by Ben Cassidy
He took a breath. This needed to be done. It wasn’t an accident that Bronwyn had come here, of all places, back to Jothland and Redemption. Kendril had to face his past, one last time.
It was the only way.
Kendril took a step back, then kicked in the door.
Tomas felt himself being dragged by his arms, which were wrenched behind his back and tied at the wrists. His head rang like a church bell. There was the warm, clotting feel of blood on the back of his head.
He was dropped on the hard, wooden floorboards of the mill. Without his hands to catch his fall, Tomas had to take the brunt of the hit with his chest and the side of his face. He coughed, trying to focus his vision.
Two pairs of boots tromped past his field of vision. A hand grabbed the top of his hood and yanked it down.
“Well, well.” A man with an unshaven face, dressed in buckskin and wearing a slouched hat, leaned in to look Tomas in the face. “That wasn’t very hard, was it?”
“There’s that other one, Colonel,” said another man. “He ran off before we could catch him.”
Tomas twisted his head around with a muffled groan.
There were several armed men in the mill. Two wore fancy, embroidered clothes, and had several pistols tucked into their belts. Their faces were completely identical, down to the same set of brown hair and brown eyes. Twins.
Another man lounged against the wall. He was dressed in chainmail and partial plate, with long blonde hair that fell down over his shoulders in the Baderan fashion. He oiled the blade of a greatsword, eyeing Tomas as he did so.
Two more men stood near the door of the mill. They were dressed in buckskin and leather like the Colonel. Both were armed with crossbows and swords.
A sixth man sat on the millstone by the gears. He was dressed in simple, rugged clothing and wore a red bandana over his face that hid his features. In his hands was a long-barreled flintlock rifle, even longer than the one that Kendril had.
The seventh and final man made Tomas blink with surprise. His skin was rich and black, like the men who lived far to the south of the Spice Lands. He was draped in a red tunic, and his dark face was dotted with strange tattoos. He cradled a long spear in his arms, and looked at Tomas curiously with heavy-lidded eyes.
Colonel Belvedere gave a severe nod. “I don’t want any of the Ghostwalker’s friends getting away. He looked over at the dark-skinned man. “Mkante, track him down. Bring him alive if you can, but kill him if you have to.”
The man nodded without a word, then moved towards the door.
Belvedere stuck out a finger at the two twins. “Janis, Hansel, go with him.”
The two men looked at each other, then at Belvedere. “Why can’t Mkante get this one by himself?” One of them said. He jerked a finger at Bronwyn, who was still tied and gagged in the center of the mill room. “I’d sure like a go with her, if you—”
“Now,” Belvedere barked. “And don’t shoot the poor fool unless you have to.” He turned to the man with the bandana and the rifle. “Gregor, get upstairs, and keep a watch out.”
Gregor rubbed a hand over his face with a disapproving scowl. “Black as night out there—” he mumbled with a sidelong glance at Bronwyn.
“And you have the eyes of a barn owl,” Belvedere snapped. He turned his own leering eye on Bronwyn. “I promise you’ll get a turn before we kill her.”
Gregor cast one last regretful gaze at the bound girl, then headed for the stairs that led upstairs.
Mkante, Janis and Hansel disappeared out the front door of the mill.
Tomas coughed again. He could already tell that both his daggers had been taken off him. Even without his hands tied he didn’t have much chance against a posse of armed men. “So,” he said, keeping his voice light and steady, “are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Honestly, Mr. Kendril? I haven’t the foggiest.” Colonel Belvedere pulled out his huge knife, and knelt down to look in Tomas’ face. “You’ve made yourself one too many powerful enemies here in Redemption, that’s for sure.”
Tomas swallowed, trying to ignore the pain that pounded through his head. “Have I?”
Belvedere smiled. “I have to admit, I was hoping for more of a challenge when I heard that you were a Ghostwalker.” He looked up at the Baderan knight with a rough grin, then back down at Tomas. “I expected you to lead us for a bit more of a merry chase.”
“You never know,” Tomas said quietly. “I still might.”
