by Ben Cassidy
“Kendril should have told us,” Tomas said again. His body was as still as a statue.
“Kendril doesn’t know,” Joseph said coolly. “We haven’t seen him since Vorten.” He stepped deliberately between Tomas and Kara. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on. Tomas?”
“I’ve already disobeyed a direct order once today,” Tomas said between his teeth, “but I can’t stand by for this. It goes against everything we Ghostwalkers stand for.”
The first sign of real concern appeared on Kara’s face. “Can’t stand for what? What are you talking about, Tomas?”
“Step away from her, Joseph,” Tomas said.
Joseph kept his hand on his rapier, but didn’t draw it. “Not going to happen.”
Kara’s gaze flashed back and forth between the two men. “What is going on here? Why—?”
Tomas lifted a hand crossbow out of the folds of his cloak.
Joseph’s rapier blurred out of its sheath.
Kara gaped at both men.
“She’s compromised, Joseph.” Tomas kept his hand crossbow pointed at Kara. “She’s been dominated by the Seteru.”
“I know,” said Joseph in a quiet voice. “I saw the whole thing, remember?”
“Then you’ll know that she can’t be allowed to live.” Tomas took a step forward. The flickering orange light from the brazier spilled across his hooded face, giving him a demonic look. “I don’t have a choice.”
Joseph stepped in the path of the crossbow. “There’s always a choice.” He lifted the tip of his rapier. “I’ve been with Kara for over a month now. The taint of the Seteru is gone.”
“And yet she still has nightmares,” Tomas said. His crossbow didn’t waver. “Do you understand how the Seteru work, Joseph? She was a conduit for them once. Are you willing to risk all our lives on the chance that she could never become one again?”
“I understand how murder works,” Joseph said. He glanced at the weapon in Tomas’ outstretched hand. “If you’re going to shoot that thing, you’d best shoot me first. Because if you so much as scratch Kara, I swear by everything holy that I will end you here and now.”
“If that’s the way you want to play it.” Tomas pointed the crossbow directly at Joseph’s head.
The first Jombard was just turning around when Kendril’s rapier caught him in the face.
Kendril’s horse crashed through two more Jombards as he wrenched his rapier free of the first man’s head.
The two barbarians shouted in surprise, grabbing spears and raising their shields.
Kendril barely had time to swing his bloodied rapier at one of the two warriors as he barreled by them.
The razor-sharp edge caught the man right across the mouth before he could cover his head with his shield. The blade tore open his face like ripe fruit.
Even at a full gallop, the Jombards hadn’t heard Kendril and the other troopers over the sounds of battle and the raging storm until the last moment. Now fifty horsemen were crashing into the barbarian line just outside Stockade’s southern gate.
The second barbarian raised his spear to throw.
Kendril turned his horse. He tore loose his rapier for another strike.
Beckett came out of the darkness with a roar. His sword hammered down onto the barbarian’s head. The blade didn’t stop until it was well past the man’s shoulders.
A cheer exploded from the arriving cavalry, intermingled with the firing of a couple of pistols, the screams of startled barbarians, and the wild neighing of horses.
Kendril kicked another barbarian in the face with his heavy boot.
The warrior tumbled back into the grass, his nose a bloody mess.
Leaning over the other side of his mount, Kendril swiped his blade down on a nearly naked Jombard warrior.
The man screamed as the Balneth steel cut into his unprotected flesh.
“For Redemption!” Kendril shouted. His voice was almost lost in the shrieking wind, but the call was repeated by at least a dozen other voices.
From behind somewhere came the strident call of a bugle.
Kendril swung his rapier around and looked quickly to his right and left.
The troopers were chopping through the startled Jombards. Already dozens of the enemy had fallen dead.
But dozens hardly mattered when there were thousands of Jombards surrounding the fort. Kendril and his men needed to get into Stockade fast, or they would be overwhelmed within minutes.
Kendril spurred his horse forward, trampling over another hapless Jombard.
