Redemption (Book 6)

by Ben Cassidy

  The second militiaman shrugged. He huddled against the one relatively dry patch against the palisade wall. “Their chief, maybe? Some kind of god?”

  “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter,” said a dragoon on the rampart above them. He looked down over the edge, adjusting the carbine on his shoulder. “And both you blokes are supposed to be watching for danger, not jabbering away.”

  “Oh, come on,” said the first militiaman. He sat down on a broken rocking chair that had been dragged out into the mud by the wall. “All the action is going on over by the eastern gate. We’ve got nothing to worry about over here.”

  “Famous last words,” the dragoon growled. He stepped back to the edge of the wall and looked out over the broken woods that covered the southwestern approach to Redemption.

  The second militiaman glanced nervously over at the locked and barred postern door in the palisade wall. “You don’t think they’d make a try for this little entrance, do you?”

  The first militiaman spat onto the ground. “What would be the point?”

  The dragoon glared at both men standing down on the ground. “Both of you shut up.”

  “No one put you in charge,” the first militiaman sneered. He reached for his belt and pulled out a large metal flask. “Something to chase the chill away.”

  The second militiaman licked his lips and looked longingly at the liquor. “Don’t suppose there’s enough to share?”

  The first militiaman swallowed and wiped his mouth. He handed the canteen over. “Knock yourself out.”

  The dragoon looked down again at both men and shook his head. He turned back to the wall, pulling his coat up against the cold breeze.

  “First chance I get,” the first militiaman said, “I’m on a boat to Archangel.”

  The second militiaman coughed, pulling the canteen away from his mouth. “We could still win,” he said in a small voice. “Hold the howlers back long enough for—”

  “That ain’t gonna happen.” The first militiaman kicked his feet up on a log. “Redemption is finished, and the General knows it.”

  The second militiaman handed back the canteen. “I heard the mayor is dead,” he said in a near-whisper.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” the first militiaman grunted. “I told you before, there’s—”

  “Quiet,” the dragoon hushed. He pulled the carbine off his shoulder. “I thought I saw something out there. In the woods.”

  The first militiaman chuckled. “A deer, probably. Or a squirrel.” He glanced over at the postern door. “Stop worrying. That door’s solid oak. The Jombards would need a battering ram to get through it.”

  “That’s right,” the second militiaman said with a nervous smile. “A battering ram.”

  “And you know something else?” The first militiaman leaned forward conspiratorially. “There’s talk that—”

  “Jombards!”

  Both the militiamen jumped to their feet. They grabbed their weapons.

  A young, beautiful woman, her cloak torn and muddy and her dark hair in disarray, came running out from between two of the buildings. “There!” she cried, pointing back behind her. “In the town! A band of them!” She reached the second militiaman, and fell fainting into his arms. “Oh, Eru, help me please, please!”

  The first militiaman stepped forward and raised his musket. “Where are they? How the devil did they get inside the walls?”

  The dragoon crossed over, his carbine up at his shoulder and ready to fire. “I don’t see anyone,” he called down.

  “Neither do I,” the first militiaman called up over his shoulder. He glanced behind him. “Where did—?”

  His mouth dropped open.

  The second militiaman was face down by the wall in a pool of his own blood.

  The first militiaman swung his musket around, ready to fire.

  The dark-haired woman was already, somehow, beside him. She gave an apologetic smile. “I lied,” she whispered.

  The first militiaman felt ice down his spine. He opened his mouth to say something.

  Bronwyn drove her dagger sideways into his neck, cutting his major artery. She stepped back deftly to avoid getting blood on her dress as the man fell.

  The dragoon on top of the wall glanced down at them, his carbine still pointed back towards the town. “What on Zanthora is—?” He stopped mid-sentence, seeing the two bodies on the ground beneath him.

  Bronwyn had already pulled out a small hand crossbow. She lifted it and shot the dragoon just under the chin with the bolt.

  He gurgled, clutched at the projectile, then fell off the ramparts and into the mud by the other two bodies.