Bronwyn squirmed in her ropes, her face red and flustered.
Colonel Belvedere stood back up. “And then there’s this pretty thing,” he said. He walked up to where Bronwyn was tied, waving the large knife under the woman’s chin. “You look like you want to say something, don’t you love? In a moment, in a moment.” He turned his gaze back towards Tomas. “And what exactly was your plan with her, then? She’s not from town, that’s for sure. No one’s been reported missing that I know of. You and your friend planning to sell her off to slavers?” He flicked his knife around, indicating the large mill room. “Or just keep her here awhile and have some fun with her where no one would interrupt?”
The two men by the door chuckled darkly.
Belvedere shook his head with a low whistle. “Blackstone said you were dangerous. He didn’t say you were deranged.”
Tomas slowly licked his cracked lips. “Blackstone?”
Belvedere grinned. “Truth told, Mr. Kendril, I was all willing to rough you up a bit and scare you out of Redemption. No use getting blood on my hands for no reason, is there?” He turned back to Bronwyn and caressed the side of her face. “But now that we’ve got her in the mix, it changes things a bit.” He tapped his knife thoughtfully on Bronwyn’s cheek. “Having a pretty thing like her that no one will miss sounds like a bonus to me. And the men are awful hungry. Ain’t you, boys?”
The two ruffians by the door gave a shouted affirmation.
The Baderan gave Belvedere a scornful look and continued oiling his sword.
Belvedere ran a thumb down the side of Bronwyn’s neck. “But I’m not sure I can let any of you go. “ He looked back at Tomas. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you tattling on us, now, would I? So I guess we’ll just have to tell Blackstone that you wouldn’t see the light of reason.” He looked at Bronwyn. “I’m sorry, love. You were dying to say something, weren’t you?” He took the gag out of her mouth. “There you are. Talk away, beautiful.”
Bronwyn glanced down at Tomas.
Tomas looked up at the bound girl, trying to keep his face from betraying his raging thoughts.
“Well, girl,” Belvedere said with a roguish grin. “What is it you wanted to say? Plead for your life? Protest that you’re a virgin? Beg us to have mercy?”
The men at the back of the room chuckled again.
Bronwyn took a deep breath. “You know what?” she said, her voice hoarse from the gag. “I’ve clean forgot.”
The manor house was dusty and dirty. Cobwebs hung from the ceilings and doorposts like shrouds for the dead. The air was thick with the smell of rotting wood and mildew.
Kendril put a gloved hand on the banister for the staircase, and brought it away covered in dirt and dust. He frowned and wiped it clean on his cloak.
Even in the darkness, even with all the disrepair and passing of time, it still felt strange to stand here again.
Kendril glanced up, surprised at first that the chandelier wasn’t there. Of course not. It had been taken away, along with most of the furniture. The only items that still remained were draped with white cloth. Slowly rotting away like the rest of the house.
Like Kendril’s past.
He turned, and his eyes fell on the space right before the start of the staircase. The wood there was still slightly discolored. It was almost invisible to the eye that wasn’t actively looking for it, but Kendril spotted the dark stain in an instant.
He could still see it the way it was, so many years ago. Red with a growing puddle of b
lood.
Kendril turned his head quickly away, his breathing shallow and rapid.
It had been a mistake to come here again. He should have left well enough alone, kept clear of this old place. Left his memories to die in the past where they belonged.
Despite himself, he glanced back again at the dark spot on the floor.
She was there. Standing just inside the door that led to the library.
Kendril felt something like an electric shock run through his whole body. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. He just stared.
She stared back at him. She was beautiful, and ghostly. She smiled.
Kendril couldn’t take his eyes off her. He knew she wasn’t real. She couldn’t be. But she was there all the same, the woman who had haunted his waking dreams for so long.
She continued to look at him. Expectant, waiting.
“Celeste.” Kendril’s voice sounded raspy and dry in his own ears. He swallowed. “I’m…” He looked down at the floor again, his vision blurred with sudden tears. “I…didn’t mean—”
Celeste tilted her head. There was sadness in her eyes. Pity.
