“You would deny my right to speak at my own Gathering?” asked Redclaw, playing along with the farce.
“No,” Warfang said, stepping out from the ring to stand beside the fire. “You may speak. I only tell you that none will listen, for that is not why we came. That is not why we gather. We gather so you may be judged.”
“Judged? Why am I to be judged?”
“Because you are not faithful! You are weak. You are cowardly. You dishonor our god, and dishonor the gift given to you. I call upon the pack to cast you out and let a new pack leader be chosen.”
Warfang was whipping the wolf-men into a frenzy, and never one to let a bleeding enemy recover, he continued.
“You are why we were defeated last day. You are why our strength failed against the armor and blades of the humans. All here with eyes can see it, and all with noses can smell it. Bow your head and run, Redclaw, run from this shame until the moon shines in the day.”
They were ashamed of their defeat and at a loss for how to mourn their dead. Warfang twisted the guilt his way, using the Gathering to pin all the blame on him. They howled it all out, demanding blood, demanding retribution. Redclaw let them howl. He wanted their emotions high. He wanted them to remember who they were, and to revel in the old traditions they now invoked. For Cyric would crush every single one of those traditions if he had his way.
“You would have me run in shame before being judged, before speaking my tongue, and before demanding a challenger?” Redclaw bared his teeth at Warfang. “You seem to forget our ways. You are all too eager for power. I demand a challenger to face me before I accept judgment from the pack.”
Every wolf there knew who the challenger would be, but they cried out the name anyway.
“Warfang! Warfang!”
The enormous wolf-man grinned.
“They have named him,” Warfang said. “I am the pack’s champion, and I call you coward. I will serve our god truer. I will serve him as he should be served.”
“And that is where you are wrong,” Redclaw said. “Cyric is not to be served at all. Wolf should never serve man!”
The last cry was like a thunderbolt, and the following silence was delicious to Redclaw’s ears. He’d startled them now, awoken them to the truth that had been naked before them all along.
“You would deny the moon made flesh?” asked Warfang. He didn’t have to roar. His voice carried with ease in the calm.
“I deny Cyric,” Redclaw said. “I deny the moon. I deny everything we bow to, for we should never bow. We are strong. We are proud. But that human would make us slaves. We follow orders. We slay armies for lands we will never have. We die for a god who is only a man. This ends tonight. I am your pack leader. I am your champion. Hear me now, and listen. Let us, this night, declare ourselves free.”
“And go where?” asked Warfang. There was no hiding his incredulousness. “Would you have us flee to the Wedge? Would you have us give up all we might have?”
“Our numbers are too few. I would have us live, even if it must be in the Wedge.”
The first of many growls and calls came from the wolf-men around him. Convincing them to obey Cyric in the first place had been a difficult task. To now revoke their fledgling faith? Dangerous. Unpredictable.
“You, his champion, the one blessed with his power, would deny him?” Warfang asked. “You would have us all die rather than serve. That is what you say. Your shame is great, Redclaw, greater than your pride. You do not deserve that power.”
“No,” Redclaw said. “And I do not desire it. If you would have it, Warfang, then take it. I give it to you. Step into the fire, and know Karak’s blessing.”
Warfang clearly sensed a trap, but the eyes of the pack were upon him. Could he act afraid, now that he had lorded over Redclaw so mightily?
“Promise me,” Redclaw whispered so he might calm his fears. “Promise you will let those who follow me escape without giving chase.”
The other wolf-man slowly nodded.
“Very well,” said Redclaw. “You heard my command. Step into the fire.”
As the five hundred howled and stomped the ground, Warfang put a foot into the fire that burned in the center. It was small, the flames no higher than Warfang’s knee. Still, it was enough to burn, and with considerable control the wolf-man ignored the pain. The other foot stepped inside. Flesh cracked, and with clenched teeth he looked to Redclaw and demanded the promised gift.
