths.”
“No. In fact, of everyone in the castle, you alone are above suspicion. Between the Paladins and rangers we have watching you, everyone agrees that you and your men can’t possibly be murdering anyone.”
“Then let me help. If my men and I aren’t suspected, we should be allowed to help. We may be the only ones who can.”
Hexen hesitated.
“This morning I made the same suggestion to the Baroness. She did not agree.”
Gashan knew better than to argue with Hexen further. The Paladin had done all he could. He couldn’t expect those deep wounds between his people and the wood elves to heal in such a short time. Perhaps…
“You could escort me around. A tour of the castle grounds,” Gashan said, the idea striking him just as he had resolved himself to giving up. “Perhaps between the two of us we might find where the devils are getting in.”
Hexen continued walking away. Gashan started to repeat himself, thinking the Paladin hadn’t heard him, but then Hexen stopped and turned back around slowly.
“I think we can manage that,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Can’t see how that would go against the Baroness’s wishes. Where would you want to start?”
“Show me where you found the most recent body.”
Hexen led him up a flight of stairs to the wall’s uppermost leve
l. They crossed to the southwest tower.
“We found the first body here this morning, and then another around the corner.” Hexen pointed to a red stain on the mortar.
“Just the two on watch here?”
Hexen nodded.
“Both wood elves, or humans?”
“Wood elves. The humans are…being kept in reserve, though there’s talk of using them to double the guard.” Hexen shook his head. Gashan found it odd that the man would object to using his fellow humans as guards.
“You don’t agree?” he asked.
“The Black Corps are thieves and murderers. Men who were given the option of prison or joining the military. We’ve been watching them, too, though not nearly so closely as we have you and your men. I’ve more defenders watching people inside the castle than looking out.”
Criminals. Galena had sent them criminals to defend the gold road. Perhaps madness was a common affliction among rulers. “Could the murderer be among the Corps, and the wounds made to look like those from a demon?”
Hexen was already shaking his head again. “They weren’t made by any weapon I’m familiar with, and the flesh looked like it had been eaten.”
“Who commands the Black Corps?”
“They answer to Regan now. The ambassador agreed that he had more experience than the commander they’d sent with them, and she and the Baron put him in charge.”
Regan, who also distrusted him. Coming here from Mirr, the young captain had made no secret of his feelings.
“Do the attacks strike the same place often?”
“No, it seems random, guards here and there. Two to four at a time. On the walls most often, and the interior at times. Never inside the keep.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Just over three weeks now,” Hexen said with a frown.
Three weeks? It had started well before they’d arrived, then. Another reason his men were beyond suspicion. Tallying the losses in his head, Gashan grew incredulous. Over sixty guards killed? No wonder there was so little trust inside the castle.
Could that be their aim? To sow distrust among the defenders? Wood elves, humans, and golden elves, and the human criminals on top of it all. It was a possibility.
Trumpets blared out, and a group of rangers filled the northern wall, ash longbows and poleaxes ready. A low roar sounded from outside the wall. Gashan had heard the daily attacks from his place in the courtyard, but this was the first time he would witness it from atop the wall.
“Are there more demons now?” he asked, looking out over the edge.
“Yes. They seem to be multiplying. They now outnumber the Risen,” said Hexen from beside him.
Below them, a group of demons surged forward. Arrows fell among them, thinning their ranks well short of the wall. At the wall itself, the remaining demons battered the stone with claws and fists. For all their fury and numbers, the demons’ efforts amounted to nothing. Elven archers leaned out over the wall or fired through murder holes in the floor beneath them, cutting them down. Strategically, the attack made no sense. Why waste so many? They hadn’t fired a single arrow over the wall. There were no siege engines present, no battering rams, no catapults that might significantly weaken the castle’s defenses.
The stream of demons stopped then, as if a great hand had swooped down and dammed their flow. The survivors were swiftly cut down. Under the bright sun, their lifeless bodies seemed to rot away and turn to ash. He could see now why it would be next to impossible for the demons to sneak in during the attacks. None came close to the top of the wall, and those attacking didn’t seem capable of hiding. These were mindless, thrashing beasts. They lacked the capacity to hide and wait for darkness to strike.
Then Gashan saw it. A small pile of gravel running all along the northern wall.
“What is that?” he asked Hexen, pointing.
Hexen’s eyes followed. He frowned at the pile. “I don’t know.”
“What would it take to lower a rope down so we could see it closer?”
Hexen walked to the nearest defender. The man nodded and disappeared down the stairs.
