“Why?” Redclaw asked. “Why, if we are so much stronger than they? Why is it terrible for us to dream of a land our young can hunt on with pride instead of this ugly yellow grass?”
“Because we are but a speck to them!” Silver-Ear cried, grabbing his arm and holding it tight. Immediately she let go, clutching her hand to her breast as the smell of burned fur reached Redclaw’s nose. He thought to say something, to apologize, but Silver-Ear continued on.
“Just a speck,” she said. “There are more humans than you can understand, Redclaw. Our ten packs of a hundred each are nothing. They have armies that make us look like a fly biting an orc’s ear. Do you not remember the stories? In the days of our creation, the first Wolf King led hundreds beyond hundreds down the river, and still we were crushed by the men in their metal armor, their wizards with their evil magic, and their champions with their glowing blades. They hate us, they fear us, and they will never let us escape the prison they have made for us.”
“Why do you tell me this?” Redclaw asked softly. “Why would you try to crush all hope?”
“Because Cyric would have us war against them,” she said. “We’ll travel miles beyond the river. We’ll feast well at first. We’ll drink the blood of our kills, and we’ll howl to the moon following our victories. But then the humans will strike back. They are not like us. They take time to prepare for a battle, but when it comes, they will bury us in waves of glinting metal stretching across the horizon. We’ll die, surrounded, alone, in a land we have never seen before, and will never see again. Cyric says we are to become like we were in days of old, and worship the human god Karak. We died in the days of old, Redclaw. And we’ll die now.”
The shaman stopped, and the music of the cicadas filled her silence. Redclaw clenched and unclenched his paws, trying to think through what she’d said, trying to understand where he stood in all this. He was Wolf King, but he was also Cyric’s champion. When the strange man had come into Redclaw’s camp, he’d bested him with ease, forced him to his knees, and then demanded obedience under threat of death. There was no doubting his strength, and no doubting the strength he could bestow upon others.
“You speak with the wisdom of ages,” Redclaw said, the words heavy on his tongue. “But I will still lead, and I will still fight.”
“Why, Redclaw?”
He turned away from her.
“Because no matter how terrible the chance, Cyric might be who he says he is. This is no time for small dreams. Even if we fail, at least we have tried to conquer. At least we’ll have tried to make a better life for our pups.”
“You’re a wise male,” Silver-Ear said as he stalked away. “Keep your eyes open, my Wolf King, and never forget who you serve.”
Who did he serve? Redclaw pondered this as he returned to the camp. Was it Cyric, his pack, or himself? And did it matter, so long as those loyal to him could feast upon the blood of the weaker?
The sun was soon to rise, and he settled down to sleep near his pups. Not close enough to touch, but enough to hear their breathing, see the rise and fall of their tiny chests.
10
Valessa sat at the end of the docks before the waters of the Gihon. It was the only place she knew to find solace. Torches and patrols covered the tops of the walls, and tents filled the space between the tower and the walls. It seemed nothing had changed, only instead of it being Karak’s mercenaries, it was Daniel Coldmine’s men who controlled the insignificant construction of stone and brick. To think she’d given everything to take it. Everything…
And when she looked to the dark night sky, she knew it was all for nothing.
“You asked for me?” Darius said, his heavy boots thudding atop the wooden planks.
Valessa nodded, not bothering to turn around. At her silence, Darius closed the distance and sat beside her. His feet dangled off the dock. Beside him he put his enormous sword, which glowed for a moment at his touch. Though its light still caused discomfort, it did not burn her.
“Well,” Darius said when she didn’t speak. “I’m here. Care to talk?”
“I’ve prayed to Karak,” she said, blurting out the words. “And I’ve prayed to Ashhur. Neither hear me. I’m lost to them both now, aren’t I? A blasphemy against the two gods, that is what I am. That is what you created.”
“You’re a fool if you think I created you, Valessa. I’d give that credit to your parents.”
She glanced at him, saw that he was smiling. She rolled her eyes.
“Wipe the smile from your face. That wasn’t particularly funny.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“To each his own. Or her, I suppose. If you feel abandoned now, I assure you, it’s a fairly normal feeling. As a gray sister you were used to Karak’s constant presence, for he is a jealous god, and protective of his powerful servants. But most of the farmers and laymen I preach to hear only silence whey they pray, yet still they believe their prayers heard, and often answered.”
“Then they’re dogs used to scraps that fall off the table. I was better. So were you. Or are you so much better now?”
Darius sighed.
“I’d like to think so. I’m not dead, at least, and I sent Cyric running the last time we met. Can’t do much better than that.”
“You could have killed him,” Valessa said, staring at the water.
Beside her, she heard Darius shift uncomfortably.
“What is it you see?” he asked her. “Something more than this weighs on you. Tell me what it is.”
Valessa looked up to the sky. High above, amid the rest of the stars, she saw two separate from the others. One was a red star, still showing her where Darius might be. It seemed a mockery now, a call to kill a man she had no desire anymore to kill. As if killing him would change anything. The other, like a scar in the sky, was different. It gave no color, only absorbed it all in. That black star was further away, and over the past hours, it’d been steadily moving, like a comet.
