Oath of the Outcast

by C M Banschbach

  “Careful you don’t hurt yourself.”

  Eral’s quick temper flared again and he punished the Baron for the words Kane had thought himself.

  “Enough.” Kane ordered when the druid had calmed somewhat.

  “You have sympathy for him?” Suspicion ran rampant across Eral’s features.

  Kane stared back at him in barely disguised contempt. “No, but you want him to survive until you kill him don’t you?”

  Eral sniffed but was forced to agree. He snapped his fingers and led his fellow druids from the cell, followed by the soldiers. Kane lingered a moment more, staring down to where the Baron hunched against the floor, trying to decide if it was pity or admiration that had made him step in.

  The Baron growled a curse in Karanti at him, and Kane left him where he lay.

  Chapter 34

  Rhys pressed his forehead against the cold stone floor, trying to draw a breath past his battered ribs. He managed to get an arm underneath him to brace his aching chest. But even the small movement sapped his strength. He licked blood from his lips and tried to push himself upright but was forced to abandon the movement as his arms trembled with the effort of lifting himself even an inch off the floor.

  So this was how he would die. Weak and alone. He’d wanted it for so long, he hadn’t even cared how it happened. But he didn’t want this. The desire to survive reared its head. He cursed himself and Jes. He hated it when the Gedrinian was right.

  A warm touch brushed his shoulder. In the absence of anyone in the cell, it only meant one thing. Sean.

  His brother had always been an idealist.

  You don’t have a brother, a mocking voice reminded him.

  “Leave it, Sean,” he muttered, trying to ignore the touch of his brother’s soul. He didn’t want Sean’s prayers. There was no point in them. There had been even less evidence of a merciful god in the last few days.

  The touch came again, more persistent this time.

  “Dialan.”

  He tried to block Sean out like he had the last seven years. But seeing him again had destroyed many of the barriers he’d thrown up. If the druids were right, he and Sean shared a bond, and it was getting harder to sever. But it had to be cut. For Sean’s sake if nothing else, because that idiot brother of his would try and do something stupid.

  He placed his palms against the rough stone and shoved himself upright, groaning through clenched teeth as he managed to slump against the wall. He shut his eyes, trying to still the spinning of the room as his body protested the sudden movement.

  The nausea faded and he took his time opening his eyes again. The cot stood like an insurmountable mountain, so he let the wall take his weight as he tried to recover enough strength to make the attempt.

  He raised a trembling arm to swipe at the blood that dribbled from his mouth. As his hand fell away he saw the deep scarlet still staining the cracks of his skin. The druid had said that they had recovered enough of his blood. He didn’t know if they could truly use it to hurt Sean, but he hadn’t been lying when he said Sean was under his protection.

  The flame flared brighter.

  If anything could keep him alive, it would be protecting Sean. He didn’t see himself walking out of the cell, except to whatever death the druids had planned, but perhaps there was a way to warn Sean. It would mean opening himself up to Sean’s sight again. He cringed at the thought. Who knew what Sean had seen last time, if his dream had been anything more than that?

  Rhys had blocked himself from Sean’s Sight for years, denied their connection, built walls around his past. Now, to warn Sean, he must undo it all.

  He reached for the invisible tether in a small corner of his soul—the thing that had always told him where Sean was, what he was feeling, what he needed. The connection he’d cut away to almost nothing over the past seven years.

  A painful breath hitched in his chest. The memory of Sean hugging him on the road shoved into his mind. The last of the walls came crumbling down. He tried to tell himself that it didn’t matter what Sean saw, what Sean would think of him after—he just had to be warned.

  His eyes fell closed almost of their own accord.

  “Sean!”

  Chapter 35

  Sean soared over jagged hills scattered with rocks, pulled irresistibly north. Faster and faster, he flew over roads and rivers until the land lurched into gentle slopes of vibrant green. His eyes distinguished patterns woven into the grass and the rich dirt—blues, yellows, purples, reds, deeper green, and black—the colors checkered together to mark the boundaries of the seven Clans.

