by Aaron Pogue
Corin could see no sign of the justicar. He squinted. “Are you certain?”
Avery scratched behind his ear and scowled. “As a gravestone. She is there.”
Corin started to his feet, checking his weapons out of habit. He’d gone two steps before he noticed Avery had not yet moved. “Well?” Corin hissed. “Won’t you help me?”
The elf looked wretched, but he didn’t stir. “I . . . cannot.”
Corin rolled his eyes and groaned. “This again? You’ve seen too much of war? Kellen’s down there fighting. Surely you—”
Avery shook his head. “It isn’t that. I . . .” He looked away. “I made a promise. To Jane.”
“Oh.” Corin’s shoulders slumped. Despite himself, he thought of Aemilia. He clenched a fist around the hilt of his dagger, ready to destroy the justicar, but he felt a pang of sympathy for the elf too. “Keep your promise. I need you watching over Auric, anyway.”
Avery nodded his head in gratitude for the lie. Then he turned away. Below, Jessamine’s sunbeam still shone bright on Auric for everyone within the battlefield to see. Crossbow bolts came heavier now, a steady rain that met the refugees’ upraised shields or clattered off breastplates when they didn’t punch right through. Auric’s answer was to keep his contingent moving, charging blindly against the fog, killing crossbowmen where they found them and overwhelming infantry by sheer fury.
There was no more sign of the gladiators. Corin hoped the elves were down there thinning their numbers, but he had little time to worry on it. He had a battle of his own ahead. How was he supposed to fight a justicar?
His instincts were the ones he’d learned in the Nimble Fingers: to investigate the situation, determine every vector of assault, and analyze the various risks before choosing an optimum approach. But while he made his plans, Auric and all his noble fools were down there on the battlefield dying beneath a beam of holy light.
That thought nagged at him. It pressed him faster and faster as he navigated the narrow, rocky ridge that twisted up toward the higher crags. Twice he encountered little gullies where the ridgeline fell away, and anxious as he was, he leaped the gap instead of climbing down and then back up the other side. The first time he nearly lost his footing when loose stones slipped out beneath his feet just before he jumped. The second time he misjudged the gap and barely caught himself on the other side. He hung there for a moment, feet dangling over a steep rockslide that would have deposited him neatly in the middle of the battle.
“Just like the rooftops in Aepoli,” he told himself, easing his way up onto the crag. “Easy as a summer stroll. To meet a justicar who wants me dead.”
That thought was enough to still his tongue. He went on ahead at a more careful pace, trying to remember the precise spot Avery had pointed to. The crags were uneven, but by his best estimate, she should be close to . . . there.
He stepped around a boulder taller than his head, and there she was before him. She stood staring out over the valley, all her concentration fixed on that huge beam of sunlight. It looked even more monstrous from this vantage.
Corin eased back against the boulder and cast a rapid glance around, but he saw no bodyguards. She’d committed her whole force to the assault. And why not? She’d survived everything Corin had been able to throw against her. She’d survived Kellen and a trip into Faerie. She’d survived Jane’s firebomb. She was a justicar. What could she have to fear?
While Corin watched, she went down on one knee, straining out over the cliff’s edge for a better view of the battle down below. Where was Auric? Was he still alive? And for how long?
Corin’s hand closed around the hilt of his rapier. He had an urge to draw and charge her, but the distance was too great. The ground between them lay cluttered with loose rocks and hard soil; she would hear him coming, and Gods’ blood, she was fast!
She was distracted, though. She stretched out a hand to steady herself and leaned yet farther over the edge. Corin licked his lips, watching her precarious position. He released the sword hilt, and quiet as a mouse, he bent his knees and scooped up a stone a little larger than his fist. He glanced around one more time for any sign of guards, and this time he spotted the figure lurking in the shadows.
Not a guard, though now that Corin looked in that direction, he saw the plated boots of soldiers stretched out on the ground there. No, this new figure wore a cloak and cowl, but beneath them he wore the strange outland dress of the druids. And even as Corin watched, the figure eased forward, his outstretched arm aiming the tiny glass-and-silver dartgun that Corin had learned to fear.