The palisade wall of Stockade rose above them. The gate was shut fast.
A howl came from somewhere to the east. An answering howl sounded from the opposite side of the fortress.
“Open the gate!” Kendril bellowed up at the wall. “Open it now!”
A barbarian came screaming out of the darkness towards him, an axe held over his head.
Kendril fished inside one of his holsters and drew a flintlock pistol. He cocked back the hammer while shielding the frizzen with his hand.
The barbarian roared a war cry.
Kendril fired.
Miraculously, the flint ignited on the pan despite the rain. The barrel of the pistol exploded out in a shower of sparks and flash of light.
The pistol bullet caught the Jombard in the head at almost point blank range. His war cry ceased abruptly. He toppled back to the muddy ground.
Kendril lifted his smoking pistol, then swung his sword down at another approaching Jombard.
The blade of his rapier laid open the warrior’s arm. Screaming curses in his own tongue, the Jombard tumbled backwards.
They couldn’t last long like this. The surprise and shock of the initial cavalry charge was already spent. At this point, every second counted.
Kendril whipped his rapier over his head, then pulled his horse towards the gates of the fortress. “Riders! To me!”
The troopers began to close in on the gates, still hacking and fighting their way furiously through the horde of barbarians.
More inhuman howls came from both sides.
Kendril rode his horse right in front of the closed gates. “This is Lord Ravenbrook!” he yelled on the top of his lungs. “Open the gates or we’re all going to die!”
As if to punctuate his words, a flashing bolt of lightning lit up the landscape for a moment, followed almost immediately by a massive barrage of thunder that shook the ground.
Kendril dismounted. He ran through the mud and blood-soaked grass, right up to the gate itself. He slammed the hilt of his rapier repeatedly on the solid wood. “For the love of Eru! Open now!”
He had killed them all. Yearling wasn’t going to open the gate. The Jombards were already surrounding the troopers. It would be a massacre.
And it was all Kendril’s fault.
Just like Celeste. Just like Atherton.
“Sir!” Wilkes came riding up behind Kendril. His sword hissed through the air.
A Jombard that had been sneaking up behind Kendril fell to the ground, his skull split by Wilkes’ heavy blade.
Kendril glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t stop banging with his rapier.
Wilkes turned his mount, guarding Kendril’s back.
Another long howl sounded, closer this time. The chanting of the barbarians drowned out even the pounding rain.
Beckett rode up beside Wilkes. He smeared blood and mud off his face with the sopping wet sleeve of his buff coat. “General! We can’t—”
A crack appeared suddenly in the huge gate. The doors began to swing inwards, slowly but surely.
Kendril swung his sword forward, looking back at Beckett. “Get inside! Get all the men inside!”
Beckett didn’t hesitate. He pulled his horse around. “Riders! Into Stockade. Go!”
Four dragoons came running out of the open gate. Swords were in their hands.
Kendril dashed back to his horse. He swatted the side of Wilkes’ horse. “Get in there, right now. That’s an order
!”
“But—” the boy started to say in protest.
“Now,” Kendril repeated. He smacked the horse’s flank harder, and the beast reared forward. He turned around, only to catch the full force of the wind and stinging rain in his face.
A stream of soaked, bloodied and bruised troopers began to pour through the open gates of the fortress.
Kendril hoisted himself back onto his horse. He pulled the frightened beast around.
A half-dozen Jombards were between him and the gate.
Chapter 17
“This is crazy.” Kara stepped up beside Joseph. “It’s me, Tomas. Indigoru is gone for good.”
“You don’t know that,” Tomas said evenly. He shifted his eyes to Kara but kept the crossbow pointed at Joseph. “If the goddess returns, then you are a greater threat to Redemption than all the Jombards in Jothland combined.”
“She won’t return.” Joseph glared at Tomas. “I told you, we removed the last shards of the Soulbinder. Kara is well again.”
