Oath of the Outcast

by C M Banschbach

  “Well that didn’t go exactly according to plan.” Alan took a seat, rubbing a hand across his face. “You have any ideas other than scowling at everyone?”

  Rhys ignored him, instead taking the extra candle from beside the bed. He lit it, then set it in the left-hand corner of the paned window and waited.

  Chapter 13

  Bryn leaned against a wall in a dark alleyway below the castle, rubbing the pommel of one of his knives as he waited. A faint scuff sounded behind him, and it wasn’t a cat. Half a second later he had a knife at someone’s throat.

  “Take it easy!” Rorie snorted, brushing the blade away.

  “Some warning next time, Highlander,” Bryn said.

  “I kicked a rock back at the entrance,” Rorie said in mild offense, tugging at his cap.

  It was Bryn’s turn to snort.

  “Any word from the Baron?” Rorie rested a broad shoulder against the opposite wall.

  Bryn pointed up at the flickering candlelight sitting in a window high on the eastern side of the castle. “It appeared ten minutes ago.”

  Rorie nodded. They had at least another fifteen minutes before the Baron expected a reply.

  “Where’s Jes?” Bryn glanced back down the empty alleyway.

  “Moving the horses. Guards started asking questions about newcomers to town not too long ago.”

  Couldn’t Adam have waited ‘til tomorrow? I wanted to sleep in a bed tonight. Bryn flicked a knife in and out of its sheath with his thumb. “He know where to meet?”

  Rorie scratched his forehead under his knit cap. “That urchin you sent over with the message found us before he left. He’ll be coming soon.”

  “See anything else around town?”

  “Plenty of soldiers. A few of those green robed druids we’ve heard about. Folk seem fairly superstitious about them.”

  Bryn raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to judge about being superstitious.”

  “It’s part of being a Highlander. These lowlanders live such boring, safe lives they have no time for it.”

  Bryn held up a hand to silence Rorie, and they both pressed back into the shadows as three soldiers clanked by on patrol.

  Bryn shoved away from the wall as soon as the street quieted again. “Calling me boring then?”

  “Eh, you’re not so bad.”

  Bryn rolled his eyes. “Come on. There’s a few nice rooftops around here that we can use.”

  Rorie followed close on his heels as he led the way down another narrow alley.

  “Think the Baron’s hurt anyone yet?” he asked almost hopefully.

  “He hasn’t been in the castle twenty-four hours yet. There’s still time.” Bryn checked to make sure a street was empty before crossing. Rorie joined him behind a tailor’s shop.

  Rorie laced his fingers together, bracing them against his leg as Bryn put his boot in his hands and accepted the boost up to the flat roof. He lay prone and stretched an arm down to Rorie. The Highlander was tall enough to reach his hand, and he scrambled up to the roof with surprising ease for his bulk. The building stood tall enough to shield them from the street below, and enough lights still winked from the surrounding houses that one more wouldn’t go amiss.

  They pushed up to a low crouch on the roof, Bryn keeping an eye on the flickering light in the distant castle as Rorie attempted to light the lantern. His flint rasped a few times, sending sparks but no flame.

  “Hurry up,” Bryn whispered. “He won’t be happy if we’re late.”

  Rorie cursed under his breath, then exhaled in satisfaction as the wick flared to life. “He’s never happy.”

  That’s true enough. The Baron usually maintained a veneer of icy calm, but Bryn had been seeing worrisome cracks ever since the messenger waltzed up to the Keep and delivered the summons.

  He pulled a stiff piece of folded leather from his tunic and flicked it across the lantern’s face, blocking the light in one long flash, then two short ones.

  A moment later, the light in the window flickered in two short flashes, then one long one.

  “Baron’s ready,” Bryn whispered.

  Rorie propped on his elbows beside Bryn, keeping an eye out for soldiers as Bryn sent the messages.

  Soldiers know we’re here. Bryn said.

  A long pause followed, then the light flickered. Guards watching us too.

  “Adam moved on them,” Bryn told Rorie.

  The Highlander shook his head. “Faster than he thought, isn’t it?”