  Bronwyn gave a sigh and brushed some dirt off her robe. “This is why I need my own assassin.” She pulled up the hood of her cloak and walked over to the postern door. With a grunt she lifted the heavy wooden bars that locked it shut. Then she stepped back and pulled the door open.

  Odgar stepped through, his body covered with war paint and fresh battle scars. Behind him were a score of Jombards, with more emerging from the woods.

  Bronwyn gave a mock bow. “The town is yours, oh mighty chieftain.”

  “Save it for the Fang,” Odgar growled. He glanced indifferently at the bodies by the postern door. “You didn’t break a nail or anything, did you?”

  “Getting into Redemption with the rest of the refugees was more challenging than this.” Bronwyn gave a cutting smile. “You’d better hurry, Odgar. Your men will be spotted any moment.”

  “All I need is a moment,” Odgar said with a predatory grin. He hefted his battleaxe. “To me, Jombards! Redemption is ours!”

  He ran forward.

  The twin blasts were deafening in the enclosed room. Smoke and sparks spat out from both pistol barrels, filling the air with clouds of gunpowder.

  Yvonne gave a cry. She lurched back and crashed against the wall near the front door.

  Kendril barreled into Kara. Both of them tumbled to the floor in a tangled heap.

  Renaald turned, his eyes on Yvonne. He opened his mouth to say something.

  Joseph batted away the tip of the Ghostwalker’s rapier with the back of his arm, then punched the man full in the face.

  Renaald slammed back into a potted plant near the wall.

  “Kara!” Joseph yelled. He started forward, one and on his rapier

  Yvonne tried to struggle to her feet. Blood flowed freely from a gunshot wound in her arm. She clamped her free hand over the injury, her face pale from the strain. “Ashes,” she cursed. She started to lift her wounded arm that held her smoking two-barreled pistol.

  Beckett stepped forward, his sword out and in his hand. He stomped on Yvonne’s wrist hard with his boot, pinning it and the pistol to the floor with a bone-grinding crunch.

  Yvonne gave out a blood-curdling scream. Her twitching hand let go of the pistol.

  “I don’t much take to hurting a woman,” Beckett said as he brought his sword up to Yvonne’s neck, “but you are sorely tempting me, ma’am.”

  “Kara!” Joseph said again. He moved quickly over to Kara’s side.

  “I’m fine,” the red-headed woman sputtered. She got to her feet with Joseph’s help. “I’m alright, Joseph.”

  “Olan,” Renaald said. He got to his feet, a hand over his nose. His eyes darted between Yvonne and Olan. “Sir, what should I—?”

  Olan looked over at the man and lifted an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re following my orders? I thought you were taking orders from her.”

  Tomas opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  “Tomas, take Yvonne’s weapon.” Olan stood still, his arms still folded.

  “Yes, sir,” said Tomas with no little satisfaction in his voice. He bent down and snatched the pistol off the ground.

  “I’m still-still in command,” Yvonne said, her voice choking and sputtering. “Renaald, Tomas, I order you both to kill the abomination! Now!”

  Neither man moved.

  Kara took a step forward, her ey
es flashing. “I told you before, Indigoru is gone. Killing me won’t help anything. If we don’t—” She turned her head, and her words died in her mouth.

  Kendril was face down on the floor, unmoving. A slow puddle of red was seeping out from beneath him.

  “Oh, Eru,” Kara breathed. “Oh Eru no, please no.” She threw herself down at Kendril’s side, and rolled the man over.

  Kendril’s eyes were closed, his face drained of color. A bullet hole was torn into his vest on his lower right side. His shirt and trousers were already wet with blood.

  Kara looked up. “Joseph—”

  The pathfinder was already on the ground beside her. He threw off his herb satchel, tossing it next to Kendril’s body. “Hot water and clean bandages,” he ordered to no one in particular. “Fast.” His hand moved in a blur, pulling items out of his satchel.

  Callen leapt down across from Joseph. He pressed both his gloved hands over the bleeding gunshot wound. “Exit wound?”

  “I didn’t see,” Joseph said. “Can you see any blood? A hole?”

