“Be gone,” Darius said to it. “You’re wanted no more.”
The dagger shook, a tremor building inside it. The rage grew, and for a moment Darius thought he would black out. A ringing filled his ears. He begged Ashhur for strength, and when he heard Valessa screaming, he knew he had to be stronger. He had to be better. Standing firm, he channeled every bit of his own rage into that blade, the betrayal he’d felt, the loss and isolation as everything he’d ever known had been revealed to be a lie. He remembered the loneliness, and then against Karak’s rage he flung the sheer joy he’d felt when Jerico reached down his hand and told him to stand.
The ringing vanished, replaced with a sudden, explosive silence. The dagger fell from both their hands, now just an ordinary piece of metal. It landed in the road.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Darius said as his breath returned to him. “Some blades really are evil.”
Valessa regained her form, skin shimmering back over her essence.
“Next time you’ll listen,” she said, picking up the dagger and then sliding it into her belt. How it stayed there, Darius had no idea, nor did he want to know.
“Next time?” he asked. “You think there will be a next time?”
“For that, no,” she said. “For listening to me? I hope so. Now what are we to do here?”
Darius turned his attention back to the village.
“First we find out what happened to the rider,” he said. “Then we get the town to move.”
“And what of Martin Reid? What if he causes trouble?”
“Well,” said Darius, grinning, “that’s why I gave you your dagger.”
They walked into the town, and much to Darius’s chagrin, it seemed no one appeared the least bit panicked. The words of the messenger had fallen on deaf ears. Passing through the rows of wood homes and thatched rooms, the people shot them glances but said nothing. Darius didn’t like it one bit.
“Not much for hospitality,” he said to Valessa, who shrugged.
“Your armor doesn’t make you look like the most welcoming of men.”
“True. Perhaps you should put on your silver armor and purple cloak. Might as well match me.”
She snickered at him but said nothing.
Halfway through town they met a group of five coming from the other way. Four of them were big men, with burly arms and heavyset chests built from long hours in the fields. The fifth was a small man, balding, and he wore a long black robe.
“Really?” Darius muttered as he came to a halt. “Livstrom couldn’t bother to say Martin was a priest?”
“Welcome, friend,” said the priest. “My name is Martin Reid, and this is my village of Cade’s Rest. We do not see travelers often, but I assure you our accommodation will be welcoming, so long as you bring no trouble.”
“And if we do?” Valessa asked.
Martin’s beady eyes narrowed.
“Troublemakers are not welcome here, nor liars, thieves, murderers, or any other sinners.”
“The only village without sinners is an empty village,” Darius said. “We’ve come looking for a friend of ours, a rider from Tower Red named Matt. Might you have seen him?”
Martin frowned, and Darius didn’t like the way the other four men tensed and looked at one another.
“A man by that name came here,” Martin said. “He spoke lies in a feeble attempt to rob our village. He suffered punishment for it. If you so desire, you may return his body to Livstrom at the Tower Red for a military burial.”
Darius’s jaw dropped open.
“Matt was sent here to warn your village of an attack,” he said, feeling his anger rising. “An attack that is still coming! Everyone here must take what they can and head east toward the Gihon.”
Martin crossed his arms.
“These lands are mine,” he said. “They have been in my family for three generations, and when I took the cloth of Karak my duty to these people only grew, for now I must supply not only their earthly needs but their spiritual as well. Your armor is not of the king’s, but of Ashhur. What authority do you have to speak to me in such a way? Who are you to order me?”
The arrogance was astounding. Darius reached for his sword, and the other men drew theirs, fine shortswords that were cleanly polished. Martin stood there, waiting. Darius glanced at Valessa. So far she looked bored. The men could do nothing to her, but if the priest had any sort of power, then he was a threat. If Darius eliminated them quickly, perhaps targeting the priest while Valessa took out the men…
No, he thought, shaking his head. He let his hand fall to his side, not once touching the hilt. Coming in, shedding blood, and then demanding the people obey him felt too horribly similar to what he’d witnessed Velixar do to Durham.
