by Jon Sprunk
Hagan took a pull from his pipe and exhaled a cloud of sweet smoke up through the branches. “You’re up early.”
Caim pulled on his gloves. “Must be the cold.”
“I want to thank you for saving the lives of my children. I heard if it weren’t for you, they’d have been captured. Or worse.”
“They’re good kids.”
“They are disobedient and headstrong. Like their mother, Arugul keep her. And being young, they tend to give their trust too easy.”
Not sure what the old man was getting at, Caim tried to change the subject. “It was no problem. Were you here last night?”
Hagan stuck a finger in his mouth and fished out a sliver of grit. Flicking it away, he shook his head. “I met Keegan and the others on the trail. We got here before daybreak. Heard some things while we traveled.”
“Like what?”
“Things about you and those knives of yours. And things that might sound to some like sorcery.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Not much use in denying it. Just about all of the outlaws had seen him use some type of shadow-play, at the clearing or in the prison. He should have known they would spawn all kinds of tales. From what little he remembered, there had been stories told about his mother, too.
“What are they planning to do?”
“These folks?” Hagan asked around the pipe’s mouthpiece. “I suspect you’ll find out soon enough. But there’s something you should know about them.”
“And what’s that?”
“They respect strength, but they’ll follow a man that’s true and straightforward all the way to the underworld and back.”
“Must be what they see in Caedman.”
“I’m talking about you, son.”
Caim shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wasn’t sure how to take that. “I’d just as soon be on my way.”
The old man nodded. “You’re a lot like your father. Met him once. A few years before his death.”
Caim clenched his jaws together hard enough to make his teeth creak. His mind leapt from one question to the next, but he couldn’t get them past his tongue, which was frozen to the roof of his mouth. Why are you telling me this now? What do you expect me to do?
“He was a firm man. But he treated his people well, even the dirt-farmers who leased his property and couldn’t afford more than a couple of bits for rent.”
“Is that so?”
Hagan met his gaze and held onto it. “Everyone knew one thing about your father, lad. He prized his family above all else.”
Caim looked away first. All the questions flew out of his head. They didn’t matter anymore. None of it mattered.
Hagan took another puff from his pipe. “But let me ask you something. You got any idea what you’re doing?”
“I suppose not.”
“I only ask because I’ve also heard my daughter’s taken a liking to you.”
“I can assure you that-”
Hagan held up a hand to forestall him. “Liana can take care of herself well enough. If you weren’t treating her the way she wanted, then I reckon you’d be walking funny this morning.”
Caim smiled. “I believe you’re right.”
“But she’s got a big heart. Gets that from her mother, too. I just wanted you to know that.”
“I do.”
“Pa,” Liana called from the hut. “Come inside and break your fast.”
Hagan took the pipe out of his mouth, tapped out the ashes against the stone, and ground them under his heel as he stood up.
“Coming inside?”
Caim sighed. “No. I’m fine.”
The old man nodded as he strode past. Caim waited until the door closed before he started down the path through the snow. As he crossed the central yard, he saw a gathering of men outside the lichen-clad remains of the old donjon tower. Coils of smoke rose from a fire in the gathering’s midst, lifting toward the ominous gray heavens. More people than he would have guessed lived in these old ruins, at least seventy or eighty men in all. A tall outlaw with a tattered cap was speaking.
“-lost a lot of blood.”
“Will he make it?” another asked.
“Who’s to say? It’s in Nogh’s hands. But he’s a stubborn bastard. If anyone can survive such misery, it would be our Lord Caedman.”
There was murmured agreement. Ramon stood on the other side of the small bonfire. Grendt was at his side, gnawing on a leg of mutton. So the slimy rat survived after all? Too bad. Oak and the brothers, Dray and Aemon, stood near them, and a few others he recognized, but many faces were new to him.
“What will we do if he dies?”
“The Dark take you, you Hurrold mutt!” a big woodsman with a thick brown beard roared, jabbing his finger over the flames. “Don’t you go cursing him with your ill words.”
“We’re all thinking it, Malig!” the insulted outlaw replied.
“That don’t mean you should be-”
“Quiet!”
Ramon stood up to the fire and spoke. “There’s no use fighting the wind. Fralk asked a fair question. The clans are scattered. What’s left of our warriors have been winnowed by war and famine. What will we do if Caedman cannot lead us?”
“It’s time we made peace with Eviskine!”
When that comment was shouted down, Ramon held up his arms to quiet them, but it wasn’t until the wooden door to the tower opened that the gathering fell silent. All turned as a new arrival emerged to join the circle. Caim recognized Killian.
The gray-haired veteran looked around at the faces. “He has awoken.”
Scattered cheers went up through the crowd, but a few, Caim noted, held their tongues. Ramon and Grendt were among them.
“He wants to see Ramon,” Killian said. “And Tuan and Vaner, and Keegan, too, if your father won’t join us.”