  Bryn nodded. The Baron had hoped for at least another day before they were forced to try something else.

  Plan?

  Ready to move?

  Bryn sent back three short flashes in affirmation, then passed the leather up and down in front of the light twice. When?

  Tomorrow night. West side.

  “Rorie, you get what we needed today?”

  “Aye.” Rorie chuckled. “Nice gelding that some drunken sod won’t miss.”

  Bryn allowed a smile. Have spare horse. Time?

  Midnight. Be careful.

  Bryn translated the last bit to Rorie who snorted in derision.

  “Who does he think he’s talking to?”

  “You probably.” Bryn blew out the light and set the leather by the lantern.

  “Do you think this will actually work?” Rorie asked after a moment of uncharacteristic silence.

  “It’s not like you to doubt the Baron.” Bryn regarded him from the corner of his eye.

  Rorie shrugged. “I know, but isn’t this where it all began? I just wonder why he agreed to come here.”

  Bryn glanced back up at the window. The light had disappeared. He’d stood by the Baron when the message had come that the Seer had been taken. The look on his face had been a mix of anger and fear. Bryn hadn’t seen a look like that since he’d met the Baron years ago. “He won’t admit it, but the ties of blood run deep, don’t they? What would you do for your brother?”

  “Kill every last misborn that laid a hand on him.” Rorie’s cheerful voice hardened.

  “I think he might be planning the same thing.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” Rorie tugged at his cap.

  It might not be, but it still worries me. “As Jes says, there are easier ways to court death,” Bryn said. “But I’m glad that Alan is here. I think he’ll keep the Baron from doing anything too rash.”

  Even if the Baron was obviously holding the clansman at arms-length.

  “You might need a word with your saints as well.”

  Bryn huffed a wry chuckle. He didn’t think the saints would like the solution they planned for the current problem they faced. If they even listened to someone like him.

  “What is the plan?” Jes’s voice came from behind them.

  Rorie nearly knocked over the lantern, stifling a curse at the Gedrinian’s sudden appearance.

  Bryn returned his knife to its sheath. “Jes, what have we told you about that?”

  Jes dropped to a crouch beside them, a ghost of a smile visible in the pale moonlight. He moved his recurve bow to rest across his legs.

  “You told me to meet you two streets over, so I am thinking that it serves you right.”

  Bryn pushed up to a knee. “Where’d you come from?”

  Jes pointed out over the rooftops.

  “Where are the horses?”

  “About a mile to the west. We can camp there,” Jes replied.

  “A midnight stroll is exactly what I wanted,” Rorie grumbled.

  “You can take the first shift up here then.” Bryn tossed him the leather piece. They’d watch the window in case the Baron needed to contact them again.

  “Plan?” Jes patiently asked again.

  “They’re grabbing the Seer tomorrow night. We’ll meet them at the west gate and hightail it out of here,” Bryn said.

  “How does he plan on getting out?” Jes asked.

  “He didn’t really say.”

  “Typical.”

  Chapter 14
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br />   Aservant who refused to meet their gaze or speak delivered breakfast to Rhys and Alan a few hours after dawn.

  “Guess we’re not leaving anytime soon.” Alan said.

  Rhys rolled his eyes. “Good to know you can still state the obvious.”

  Alan shook his head and began to pace. Rhys put his boots up on the table and settled more comfortably into his chair. Alan never had been able to sit still. No word passed between them for over two hours.

  “Since when did you become so patient?” Alan tapped his boot against the leg of Rhys’s chair as he moved past to take the seat opposite him.

  “Well, you’re doing enough moving for the both of us.” Rhys barely opened his eyes.

  Alan stood and went to look out the window. Rhys cocked his head and watched him start pacing again.

  “You make a terrible prisoner,” he stated with a hint of amusement, closing his eyes again.

  Alan halted, looking at him with some surprise. “So what’s your secret then?”

  “Practice.”

  “You’ve been locked up more than once?” Affected surprise filled Alan’s voice. “Doesn’t surprise me at all.”

  Rhys shook his head. He opened his eyes to meet Alan’s smirk. The air felt like it cleared a fraction between them, enough to finally ask about Alan’s life for the past seven years.