“Cyric’s crossed the Gihon,” she said. “Whatever his delay, it’s over now. We need to flee south as soon as possible, before he can reach us.”
“Flee?” asked Darius. “Wait a moment now. In case you haven’t been paying attention, I kicked his ass at Willshire. I don’t see any reason why that might change now.”
“Do not play pretend, not with me,” Valessa said, feeling her temper flare. “I can see the fear of him deep in your heart, no different than mine. He’ll be stronger now, more furious. The time in the wild has done something to him. The black star has grown larger. I can only assume it grows with his power.”
“A pleasant thought,” Darius said. “But that doesn’t mean we should run. Don’t you still desire to kill him? That’s why you came to me, wasn’t it?”
At the time she thought it was. Staring at the black star, she once decided the mad priest’s murder was her purpose, and part of her still believed it. But why had she gone to Darius? Was it because she thought him the only one who could stop Cyric? Or was it because she’d desperately needed some sort of order, some sense of worth, after her near-death and banishment at Cyric’s hands?
“Why did he delay?” she finally asked. “Why did Cyric remain in the Wedge instead of coming back to the tower with Lilah and his men? He wanted something there, and at last he’s found it.”
“Perhaps he needed some solitude, maybe a chance to meditate after I humiliated him and his claims at being a god.”
Valessa shook her head.
“No, that’s not him. Cyric would never have the humility for such a course of action.”
Darius shrugged.
“Well, what else is there but orcs, goblins, and wolf-men beyond the river?”
“All that once served Karak.”
She saw a flash of recognition cross Darius’s face, and then he immediately quashed it.
“No,” he said. “No, that’s not right. That’s not right at all. If he rallied an army of orcs, or wolf-men, or even those strange hyena creatures
…”
“There’s no way to know,” Valessa said. “Not until it’s too late. Cyric wants to conquer all of the North, perhaps all of Dezrel, to force his faith upon every last man, woman, and child. We can’t stop him, not with the few we have. We must flee south until we have a proper army.”
Darius leaned his head on his hand, his fingers rubbing his temples.
“Daniel’s not going to like this,” he muttered.
Valessa had expected an outburst when they told Daniel what they surmised. Instead, he’d sat calmly in his room in the tower, a map of the North rolled out before him on his desk. Beside him stood Brute, eating a peach and looking extremely bored.
“This is what you wake me up for?” Daniel asked. “Guesses?”
“More than that,” Darius said. “Well, slightly more,” he added after the older man’s glare.
“There’s no doubt that he’s on the move,” Valessa said. “I can see the black star clearly, more than I ever have before. He’s crossed the Gihon about twenty miles or so north of Willshire. He’ll be moving south soon enough.”
“Twenty miles…”
Daniel traced his finger along the map, then winced when he reached what he’d been looking for.
“There’s a small town by the name of Bellham twenty five miles upriver,” he said. “It’s one of the last before reaching the mines.”
“We have to warn them,” Darius said.
“It’s too late,” Valessa said, and she felt an ache in her chest that was entirely foreign. “He’s already there. He’ll come for Willshire next, then here.”
“He’s coming for us is what he’s coming for,” Brute said, taking another bite of his peach. “Question is, is there anything we can bloody do about it?”
“I’m not running,” Daniel said, preempting the suggestion.
“Then call it a tactical retreat,” Valessa said. “These walls will mean nothing to Cyric. You’ve seen what he can do, and he’s only going to get more powerful with time. We need to flee down the river, and take as many as we can with us.”
“She’s right,” Darius said. “We only have two hundred men. Cyric may have thousands.”
“All this depends on the word of one woman, you realize,” Brute interjected. “How sure are you of this? Could you be wrong?”
Much as she wanted to be, Valessa knew Cyric’s location with a certainty that could not be shaken.
“He’s there,” she said. “I know it with every bone in my body…if I had any, that is. Forgive the poor analogy.”
Daniel rolled up the map, breathed in deep, and then blew it all out.
“All right then. We’ll send for the people of Willshire come morning, and by nightfall we’ll sail south.”
Valessa could hardly believe it was that simple.
“We will?” she asked, even though she knew it had to make her sound dumb. “You trust my opinion so much?”
“Milady, I saw you rip open these gates with your bare hands, completely unafraid of that giant lion on the other side. If you’re frightened now, then I trust your instincts. This tower wouldn’t be mine without your help. If you say it’s time to leave, then we leave.”
Valessa felt oddly flattered, though she resented the accusation of being frightened.
“I must say, I thought you’d protest a bit more,” Darius said, chuckling.
Daniel let out a sigh.
“I knew this might happen, but I needed the boats here if we were to flee, plus the extra supplies. The river’s our only hope of fleeing fast enough, and we couldn’t use it until we retook the tower. Now the mercenaries are gone, and we’re free to run like the chickenshits we are. I’ve got messages already sent down river, pleading with King Baedan to muster his army. Only job we have left is protecting the people of Willshire from that madman, as well as alerting all the other villages we cross along the way.”
