The Broken Pieces

by David Dalglish

  “I can’t go home. Not yet.” Kaide looked up, cutting him off when he saw Jerico was to speak. “Not while Cyric is still alive. If he’s the threat you say, you need my help. I won’t let Beth be forced to kneel before that bastard and choose slavery or death.”

  “And Luther?”

  Slowly Kaide let out a breath.

  “I make no promises. Now leave me be.”

  And so Jerico did, returning to his camp. By his fire he tried to sleep, yet the hours crawled, the stars shone, and sleep did not come.

  Warfang watched until Redclaw’s band of cowards was beyond even his excellent sight. Then he ordered his pack to rest, for tomorrow they would fight their most important battle yet. Despite his own orders, Warfang could not sleep. The power coursing through him was too new, and along with it came an excitement coupled with dread. What they had done, they had done in the shadow of their god, hidden from his eyes. What would Cyric say when he saw who now led his chosen warriors instead of Redclaw?

  More importantly, would he give him the pleasure of hunting down the cowards and ripping the tendons from their bones?

  And so at the edge of Cyric’s camp he waited, until just before the dawn the moon-made-flesh came walking, and his face was without emotion. Even his scent did not give away his true thoughts.

  “I see my champion before me,” Cyric said, crossing his arms. “But he is not the champion I remember. Where is Redclaw? Did you kill him?”

  “Redclaw was weak,” Warfang said. “He denied you, and had those who are afraid, those who are like toothless pups, flee back to the Wedge. Yes, I killed him.”

  Warfang thought such words would elicit anger from the priest, but instead he remained calm. If anything, he looked curious.

  “He denied me?” asked Cyric. “Do you know why?”

  “Redclaw was stupid and weak. Why does it matter?”

  “I asked,” Cyric said. “Therefore it matters. I would know where Redclaw failed, so I might know if I should fear the same failure from you.”

  The very idea insulted Warfang, and he had to struggle to prevent it from showing.

  “Redclaw lost what it meant to be wolf,” he said. “He never understood. He was strong, he was smart, but he was also fearful. To kill, to tear into life with our claws and taste blood on our tongue…that is what we are. That is what we were made for. Redclaw dreamt of kingdoms, of packs and families and cubs. He dreamt a lie. You give us power, and tell us to kill. You are the true god we have always served.”

  “Are you stronger than Redclaw?”

  “I have not forgotten my bloodlust. I have not lost my love of killing. I will use your power far better than Redclaw ever could, for I am who it was always meant for. Give me prey, my god, and I will serve.”

  At last Cyric smiled.

  “Prey,” he said. “We do not chase after rabbits, Warfang. We chase after the most dangerous prey imaginable. We chase after men of faith and men in service of money. They wear expensive armor and wield weapons of light and shadow. Can you face them, even after being defeated once?”

  Warfang let out a roar, and its thunderous noise awakened the rest of his pack. The second one was taken up by them, and their howls echoed throughout the hills, across the river, and into the Wedge beyond.

  “We were led by a coward,” he snarled. “But I do not know fear. I will not be beaten.”

  “No,” Cyric said. “You will not. My dead are ready to march. Prepare your pack, but do not let them eat. I want them hungry. Today the faithless of my order will meet their god, and at last they will open their eyes…or they will fall to your claws.”

  Warfang lowered his head, and at Cyric’s dismissal he stormed through his pack, nipping and snarling to get his fellow wolf-men ready.

  “Up, up,” he cried to them. “This day, under this sun, we will feast!”

  23

  Jerico looked up from his prayer, felt the warm touch of the morning sun on his face, and smiled.

  “Amen,” he whispered, standing. Sleep had not come, but he’d passed the final hour in prayer, and now come the light he knew at last he would face Cyric. He didn’t know if they’d stop him. He didn’t know if he’d live. But Jerico always preferred his challenges before him instead of looming on the horizon.

  And since the sun was up, it was finally time to move. But first…

  “Where is Valessa?” he asked Darius when he found him. Darius looked up from his breakfast and frowned.