“None of us have even an inkling of how a Soulbinder works,” Tomas said testily. “Not even me, and I’ve actually studied the things of the Void. If Indigoru returns again—”
“If she does,” Kara said, “then you can kill me then. That sounds fair enough, doesn’t it?”
Tomas flared his nostrils. “There’s no telling how much time any of us might have if that were to happen.”
“So what are you going to do, Tomas?” Joseph took a step forward. “Are you really going to kill an innocent woman because of something you yourself say you don’t understand?”
“None of us are innocent,” Tomas said, his eyes narrowing.
“What about me?” Joseph asked with a raised eyebrow. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
Tomas didn’t say anything. He kept his hand crossbow pointed at Joseph.
Joseph pointed back towards the bolted front doors of the church. “Listen to what’s happening out there. The town’s close to complete chaos.”
“Trust me,” said Tomas with a glowering look, “I’ve gotten a close-look on what’s going on out there.”
“Then you should know that us fighting among ourselves isn’t going to solve anything,” Joseph said. He stopped, then slowly sheathed his rapier. “I’ve been with Kara for over a month. I haven’t seen any sign of taint in her, no resurgence of the Seteru’s dominance.” He gave Tomas a piercing look. “I can’t promise you that Indigoru will never come back. None of us can. But if you kill her right now, you’ll be murdering a woman in cold blood. That can’t exactly help to pay your penance, can it?”
Tomas’ eyes flashed angrily. “You really don’t have the slightest clue what it is that we Ghostwalkers actually do, do you?” His eyes switched to Kara. “Believe me, I’ve done far dirtier deeds and bone-chilling acts since I became a Ghostwalker than I ever did before.”
“That’s horrible,” Kara whispered.
“The powers of the Void don’t play nice,” Tomas said bluntly. “And neither can we. Ask your friend Kendril about it sometime. I’m sure he’d have some stories to tell you that might open your eyes a little.”
Kara looked away. “I don’t think I want to. Some things are best left unknown.”
“Well if Kendril were here, he’d be on my side.” Tomas flexed his fingers around the handle of the crossbow. “I’m sorry, Kara. I really am.”
“Kara had a vision about Kendril,” Joseph said suddenly. “It’s the reason that we’re here in Redemption. She saw this town burning. She saw him in danger, closer to death.” He looked back at Kara, lowering his voice. “She’s...been right before about these things, Tomas. Her nightmares and visions have proven prophetic.” He glanced back at the Ghostwalker. “We need to find Kendril, or he might die. That’s the truth. That’s why we’re here.”
Tomas switched his gaze back and forth between Kara and Joseph.
“Please, Tomas,” Kara said, her voice quiet against the backdrop of rain hammering on the temple’s roof. “This is important.”
Several long seconds passed. No one moved.
Finally, slowly, Tomas lifted his hand crossbow until it was pointed up at the ceiling. “Tell me about this dream,” he said.
Kendril kicked his horse forward with a yell.
The Jombards scattered to either side. They were painted and tattooed in blue, wearing simple cotton trousers and tunics. Two had wicker shields.
One of the Jombards hurled a javelin at Kendril as he charged forward.
Kendril kept his horse racing forward across the mud-slick ground. The hooves of the beast churned up dirt and grass amid the drenching downpour.
The javelin banged off Kendril’s lobster helm. He saw white spots across his vision for a moment. The taste of blood filled his mouth.
The Jombards yelled. Two of them came forward, raising their crude weapons.
Kendril’s horse ploughed into one of them. The weight of the charging horse knocked the man bodily back onto the ground, though the stamping mount was careful not to step on him.
Kendril leaned down in the saddle and thrust the tip of his rapier into the neck of the second man.
It was a good, clean hit, considering the speed of the horse, the rain and the darkness. That, and also considering that it had been years since Kendril had last rode a horse. Not to mention his throbbing thigh. And the fact that he hadn’t had any coffee in about six hours.
Another of the Jombards screamed a war cry.
Kendril didn’t bother to vocalize much of anything. He turned in the saddle, stabbing and swiping with his rapier.