  “Who’d you end up marrying?”

  Alan smiled and sat down. “Caitlín.”

  “You married Caitlín MacLarrah? How’d you ever convince her?” Rhys asked in frank shock. She’d been a bare-foot and wild haired girl, easily keeping pace with them growing up. The last time he’d seen Caitlín, she’d been soundly trouncing boys two years her elder in the training ring while wearing a dress.

  “I wish I could say I won her over with my considerable charm and wit, but honestly?” Alan shrugged with a wry grin. “I’ll never really know.”

  “She calmed down any? She used to have a mouth as foul as some of us,” Rhys said.

  “You’d know.” Alan snorted. “You picked up words in half a dozen languages during the war.”

  Rhys settled back in his chair with a hint of smugness.

  “I just hope the babe doesn’t give her too much trouble.” Alan pensively tapped his fingers together.

  Rhys still had trouble believing Alan was going to be a father. “Boy or girl?”

  “I want a girl, but she’s set on a boy.” Alan laughed.

  “You know Caitlín. It’ll be a boy.”

  Alan laughed again.

  “I’m surprised you don’t want a son.”

  “Ah, I’ve seen too much violence to wish for a son.” Alan settled against the chair back. “I don’t want him to see the things I’ve seen.”

  “Aye, but war never spares anyone.”

  “What about you? Surely there was some helpless maiden to rescue on the mountain pass?” Alan changed the subject with a grin.

  “I’m afraid I don’t usually live up to idealized expectations.” Rhys allowed his voice to rasp deeper than normal.

  “Must be your famed hospitality,” Alan said.

  The faintest of quirks at the corner of Rhys’s mouth betrayed him. “Must be.”

  “You never got over Sarah, did you?” Alan asked quietly.

  Rhys paused for a long moment, then shook his head. He’d always known that she and Sean were meant to be. “She was never for me. She never felt the same as me. She deserved someone like Sean, someone who could take care of her like she deserves.” He crossed his arms tighter across his chest. “Don’t ever tell him.”

  Alan nodded his agreement. The door wrenched open with a thud, and Adam strode into the room.

  “I’ve heard reports that strangers were out in town yesterday asking questions. You brought men with you, Baron. Where are they?” Adam demanded as guards sheltered the door.

  Rhys lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes at Adam.

  “Didn’t think I’d figure it out, did you?” Adam sneered.

  “Your all-powerful druid friends tell you that? Or did you finally find some competent men?” Rhys allowed a faint smirk.

  “My men managed to catch you last time, didn’t they?” Adam smiled tightly.

  “Aye, conveniently close by, weren’t they?” Rhys didn’t break Adam’s gaze.

  “Tell me where they are, and I won’t take it out on your brother.” Adam leaned closer.

  Rhys rose to confront him, wound tight in anger. Two guards stepped forward, swords drawn. Alan slowly gained his feet, his body tensed for action.

  “You lay a hand on him, and I’ll kill you even slower than I’m already planning.” Rhys made his own threat.

  “I’ve sent for Kane.”

  Dread twisted in Rhys’s stomach. Phantom pain flitted across the scars on his back.

  “You remember him, don’t you?” Adam backed up a pace toward the door. “After he finds your men, maybe I’ll have him pay a visit to Sean. Think about it.” He waved the guards out and slammed the door shut.

  Rhys clenched shaking hands, refusing to meet Alan’s concerned gaze until his breathing steadied.

  “Who’s Kane?” Alan lowered his voice.

  “Adam’s hunter and executioner. He’s the one who questioned me after I was arrested. And he carried out the sentence.” Rhys briefly touched his right forearm, the brand bulky enough to be felt through his sleeve.

  “I remember him.” Alan’s voice hardened. “Will he find them?”

  Rhys cast a glance at the window and shook his head. “Not unless they want to be found.”

  “Guess that’ll have to be good enough. Think Adam will be back today?”

  Rhys rubbed a thumb along the scar on his cheek. “I don’t know. But we need to be ready if he does. He wasn’t lying. He’ll take it out on Sean if we don’t have something for him. All the more reason to move tonight.”