  “She’s frightened of Luther,” he said. “Cyric was nearly able to kill her with a thought. I think she fears he will do the same.”

  Jerico’s brow furrowed.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “We are no more loved by Luther than she is, yet we are safe.”

  “Aye,” he said. “And look at how safe we are.”

  Jerico could see he was troubled, and he sat down, unwilling to let it go.

  “What is it really?” he asked. “What’s bothering you so?”

  Darius put aside his bowl.

  “Luther doesn’t know she even exists yet. She said now is the time for her to flee. She could go and make a life, without fear of the priesthood hunting her down.”

  “Like they hunt us,” Jerico said. “Don’t be upset with her, Darius. We walk among lions. I don’t blame her for not wanting to be eaten.”

  Darius chuckled.

  “I don’t blame her. I just thought she’d stay with me, regardless the demons, the lions, and the mad priests. But I have a feeling she’ll be watching. Perhaps she knows better what is going on than we do.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it. Finish up, then come with me. Right now, Luther’s the only one keeping us safe, so we might as well find out where he wants us.”

  Luther ordered that he and Darius march at his side, to both of their surprise. When they joined him, they received many dreadful looks from the other priests and paladins, who slowly dispersed among the mercenaries ahead.

  “Do not mind them,” Luther said. “They see your presence among us as a blasphemy, and they are all too set in their ways to be convinced otherwise.”

  “Is it not a blasphemy?” Darius asked, and his smile didn’t hide the seriousness of his question.

  “Blasphemy?” Luther said with a laugh. “Even the lion and the lamb will run side by side when chased by fire. Do not worry about them.”

  “I’m not worried about right now,” Jerico said, thinking of the cold glares the paladins had given him. “It’s after.”

  Luther nodded, and his silence was enough to show he shared such fears.

  “Will you tell them of the enemy they face?” Darius asked as they traveled along.

  “The less they know the better,” Luther said. “Cyric is dangerous, and a blasphemer. Any knowledge beyond that only invites heresy.”

  They marched alongside the river, following it north. When a forest appeared in the distance, Luther gave orders for them to slow, and then with it a mere hundred yards away they came to a halt. The mercenaries scrambled about, setting up lines.

  “Why here?” Darius asked.

  “Wolves are creatures of the forest,” said Luther. “Let them come to us.”

  “Will they, though?” Jerico asked. “We crushed them when they had far greater numbers.”

  “That is true,” Luther said, his attention focused on the forest. “But now they have their god with them. They will come.”

  Despite the sun, there was a darkness lurking in the trees, something ominous the light could not penetrate. Jerico pulled his shield off his back and took comfort in its glow. When he heard the first of the howls, he readied his mace, and then eyes shone out of the darkness, coupled with afterimages of hulking bodies wreathed in soft flame.

  With a cry they charged, hundreds leaping from the trees. When Jerico took a step forward, Luther gently grabbed his arm, stopping him.

  “No,” Luther said. “Let the mercenaries take the brunt of the first charge. Your energy must be save
d for the true threat.”

  “You’d let them die?” Jerico asked.

  “Better this death than the life they’d have known without us, raping and pillaging for coin. Now their lives are sworn to Karak. Let them honor that vow. Whether they live or die is irrelevant. All that matters is Cyric.”

  He glanced at Darius, who shook his head.

  “Not our army,” he said.

  The mercenaries formed a disciplined line, shoulder to shoulder, shields up and weapons braced. They’d faced the wolf-men before and held firm, so there seemed no reason to expect them to fail now. But Luther was right. This time they had their god with them.

  From the forest sailed a thousand arrows, their tips gleaming purple, their shafts like obsidian. High into the air they arced, then fell like a dark rain.

  “Hold!” was the communal cry of the mercenaries, and to their honor, they did. They fell by the dozens, and regardless of Luther’s cry, Jerico could not stand idly by. The line in tatters, the wolf-men slammed into them with renewed fury. At their forefront was a beast that towered over the rest, so similar to Redclaw, yet not him.

  “Take him down,” Jerico heard Luther cry after him. “The rest will scatter.”

