Decoy

by S. B. Sebrick

They hobbled their way along the base of the castle’s southern wall, listening to the cries of the crowd turn from bloodlust-driven excitement to obnoxious displeasure. Even the archers lining the wall turned their paranoid gazes from the city before them to the shouts of the masses.

  Their makeshift remedy tore at the ligaments in Kaltor’s leg, causing him to throw his weight onto Talen’s shoulder every time he tore another strand of muscle. It did not do much to help his current mood.

  "What’s Honmour doing over there?" Kaltor grumbled, forcing himself to release Talen’s shoulder and try yet again to walk on his own. "Sounds like a riot in the making."

  If he gets Reeth killed on top of abandoning the mission, I will definitely turn him over to Master Taneth, he swore to himself. Maybe Selene would have a good poison I could use as punishment.

  "That’s odd," Talen said. "The bodies are gone."

  "Excuse me?"

  "There were two Perversions following Honmour’s refugees," Talen said, pointing a few dozen yards before the gate. "Just about there, the archers shot their horses and wounded them."

  "What’s he planning, then?" Kaltor’s mind raced, trying to envision how Honmour would adjust the plan if they suddenly had Perversion captives at their disposal. The regent needed someone to execute to show the city he’s still in control, he thought. Would Honmour think to offer a trade, then?

  An innocent prisoner for two corrupted Perversions. It would be a tempting offer for the regent. Executing two black-blooded prisoners would be far more convincing to the masses that their current leader was in control of the situation.

  What a lie that was!

  The angry mass of people quieted, silenced by one speaker. Even with his sharpened Varadour hearing, he could not distinguish the details. Maybe that’s the regent, he surmised. He would be sitting closer to the castle, to identify himself with the protection of the fortress in the minds of the people. That puts him too far away for me to hear from here.

  They reached the gate. The line of incoming citizens from that morning had finally been admitted into the fortress. The guards barely glanced his way when he pulled the gate open, their attention far from the wounded assassins. "Welcome back, Battleborn," one of the guards mumbled, eyes glued to the speech-giver. "From what Honmour said, we were worried you’d been— taken."

  Kaltor was momentarily stunned, but he managed a nod of thanks as they wobbled into the courtyard. We never considered that possibility, he thought in shock. He’d always assumed that those he fought wanted him dead, but what if they had meant to turn him? A Battleborn—a Remnant, no less—given the added strength and speed of a Perversion— The thought made him nauseous.

  Just another reason to talk to Reeth as soon as possible. I have to be certain I can’t be taken as well. Then I have to put Honmour in line.

  A wave of applause echoed off the stone walls, pulling him from his disturbing thoughts. The regent stood before the crowd, hands raised to silence their cries of approval. "Our warriors have brought us servants of Melshek!" he cried, waving to the guards standing next to the gallows on his right.

  Of course they did, Kaltor thought sarcastically. I just hurt my leg when I fell off a horse— nothing to do with risking my life to try and save two of your citizens. Judging by the sour look on Talen’s face, they shared similar feelings on the subject.

  At the regent’s command, they pulled the two Perversions from the ground, bound and gagged, black blood oozing from their wounds. They thrashed viciously, but despite their feral growls, they looked like worms frying helplessly over a fire.

  I don’t see Reeth. Perhaps he’s with his family, Kaltor thought as he scanned the walls. But where is Honmour?

  Amidst the shouts of the crowd, one voice’s cries were tears of sorrow, pulling Kaltor’s attention along the wall to his left. "Tera!" Kaltor called out. But so loud was the crowd now at the sight of the Perversions that they drowned out his voice easily. Talen helped him walk over to the wall. The soldiers on the gallows were dragging their prisoners up the stairs and beneath the wooden posts.

  "Tera!" he called again. She lifted her head, eyes suddenly filling with hope.

  "Kaltor!" she cried. "They took Honmour and Reeth, too. They are to be executed!"

  "What?! Why?"

  "Honmour confessed to having ordered you into action," Tera answered, drying her tears on the sleeves of her tunic. "He went against the regent’s orders to stay out of the city."