  “You have a plan for after we get out?”

  “We won’t make it back up to the Clans’ territory. I think our best chance is to head east, cross the border into Sarksten’s lands.” He’d been weighing options since dinner the night before. And heading east already put him back on the path to the mountains, and away from the rumors of oncoming war.

  Alan nodded his agreement. “Make for the Carraig. Even if Sarksten hasn’t entered into a treaty yet with MacTavish, we can still find some protection there. There’s no love lost between him and Adam.”

  “It’ll be a hard ride. No matter how we get out of here, we’ll have someone on our trail.” Rhys didn’t have to be a Seer to know that.

  “And Sean will have to be strong enough to make it.” Alan voiced Rhys’s other fear. Sean had been bled at least twice. That was enough to lay any man low. But Sean was stubborn, and would do anything for the promise of freedom and the chance to see his family again.

  Rhys tipped his chin. “Aye. But first things first. We have to get out of here.”

  Alan crossed his arms. “I know you’ve been looking around. How much of this place do you remember?”

  “I remember how to get to the dungeons but not how many guards there will be.”

  “Perfect. Makes it more fun.” Alan flashed a tight smile. He tapped his fingers against his arm.

  Rhys jerked his head in a nod. Fun was one word for it. He had the rest of the day to plan.

  “We’re getting Sean out, and we’re getting you both home.”

  Chapter 15

  Mist swirled around Sean, obscuring the edges of his sight. He slowly took a breath, preparing himself for the vision that would accompany it.

  Hooves thundered about him. Manes whipped into tendrils as blurred shapes of riders plunged through the thick mist, solidifying for a moment into armor and cloaks and spears.

  The riders passed him, and the mist swirled back to order as silence fell. Whispers cut through, and the mist stirred as if moved by a light breeze. He waited patiently, listening to the whispers as they spoke in tongues he didn’t quite understan
d. They cut off abruptly.

  A man cried out in pain, the noise twisting in his gut. Rhys. The scream unleashed a cacophony of battle noise, drumming in his ears.

  The mist parted to reveal the Dari Sea spreading out before him. He turned to face the towering white walls of the castle. Darkness loomed tall over it, sweeping down over him like a tidal wave. The mist retaliated, sweeping under his feet, giving him wings to fly up and over the darkness to look down into the castle.

  A large dragon covered in dull green and grey scales and with familiar brown eyes coiled within the walls, sharp talons poised to strike. It looked him square in the eye and he awoke.

  Chapter 16

  Rhys stepped across a war-torn field, checkered cloaks smeared in blood, and banners lying beside twisted bodies. Even in his dreams, the remembered stench turned his stomach. He focused on the far point in the horizon and stumbled on toward a familiar figure.

  Damon.

  The young man turned. A curved dagger protruded from his chest.

  “You failed.” The words whispered around Rhys but didn’t move Damon’s pale lips.

  “I tried,” Rhys murmured.

  The dream never listened, only blamed him for the failure.

  Rhys turned away from Damon, the bulky figure of Kane appearing a few paces away.

  “I’m coming,” he sneered, drawing a knife. “Told you there was no escape from me, didn’t I?”

  Rhys cried out as sudden pain flared across his back. White sand blossomed beneath him as he hit his knees. He dug a fist into the sand, not feeling the coarseness he remembered from long ago. He never did.

  Just a dream, he whispered over and over. Kane’s laugh cut off. Smoke wisped across his vision. His shoulders prickled with the sensation of being watched.

  He whirled, unable to draw a weapon in his dreams. But nothing stirred the suddenly empty field. A keening call came from above him.

  Slowly, he turned his gaze upward, wary of whatever new nightmare his mind had conjured.

  A falcon hovered above him on the invisible breeze, a bit of mist streaking out behind it. It turned on the breeze, turning one bright blue eye down at him.

  A wave of relief swept through him. It had been a long time since he’d seen that falcon in his dreams. This time, it didn’t seem content to hover above him as it usually did. Instead it screamed a warning and dove straight toward him. He stood locked in place, unable to move, or do anything other than watch. ~