  He picked out a road, its dark surface worn by the passing of countless feet and hooves. It pulled him north still. A cool wind pressed against him, slowing his speed as mist buoyed under his wings. He hovered above a small group taking their rest along the grassy sward overlooking the road. Soldiers in blue and yellow checkered cloaks ranged around as two small children laughed and ran, tumbling through the grass. His heart twisted as he recognized them.

  He turned to the woman sitting alone atop a hillock a few feet from where the children played. Sarah. Her face was drawn and weary. She’d always hated travelling. But they would be safe. He sensed only warmth and protection along their northern route.

  How he wished he could reach out and touch her, kiss away her worry. But he could see them. It would have to be enough. He would have lingered in the vision forever, flying away from the mist that lurked behind him.

  But a hand clamped down on his shoulder, whirling him around to face the thick mist.

  “Sean!” The Baron’s rasp shook the heavy air.

  “Rhys?” He searched the mist. The cloud wall thickened, and Sean tried to turn away from it, knowing his brother wouldn’t let him in. But he couldn’t move. The mist melted away, plunging him into a new vision.

  Rhys slumped against a stone wall. His fear smelled like the druids’ incense. His hate raged like wildfire.

  Sean clutched his head, overwhelmed by the sensations that roared over him like a mountain storm. The mist jerked him forward towards Rhys. He instinctively braced, but he passed through the vision of Rhys and tumbled to the ground. He pushed to his feet, the edges of his vision distorted in new shades of grey.

  “You will be taken to Deronis’ Gateway where you will have the privilege of meeting the great god himself before you are offered in his name,” a voice whispered.

  “Don’t look for me, Sean.”

  Pain. Dripping blood. Weakness.

  The dragon thrashed before his eyes, maw parted wide in a keening roar.

  “He will be sacrificed to Deronis for his crimes.” Alisher’s voice, marred by pain.

  “Treason—dishonorable discharge—” A stern voice Sean didn’t recognize.

  “Traitor!”

  “Baron—”

  “Rhys, don’t go—”

  “—little brother—”

  “I didn’t do it!”

  The voices came in too fast to put names to. Pain stabbed his eyes and he cracked them open as heat flared against his skin.

  The brilliance of the sun against white sand. Spatters of blood. The crack of a whip.

  “Outcast.”

  A burning brand touched to a trembling forearm.

  “The Baron courts death.”

  Rhys sprawled on a forest path, choking and pressing his hands against his bleeding throat.

  Sean cried out, clutching at his head. Rhys, stop! The past barely paused long enough for him to draw a steadying breath before it assaulted him again.

  A curved dagger dripping blood. A younger Damon lying half-conscious on the floor.

  Sean braced a hand against the ground, sobbing for breath as pain, regret, hatred pounded at him.

  Rhys standing on a battlefield, hardly recognizable under the blood and gore and look of death on his face.

  “Rhys!” Sean shouted.

  The past faded and the rustle of dark pines filled his ears. Pillars of stone erupted from th
e earth in a barren clearing. Murmured chanting echoed off the stones. Evenly spaced torches flickered around the circle.

  The sense of death grew the closer the vision dragged him to the stones.

  I have to get out of here!

  But his feet were pinned to the ground by unseen hands. Howls filled the darkness. The torches winked out one by one.

  “He will come for you. Never fear.” A druid’s voice.

  “No!”

  Hands drove a knife into Rhys’s chest and his blood spattered across a green robe.

  “No!”

  Sean wrenched upright, panicking as his eyes met only the darkness. For a moment he thought he had been trapped in the vision. But his hands clutched a blanket, and sweat soaked his shirt.

  The door pushed open and light flooded in along with Alan and Damon. They brought another candle with them, and he stared at the brightness before meeting their startled gazes.

  “Sean?” Alan questioned. “What did you see?”

  “They’re going to kill him.” Sean jerked in a breath, the image of blood gushing from Rhys’s chest too vivid. It was in the future, he knew that much. The colors became less vibrant around future events. But he didn’t know how much time they had.