  He risked a glance back, saw Darius following, and allowed himself a smile. Together the two paladins crashed into the conflict, right in the center where it was most chaotic. No longer outnumbered, the beasts clawed at the armor of their foes, and the unholy strength of them left black grooves in the metal. Against this Jerico flung his shield, and with each hit the wolf-men fell back, howling in pain. Darius’s sword soon followed after, cutting off limbs and opening huge gashes across their chests and bellies.

  Worst, though, was Cyric’s new champion. He was bigger, stronger, and fought with a ferocity that he’d never seen matched. Together Jerico led them closer, trying to push through to where the wolf-man shredded their lines. It seemed they were to break, but then Luther called forth the rest of his army. The dark paladins filled the gaps, their burning weapons more than a match for the beasts. The priests remained back, and when another volley of black arrows sailed from the forest, they were ready. A shield appeared over the battlefield, protecting both friend and foe. The arrows hit it, sparked like flint, then vanished.

  “Hurry!” Jerico cried, smashing in a wolf-man’s face before spinning to put his shield in the way of a charging beast. The wolf-man slammed into the shield hard enough to shatter his own skull, yet with a flare of light, Jerico slid only a small space backward.

  “Trying!” Darius cried back, parrying away a flurry of blows from a smaller, nimbler beast.

  Barely twenty feet away, the champion snarled and tore into the last of the mercenaries, and amid them Jerico saw Kaide and his band prepared to hold firm. Translucent daggers flew from Bellok’s palm. Their blades broke against the molten hide without shedding a single drop of blood. Again and again Jerico slammed forward, trying to reach them and trusting his platemail to protect him from the strikes he missed. Adam and Griff stepped between the champion and Bellok, and they swung their giant clubs with enough strength to shatter the skull of any mere human. The clubs broke.

  “Get back!” Jerico screamed at them, ignoring the pain of a claw slashing open his cheek. Griff crossed his arms in a futile defense. A single swipe stripped them down to bone, and a second broke his neck. Before Adam suffered the same fate, Jerico stepped between them, and he let out a cry as the champion’s claws scraped across his shield.

  “About time,” said Kaide, using him as a screen for his own attack. His dirks sliced across molten flesh. Burning blood dripped to the grass, but it was so little it seemed a mockery. Dashing away, Jerico covered his retreat with a strike from his mace, followed by another blow with his shield. The enormous wolf-man took a step back, as if to reevaluate his opponent.

  “I know you,” it snarled.

  “Can’t say the same.”

  “I am Warfang!” the beast roared. “I am your better.”

  Jerico braced his shield.

  “Let’s see,” he said.

  Warfang lunged, and his strikes against Jerico’s shield felt like sledgehammers. Jerico shifted side to side to prevent him from curling around, and then Darius arrived, his sword cutting into Warfang’s bicep all the way down to the bone. Warfang let out a cry, then hurled the paladin back. Jerico, seeing Darius vulnerable, flung himself into an attack, his mace striking the beast’s mouth twice.

  “Warfang?” he said. “Better? You amuse me, wolf. Redclaw was better than you.”

  The insult cut far deeper than he expected. Warfang leapt into the air, and when he landed atop of Jerico he ignored the pain of the holy shield to crush Jerico into the dirt. Jerico gasped for air, struggling to free his pinned mace. Before Warfang finished the kill, a bright flash blinded him, released from Bellok’s hands. Another followed. The weight left Jerico, and then came the scream as Bellok had his chest torn open. Kaide assaulted immediately, crying out his rage. His dirks were a flash, and for a moment Warfang crossed his arms and accepted them, his burning blood dripping down, and then he lashed out, catching Kaide across the face with the back of his paw.

  Jerico staggered to his feet, ignoring the pain in his chest. Kaide weaved side to side, trying to avoid the giant beast’s attacks, but his balance was clearly lost from the blow to his head. Two wolf-men leapt in Jerico’s way, and he barreled through. Before they could chase, Darius attacked from behind, buying Jerico time.