  “Let the traitor die, Callen,” Yvonne croaked. She had pulled out a long scarf and was pressing it against her bleeding arm. “Can’t you see what’s happening here? Indigoru will return through that woman and destroy us all. Just like at Vorten. Just like—”

  Beckett brought the edge of his sword close enough to Yvonne’s neck to cut off the rest of her words. “Seriously,” he snarled. “Shut. Up.”

  “The bullet’s lodged,” Joseph announced as he got to his feet. “We’ll have to get it out. He might be bleeding internally. I don’t know.”

  Kara collapsed back against the wall. She slid down to a sitting position. Her body shook uncontrollably. “Oh, Eru, it’s all my fault. I should never have come here, I—”

  “Kara,” said Joseph sharply. “Snap out of it. I need hot water, fast. Help me or he’ll die.”

  A horn sounded outside.

  Beckett straightened. “That’s the warning signal. If—”

  A gunshot sounded, then another and another.

  Olan’s face tightened. “The Jombards. They’re attacking Redemption.”

  Captain Markus fired his carbine. The weapon thundered in his ears, belching out smoke and fire.

  A Jombard lurched back on the ground below. He fell into the mud of the street and didn’t move.

  Not that it mattered. A large group of Jombards were coming right at the eastern gate.

  Coming at it from inside the town.

  “Shoot them!” Markus yelled. He slapped the shoulder of the dragoon next to him, pointing down at the charging Jombards. “Stop them before they get to the—”

  A roar of voices came from behind Markus.

  He spun, already reaching for another carbine cartridge.

  The line of Jombards outside Redemption was moving forward, charging directly at the palisade wall. They were screaming, chanting, hungry for blood. Many held makeshift ladders and crude battering rams.

  The dragoons on the wall shot their carbines off, some at the Jombards below in the town and some at the Jombards charging the wall from outside.

  Captain Markus moved to the stairs that led down from the rampart. He reloaded his carbine, ramming down the shot and paper.

  A thundering boom sounded from further along the wall as a cannon fired off.

  Screams erupted from the charging Jombards, intermixed with gibbering cries, howls, and wailing shouts.

  It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. If the Jombards inside the town got the gate open, then everything was lost.

  “With me!” Markus yelled at a group of stunned dragoons on top of the ramparts. He scurried down the stairs, not looking to see if the men were following him or not.

  The Jombards were coming straight for the gate. At their head was a mountain of a man, a Jombard chieftain with a battleaxe and a vial hanging around his neck.

  Captain Markus hit the ground and fired his carbine from the hip.

  The nearest Jombard was knocked back by the force of the bullet. He slammed into the side of a fur trader store.

  Markus threw down his carbine and drew his sword.

  The Jombards surged forward with howls and screams.

  From outside the palisade wall came the sound of whizzing arrows and skirling pipes. And above it all was the chanting of the barbarians, intermixed with the gunfire of the dragoons and militiamen.

  A dozen men, mixed dragoons and militiamen, piled down off the stairs right behind Markus.

  “Hold the gate!” Markus yelled. He rushed forward to meet the first oncoming Jombard.

  The barbarian yelped a whooping war cry. He held a two-handed club with spikes driven into the wood.

  Markus ducked under the powerful but clumsy swing of the Jombard warrior, then cut hard with his own sword.

  The Jombard screamed and stumbled back, blood exploding from a savage cut across his chest.

  And then it was a confusing mix of gunfire, bodies locked in mortal combat, and splattering mud.

  “I’ve got a fire started in the kitchen,” Kara said as she rushed back into the room. “A pot of water’s set to—” She looked away quickly as she saw that Callen and Joseph were actually removing the bullet from Kendril’s pale body.

  More gunfire erupted from outside, banging away in a steady patter. A cannon boomed again.

  “They’re attacking the wall,” said Beckett anxiously. He glanced at the door to the town hall. “Markus will need help.”

  “The Jombards are not the danger,” Yvonne hissed. She sat crumpled against the wall. “It’s her, fool. She will bring Indigoru.” She looked over at Olan. “You know that I’m right, Olan. You know the rules of our Order. She must be dest—”

  “Didn’t I tell you before to shut up?” Beckett growled.