Kendril looked up at her form again, afraid that she would vanish into the darkness any second. “I’m…sorry,” he said, his voice choking. “It’s my fault.”
She looked at him, but said nothing.
Kendril stood, uncertainly, knowing that none of this could possibly be real. He had finally gone completely crazy.
And yet—
And yet he wanted her to speak. Needed her to speak.
He continued to watch her, waiting. Tears stung his eyes, clouded his vision.
“They’re coming, Kendril,” Celeste said.
He blinked, surprised. Who—?
Celeste was gone.
Kendril turned, startled and even a little frightened, but the entryway of the manor house was echoingly empty. Outside the broken back door a thick gray fog had begun to creep over the garden.
It had seemed so real. So real—
There was a movement at the back door of the mansion. A crash and then a muffled curse.
Without thinking Kendril whipped out a pistol, snapping back the lock with his thumb in one reflexive move.
“Mr. Kendril?” Marley lay sprawled on the floor by the back door. He was covered in dirt and leaves. In his hands was the old musket.
“Marley,” Kendril said, almost as if the man’s name was an oath. He felt irritated that the bumbling sailor was anywhere near this spot, as if he were defiling a holy place. “What in Zanthora are you doing here? Where—?”
“There are men, Mr. Kendril!” Marley scurried to his feet. A terrified look was on his face. “Men with guns and swords. They came to the mill. I barely got away with my skin.”
Kendril felt an icy hand grip his stomach. “How many men?”
Marley’s jaw worked for a moment. “I’m…I’m not sure. At least six. No, more than six. It was horrible, Mr. Kendril—”
“What about Tomas?” Kendril grabbed Marley by the arm and pulled him away from the door. “Did you see Tomas?”
Marley nodded, his eyes white with fear. “They…took him, Mr. Kendril. I’m so sorry. There wasn’t a thing I could do. I—”
“Keep your voice down,” Kendril snarled. He glanced back at the back door. “Were you followed?”
Marley stammered for a moment, his brain processing Kendril’s words. “I-I don’t know. I’m not sure. Maybe…”
Kendril nodded, only half-listening to the man’s ramblings. His mind felt surprisingly clear. He yanked off the sling on his bad arm, and tossed it to the floor. With a scowl of discomfort he stretched his arm out, clenching and unclenching his hand as he rolled his shoulder.
Marley looked at Kendril in surprise. “Should you be doing that, sir? Your arm isn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Kendril said shortly. He glanced down at Marley’s musket. “Is that thing loaded?”
Marley seemed taken aback by the question. “I—well, now that you mention it, Mr. Kendril, in all the confusion I didn’t really have time to—”
“Start there,” Kendril snapped. He motioned towards a doorway further down the main hall. “When you’re done get over there and cover the back door.”
Marley ran a hand through his white hair. “The back…door?”
“Do I have to draw you a picture, Marley?” Kendril pulled out his second pistol, and checked the flint. He turned a dark eye back at the sailor. “They’re coming.”
Chapter 18
The fire in the kitchen hearth had been reduced to a few glowing embers. Outside another bout of spring rain pattered gently against the windows. The branches of trees rattled and rustled as the wind tossed them about.
Kara sat hunched over the kitchen table. A ragged blanket was thrown around her shoulders as a makeshift shawl. She shivered almost incessantly. Her hands were wrapped around a mug of water.
Joseph poked his head into the kitchen. “Kara?”
Kara looked up, her face drawn and pale. “Joseph—” She coughed, wincing at the pain, then gave a weak smile. “Hi.”
Joseph came all the way into the kitchen. “Ashes, Kara, what are you doing up this time of night? You should be getting some sleep.”
Kara turned bleary eyes on the mug between her hands. “I tried…” She lifted a trembling hand to her face and rubbed her cheek. “My chest hurts so bad. It’s hard to breathe, especially lying down.” As if to illustrate the point, she took a wheezing breath.
Joseph came over next to her and put a hand on her back. “Here, breathe for me. Nice and gentle.”
Kara took a breath. Her face screwed up with the pain.