“I would say you would not enjoy it,” said Redclaw. “But that is a lie. Go to Cyric. He is the perfect mate to your bloodlust.”
His right arm lashed out, his claws digging into Warfang’s chest. The other wolf growled, believing betrayal, but then the power hit him. As Cyric had promised, Redclaw had gradually gained control of the gift he’d been given. And then, all throughout the night, instead of sleeping he’d been practicing the removal of it completely, of rejecting every bit of the gift that made his fur burn like embers and made his blood feel like flame. And now, with his claws embedded into flesh already blessed by Cyric, he banished the rest of it.
The exit was pain and torment, and it left a great feeling of emptiness in his chest, but overpowering it all was a sudden, intense sensation of freedom. Redclaw stepped back, gasping in air. Standing in the center of a fire that could no longer burn him was Warfang, even taller than Redclaw, his arms rippling with muscle.
“Let a judgment be made,” Redclaw cried out before Warfang might act. “Not by pack, but by every wolf here. Those who reject Cyric as god come with me. We will find ourselves a home. Beyond that, I make no promises but one, that we shall be free of all gods, and never again slaves to man.”
Redclaw held his breath and waited. This was it. Would he slink away without a pack at all?
The first were his two pups. They ran on all fours to join him, and he took them into his arms. For once, he could hold them without fear of burning. Next followed Silver-Ear, limping to his side with her head bowed in respect. More came, first a trickle, then a flood. Of the five hundred, a fifth stood with him in the center. When it was clear no more would join, Redclaw turned to Warfang, who had watched silently.
“Hold to your word,” Redclaw said.
“I will,” said Warfang. “And you are right. This power is of a god, Redclaw, and I will enjoy it greatly. You are a fool to have rejected it.”
“We shall see.”
“Run fast,” Warfang shouted to the small pack as they turned north. “If Cyric demands your heads, I will not deny him!”
Nor did Redclaw expect him to. But with his hundred, he would grow. He would build a pack to rival all packs. The shamans were right, he saw that now. The human lands would not be conquered, not by a mere tribe. Not with so few. And even at Cyric’s side, they could conquer the entire world yet never have lands of their own. Forever they would be slaves.
“No,” Warfang said when Redclaw turned to go. “Not you.”
“You promised…”
“I promised those who followed you would live. I never said you.”
Redclaw met his eyes, saw the mockery and death in them.
“Come to me, my pups,” he said. They did, and to Redclaw’s relief Warfang gave him that shred of honor. The first he licked across the forehead, then ran a claw along the back of his neck.
“Manfeaster, I name you,” he said. To the second he did the same. “Moonslayer, I name you. Now go. Go!”
They ran to Silver-Ear, who beckoned them.
“I will raise them,” she said, standing as tall as her old back allowed. “They will honor you in their time. Not Karak. Not the moon.”
The pack left, and so many cast frightened looks seeing their pack leader remaining behind. Warfang towered over him, a gleam in his eye.
“I will not fight,” Redclaw said. “I give you no sport.”
“I don’t want sport. I want blood.”
Warfang’s claws slashed out, ripping the flesh of his chest and slicing open his belly. To his stomach
he collapsed, nose striking the dirt. Far ahead of him he saw his pack running. His pups did not look back, and for that, he was proud. As he felt chills spreading throughout his body, he arced his neck so he might stare up at the sky.
“Forgive us,” Redclaw whispered to the moon. “But even you will no longer have our worship. We are free. Free…”
And free they ran, to the prison made for them by man, as Redclaw bled until he died.
22
There were so many wounded, and with only Jerico and Darius to tend them, the day passed long and tiring. At last, when Jerico’s eyes were blurred and his head pounded hard enough to make his stomach ill, they finished. By then night was fast approaching, and the combined armies would make no march.
“You’ve done us a miracle,” said an older man who had tended the wounded while they waited for the paladins to come heal them as they lay on the bloody grass. He was the surgeon for the mercenaries traveling with Luther, and while the rest of Karak’s faithful had treated the two with disdain, the surgeon had welcomed them gladly.