  A chill settled around Kaltor’s heart. I knew the regent wouldn’t be pleased with us, he thought. But to go so far as to kill Honmour? Why did he take the blame, anyway? He sighed grimly, the truth obvious. Of course. Guilt for abandoning the mission, or maybe to just keep a set of thick iron bars between us when I next saw him. Hard to tell.

  "I assume his parents are fine, then?" Kaltor asked. "If not, there’s no way he would allow himself to be imprisoned."

  Tera nodded. "Yes, they’re fine. They were imprisoned too, though, to keep them from trying to break Honmour out."

  The little girl coughed, wobbled a bit, and nearly fell over. Tera caught her just in time and picked her up, patting her back and whispering words of comfort. It was obvious her child still had not recovered from whatever damage the Perversions had inflicted. They had only the clothes they wore, with little money to speak of. Kaltor’s eyes lingered on the pitiful picture for a moment before he spoke.

  "Talen," he called the Stunt over to him. "Let me use your bow as a walking stick. Take Tera and her daughter into the castle. Use one of the empty servant quarters near ours and make sure they have what they need. See about getting her a job in the kitchens," Talen nodded, handing over his weapon and taking Tera’s free hand, working their way through the crowd toward the inner keep’s side entrance.

  Unstringing the bow, Kaltor tested his weight beneath the stout wood. I’ll go see what’s really going on at the dungeon. The only person that will get to punish Honmour will be me!

  It took a few minutes to work his way around the thick crowd, now howling excitedly as the first Perversion hung by its neck, still thrashing weakly as life slowly left its body. The regent looked more relieved than anything else, the nobles sitting on either side of him watching with looks of mild entertainment.

  They are so much different than the life we find in the mountains, he thought.

  Everything in nature had an order, a purpose. Violence was a means to survival. Here it was a tool, a thing of entertainment to distract the masses. Anger the wrong person in power and you could end up like Reeth, sentenced to a short lifetime in prison for a crime you had nothing to do with. Kaltor gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg, and the injustice.

  By the time he reached to door to the dungeon, the second Perversion struggled for air. Turning his back on the scene he opened the door, hobbling inside. He tried to give the impression that the walking stick was a ploy, not a necessity. Two guards stood at attention just inside.

  "I’m here to see the warden," Kaltor said, pulling his collar aside to expose the brand. He recognized these men from the group he’d met after his first interview with Reeth. "It’s about your most recent—acquisition."

  "Finally," one of them grunted, pushing the heavy iron door open with a chainmail-covered arm. "You have any idea what it’s like guarding a Battleborn’s cell? He keeps making jokes. I feel like he’s going to slit my throat when I let down my guard and start laughing."

  "You should try training with him," Kaltor replied with a chuckle. "Up in the mountains where no one will hear you scream— I’m surprised your regent ordered him executed," He glared at them dangerously.

  Both soldiers forced nervous chuckles and gulped. "Follow us please," they insisted.

  It was easy to find the warden’s office. It was the only door not carrying thick iron bars and heavy locks. With a tentative knock, Kaltor entered.

  The warden sat upon his desk, sword in hand, whetstone sliding lovingly along the Sage-f
orged blade. He had no fireplace, but two tall candlesticks stood on either side of him, a cot with thick blankets lining the left wall.

  Well, he’s far more practical in his choice of furnishings than the regent. That’s a start. I’d forgotten how much experience he’s had in dealing with soldiers and Battleborn over the years, Kaltor thought. I wonder if he and Taneth ever fought together.

  "I should probably congratulate you first," Kaltor admitted. "Your soldiers are far more respectful than when I arrived earlier today."

  The warden shrugged carelessly, grabbing a spare chair to his right and sliding it across the floor. "How’s your leg, Kaltor?" he asked.

  "Nothing a full day’s rest can’t cure," Kaltor said through gritted teeth and taking a seat, easing his weight off of the affected muscles. "I would like to speak with Honmour— Sir," he added as an afterthought.

  The warden chuckled. "Just call me Warden," he said. His gaze narrowed, not accusing, but studying. "You wish to kill him before the regent can?"