“The king won’t be too pleased you left your post,” Brute said, tossing the remains of his peach out the window.
“That’s why I’ll be staying, along with whoever will volunteer to remain with me,” Daniel said. “Someone has to stall them for a bit. If Cyric thinks the tower guarded, he’ll approach with caution. Even if I can buy the rest of you only a few hours, it still might make a difference.”
“I agree,” Brute said, looking to Darius and Valessa to see if they would argue. Valessa said nothing, for the lieutenant’s life was his own. Darius clearly looked unhappy, but didn’t seem willing to challenge the decision.
“But it won’t be you that’s staying, Daniel,” Brute continued. “I’ll remain behind. You have a duty to your men, and dying here ain’t it.”
“Absolutely not,” Daniel said.
“If you stay, then that makes me in charge of the men who come with me on the river,” Brute argued. “And the first order I’ll give will be to turn every last one of them around to aid you along the walls. The peasants can fend for themselves. You’ve got no choice in this matter, Daniel.”
Now Valessa saw the rage and stubbornness she’d expected from the man. But Daniel let it go as quickly as it came, and he stood so he could embrace Brute.
“Take as many with you as you can,” he said. “And if that priest prick comes alone, put an arrow through his eye and then send word down the Gihon for the rest of us to join you for the celebration.”
“Bring some women with you on the way back,” Brute said, and he laughed. “I’ll tell the men in the morning, see how many volunteers I can rope into dying with me. I suggest we grab some sleep. It’s going to be a long few days, for all of us.”
Sleep wasn’t something Valessa needed, but she did desire solitude. She made herself incorporeal, but when she slipped down through the floor, she saw something in Darius’s eye that filled her with terrible annoyance. Stopping at the bottom floor, she walked through the wall and then waited for him. When he stepped out, he seemed surprised to see her.
“You look upset,” he said.
“You damn well know why, too.”
“Is that so? I beg to differ. Care to let me in on the secret?”
He started walking toward the docks, where he’d left his sword. She followed.
“You’re staying,” she said.
“None of your concern.”
“It’s suicide, and noble or not, you know that isn’t your place.”
“Is it?” Darius asked as he walked out onto the wood planks. “What if you’re wrong, Valessa? What if he’s alone? I could face him myself, put an end to all of this right here and now. I could save the lives of every man left here to die. What use am I otherwise? Do you think Daniel needs my help to nursemaid a town of people? Besides, Jerico would have stayed.”
“Is that all you know?” Valessa asked. “What Jerico would do? What Jerico would say? How about what you want to do? How about what you would choose?”
“If I do what I want, instead of what I know is right, how am I different from any other man?”
“Is that how you see yourself?” she asked. “Is that how you convince yourself you’re better?”
“I said different,” Darius said, glaring.
He reached down for his sword. As his fingers closed about the hilt, a soft light enveloped the blade. She squinted at it, the proximity filling her with a sense of vertigo.
“But you’re still wrong,” she said, standing before it despite the intense discomfort. “This isn’t what’s right. Your place is with the people.”
Your place is with me.
She almost said it. Almost. The vulnerability of it alone kept her mouth shut.
“What are you really upset about?” Darius asked, turning on her. “Worried I might die to Cyric instead of you? Your concern for my life would be more touching if you weren’t saving it for your own murder.”
Despite the veil she immediately created to hide herself, he must have seen the shock and pain on her face, for his shoulders sagged, and he reached out a hand for her.
“Va
lessa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Stay here and die,” she said, turning away. “But you’re not dying alone. If you’re to face Cyric, then I will too. You’ve already turned me into a walking blasphemy. I might as well join you on your trip to the Abyss.”
She knew he’d argue, but she didn’t care. Putting her back to him, she ran to the tower, then through it, through the outer wall, and out into the open wilderness where she could finally be alone. She looked to the sky only once, to see if the red star followed after her. It did not, and though she was unsurprised, she was disappointed nonetheless.
11
Sebastian sat on his throne, knife in hand. At his feet lay a pile of fluff, along with large strips of cloth. He’d cut the Lion from every cushion, and as for the carved wood, he’d hacked at it with an axe. His throne was a disheveled, mutilated mess, but he’d never felt more lordly than when he sat awaiting Luther’s arrival.
An hour after dawn, the dreaded message came, bringing with it a surprising amount of relief.
“A steward of Luther requests an audience,” said one of his soldiers. He remained by the doors of the great room, as if nervous to come too close. Sebastian nodded, and with a weariness he pushed himself to his feet.
“Come with me,” he said. “And bring your bow. It’s time we give our answer.”
“I do not have a bow,” the soldier said as he took up step beside Sebastian.
“Then I suggest you find someone who does.”
They exited the front of the castle. Pausing for a moment, Sebastian turned around so he could observe the mark of his family. The castle was large and inelegant, little more than an enormous rectangular block of stone hollowed out with rooms, but across the front was its true beauty. It was a yellow rose, drooped to one side, with a single petal falling from its center. Sebastian remembered the day they’d begun, back when he and Arthur were children, and their father was still himself.
The Broken Pieces Page 9