“No miracles, not by my hands,” Jerico said, nearly losing his balance as he stood. “Through them, maybe.”
“Whichever way makes you feel better,” said the surgeon.
“You need to rest,” Darius said, grabbing Jerico by the arm to steady him.
“And you don’t?”
Darius grinned.
“A strong wind will blow me over, yet you look like you don’t need even that to fall on your ass.”
Jerico let out a chuckle.
“If you insist. Food does sound good right now, though…”
An hour later, after they’d drunk their fill of water and ate the salted meats Daniel’s men brought them, Jerico stripped off his armor and lay before a fire.
“Looks like Daniel’s keeping his men with the rest of the refugees as they head southwest,” Darius said, sitting across the fire from him. “We’ll be going after Cyric alone. Well, not alone of course, but not exactly in friendly company. We’ll have a nice army of mercenaries, priests, and paladins marching with us.”
“And Kaide.”
“Aye, him too. But him at least I’m not worried about killing me in my sleep.”
Jerico grunted at the word.
“Speaking of which,” he muttered.
Darius stood.
“Not quite ready to turn in,” he said, “so I’ll leave you be.”
“Much appreciated.”
Jerico listened to the gradually retreating footsteps of the paladin, and then, bathed only in the sound of the crackling fire, he tried to sleep. He could not. With a sigh, he gave up and pushed himself to his feet. All around were a hundred campfires, but he knew he wouldn’t find who he needed at them. Beyond the camps he walked, to the far west where a group of four sat around their own secret fire.
“Welcome, Jerico,” said Bellok as the paladin joined their camp.
“You look like shit,” said Adam. “Well, you always do, really. But shittier than normal.”
Jerico smiled, but was too exhausted for it to remain on his face. He looked to Kaide, who so far had kept his eyes on the fire instead of his newly arrived guest.
“A moment,” Jerico said.
The other three waited, and after a nod from their leader, they stood and departed for the greater camp. Jerico felt his heart skip as he tried to think of what to say. Honestly, he didn’t have a clue. But he knew what was bothering him, and he had to try something.
“Kaide…”
“I know what it is you want to say,” the brigand said, interrupting him. “And I have heard it all before. From you, actually. So save your breathe, return to your campfire, and get some sleep. Gods know you need it.”
“You would dismiss me so easily?”
“Would you prefer I make you leave the hard way?”
Jerico grinned at him.
“Are you so certain you could?”
Kaide gave him a look, then shook his head.
“You’re a stubborn one, I’ll give you that. It’d be easier to move mountains. More pleasant to talk to as well.”
Jerico took a seat next to him, and he thought of what to say. Strange how the greater the weight on his heart, the harder the words came. It was as if he feared he might fail at the very first word spoken.
“Luther deserves death,” he said at last. “He’s hardly the first, and he won’t be the last. But you shouldn’t be the one to kill him.”
“Fearing for my eternal soul, paladin?”
“I fear for a man I once considered a friend. Revenge is wrong. You have to know this.”
“Do you?” asked Kaide, glaring across the fire. “Strange coming from a man whose mace has taken more lives than my blades.”
“I kill in defense,” Jerico insisted. “I kill to save others, to preserve innocence. Should I strive for vengeance, then I’ve lost my way.”
“Then what of when he attacked Sandra? Would it have been right to kill him then? Why then but not now? Why is it right for your hands to be covered with blood but not mine? Nothing else matters if the end is the same.”
“I would kill to protect, to keep others alive. I fight for life, but what of you? You would kill because of vengeance, because of hatred, because…”
“Because I want her to live! Is that so hard to understand? If only I could perform the miracles your hands can, but I can’t. We both kill for life. It’s just mine’s coming way too damn late.”
Jerico’s fingers dug into the dirt as he struggled for the words.