“Jeff.” Corin breathed his name, and in the same moment, the druid pulled the trigger. A dart no larger than Corin’s thumbnail flashed across outcrop and buried itself in the soft flesh just below Jessamine’s right ear. Corin held his breath, expecting her to topple forward and down into the fray.
Instead, she rose up like a darter on an ocean’s swells. She spun around in fury, drawing forth her heavy blade one-handed while she shook her head against the biting sting of the dart’s poison. It should have dropped her. Corin had seen one dart incapacitate an elite elven warrior in the space of half a heartbeat, but Jessamine shook out her golden hair, narrowed her eyes, and shrugged aside the poison.
Jeff cursed, every bit as surprised as Corin was. He scrambled at his belt for another dart, but Corin had seen how fast this creature could move. Jeff was doomed.
Corin closed his grip around the stone in his hand and shook his head. Not today. Not when one of the blasted druids had finally defied the strictures to do something noble. While the justicar was still settling herself for the charge, Corin swung his weight into a huge step forward and flung the heavy stone right at the back of her head.
It should’ve been enough to brain her, justicar or not. At worst, it should have been enough to knock her senseless, especially with the druid poison in her veins. But somehow she sensed it coming. She dropped her sword without even looking in his direction, reached out her arm, and caught the heavy stone against her open palm. It rang out with a crack like distant thunder.
In the selfsame motion, she spun in place and hurled the stone straight at Jeff’s skull. As soon as it left her hand, she was stooping, reaching, and she came out of her spin with the sword held high again.
The stone caught Jeff on the crown and snapped his head back hard. He grunted as his limp body hit the rocky ground, and then he lay still.
She stared after him a moment, breathing hard. Then she turned slowly to meet Corin’s gaze with all her burning hatred. Her nostrils flared, her sword slashed once left and right. And then she charged him.
Gods’ blood, she was fast! But she was human too. As she dashed toward him, the loose stones Corin had feared before shifted treacherously beneath her feet, and she lost her footing. Perhaps the tranquilizer had had some effect after all. Regardless, Corin saw it happening and stepped forward to meet her, drawing his sword as he went. He had no time to bring it to bear, but he smashed the knuckleduster hard into the side of her head.
She sprawled. She rolled again and found her feet, when most men would have fallen still from a blow like that. She staggered some, swaying as she rose, but before Corin could close with her again, she had her sword raised between them.
She’d survived everything he threw against her, but not without taking some scars. She’d lost an eye while fighting Kellen. Jane had told him that, but it was still unsettling to stare into the empty socket from four paces distant.
Jane’s trap had caught her too. It showed in the bright pink scars that webbed the back of her sword hand and disappeared beneath the bracers on her wrists. She snarled as she recognized Corin now. This was no longer the same lovely woman he had seen in the Piazza Dei. This was the monster that had hanged a thousand Nimble Fingers. This was a living fury, righteous vengeance in a used-up, battered shell.
“I was looking for you,” she said. Even her voice rattled weakly, though her sword was steady as a rock. “
I am supposed to kill the rebels’ leader, but I came here hunting you.”
Corin tried a lunge, testing her with a high slash. He hoped his blow had slowed her, even a bit, but she met his feint and answered with a riposte that nearly cost him his hand. He leaped back two paces and set his guard, but she didn’t chase him. She held her ground, untouchable.
Below them, the battle raged on. Even with the elves to aid them, how long could a hundred retired infantry stand against as many of the Godlands’ best? How long could Corin stand against this fiend? He considered all the ways he might attack her, all the tricks of swordplay that he knew, and no matter how he tried, he could not imagine any of them working.
He heaved a weary sigh and lowered his sword. “Very well,” he said. “It’s me you really want. And I am tired of running. I’ll drop my sword if you’ll assure my safety.”
She scowled harder. “You’ll what?”
He nodded, all sincerity. “Take me into your custody and withdraw your men.”
