The second floor was empty, but on the third, he saw a dozen men gathered before the windows, bows in hand.
“Sir!” one said, seeing his entrance. “What word from Daniel?”
Robert didn’t understand, so he pushed aside the archer and looked out at the battlefield below. Cyric’s men had come pouring in from their camp, already within the outer wall. Near the tower and stables Daniel had formed a battle line. A hundred of his men stood firm, challenging the mercenaries sworn to Karak. Despite their inferior gear, the men seemed to be holding. The archers rained arrows down upon the enemy ranks, with perfect position from the windows.
“Daniel prepared for this,” Robert said, realizing what he was seeing.
“He did,” said one of the archers. “Forgive us, sir. We were told to say nothing in case he was wrong.”
“We can hold them,” Robert said, analyzing the fight. Karak’s soldiers fought with religious fervor, but his own men defended their homes, their lives. They also had greater numbers, plus the advantage of the archers. Yes, they could hold...
“What the fuck is that?” asked the man at the northernmost window. Robert leaned out, and there he saw the lions approaching, flanking Cyric at either side. They seemed to be in no great hurry.
“Put every arrow you have into those things,” Robert ordered. “And pray one pierces an eye.”
The men changed their aim and let their arrows fly. Cyric stepped back, as if sensing he was in danger, but the lions continued on. Several struck true, but they bounced off the dark skin as if hitting stone. The archers showed no worry, unleashing a second and third volley. Still the arrows hit, and did nothing.
And then the lions burst forward, the sudden change in speed horrifying to see. They were too big to move that fast, they had to be. The lions crashed through their own ranks, then leapt upon Daniel’s men. Swords could not pierce their flesh. Shields could not deflect their strikes. In seconds, the rout was on. Robert could not see Daniel, but he hoped he made it out somehow. Someone needed to tell the world what happened there.
The lions gave chase, but Karak’s men did not. They turned their attention to the tower, and the locked doors. The archers continued firing at the men, but they were hesitant, and Robert caught many glancing his way. Worse, he saw Cyric lift his arms, darkness shimmering about his fingers.
“Get back,” he ordered.
Two did not retreat in time. Arrows made of blood pierced their sides. One slumped by the window, the other fell through, his skull cracking on the ground below. Silence filled the room as the men stood there, looking to their leader. Robert knew they wanted hope, wanted victory, but he had none to offer them.
“Men, you have served me well, as you have your lords, and your country,” he said. “I don’t know how much your life is worth to you, or what gods you believe in. If any one of you wants to fall to your knees, I won’t blame you. But as for me, I’ll be in my room with my door barred. When they break through, I plan on killing as many as I can before tasting death. Any who still wish to fight, grab a sword and follow me.”
Every man there took up arms, and Robert couldn’t have been more proud.
At the top of the tower, they put his desk, chair, and chest of clothing against the door. Two men stood at the far side, bows in hand. The rest waited, swords drawn, listening to the cries of pain intermixed with worship outside.
“King Baedan won’t allow this,” said one, rubbing his sword with an oiled cloth. “When he finds out, he’ll send his whole army. Wish I could see the look on that priest’s face when he sees how doomed he is.”
“He ain’t going to hear shit,” said another. “Who’s going to tell the king what happened? You?”
“Daniel will. He escaped. I saw it.”
“Enough,” Robert said to them both. “Just...enough. I won’t spend what little time I have left listening to you two bicker.”
“Then how will we spend it?” asked a third. Footsteps echoed from the stairs beyond the door, and they heard scattered shouts.
“Like men,” Robert said, drawing his sword. “Clear the door. I won’t have them starve us out, and I won’t wait for that priest to weaken us with his sorcery. Let those bastards in, and we’ll give them a proper Blood Tower welcome.”
Even facing death, none there would disobey their commander. They pushed away the barricade. So far nothing heavier than a man’s shoulder pressed the door from the outside, so the locks still held. Robert held up his fingers, counting down for them to fling open the bolt. On three, he let out a cry and raised his sword.