The veteran looked around as if searching for someone. His gaze stopped on Caim. “And you, Du’Vartha.”
Murmurs sifted through the crowd as Killian went back inside with the selected men following behind him. Caim hesitated. Eyes darted in his direction until he joined the file.
The inside of the tower had been converted into a home. Steps that had once led to the upper floors ended a few feet from the ground. Squares of thatch had been used to fill the gaps in the ceiling. Dry rushes covered the floor. A fire in a low hearth provided some warmth if not much light. On another wall, a shield was displayed. It looked like it had seen some action. Under the many scrapes and scratches lay a rampant bear with golden brown fur. Off to the side, a garland of dried flowers hung from a nail.
Caedman was sitting up on his own, which was a miracle as far as Caim was concerned. The outlaw captain didn’t look much better than he had at the prison. Deep purple circles ringed his eyes, which were glazed and bloodshot in the low firelight. His cheeks were swollen and discolored. The white mantle of a clan thane was draped around his shoulders like a shawl.
As they entered, Killian gestured for everyone to come near. Caim joined the others in a loose circle around the bed, which smelled of old sweat.
“Father Ell,” Keegan whispered. “Is he…?”
“He’ll live.” Killian stood by Caedman’s head. “But he’s broke up inside. The gods only know if he’ll ever walk again, much less hold a sword.”
Caedman watched them as they gathered around him. Caim stiffened as those eyes passed over him. They were filled with pain, but there was also something else, an iron-hard core that could not be touched by misery or fear. The others looked away rather than face their leader. Caim understood. It was doubtful any of them had ever believed in the rebellion until Caedman recruited them. Now, confronted by the prospect of life without his leadership, they doubted once more. The movement could die this very night.
“I have spoken with my kinsman,” Caedman wheezed, his voice slurred by the broken jaw. “I cannot lead you. It must pass to another.”
“No, Caedman,” Vaner said. “You are our capt
ain. We will follow only you.”
The outlaw leader shook his head and made what might have passed for a smile. “Vaner, I value your friendship, but it is Eregoth which deserves your loyalty. I must entrust you to someone who can achieve our goal. A nation of free men.”
Ramon stepped forward, and all eyes turned toward him-all except for Keegan, who rubbed his mouth as he looked away.
“I will lead them,” the big man said. “You can trust me to see it through.”
Caedman sighed. “You are the bravest of us all, Ramon. I know you would fight until the end. But you are not my choice.”
Caedman coughed again and grimaced before he continued. “You’ll need more than courage to fight the Eviskine. You will need cunning and wisdom. You will have to be ruthless.”
Caim’s throat tightened as those stern eyes fell upon him, holding him in place. What would you have of me? You know what I am, what I’ve done.
“Like his father,” Caedman said, “who came to our land in search of a new beginning, and in the end gave his life for freedom, this man from the south is our brother. He will be the one to lead you.”
Ramon jerked back at the words, snorting like a bull. “That’s your decision?”
The leader nodded, looking tired and old.
“It is the decision of Clan Indrig,” Killian said.
Ramon stepped back from the bedside. “Those who wish to stay will do it without me, or the rest of the Gilbaerns.”
Without another word, Ramon strode away. No one else moved, though Vaner was considering the patched ceiling as if looking for answers. Caim moved his head from side to side, not sure to believe what he was hearing. Me? Are they crazy? These people need a leader, not a killer .
Killian herded everyone outside, but as Caim turned to go, the veteran shook his head. “Not you. He wants you to stay.”
The others looked at him as they left.
“Caim, come here.”
Caedman tried to sit up higher. Caim watched him struggle, making no move to aid him.
“Why me?”
The outlaw leader winced and settled back onto the cushions of the bed. When he looked at Caim again, his eyes were clearer, but a shadow lay upon them. He’s dying, and he knows it.
“I’m just a knife for hire,” Caim continued. “These people don’t know me and they don’t trust me. Choose Ramon or Killian to take over your rebellion.”
Caedman lifted a hand toward the window. “This valley is where my forefathers settled when they first came to Eregoth more than seventy years ago. This land was untamed then, and unkind to strangers. The strong survived, and the weak perished.”
It hasn’t changed much. I see it in Keegan, the drive to be stronger than his father.
“You’re more than just a hired blade, Caim Du’Vartha. Your father was a man of honor. He wasn’t afraid to fight, and even die, for what he believed was right. You are such a man, Caim.”
“And if you’re wrong, a lot of people are going to die.”
“That will happen regardless. But if they die for a purpose, for something they believe in, then it will have meaning.”
Caim shook his head. There was no meaning in death. Dead was dead. He turned toward the door.
“Caim.” A wet cough made him stop, but he didn’t look back. “Only you can give them the chance they need.”
He pushed open the door and let it close behind him.