  “We’ll save arguments over Kara’s fate for another time,” Olan said with a scowl. “Right now there are more important things to worry about.” He glanced down at Kendril’s unmoving form. “If Kendril was telling the truth, and the Jombard commander has a Soulbinder, then he’s the priority.”

  “Oh,” said Kara as she crossed her arms, “so you’re not going to kill me now, but you’re probably going to kill me later? That’s very comforting.”

  “Close him up,” Joseph said to Callen. He dropped a misshapen, bloody lead bullet onto the floor.

  Callen began swiftly sewing up the open wound.

  Kendril’s breath was shallow, almost non-existent. He was as pale as death.

  Joseph began to mop the blood from around the wound with a cloth. “I have herbs that will help. The greenish vial there.”

  “I know greenpeal paste when I see it,” Callen grunted.

  Joseph glanced back at Kara. “We’ll need that hot water as soon as we can get it.”

  Kara nodded. “It will be a couple minutes before—”

  Another horn blast sounded from outside.

  Olan drew his sword. “All right, we’re through waiting. Renaald, you’re with me. Callen, I need you too. There will be wounded.”

  “Thirty seconds,” Callen said between his teeth. He kept stitching.

  “What about me?” Tomas asked.

  Olan paused for a moment. “I need you to stay here and...protect Yvonne.”

  “Guard me, you mean,” Yvonne spat. “You’ll answer for this when we return to Rothland, Olan. I won’t—”

  “I should remind you,” Olan said coldly, “that Sword has command authority in situations that involve open conflict, even over Staff prerogatives.”

  Another rattling of gunfire sounded through the walls.

  “And I would call this open conflict,” Olan finished. He looked up at Renaald. “And I don’t need to remind you, Renaald, that I expect you to obey my every command without hesitation.”

  Renaald rubbed his bruised nose. “Yes, sir.”

  Kara came back into the room, carrying a pot of steaming water. “It hasn’t boiled yet, but—”

  �
�It will have to do.” Joseph took the top off and dumped a small bag of herbs into the pot. A sweet, heady scent instantly filled the room.

  Callen stepped back, rubbing an arm across his forehead. “Done.” He reached for the rag.

  Olan gave Kendril a disinterested glance. “Will he live?”

  Joseph mixed the herbs into the water. “I don’t know. He’s lost a lot of blood, and there’s no real way to tell how much internal damage was done.”

  Olan sniffed. “Be easier if he died, I suspect. He’s still a traitor in the eyes of the Order.” He strode towards the door and opened it, magnifying the sounds of fighting. “Renaald, Callen, you’re with me.”

  “Me too,” said Beckett. He lifted his sword and glanced back one more time at Kendril. “My sword’s feeling a little hungry for Jombard blood.”

  They rushed out the door, tromping down the front steps of the town hall.

  Kara looked after them. She bit her lip hard, then unslung her bow.

  Joseph glanced up from where he was treating Kendril’s wound. “Kara, don’t.”

  Kara readied the bow. “I can help them.”

  “You’re wounded,” Joseph said.

  Kara reached for an arrow and fitted it to the string of her bow. “I can shoot. It hurts, but I can do it.”

  Joseph got quickly to his feet. “I...need your help here, Kara. With Kendril—”

  “You have Tomas,” Kara said quickly. “Besides, you’ve stabilized him. There’s not much else you or I can do.”

  Joseph stopped.

  Tomas shrugged. “She’s got a point, mate.”

  Joseph glared at the Ghostwalker. “No one asked you.”

  “Joseph,” said Kara softly. She put a hand on his arm. “I can do this. I have to do this.”

  Joseph turned his head away. “I—I lost you once already, and I can’t—”

  “I know,” said Kara. She squeezed his arm.

  Joseph took a breath. He looked up. “Go.”

  Kara raced for the door and disappeared outside.

  Yvonne gave a coughing laugh. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she gasped.

  Tomas and Joseph both looked down at the wounded Ghostwalker.