  "That depends," Kaltor admitted, "on what he’s told you so far."

  "Very little," Warden said. "I figured you would arrive before I had the chance to interrogate him."

  At least Warden isn’t as bloodthirsty as the regent, Kaltor thought. A trickle of relief made its way down Kaltor’s spine. "Let’s just say a few issues still need to be resolved. I promise to leave him in the same condition I find him, of course."

  "Of course," Warden said. "A Battleborn would never break a promise."

  Though he was only in his late forties, he had an air of elderly wisdom about him, drawing large conclusions from the smallest of details in a person’s reactions. "Nor would a Battleborn leader allow himself to be captured and separated from his men."

  This man is perceptive, Kaltor thought. But is he trustworthy? I can’t stop Melshek if I give myself up. If Warden calls the guards, I don’t know if I can fight my way out without killing someone. Despite his walking stick, the muscles in his leg twitched and groaned anxiously, as if in warning.

  Warden glanced toward his guest carefully. "But a Battleborn might lie to the regent of the city, claiming he himself were the leader, thus giving the real leader and the remainder of his forces free rein over the city as before. Assuming they don’t get caught next time, they could still do a lot to protect the people."

  Returning a frosty glare, Kaltor spoke. "Yet the Battleborn are a very close-knit group. We prefer to punish our own as we see fit. Also," he twirled a throwing blade between his fingers. "We have a tendency of visiting those who don’t allow us to operate as we see fit."

  With a sigh, Warden walked behind his desk and sat down. "Use your head, Battleborn," he chastised. "Killing me would do you little good. I act on the regent’s orders. You will have to deal with him if you want Honmour’s life spared."

  This is not going well, Kaltor thought, dispatching an extra burst of healing to his leg. "The regent acts to protect his own standing in the people’s eyes," he said. "He doesn’t care about the actual people’s well-being, unless they’re Sight Seekers."

  Warden tensed when he sensed Varadour power swelling inside his guest, but did not overreact, glancing toward the wounded leg dismissively. He grunted at the last part of Kaltor’s allegation. "We are duty bound to serve the people and our leader, even if he sees fit to relieve us from the responsibilities we had under Prince Tyran."

  "And if this new leader does not share your sense of honor?"

  Warden did not respond right away. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at a piece of parchment on his desk, watching Kaltor with a measuring stare. "My orders are to keep Honmour and Reeth imprisoned until Vengral sees fit to execute them," Warden held up the message for the Battleborn to see. "He plans to kill them the next time the crowd loses faith in his abilities."

  "You’ll forgive me if that does not provide very much relief," Kaltor replied glumly.

  Warden leaned closer, pulling a drawer open and lifting out a small box from it. "Tell you what," he offered. "You tell me all you know of a different matter and perhaps I can help with Honmour’s fate," He tossed the box over.

  Its lid slid open easily, revealing a pinky finger. Kaltor’s stomach lurched. Perceptive and direct, he thought. "This isn’t Honmour’s," he observed. "This blood is a few hours old."

  Warden gave Kaltor a leveling glare. "You take the time to question a convict with connections to Melshek and neglect to share the details of that conversation with me. I had to make sure you weren’t actually serving Melshek. I will not have my dungeon mimicking the fate of the prison and Prince Tyran," The image of Reeth, withered from hunger and hopelessness while enduring such questioning set Kaltor’s teeth on edge.

  He flashed a dangerous glance Warden’s way. "You do realize you did all this for nothing? Reeth had nothing to tell! He wasn’t even a part of Melshek’s efforts!"

  "Melshek’s, no," Warden admitted, sheathing his sword. "But yours, yes."

  The silence was ominous, tense. They sat watching one another carefully, each trying to assess the capabilities and motivations of the other without offering what they already knew or felt.

  He does lead fighting men, and he’s the nearest backup the people in the courtyard have, should the soldiers on the walls be overrun. He leaned forward, trying to look as inviting as possible. "You have fought with Battleborn before?"