  “Who?” Damon stepped closer.

  “The Baron. I heard something about a sacrifice.” Sean jerked his head up to meet their gaze.

  “When?” Alan’s hand darted forward as if to grab him but stopped at the last second.

  “I don’t know,” Sean said.

  “Sean, what did you see?” Alan repeated, his voice falling to a whisper.

  Sean rubbed a hand across his eyes. He had no wish to voice the part of the future he had seen. “Too much. Not enough. Have his men left yet?”

  “I’ll go check,” Alan said. He pressed the candle into Damon’s hand as he passed. Sean sucked in a breath.

  There had been something else in the dream, something not spoken, but it rippled like a current in the fabric of the mist. A warning for him.

  But against what?

  ✽✽✽

  Fulke and the rest of the Cairns arrived at the gates in the darkness before midnight, throwing the Carraig into confusion. The Cairns ranged in a protective square in the courtyard, daring the soldiers to break their wary distance as Fulke spoke with Sean and Alan.

  “You say they’ll kill the Baron, but you don’t know when or where?” Fulke demanded.

  Sean resisted the urge to rub at his eyes. I might be a Seer, but I don’t know everything.

  “No. I only see when it is appointed for me to see,” he said. “And I only saw this much because the Baron finally let me see him again.” Stubborn idiot. If he ever saw Rhys again, he’d get a punch in the face. I will see him again. “He’s still at Castle Bright, that much I do know.”

  “We’d already planned to ride there,” Fulke said. “We’ll make it in time.” The certainty in his words still didn’t chase away the memory of the blood.

  “If you find him, will you come back?” Alan asked.

  The half-mad outlaw shifted his gaze away from Sean. “I told Sarksten I would tell the Baron of his request to see him, but that decision is the Baron’s.”

  From the sound of it, Sean could only hope Rhys would at least come say goodbye before he returned to the mountains. Fulke led the men from the courtyard. Draco trailed behind one of the Cairns, the Baron’s packs safely attached to his empty saddle.

  Jes, Rorie, and Bryn were the last to leave, tipping nods of farewell before swinging onto their horses.

  The tense air that had hung over the Carraig dissipated when the last of the Cairns crossed the far side of the bridge. Even Alan’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

  “What now?” Sean asked him. Alan stared through the open gates, watching the last rider disappear beyond the faint light of the gate torches.

  “Brogan and Sarksten will want to know what happened. And prepare for war,” he finally said.

  Sean wished he could pretend his shiver had been brought on by the cool night air. War would be upon them in a matter of days. He knew that with a cold certainty.

  He flexed his wrist, the muscles sore from the prior days of training. Lifting a sword was different from lifting a plow. The ache wasn’t the only reason he’d given up any dream of being a warrior. He’d never been to battle, but he’d seen enough in his dreams to know it was the last place he ever wanted to be.

  Chapter 36

  The hardy mountain horses could run for twice as long as any other breed, but even they had limits. Fulke pushed the Cairns as fast as they could go without ruining the horses. Bryn dismounted on the third night and almost hit the ground. It took a moment to force his saddle sore legs to work.

  He’d been on too many races against time recently. He’d be glad to return to the relative peace and quiet of the Dragon Keep.

  Bryn loosened the girth, pulling the saddle off to thud to the ground. He dug out a rag to wipe his horse’s sweaty hide. All around the sheltered camp, his fellow outlaws were doing the same. He wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of three days’ forced ride. Only Fulke appeared unaffected.

  Bryn picked out a place to sleep beside the red sandstone outcroppings that inundated the particular patch of forest they had chosen. He sat with a grunt, pulling light rations from his pack to choke down through a dusty mouth that even gulps of water couldn’t seem to rinse free.

  Fulke picked out sentries as soon as their food had been packed away again. Luca disappeared into the tress with a grumble. Natan, a slender thief who had earned two X brands on his hands, strolled out of camp in the opposite direction to take his patrol.