Joseph gave a satisfied nod. “I think your lungs are clear. It’s the pain from the surgery that’s making it difficult to breathe.”
Kara nodded. She didn’t say anything.
Joseph moved over to the fire. “Here, I’ll make you some tea.”
Kara looked over at the pathfinder. “No, no, Joseph. You should go—” she gave another cough. “Go back to bed. It’s late.”
“Nonsense,” said Joseph firmly. He took some kindling and wood from the stack by the hearth. “I’ll have the fire back up in no time. You must be freezing.”
Kara huddled further under the blanket. “Yeah.”
Joseph placed the wood strategically on the dying embers, bringing the fire back to life. “Your body’s still recovering from the surgery. Give it time.”
Kara looked down at the table. “I just…I feel so helpless. I can barely walk five paces.”
Joseph blew softly on fire, coaxing the tender flames back to start devouring the wood. “I have some herbs that will help with the pain. With enough honey in the tea, you won’t even taste them.” He turned back around and eyed her with concern. “You’ve been through a lot, Kara.”
“So I’ve been told,” Kara said with a hint of bitterness. “I can’t remember much of anything past Vorten, and that was months ago.” She reached up, unconsciously pulling at her short hair.
Joseph tossed another stick on, and glanced back at Kara. “I like it.”
Kara looked up at him in surprise. “Like what?”
“Your hair.” Joseph poured some water into the kettle, then hung it over the fire. “It looks good short.”
“I don’t think that’s what the nurses quite had in mind when they hacked it off,” Kara said with a sarcastic smile. She forced herself to put her hand back down on the table. “But it’s sweet of you to say it.”
Joseph came back over to the table, and pulled up a chair. “Truth be told, Kara, you’re beautiful regardless of how short or long your hair is.”
“That’s what I like about you, Joseph.” Kara gave a short laugh, and put a hand to her chest to catch her breath. “You have the sight of a blind man.”
Joseph frowned. “I don’t follow you.”
“Oh, come on.” Kara took a tentative sip of her water. “I’m not exactly the picture of health. I lo
ok half-dead right now. And don’t try to say I don’t—” she corrected quickly, putting up a finger as Joseph started to speak. “I’ve seen myself in a mirror.”
Joseph shrugged. “All right, guilty as charged.” His face grew more serious. “I guess I’m just happy to see you well again.”
Kara groaned. She put a hand over the bandages that covered her chest. “I wouldn’t exactly call this well.”
Joseph glanced over at the kettle. “You were in a coma for months.” He looked down at the floor. “And then…even after you woke up, you were still gone. Lost in a waking dream, babbling nonsense.” He looked up, and caught Kara’s eye. “I thought I had lost you for good.” He clasped his hands together, his voice soft in the dimly-lit kitchen. “I’ve…been in a dark place.”
Kara stretched a pale white hand across the table, and put it over Joseph’s. “I’m here now,” she said. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Joseph looked up at her. “It’s just that I…I never realized just how…” His voice faltered off.
Kara continued to look at him.
Joseph turned his head away. “I never realized how weak I am.”
Kara squeezed his hands. “On the contrary, Joseph. You are one of the strongest men I have ever known.”
Joseph looked away, his eyes on the kettle again. “Right. Stronger than Kendril, the Demonbane of Vorten?”
“Stronger than Kendril,” Kara said. There was no hesitation in her voice.
The water in the kettle began to bubble.
Joseph got up from the chair. “I’ll get that tea for you.”
“I told you before, you don’t have to go to the trouble.”
Joseph grabbed a towel and lifted the kettle off the fire. “It’s my pleasure. And the herbs will help with the pain, trust me.” He grabbed a new mug from the counter and began filling it with herbs from his satchel.
Kara looked down at the table top, her eyes dark with thought.
Joseph looked back at her, his face showing his concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Kara pulled the blanket around her. “I just—I don’t remember much from when I was in the coma. But some things have been coming back to me. Images, pictures, like flashes of a life I never lived.” She shuddered. “It’s terrible, Joseph.”