“My name is Darius, and I speak for Daniel Coldmine, lord of the Blood Tower. The message I bring is true, and I will have no man question it. A madman is coming south with an army, and he will kill every man, woman, and child here. We must flee, now. If this village is yours, as you say, then give the order.”
“Darius?” asked Martin, and the excited way he said it put a pit in the paladin’s stomach. “Darius, the betrayer? Last I heard you carried a bounty on your head. Now you come claiming to speak for the man who put a warrant out for your death in the first place?”
“This is getting ugly,” Valessa whispered into his ear.
Darius glanced around and saw that villagers were gathering, all wielding crude weapons of some kind. Over fifty surrounded them. Darius swallowed. He’d come to save their lives. Slaughtering half their village to do it felt like a mockery of such a goal.
“You won’t kill me, Martin,” Darius said. “Far better men have tried. If you will not believe me, then give the choice to the others. Let me speak my piece, then leave. No one needs to die here, not by my hand. What comes beyond, though, will not be on my head.”
“No one leaves,” Martin said. “And if you do not throw down your weapon and surrender, it will be you who dies today.”
“I have a better idea,” Valessa said. She strode toward Martin without making a single threatening motion. Martin tensed, and he lifted a hand.
“Stay where you…”
In a single smooth motion Valessa drew her dagger, thrust it into Martin’s heart, then spun. Blood spurted as the dagger came free, and without a care to the remaining four, she walked back to Darius’s side. The whole town stood stunned silent, and the men that had been Martin’s bodyguards were clearly frightened by the speed Valessa displayed.
“We have words to speak,” she shouted to the crowd. “Listen well, then make your choice.”
It was a moment before Darius snapped out of his daze and addressed the villagers, warning them of Cyric’s approach. Most stood shocked still, a few coughing or heckling at his warning.
“You have one hour,” he told them. “Then we must depart. Take only what you can carry. Bring food, clothes, and blankets. Your life is not worth your possessions, now hurry!”
A few rushed away, and many others shared looks, no doubt wondering if they should believe him. Frustrated, Darius pointed to one of the big men.
“You,” he said. “Lead me to where Matt’s body is.”
They found him hanging from a post on the opposite side of town. He’d been stripped of his armor and hanged naked from the waist up. Carved into his chest was a single word. Liar. Darius stared at it as he felt his blood boil.
“He came to help you,” he said, turning on the man who’d brought him there.
“Martin swore he was a brigand who stole the armor he wore,” said the man.
“So you killed him without proof?”
The man shrugged.
“Martin owned the lands my crops are growing on. Would you give up your home and crops for some stranger? Besides, Martin said he spoke for god.”
“Indeed he did,” Valessa said, staring at the word carved into Matt’s chest. “And such a loving god he is.”
They sent the man
on his way, then cut down the body. Darius knew he couldn’t transport the body back, so he asked about until someone loaned him a shovel, and then outside the village limits he began to dig. Valessa sat on the grass and watched him.
“Why?” she finally asked.
“Helps pass the time,” Darius said as he jammed the shovel into the dirt.
“I mean why give the people a choice? You know those who remain here will die, or meet a fate even worse than death. Without the priest, no one here can stop me. Give the order, and make them obey.”
Darius chuckled.
“The thought’s been on my mind this whole while, Valessa, but every time I think to do it my stomach ties itself into knots. I’m not going to kill people while claiming to save them. That’s something Cyric would do. That’s something I might have done once. No longer. Now help me with the body.”
They’d arrived in the late afternoon, and once Matt’s body was buried, Darius and Valessa waited at the eastern exit of town. He’d planned to leave after an hour, but at the pitiful few that gathered there, he let time stretch, and twice more he cried out to the town. Of their three hundred, only sixty came.