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe you. I’m begging you, Kaide. I loved her, I still do. I would give anything to have acted faster, to have pulled her behind my shield. In my dreams, I sometimes do, but even then my shield breaks, and the spell hits, and I can’t do anything. I can only watch. I can…” He took a deep breath. “Kaide, you’re so close, so very close. You’re a good man, a great man. And one step farther, you’ll fall off a cliff, and all of Dezrel will see just how far down you go. Don’t honor Sandra by becoming a man she’d hate. Be the brother she loved, that she still loves.”
“Don’t you dare,” Kaide said even as tears filled his eyes. “Don’t you feed me this shit. I won’t hear of clouds and angels and loved ones watching over us. You’re wrong.”
“And if I’m not? As she looks down and watches, who does she see? Who do you want to be, Kaide? Please, let it go, let it out. I’ll shoulder the burden if I must, but don’t let it consume you like this. I see the death in your eyes, the rage in your fists. You can stop it. You still can.”
Kaide opened his fists, and he stared at them as if he’d never known they were clenched.
“Will you stop me?” he asked, his voice suddenly quiet. Jerico let the question hang in the air, let it have the gravity it deserved.
“I’ll pray for you, Kaide. And I’ll be here for you. But I won’t stop you.”
“It’d be wrong to stop me.”
Jerico shook his head.
“That’s not why. I won’t stop you because I trust you. That’s all. This world is dark, and we’ll always need swords, but hatred is no such need.”
“Are you really so free of it yourself?” Kaide asked.
Jerico cast his eyes to the dirt.
“No,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Ashhur forgive me, I’m not. But I love my enemies as much as I hate them, and hate myself as much as I love my friends. Luther doesn’t deserve your hate, only your pity.”
“Pity?” asked Kaide. “You would offer your pity to such a pathetic man? His cruelty surpasses anything I’ve ever done. He’s sick, he’s mad, he’s ruined me, ruined everything. Let me hate him, Jerico. Why can’t you just let me hate him? What does it matter if I live or die trying to kill him? I must, damn it, I must.”
Jerico could see him, his strength, could see the iron breaking. It was a man wishing for death, almost begging for it.
“You insult your daughter seeking de
ath so openly,” he said. “Go to Beth. Live. Don’t make me go to her, and tell her of her father’s death. She’ll ask me why. She’ll ask what happened, and what will I tell her then? Your rage against Luther was more important? Your love for Sandra greater than your love for…”
Kaide slugged him, his knuckles splitting his lip open across his teeth. Blood splattered, but Jerico did not react, nor move to strike back. Instead he stood there, letting the blood drip down his lips and neck.
“You bastard,” Kaide said. His face was red, and he openly wept. “Is this what you want? Do you want to break me and send me in pieces back to my daughter? Live, you say, as if it were so easy. Live, as if the world would be so kind. You know why I can’t go back to Beth? Because whenever I hold her in my arms, all I’ll feel is dread. All I’ll feel is sorrow. Every shadow will be Luther ready to take her away from me, to make me feel that same pain all over again. You think revenge will be what ruins me? I’m already ruined. I’m already broken. I’m a dead man, and Luther prevents me from coming back to life. Let me kill him. Revenge isn’t my doom. It’s my salvation.”
“You won’t find salvation with a blade through another man’s heart.”
“You won’t find it eating the flesh of another, but I did it to live. I’ve done so many terrible things to live, Jerico, and this won’t be the worst. You tell me to live, and I shall, and the way I have always lived. You have nothing to offer me.”
Slowly Jerico stood, and it felt like all of his limbs weighed a hundred stone.
“I would love you,” Jerico said. “Despite all you have done. All you will do. I would have you forgiven for it all, and sleep through the night without guilt, without nightmares. I would give you peace. Strike me again. Scream, cry, beg, I don’t care. And then go home without a splinter in your heart and without blood on your hands.”
The seconds crawled along. Jerico held his breath.
The Broken Pieces Page 20