The door burst open, and several men came barging in, their armor painted with a red lion. The first fell, two arrows in his throat. Another tried and failed to block a trio of attacks as Robert’s men assaulted him from all sides. More soldiers poured inside, the archers abandoned their bows, and at last Robert joined in. He parried and twisted, but he felt none of the youth he had when he fought the wolf-men in Durham mere months ago. He felt old, tired. He was watching his men die before him, and for what? The whims of a mad priest?
They killed two for every one of their own, but still they fell. Robert plunged himself into the gap, drenching his sword with blood. Every time he watched the life fade out from those fanatical eyes, he felt a smile stretch across his face. A counter-riposte, and another died. They were down to four, but the mercenaries were beaten back to the door. Robert dared to think they’d hold, that they’d build a wall of the dead across the stairs.
Cyric stepped into the room.
Robert felt both fear and hope. Fear, for he knew the priest’s power. Hope, because with one thrust he might end the entire conflict, maybe even send those blasted lions back to the Abyss where they belonged. The paladin was with him, but his attention was turned to the other men slashing and thrusting. The way was clear. Robert held the hilt of his sword with both hands and swung with every last remnant of his strength.
Cyric caught the blade with his bare hand. His skin shone a dull red. A few drops of blood trickled down his wrist.
“Hello, Robert,” Cyric said, smiling.
The priest’s other palm slammed against Robert’s chestplate and flung him backward, as if he’d been kicked by a giant. Crashing against his desk, he rolled to one knee, gasping for air. His helmet had cracked, and he tossed it aside. Blood poured down his face; he didn’t know the nature of the wound, only that he was blind in his right eye.
“Oh, have you finally found wisdom and kneeled?” Cyric asked as the rest of Robert’s men died to the paladin.
Robert struggled to his feet, clutching his face with one hand.
“Go roast in the Abyss,” he said.
Cyric stepped closer. He was smiling, but there was no joy in those red irises.
“I have. I came back.”
A bolt of shadow leapt from his palm. Robert blocked it with his sword, only to find the power traveling up his blade and through his gloves. He shrieked as the skin of his hand erupted with pain. Cyric grabbed him by the throat, and with strength he couldn’t possibly have, lifted him into the air.
“You won’t die here, Robert,” said the priest. “I won’t have a rebellion on my hands, nor the king interfering. So you’ll be a good little puppet, won’t you? Write all the right letters, say all the right things?”
“Fuck...off,” Robert gasped through his crushed windpipe.
Black electricity arced throughout his body. He’d have screamed if Cyric’s hand hadn’t denied him breath. The priest lowered him to his feet, so they could stare eye to eye.
“I’ll burn every last shred of resistance from you if I must,” he said, his voice a cold whisper. “I’ll purify the chaos from your heart, through fire, through pain, just like our forefathers once did. Do you understand me, Robert? Is that what you desire? Or would you rather save yourself the torment, and kneel?”
Robert spat in his eye.
Cyric wiped his face, that smug smile finally gone from his lips.
&
nbsp; “So be it,” he said.
Robert felt pain, tremendous pain, and then darkness.
13
They stayed at the Williams’ home for three days, letting Sandra fully recover. Jerico repaid their kindness as best he could by working in their fields. Truth be told, he enjoyed the simple work, knowing that in planting a few seeds and yanking out some weeds he wasn’t making a mistake. He had no decisions to make. No lives to endanger.
By the third night, Sandra could walk without a limp, and she’d clearly grown restless remaining indoors. The air was fairly warm, and Jerico sat with her on their porch, looking at the stars.
“Feel like I’m constantly in the way,” Sandra said, leaning her head back and sighing. “They’re good people, but I’ll be happy to leave.”
Jerico chuckled.
“Well, that answers the question I was going to ask.”