“I have my orders here—”
“Aye, and you have your responsibilities too. As a justicar, you cannot truly enjoy the slaughter that is happening down there.”
“My orders come directly from my god.”
“But we have left the Godlands. We both know Ephitel cannot see clearly here. You now know more than your commander did when he gave the order, and it would be a grave evil indeed to allow this slaughter to continue.”
She considered it. That was more than Corin had hoped for. She withdrew half a step and cast a glance over her shoulder. In the distance, the beam of sunlight shifted. Fortune favor! Even facing Corin’s best effort, she was able to manage the fight below.
It cost her half a glance, not time enough for Corin to take any advantage, and then her attention was all on him again. Worry tightened the corners of her eyes—worry at the things Corin had said—but she shook her head. “Your heart is black as midnight, Corin Hugh. I will take you before Ephitel, but I will not fall for your clever lies.”
Corin sighed. “They say a justicar can taste a lie. Is that just a rumor, or is it true?”
She raised her chin. “I will not share the secrets—”
Corin spoke over her. “Know this, then, and I will speak it plain so that you might taste the truth of it: I can step through dream. You cannot take me anywhere against my will. I can close my eyes and go wherever I desire in all Hurope.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “Consider me the justicar of Oberon—an older god than yours.”
She frowned, and for the first time her sword’s point drifted to the side. “You truly believe that!” she said, astonished.
He nodded, holding her gaze. It was true, then! She could taste a lie. And he could use that. He moved a half step closer, unthreatening, and said in perfect confidence, “It was I who brought this fight to Ephitel, not Auric. I am the one you should be chasing, not that honest farmboy. And I say again, I’ll drop my sword if you’ll assure my safety.”
“Why? Why would you do this?”
“I want to see this matter settled. I swear by sky and sea, by driving wind and gentle rain, I will gladly stand before Ephitel in the name of justice if it saves the lives of those below.”
There could be no truer words. He meant to be the judge in that trial, but the justicar—true believer that she was—heard his claim in the only way she could fathom. And Ephitel’s fancy magic told her it was true.
Corin had to hide his smile.
She lowered her blade to her side, but he knew how fast she was. He didn’t dare strike yet. She considered him for a long moment. Then she nodded once. “You have my word. Now drop your sword.”
“Withdraw your men.”
Her voice turned hard. “You have the word of a justicar. Drop your sword.”
Corin shrugged and dropped the sword. Its cage rang against the loose stones of the outcrop. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and still she backed a pace away before she looked toward the battle. As Corin watched, the beam of light that shone on Auric disappeared, and a heartbeat later it fell upon the crag instead. On Corin and the justicar. Corin blinked against the brightness of it. On the field below, Godlander trumpets cried retreat. She’d done her part.
Auric’s men would not know of this arrangement. They would push the fight and cut down the invaders as they ran. Perhaps noble-hearted Auric would try to stop it, but Kellen would see some scheme in play and Avery would seize an opponent’s weakness. The Godlanders would be cut down as they run.
He’d won. Corin swallowed hard. He’d won the day. He’d saved the farmboy and the Nimble Fingers and all the other innocents he’d gathered here. For the day, at least, he’d won.
A footstep on the hard stone tore him from his reverie. The justicar came toward him, sword still at her side and iron in her voice. “On your knees, unbeliever. Our deal is done.”
“Indeed,” Corin said. He went to one knee and used the motion to disguise the hand that slipped beneath his cloak. She stepped up to tower over him, the justice of the gods in human flesh.
“In the name of Ephitel,” she began.
He let her get no farther. In one motion he drew his knife and rose. She flinched, recoiling like a snake, but she was too close to get away. The blade went into her side beneath the breastplate straps and between her ribs. Hot blood flowed over Corin’s hand.
She stumbled back, trying vainly to raise her sword, knees already buckling. Disbelief and hate warred in her eyes. “But how?” she gasped. “I tasted your sincerity.”
He nodded to her. “Aye. I spoke the truth, and I will swear again. Someday soon I’ll stand before your wretched god. And I’ll see justice done.”