  Warden grinned widely. "Some of the best fighters I’ve ever seen," he said. "Ever seen them fight together against a large group? Five of them can engage twenty or thirty regular soldiers. They could challenge even more men in the dark of night. Watching them fight against each other—"

  For the first time in their discussion something akin to fear flashed in his eyes, or perhaps simply a profound respect. Maybe we can use that, Kaltor decided.

  "Varadour power is an amazing thing to wield," Kaltor admitted. "But Melshek’s men can almost match it. How many Battleborn fought in your army?"

  "Fifteen for an army of thirty thousand," Warden smiled proudly, motioning toward a few medallions of honor hanging on the right wall.

  Kaltor did some quick calculations. "Melshek could have half the city under his control by the end of the week, each man of his only a hair slower than a fully capable Varadour," That got Warden’s attention. "What happened in the prison is happening now," he continued. "If we wait too long, over half the city will serve him."

  "That’s crazy!" Warden said, trying to wave aside the accusation disbelievingly, though the fear in his voice said otherwise. "I’ve never heard of anything like that!"

  "What did the regent say about the prison incident?" Kaltor demanded.

  "He said it was a disease in the cells. Some kind of maddening disease. Claims Melshek tried to poison some of the citizens. He never said it could spread so quickly—" Warden gripped the edges of his desk, knuckles turning white as the realization hit him. "Why is the regent hiding this?"

  "I don’t know," Kaltor admitted. "He claims the truth would cause panic among the people," He drew another throwing blade, pointing it toward Warden. "If we wait too much longer, however, there won’t be a ‘people’ to protect."

  Stroking his chin, Warden’s eyes hugged the roughly-cut stones beneath his feet. "The prince was a powerful Varadour," he said. "He was also a good man. This regent, however—" he shrugged. "I admit, he doesn’t live to serve the people, only himself. But there are some Varadour nobles that won’t let his promises of power blind them as they have the Sight Seekers."

  Kaltor sighed, sheathing his throwing blade. "Half of Reeth’s family resisted Melshek’s hold, somehow," he admitted. "If we retrieved his family, he promised to tell us how."

  Warden nodded. "He told me as much during questioning. I’m sorry, but I had to be sure there was nothing more dangerous going on. After the prince died, we all started jumping at our own shadows."

  I should have expected it, Kaltor thought. "What will become of Honmour, then?"

 
; Warden laughed. "Wouldn’t worry too much about him! He’s as safe as the rest of us behind these walls. I put him in a nice cell just above us. I even left him with his travel rations, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the prison food. If the regent is convinced he’s got you Battleborn under his thumb, he won’t be in a hurry to execute him. Not unless he wants your Master Taneth himself to pay him a visit."

  That’s a good point. The regent wouldn’t be stupid enough to execute one of us, would he? "I need to speak to Reeth first, then," he said. "If the cure to Melshek’s hold is something simple, if it can be reversed, we could end this fight before it starts."

  "Agreed," Warden answered, standing. "We’ll question him together."

  They made their way down the same dizzying combination of twists, stairs, and dank hallways until they reached the same windowless cells from earlier that day. Reeth was waiting at his door, fingers curled around the bars where food was pushed through.

  "Battleborn!" he cried excitedly. Then he saw the warden, the torch he carried making him look a bit too ominous. With a cry of alarm the prisoner scampered to the back of his cell, mourning over the presumed deaths of his children.

  "Reeth!" Kaltor snapped. "We got Tera and your youngest daughter out."

  Reeth paused, slowly turning toward the door, crouched as if expecting some kind of attack. "Where are they, then?" he demanded. The fury faded from his voice and gulped nervously. "One of them changed, didn’t they? Which one? Why aren’t they here?"

  "The regent said you didn’t deserve any favors," the warden answered. "You’re lucky Kaltor here lured in some Perversions to be executed in your place."

  Standing to his full height, Reeth walked forward cautiously, putting his face between the bars. He stood just a head shorter than Kaltor. "How do I know you’re not lying?" he asked.

  "One of Melshek’s web-faced women was experimenting on your daughter," Kaltor explained. "Tera was tending to her, keeping her alive while they made her sick."