She glanced his way, raised an eyebrow.
“Which was what? If I wanted to stay with them?”
Jerico shrugged.
“It’s a good life, calm, even if it is a bit meager. Cobb says he could find you a husband without too much trouble.”
The way her eyes bugged out, Jerico realized he’d made a mistake, though he’d be damned to know what it was.
“Is that what you think I want?”
“You wanted a life away from your brother. Well, this is one, and Cobb has offered.”
Sandra crossed her arms and sighed.
“You’re ready to leave, aren’t you?”
Jerico stared at the sky instead of meeting her gaze. Only a few clouds dotted the horizon, and they made the expanse of stars look that much larger.
“I must. Arthur needs my help.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Jerico knew he could not lie, but what was he to say when the answer was both yes and no?
“Part of me does,” he said. “But what I do...and with the dark paladins hunting me...you’ll never be safe, Sandra. Not ever. I’m not sure you’re ready for that life. And I know for certain you don’t deserve it.”
They fell silent. Inwardly, Jerico berated himself for broaching the subject so poorly.
“You said part of you,” Sandra said, breaking the silence. “That means part of you wants me with you. Why?”
Jerico ran a hand through his hair. Battling wolves and dark paladins was easier. And made more sense.
“I enjoy your company,” he said. “I feel happier around you.”
“I barely know you, Jerico. What we have...I’m not sure it’s what you think it is.”
Jerico shifted, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
“Then consider me a dreamer, as well as someone willing to find out. But I can’t see you hurt again. I’ve lost nearly everyone dear to me. My friends, my teachers, they’re all gone. Even Darius rushes to his death at the towers. I can’t go back to Durham, —the closest place I’ve had to a home—for fear of Karak’s paladins finding me there. I’ll forever be on the run, forever alone. Except for you, and because of me, you nearly died.”
“So for fear of losing me...you’d rather give me up willingly to a plain life, and then never see me again?”
He shot her a look.
“You make it sound so stupid.”
“Maybe because it is?”
He laughed.
“Then I’m getting good at doing stupid things. Perhaps that’s why I’ve survived where others have fallen. It’s always the idiot that lasts the longest.”
Sandra shifted over so their legs touched, then wrapped her arm around him and laid her head against his shoulder.
“You’re not an idiot.”
“Sure about that?”
She kissed his cheek.
“Absolutely. So what do we do now?”
He gestured northwest.
“Assuming the situation remains unchanged, Arthur’s still besieged at the Castle of Caves. Other than myself and your brother, no one is coming to help him.”
“Do you think you can really accomplish anything on your own, Jerico?”
“No,” he said, smiling at her. “In fact, I expect to do little more than die while trying to get inside.”
“Then why do we go?”
“Because I should. Because I think that’s where Ashhur wants me to go. And because I can’t let what happened to Stonahm go unpunished. Not after what they did to Beth...”
She ran a hand lovingly across his face, her touch like lightning.
“Well,” she said. “It’s a fool’s errand then. Good thing that’s what you do best.”
“You’re the one traveling with a fool. What does that make you?”
She kissed his lips.
“Figure it out,” she said before going inside.
Darius was torn between apprehension and relief when he finally reached the Gihon River. His journey was almost over, and he would obtain an answer to his dilemma. Either they’d rescind the bounty, or remove his head. Obviously Darius preferred one over the other, but he had no intention of spending the rest of his life as an outlaw. If they decided to kill him, then so be it. They’d only perform the execution Jerico had stayed.
He set up camp by the riverside. Night fell as Darius waited for a boat patrol to pass. When the stars reached their fullest, he felt an itch in the back of his mind. He shifted and pointed his sword toward the tree line. Valessa stepped out, the smile on her face doing nothing to diminish the madness in her eyes.
“Where is it you go?” she asked as she paced before him. Darius kept ready in case she attacked. A shiver ran through him as she passed through the trees. He was haunted by a phantom, but her daggers were so very real.