She fell. Her lips writhed, but no words came. Corin stooped for his sword and turned to end the poor creature’s suffering, but it was already done. She lay still upon the unforgiving stone, sightless eyes staring up into the brilliant sunlight.
The meaning of that light occurred to Corin half a heartbeat before a steel-tipped crossbow bolt pinged into the stone behind him. The Godlanders were converging on him now, and at least some had seen his attack on their commander.
Corin took one frantic step toward the place where Jeff had fallen, wondering how he might escape with the druid’s weight across his shoulders, but he got no farther. The druid was gone. Just a splash of blood marked the place where he had fallen.
Corin scanned the ridgeline, but he could see no sign of the man. Blast him! Where’d he gotten to? Who had taken him away? There was no time to discover it, as a rain of crossbow bolts tore the air all around him.
Corin cursed and spun away. He was no soldier, no general, but this day he’d somehow won a glorious battle. And now the time had come to do what he did best.
He ran.
Avery met him at the top of the ridge. Corin made the leap this time, and the two sprinted down the narrow path as though it were across a meadow. The fog was failing now, dissolving rapidly beneath the springtime sun, and it showed Corin and the elf in stark relief against the ridgeline. For ten dreadful paces, crossbow bolts fell like hailstones all around them.
Somehow, they both survived the volley, but Corin didn’t slow his pace. He pressed harder, counting seconds beneath his breath. How long to crank a crossbow back? To load and fire a second volley? He counted past what he expected, but still no shot came. He risked a glance down into the valley.
And there was Kellen. The ancient warrior stood alone, dripping with the blood of men he’d slain, and all around him lay the corpses of two score crossbowmen. He raised his blade in silent salute, then dashed away to join a scuffle in the shadow of the crags.
Corin paused to catch his breath, looking out over the battlefield. It was an ugly sight. The Godlanders had been put to rout, and it was mostly Kellen’s elves who killed them as they fled. They struck without pity or remorse. They struck in vengeance for a wrong they’d had to suffer for more than a thousand years. They killed Ephitel’s
assassination squad to a man, and even from this distant vantage, Corin could see that Kellen hadn’t lost a single soldier in the fray.
Auric had. That fact crashed home for Corin as he picked his way more slowly west across the ridgeline. Jessamine’s forces littered the battlefield—gladiators in their violets and red, crossbowmen in the white and blue of the Vestossis’ regiments, and here and there a wizard robed in royal black—but they were not alone. Auric’s desperate defenders stood out almost as clearly in their mismatched browns and grays, farmers’ clothes. They lay broken and bleeding, and far too many lay still upon the earth. The farmboy hadn’t fallen. He rode among the dead with a coterie of his survivors, searching for the wounded who could be helped back into camp.
It was easier in a pirate raid. The corpses had a way of ending up overboard, and a little breeze was usually enough to put the past behind a man. Corin tried his best to keep his eyes on the narrow path, to ignore the horror down below, as he made his way back to the city.
Twisting as the path was, and weary as the fight had left him, Corin had barely left the ridgeline when Auric led his band of survivors through the city gates. The distant cheer of victory that rose up from the ruined city paid no mind to those fallen on the field. Not yet. There would be time enough for grief later. For now, the survivors cried out in celebration.
Corin couldn’t bring himself to feel it. Instead, he felt numb. Wrung out and used up. He stumbled mechanically forward, halfway to the open archway and the sound of merriment beyond, before he stopped and turned aside. He picked a path around the outside of the ruined walls, searching until he found a spill of rubble low enough to scale. Avery came along beside him, never uttering a word.
As Corin stole into the city he’d helped save, Kellen scampered over the fallen wall to join them. He held his silence too. One by one, the other elves trailed in, but no one spoke. Corin picked a careful path down the dark back alleys that the refugees had not yet needed to explore. They passed the empty houses, the fallen timber, the shattered ruins. He swept out in a wide arc to avoid the celebrations in the city square. Then, by what might once have been a narrow kitchen door, he slipped into the back of the vast cathedral that had been given him for quarters.