  Reeth’s face paled. He grabbed the bars on the prison door and rammed his head against the metal forcefully. "My son’s died then. Or as close to it as he could get. Why did they have to do that to her, too?" he mourned. "It hurts so much!" He glanced their way again. "You said she didn’t turn?"

  "You should be proud of her," the warden cut in. "She’s as strong as you."

  Reeth twitched fearfully at the sound of the warden’s voice, sucking the wound on his left hand where his pinky finger had once been. He still looked unconvinced about the whole situation, biting his lower lip as he toyed with the idea of trusting them.

  Maybe it would be better if Warden didn’t speak, Kaltor thought.

  "Tera saved my friend’s life this afternoon," he said. Not quite the case, but she definitely had a part in it. "Marethena turned and was attacking one of my men. Tera bashed her head in with a rolling pin, repeatedly."

  Reeth paused, eyeing Kaltor carefully before laughing out loud. It was an eerie sound coming from his malnourished, wounded, tear-streaked frame. "Yes, that’s her," he said, sucking his wound one last time before continuing.

  "Very well, Battleborn," Reeth said. "I told you the biscuits they passed around that morning were covered in a strange spice? Looked something like dried blood?"

  Kaltor and Warden exchanged nervous glances. Here we go, he thought. I hope this is something we can reverse or at least slow, somehow. "Go on," he said.

  "It was his actual blood!" Reeth said, spitting in disgust. "Tasted kinda like one of those hot spices from the southern countries. When you ate it, everything went dark. You couldn’t hear, see, or even smell the prison anymore. Images started to flash before your eyes. No— not images— moments. You could feel everything about them, like you were actually there."

  "What kind of moments?" Warden asked, leaning closer to better judge the truth in Reeth’s face. The prisoner’s eyes unfocused as he saw the moments again in his mind.

  "The moments of a king," Reeth said in awe. "Mountains of gold, all yours. Innumerable armies outside your window, all willing to fight and die for you. Your enemies being tortured before your eyes, finally getting what they deserve. Women lining up around the room for your choosing. You feel—" he paused a moment. "You feel like the world is yours."

  Melshek said he would be king, Kaltor thought in stunned silence. Whatever caught a hold of him is spreading its influence to the others in the city as well. "How did you survive it?" he prodded.

  Laughter filled the small cell again, drawing an odd look from the warden. "I could care less about being a king," he said dismissively. "The blood offered power, but deep down you could feel it would cost you everyone you ever loved. I would never be with my family again."

  He sat down again, a wave of fatigue lining his features, as if rejecting the proposal a second time took as much effort as the first. "I have a family to live for," he finished. "They’re all that matter to me."

  Kaltor leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching Reeth’s face for signs of deception. The man spoke the truth. So that’s it then. Every person in the city who wants power more than anything else will fall to Melshek’s hold. The look on Warden’s face said he had drawn the same conclusion.

  "I will stall your execution as long as I can, Reeth," Warden promised. "With the city in chaos, they might just forget about you and we can sneak you out the back with your family." Reeth grunted somewhat gratefully, but he kept glancing from the stump on his hand to the warden with understandable looks of suspicion.

  They made their way out of the dungeon, following the same route Kaltor had taken earlier with the guards the first time he spoke with Reeth. "No wonder Melshek’s hold spreads so quickly," Kaltor said in the flickering torchlight. "We have to keep his hold from spreading inside the castle."

  "Agreed," Warden answered. "I’ll brief my soldiers. You’d best do the same."

  Honmour’s family is close by, but what of the other Stunts? Would any of them be vulnerable? Should I have them stay out of the fight, just in case?

  His fingers circled the hilts of his daggers nervously as he tried to formulate their next plan of attack. His thoughts were interrupted by panicked footsteps echoing along the stone corridor.

  "Warden!" a young soldier cried as he rounded the corner, gasping for breath. "Regent Vengral needs us immediately!"

  "What’s wrong?"

  "Perversions!" the messenger gasped. "Perversions inside the castle!"

  Chapter 22