Gashan studied the golden elf camp again. Koren marched to the front of her army and stared at the wall. She gestured broadly with her hands and spoke to Brisson at her side. Gashan recognized the general’s armor. The pompous man had painted it a royal purple. Pity he and Alpere hadn’t killed the general years before. They’d certainly considered it. Alpere had said removing Brisson wouldn’t help, that the army was full of ambitious snakes and that another one, likely a smarter one, would rise up in Brisson’s place if they disposed of him. At this moment, looking at the traitorous bastard, Gashan wouldn’t have agreed.
Koren turned then and marched back into the heart of her army. Strange. Brisson walked in front of her instead of behind. He felt like he was on the verge of a revelation when Hexen returned with a coil of rope.
“Ready?” the Paladin asked. Gashan nodded. “Think they’ll try anything?” Hexen jerked his head to the invaders.
“Probably not, but how fast can you climb?” Gashan joked. “Will the guards watch our backs?”
“They are placing bets on whether or not we’ll return, and side bets on who kills the first demon that comes for us.”
“How encouraging.”
Hexen secured the rope with two wraps around a thick stone and tossed the coil over the side. He lowered himself over the edge and then down the wall below. Gashan followed without hesitation.
“By the Light,” Hexen said at the bottom.
Gashan’s boots sank ankle-deep into what had been the castle’s moat. The demons had compressed the bodies of their fallen and those of the Risen into a thickened stew of corpses. Searching for solid ground, he noticed Hexen staring at something. He followed the Paladin’s eyes. Hexen looked not at the pile of white gravel, but at the castle’s wall.
Runic enchantments still covered the stones along the top down to just above their heads, but the lowest sections were disfigured and painted black with blood. Gashes and scrapes from a thousand demon claws had all but erased the runes there. Gashan ran his hand over the wall. It was rough; gouged and pitted and scraped away. He scooped up a handful of gravel off the pile then let it trickle through his fingers.
Behind them, the demons howled.
“Loose!” a voice came from above, and a flight of arrows whistled.
Hexen scrambled for the rope. With his feet on the wall, he climbed hand-over-hand up and over. Gashan took hold of the rope and it jerked upward.
At the top, the Baroness waited. Her eyes were angry and he fell to a knee before her. She seemed likely to heave him back over the side into the scrabbling demons below. Bowstrings sang all along the wall once more.
She turned her wrath on Hexen.
“What were you thinking? And why did you take him with you?”
“Baroness, we went to check the wall,” Hexen said. “Gashan had an idea. He saw—”
“I don’t care what he saw. Why is he not in the courtyard with the others?”
“Baroness, forgive me, but we have to repair the wall as soon as possible,” Hexen said. “They are chipping away at it with every attack.”
Gashan stayed silent. There was nothing he could say that would help the situation. Instead, he raised his hand and opened it.
“Please look,” Hexen said. He took a pinch of fine gravel from Gashan’s hand. Demon blood splotched it, but it was easy enough to tell what it was. “These are scrapings from the wall. They’ve removed most of the lower runes.”
“Impossible,” a dwarf said. He stood at the Baroness’s side. “We carved those blocks from solid granite.”
“Here is the proof, Tem,” Hexen said, gesturing to Gashan’s open hand. “Step over and see f
or yourself.”
The dwarf too took a pinch from Gashan’s hand. He held it up near an eye, rolling it between his fingers. From his chest pocket he removed a thick glass lens. He squinted through it at the dust.
“Baroness, he’s right. These scrapings are indeed from the stones we brought in for the walls. I can feel a trace of the spells we invested in them.” The dwarf turned his attention to Hexen again. “How widespread is the problem?”
“I didn’t get a good view of the whole wall,” Hexen said. “Gashan might have gotten a closer look.”
It was a lie, Gashan knew—one designed to involve him in the conversation and help his cause. From the scowl on the Baroness’s face he would just as soon remain silent, but Hexen had given him an opening. He could hardly leave the man out to dry.
“End-to-end across the north side, the bottom eight feet are scratched.”
“How deep?” the dwarf asked.
“Quarter-inch, at least.”
“How long until the runes fail?” the Baroness asked.
“Two weeks to cut the quarter inch…I’d say two more weeks. Three if we’re lucky,” Tem answered.
“Can you repair it?” The Baroness was twisting her hands together, staring off over the wall’s edge.
The dwarf eyed the enemy encampment. “I don’t see how. We would have to chisel each rune deeper. Or overlay the whole thing with more stone and then bond it in place. I can’t do either quickly, and I don’t have the materials besides. Not to mention our friends outside. I don’t think they’ll give me room to work.”
“What about a mix of pure mortar?” Gashan said. “That’s how we built our border towers.”
The Baroness turned and looked at him as if she had forgotten who he was. She shook her head slightly and glared daggers at him. “Hexen, take him back to his men. This matter isn’t his concern. We will decide how to repair the wall.”
Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2 Page 31