“If I tell you, it’d ruin the surprise.”
“You know you’ll make a mistake eventually. Ashhur cannot protect you forever.”
The paladin shrugged.
“Doing fine so far. Course, I’m not eager to wait forever. Strike at me, Valessa. Let’s have another go. Or would you rather skulk and hide until I die with gray hair on my head? What will you then tell Karak when you return to the fires of the Abyss? That you thought your revenge best served when I was so feeble I couldn’t lift my sword? At least you sent Grick to your god. I’m sure he’ll be a very impressive sacrifice...”
Darius thought he’d finally goaded her into another fight, but then he heard the sound of men from the water. Glancing back, he saw torches burning in the hands of four men. They’d seen the light of his campfire, so far from civilization, and were crying out in greeting.
“You won’t be safe with them,” she said as the boat drifted closer to shore. “They’ll put you in chains, without that damn sword of yours. Then I’ll have all the time in the world, Darius. All the time I need to make you suffer for what you’ve done to me.”
She fled back into the darkness of the forest.
“You flung yourself against my blade,” he said sighing. “You, not me.”
He walked to the water’s edge and waved to the four men.
“Well met,” he said, his voice carrying. “I hoped I might come across one of your boats. Which tower do you hail from?”
“Tower Silver,” said the leader of the four, extending his torch so its light reached Darius. Tower Silver was the closest tower to the Blood Tower, which meant Darius would not have to travel far for his meeting with Sir Robert. He wasn’t sure if this made him happier, or more nervous.
As the light shone upon him, the four men suddenly tensed.
“I see you are a paladin,” said the leader. “But of what god? Things have not gone kindly between us and Karak lately.”
“Ashhur,” Darius said, wondering what business with Karak they referred to. He took a deep breath, pushing that aside in his mind. This was it. “But I have not always been. My name is Darius, and I once hailed from the Stronghold.”
Silence filled the air, broken at last when one of the four looked to the others and muttered.
“Oh shit.”
“I did not come here to fight,” he said, jamming his sword into the soft earth before him. “Only to speak with Sir Robert Godley, so that I might tell my story, and have him remove the bounty placed upon my life.”
“Begging your pardon, Darius,” said their leader, “But there is no bounty for your life, not anymore. It’s only for your capture, not execution. Robert changed it a few weeks back.”
Darius grunted. Well, that was a pleasant surprise, though he dared not let himself feel hopeful. If it was still for capture, that meant they wanted to interrogate him, or even worse, send him to the Stronghold. Their torture rooms were the last place he wanted to be.
“Well,” said Darius, “consider me captured.”
The boat beached before him, and he offered his sword. The men held their weapons drawn, and they looked at one another.
“Climb on board,” said the leader as he accepted the blade. “But don’t get too eager about talking to Robert just yet. A lot’s happened at the Blood Tower, and I think it best Daniel be the one to explain it.”
Darius stepped into the boat, and he accepted a seat at its center. They pushed off, and one by one the men sheathed their weapons. With poles and paddles, they traveled upriver, toward the tower. Darius looked back many times, always for a glimpse of Valessa. He saw her once, standing at the water, watching. Then no more.
Hours later, they reached the tower. Once it might have been impressive, a great cylinder overlooking the savage lands beyond the river. But now he saw the disrepair, the moss growing on the stone, and the cracks across its foundations. Windows that might have given killing room to archers were instead boarded up to hold in heat for the winter. Of all the towers, it was the only one built across the Gihon, within the Vile Wedge. This had been when their cavalry numbered in the hundreds, and their lightning rides across the Wedge had been legendary. Now Darius hardly saw a single horse.
“Time hasn’t been kind to the Silver,” Darius remarked.
“Ain’t nothing the wilderness is kind to,” said a soldier. “Least of all those trying to keep order.”
Paladins: Book 03 - The Old Ways Page 13