  “To me, you coward, to me!” Jerico cried at Warfang, but he was ignored. With terrifying speed Warfang reached out, grabbed Kaide by the front of his tunic and lifted him into the air. His other claw pulled back, but before he could go for the kill Adam flung himself onto the arm. The fire of the wolf-man’s flesh burned into him, and Adam screamed, but still he hung on, wrestling the champion despite his size and strength. Warfang hurled Kaide back, spun, and buried his claws into Adam’s eyes.

  “I am the fury of our god!” Warfang cried to them as he flung the corpse aside. “I am the fire and death that will consume you all!”

  Jerico swung his mace, but Warfang slammed him back as if he were insignificant. Bracing himself, he found his backwards flight halted by Darius’s arms.

  “You’re a dumb, stupid wolf,” Darius said to Warfang as he stepped forward, the light of his sword shining. “Look around you. Your pack is dead, and I don’t see any god to stop me.”

  It wasn’t quite true, for there were pockets of scattered fighting everywhere, but in that sliver of time Warfang glanced about Darius thrust his blade. Warfang tried to turn it aside, but it was too late. The tip pierced through ribs, punched through his heart, and then burst out the other side. Warfang convulsed, drool and blood spilling out of his mouth as the power granted to him fled in an instant.

  “So much for his fire and death,” Darius said, yanking the blade free and kicking the corpse aside.

  “Not quite over yet,” Jerico said, catching his breath. “It looks like the god has come to play.”

  From the trees marched a horde of undead, shambling bodies with rotted flesh and haunted eyes. With most of the mercenaries scattered or dead, only the paladins and priests remained to face them. The paladins formed a line, a mere fifteen against the thousand that approached. The few mercenaries who remained joined either side of the line, looking haggard and afraid. Behind them the priests made ready, their hands glowing with the dark light of their spells. Jerico readied himself, for he would not fall, not to the mockeries of life that Cyric had created. No matter the horrifying way they moved toward him, without sign of breath or thought. No matter the rot in their teeth and the blood dried on their hands.

  Behind them came Cyric. He wore his priestly robes, a smile on his face, and atop his brow burned a crown of fire that did not consume.

  “Why do you resist me?” he asked them, his voice rolling across the plain. “I come offering power. I come offering freedom. The true faith, the faith you all serve,
will blanket this land. We’ll know peace. We’ll see an end to chaos. I am your god, you fools, yet you would still stand against me? Everything you’ve dreamed of, every prayer for this world you’ve prayed while on your knees, I’ve come to fulfill. No one need die. Not now. Not today. All you must do is kneel.”

  Jerico looked to the paladins around him. There was a power in Cyric’s words, and the approaching dead only added danger to his message. Would the others listen? Jerico had heard no speeches or warnings from Luther, no explanation of the foe they fought beyond him being a heretic to the faith of Karak and a threat to all of Dezrel. Or did keeping them in ignorance protect them from Cyric’s twisted wisdom?

  “Send the dead back to their graves,” Luther called out to them. “And do not listen, do not obey. Kill him, my brethren, for the sake of your souls, kill him!”

  The dead were near, and Jerico lifted his shield.

  “Burst through,” he told Darius at his side. “Cyric is all that matters.”

  “Then lead the way.”

  The undead hit their line. Flaming swords cut them down, slicing through rotted flesh with ease. But they were so many, even with each swing taking two at a time the paladins were nearly overwhelmed. Jerico let the light of his shield flare, and all about the abominations staggered and moaned, the magic holding them together threatening to break. In their weakened state he slammed through them, shattering them to dust with his shield and crunching bones with his mace. Darius followed after, his sword spinning side to side to finish off the undead who tried to close around their rear. By the dozens they fell, and then the paladins were beyond them, rushing across the space between Cyric and his army.

  Risking a glance back, Jerico saw the dark paladins holding their own, but just barely. A few of the priests helped them, but the rest hurled arrows of shadow and bolts of black flame over their heads, each one aimed at Cyric. It felt like they were rushing a besieged castle, but instead of high walls it was only one man, who stood with his arms out. A translucent shield shimmered before him, and against that shield broke the bolts and arrows.