“The sun’s setting,” Valessa said to him when he came back from a third attempt to bring more.
“I know,” he said.
“We have to leave.”
He sighed.
“I know.”
They had two carts pulled by horses, and they put as many children in one as they could, their supplies in the other. Many of the adults looked embarrassed to be there. They thought he might be lying, Darius knew. They thought in a week or two they’d return to Cade’s Rest, shamefaced and terribly behind in their work in the fields. The worst of it was that Darius wished they were right. Far better that than there being no one left to return shamefaced to.
Valessa walked at the front of the sullen band, and Darius joined her side as the town steadily drifted into the distance.
“How far is he?” he asked.
“Thirty miles or so,” she said, staring at the sky.
Darius bit his tongue to hold in a curse. They had seven miles to travel on their own just to get to the Blood Tower.
“Cyric’s been traveling at night, hasn’t he?” he asked.
Valessa nodded, souring Darius’s mood further.
“Just perfect. Then we travel at night as well.”
The miles passed, and when the sun set, thankfully the sky was clear. Under starlight they followed the road to Wheaton, from which Tower Red was but a mile. Darius moved through the ranks, talking to them, encouraging them, but found words difficult.
“What do I do?” Darius asked Valessa after the first hour. “Reassuring them they made the right choice is the same as telling them the friends and family they left behind are dead.”
“Then say nothing, if you’re so afraid the truth will hurt them,” she told him.
Darius looked to the distance, and Cade’s Rest.
“We needed more time,” he said, letting out a sigh.
When they arrived at Wheaton, most of the children had fallen asleep in the cart, and the others looked tired, their emotions frayed. Darius stopped them at the edge of the village, for in the past few minutes he’d felt a strange urgency in his mind. It was foreign to him, but the closer he got to Wheaton, the more certain he became that it was a warning from Ashhur.
“Something’s not right,” he told Valessa.
They stared into the village, waiting, and then they saw the first of the shadows moving.
“A scouting party,” Valessa said.
“How far away is Cyric?” he asked.
“Five miles at least,” she said after a quick glance at the stars.
“Then we have a chance.” He stood beside the cart with the children and called the others around him. “Stay close,” he said. “I fear a small force of the enemy is already here. Wake your children and keep them alert. They might need to run with you should things turn ill. Remember, always go east to the river, and from there to Tower Red.”
He watched the panic bubbling beneath the surface of the crowd, but they remained strong. Darius drew his sword, and as the soft light bathed over him, he felt himself calm.
“I’ll draw them to me,” he said to Valessa. “Stay in the rear, and take them out quickly while they’re still overconfident.”
Valessa drew her dagger and nodded. With a wave, Darius led the two carts into the village. Wheaton had been completely deserted, so through empty streets they walked. Darius kept his head on a swivel, checking either side of the road as they passed. With their numbers, and him leading the way, he hoped whatever creatures serving Cyric might decide to not take them on.
Valessa drifted toward the back of the group, looking no different from the others. The surprise would easily be worth a kill or three, thought Darius. Several times Darius caught glimpses of shadows moving around them, and from the gasps of others he knew he was not the only one. After a minute, Valessa returned to the front.
“Wolf-men,” she whispered into his ear. “At least ten.”
Darius nodded.
“Bloody fantastic,” he said, thinking of the horde that had attacked Durham. Alone they’d been deadly. With a mad priest leading them? He didn’t want to think about that. Urging the people along, he bade Valessa back to her place of ambush, then lifted his sword high. The light shone upon them all. Let the wolves see who protects them, thought Darius. Let them know the death awaiting their charge.
If they knew, they were not afraid. A sudden cacophony of roars heralded the wolf-men, ambushing from a dozen various buildings. They leapt from the alleys, they leapt from the rooftops. Darius screamed for the people to run, his voice lost amid sixty others crying out in panic. Only two attacked him from the front, and he rushed at them like a madman. No time, he had no time. The first to lunge had its belly opened. The other tried to use its greater size and weight to bury him, but Darius’s blade stabbed through its chest, and a twist sent it toppling to the side instead of crashing atop him. He had only the briefest moment to notice the way the wolf-man’s black claws shimmered red before he turned around to the people of Cade’s Rest.