Two more Jombards went down to the Balneth steel blade as it sliced through the air.
Another Jombard twisted back his arm to hurl a throwing axe.
Kendril’s horse whinnied and reared it up. It lashed out both hooves and caught the Jombard in the face and chest.
Kendril barely managed to hold on.
The horse crashed back down again onto all fours.
Kendril readied his rapier for one last blow. His arm ached, and his head pounded from the javelin hit.
The last Jombard was scurrying away in the dark.
Kendril killed one of the fallen Jombards as the man tried to rise back to his feet, then turned back to look at the gates of Stockade.
The last dozen troopers were riding into the fortress. Behind them the dragoons were holding back some of the pursuing Jombards. From the wall above came sporadic carbine shots.
Kendril had to move quickly, or he risked being trapped outside the fortress walls. He started to turn his horse.
He saw something out of the corner of his eye. A reddish glow. No, not a glow. It was a pulsing aura, red like blood, but somehow giving hardly any light.
Kendril’s stomach twisted. He had seen that peculiar aura before. He snapped his head around.
A huge Jombard, dressed in the ornate jewelry and armor of a high chieftain, came walking casually across the muddy grass. An impossibly huge longsword was in his hand. His hair was braided into a topknot, and unlike most of the Jombard men, his face was clean-shaven.
But what riveted Kendril’s gaze was the throbbing Soulbinder that hung around the man’s neck.
A Soulbinder? How was it possible? How could—?
“Demonbane!” the Jombard cried. He raised his longsword with a wolfish grin. “I challenge you to face me. I am the Great Fang, favored of Harnathu. My sword longs for your blood. Face me!”
Kendril glanced quickly behind him.
The gate of Stockade was swinging shut again. Captain Beckett was on foot by the doors, waving frantically to Kendril.
Kendril turned his gaze back on the massive Jombard chieftain.
“Come, little man,” the Great Fang said tauntingly. “You are not afraid, are you? Prove yourself in battle.”
“Some other time,” Kendril said. He turned his mount around and galloped for the gate.
He barely made it inside the doors before they slammed shut. Th
e dragoons manning the gate barred and locked them immediately.
From outside the walls came more howls, some of them quite human, as well as the sounds of horns blowing and drums beating.
Kendril looked around him.
About forty of his riders had made it inside the fortress alive. It was a good ratio, considering the odds that had been against them.
Captain Beckett came running up to Kendril. “Are you all right, sir?”
“Fine,” Kendril responded brusquely. He sheathed his rapier. “Take a squad and get to the armory. Get pistols and swords for the men, and anything else you can carry. Break down the door if you have to. Don’t let anyone get in your way.”
Beckett gave smart salute and an impish grin. “Aye, sir.”
Kendril tossed his bridle to Wilkes and jumped down off his horse. He went up to one of the dragoons near the gate. “Where’s Yearling?”
“Badly wounded, sir.” The dragoon nodded towards the low squat building that was Stockade’s hospital. “It doesn’t look like he’ll last the night.”
“Who’s in charge?”
The dragoon pointed towards an approaching figure. “Captain Markus, sir.”
Kendril nodded. “All right, then.” He looked back at the troopers, many of whom were already dismounted. “See to my men and their horses, will you?”
Kendril started to turn away, then looked back curiously at the dragoon. “You’re sure you’re not going to arrest me or shoot me? I think I’d rather know now.”
The dragoon gave an exhausted smile. “Lord Ravenbrook, I don’t know what all was said between you and Yearling, but I think you’ll find that those of us that are left are just happy to see any face that isn’t a blooming Jombard.”
Kendril smirked, and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Good enough.” He turned to the approaching man. “Captain Markus, I presume?” He extended a hand.
Markus, an older dragoon with a tangle of dark hair and a thick mustache, took it. “Lord Ravenbrook. I have to admit, sir, I did not expect to see you again in this lifetime.”
“I’m not staying long,” Kendril said. “How many mounts do you have for your men?”