  Milo knelt by a fallen tree, feeding his two falcons strips of dried meat. Ajax sprawled beside him, already asleep. The mastiff had kept up with them over the course of the three days without complaint, seeming to know that they were on their way to rescue his master.

  Jes came to sit beside Bryn, tossing down his own bedroll after scraping together a pile of pine needles for some extra cushion.

  “You still blaming yourself?” Jes asked, leaning against the rock with a wince.

  Bryn scoffed as he loosened his boot laces. “Even Luca could figure that out.”

  “Fulke did what he thought was right.”

  Bryn shook his head again. “He shouldn’t have waited for me. Now we’re days behind, and who knows what’s happening to the Baron.”

  “You are not the only one who is worried,” Jes reminded him.

  “I know. But you heard what Sean said about his condition.” Bryn laid his knife belt beside him, wishing his worry could be as easily put aside. “The Baron wants to die. He won’t wield the knife himself, but he won’t save himself either. Even if we can get inside to get him—I’m just worried about what we’ll find.”

  “You pray, do you not?” Jes asked.

  “Aye, though no man could accuse me of being very devout.” Bryn placed his sword beside the knives. He observed the holy days and prayed to Ilan when he remembered to. He even prayed for the Baron sometimes, though he knew the Baron wouldn’t like it.

  “Well then, I have offered my incense to Gedrin’s protectors. Pray to yours and maybe we will have some luck.”

  Bryn shot a glance to Jes through the dim light. The Gedrinian usually didn’t espouse luck. Jes was worried. Bryn wasn’t the only one hating himself for leaving the Baron behind.

  They turned in to sleep, and even though exhaustion dogged his muscles, he only caught spurts of rest. Dawn came faster than Bryn appreciated. Mumbled complaints drifted around the camp as they mounted up for another ride.

  Luca patted his horse’s neck with a mournful look. “How much further?”

  “You’re not the only one feeling it, little man,” Rorie scoffed from where he sat stiffly in the saddle.

  Bryn cleared his throat, and Rorie subsided. The last thing they needed was to be at each other’s throats. Not when they were this close.

  Bry
n bit the inside of his cheek as he tightened his girth and mounted.

  “Aye, we rode longer than this on the way to Calicrassa.” Natan smirked at Luca. “Don’t think you can handle it again?”

  The wiry man scowled back.

  “I seem to remember you falling off your horse a time or two on that trip.” Jes raised an eyebrow at Natan. Luca smirked in quick revenge, but the thief shrugged it off.

  “Hasn’t been anything worth getting off this horse for this trip.”

  A few nods passed around. Bryn allowed a faint smile. They weren’t stopping until they got the Baron.

  Milo already sat mounted, waiting patiently for everyone else in his perpetual silence. He held Draco’s reins loosely in one hand. Jes swung into the saddle, molding back to the leather without complaint. Those of his people who didn’t live in the cities, lived on horseback from the day they were born.

  “A few more hours.” Bryn gathered up his reins. He’d recognized the last mile marker, shrouded in ivy and pale-yellow blooms from the last time he’d ridden the road. An age ago, it seemed.

  He pushed over to Fulke. “We need to get off the main roads. There’s more cover on the western side of the castle. We can sweep around from here.”

  Fulke rubbed his nose, then nodded. “See to it.”

  With that Bryn had command for the day. While he and Fulke shared the same rank within the Dragon Keep, they had long ago agreed on an alternating command when the Baron wasn’t present. And while there was no telling what might set Fulke off, he still stayed sane enough to honor the agreement and understand when Bryn needed to take the lead.

  The Cairns fell into place at Bryn’s quick whistle. He picked out two men to scout ahead, and four to flank as the rest rode out in a double line.

  The forest provided enough cover as they struck further into its depths and away from the main road. The horses picked their sure-footed way through the trees and down faint game trails as they worked steadily west.

  The sun lingered before its midpoint when the forest began to thin, exposing the green tips of Castle Bright’s towers. The Raven’s Tooth emerged through the trees, and beyond it the main road. The Cairns hung back in the protective embrace of the forest as the scouts moved forward.