They fled along the road as he’d bidden them, but from what Darius could tell, nearly fifteen wolf-men had joined in the ambush. There were too many of them, and they slashed and cut through weak, unarmored flesh with a wild frenzy. Darius rushed into the gore and death, and he prayed Valessa would match him kill for kill. The first wolf-man he neared was too busy gorging himself on the innards of a dead man to notice. His sword lopped off its head with a single swing.
“To me!” Darius screamed. The people fled, and the wolf-men heard his challenge and rushed to meet it. A heavyset gray was the first to near, his mouth already smeared with blood. He held the arm of a man in his left hand, wielding it like an obscene club. The horror didn’t seem to register to Darius. He felt furious yet strangely in control. He felt powerful, yet helpless to prevent the deaths happening all about him. More than anything, he saw the wolf-men and wanted to stop their killing. His sword lashed out, cutting through the severed arm. His foe dropped it and bared his teeth. They too shimmered with red. In answer, Darius shoved his sword into the mouth, pushing all the way through the creature’s skull.
Four dead, yet far too many left. Corpses were everywhere. Two more wolf-men rushed him simultaneously, and with a cold stare Darius met their uncontrolled rage. Claws swiped toward him, and he stepped back, and even parried one paw as if it were a blade. Instead of cutting through, the sword sparked at the mere contact against those glowing claws. He seemed just as surprised as the wolf-man, but he recovered faster. His sword shoved through the muscular chest and pierced the heart.
Too deep, thought Darius, struggling to pull the blade out in time. The other creature struck him across the chest, the claws punching deep grooves into his platemail. The force of the impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Unable to hold onto the sword, he fell back a
s another swipe cut across his arm. He felt blood drip down to his elbow, and it spiked with pain.
Unarmed, Darius had no way to hurt the monstrous creature. His foe howled at the top of his lungs, then tensed for a leap. He never got off the ground. Valessa landed atop him, repeatedly stabbing his eyes with her dagger. The wolf-man let out a stinging howl, then collapsed. Valessa stood atop the corpse, her body strangely still. A normal woman would have shaken with the adrenaline of a kill, and blood should have covered her from the fight, but she was clean as always.
“How many?” Darius asked, clutching his left arm and trying to decide how bad it was.
“I killed four,” she said. “Five if I count yours. The rest fled.”
Darius bent down to retrieve his sword. Putting a boot against the wolf-man’s chest, he yanked it free with a sickening plop. With a heavy intake of air, he stood to his full height. Grunting against the pain in his chest, he lifted the blade high into the air. The light shone far, and he hoped those who fled through the city would see it and know they were safe.
“How many?” he asked again.
“I told you, five.”
“No,” Darius said, shaking his head. “How many of ours?”
Valessa put away her dagger, and her hesitance in answering was enough.
“At least half,” she said at last.
Darius nodded, his teeth clenched tight for he knew nothing else to say. He’d led them there for safety. For that, thirty had died, perhaps more. Valessa reached out toward him, then let her hand fall. Darius saw strange markings on her clothing as she did, and he stepped closer.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
In answer, Valessa lifted her arm again, let him see the claw marks that shone red against her ribs, refusing to change like the rest of her. Liquid shadow dripped from them, intermixed with a light that shone like silver as it bled to the ground.
“Their claws,” she said. “Cyric has blessed them.”
He could just barely hear it in her voice, but it was there. Fear. Taking a step closer, he yanked off one of his gauntlets and then pressed his hand against her face, which she kept firm so he might make contact. Neither said a word, but they understood each other. They were both vulnerable now. They both bore wounds.
The Broken Pieces Page 16