Outside, men argued as snowflakes rained down on them. Fewer were standing around the fire than before; Ramon had made good on his promise. Caim estimated almost half of the crowd had departed, among them many of the more seasoned warriors. But Killian had stayed, and a few of the other lieutenants. Still, there were too many young men in the crowd, and too many past their prime. Caedman is wrong. With or without me, these people don’t have a chance.
“That’s it,” the one called Malig was saying. “Without Caedman, we’re finished.”
Oak stood up on the other side of the circle. “We could stay here. Hole up in the castle until spring.”
“And then what? Don’t you get it? We should pack up everything we can carry and move out, to another land.” He made a sour face. “Uthenor, maybe.”
A man with a bushy yellow beard grunted. “Go begging to those brigands? You’re addled, Malig. They’d as soon bury us as help us.”
“We can’t run!” Keegan shouted, but he was drowned out by the others.
Malig put a hand on the butt of his dirk. “You got a better plan? Maybe you want to die here, but I’ve had enough. Run and live, or stay and die. There ain’t no other choices.”
Caim took a deep breath. The same debate was rumbling around inside him. Stay or go? There was nothing holding him here. Nothing but ghosts screaming for vengeance. Innocent people. My people. I don’t owe them anything. No?
But thoughts of leaving vanished as Caim moved through the press. Men stood aside to let him into the circle. He felt their gazes on him. Hard looks, gauging him.
Spy. Traitor. Killer.
That’s what they’re thinking. Lead this bunch? Half of them want to kill me. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.
“He’s right.” Caim nodded toward Malig. “You don’t stand a chance against the duke’s army, not to mention the Northmen. I’ve seen what they’re like up close. You men are untrained. You’re too few. You’d be better off running. Take your families elsewhere.”
“That’s what I told you all!” Malig shouted.
The men started murmuring again, a low hum of resentment Caim could feel coming at him. He let it build for a few moments. Keegan lingered on the edge of the crowd, watching with guarded eyes. Don’t dare to believe in me, boy. Not for a single instant.
Caim pitched his voice to be heard above the noise. “But there’s another choice. You can fight, and maybe die.”
“Is that your idea of a fucking joke, Southlander?” Dray muttered.
Caim shrugged. “You’ll die in any case. You think the duke will just let you leave after this? He has no choice. He has to make examples out of you, until the last man is slain. So you must choose. Die on your feet.” He looked to Malig. “Or on your knees.”
Malig grabbed for his knife. “I’ll carve out your goddamned eyes before I stand here and let you name me a coward, Nimean.”
Caim walked over to the clansman. Everyone hushed. Fury flickered in Malig’s eyes, but he made no move to attack.
“Then let me help you,” Caim said.
“How?”
“We will attack.” Caim turned in a slow circle. “We’ll strike swiftly and strike hard. We’ll strike where the duke’s men do not expect us, where they never imagine we can reach. And as they rush about trying to find us, we’ll steal in under their noses and prick them where they feel it most.”
“The duke’s got an army,” Yellow Beard said. “He’s got castles and forts.”
“And horsemen,” someone else added.
“Aye,” Caim said. “The duke has much to protect. And much to lose. But not us. We only have each other.”
Smiles touched some of the faces, faint glimmers of hope where before there had been only dejection and defeat.
Keegan dipped through the crowd to stand before him. “I will follow you.”
“And I,” Aemon said.
One by one the outlaws affirmed their willingness to follow him. Caim looked around the fire, into the eyes of these men who had been commended into his hands. They were just a band of woodsmen and shepherds, but there was strength here, and courage. That was a start. As for the rest…
Only one way to find out.
Caim cleared his throat. “I only know one way to fight. You’ll either learn it, or you’ll die trying. Get some sleep. Tomorrow maybe you’ll regret this decision.”
As he turned away, someone muttered, “What if we already do?”
Caim kept walking, down into the valley to be alone.
Arion dropped the empty tin cup and looke
d across the fire. Stiv sat on his cloak, scraping the last forkful of beans from his cup. The sergeant had never been what the ladies considered a handsome man, but now his face was truly a horror to behold, a mass of black gouges left by the sorcery of the man in black, the one Sybelle called the scion. It was difficult to look the sergeant in the face, but Arion did it without flinching. He owed the man that much, at least.
A driving snowstorm pummeled the army four days out of the city. They stayed in camp while the drovers cleared a path. Arion didn’t like the idea of riding south. He had no love for the Nimeans, but he knew the true enemy of his country was back in Liovard, sitting at his father’s side.
Stiv put aside his dinner with a curt nod. Arion stood up to stretch. Unfamiliar soldiers sat around the camp. The only men he knew by name were the members of his bodyguard, which was now down to three. Sybelle had made sure his regular company remained behind and had attached him to another unit. And she’d sent a handler to keep watch over him as well.
“Lord Eviskine.”
Arion turned toward the voice. The priest wore a long robe the color of dried blood under a deep black cowl, an overdramatic touch that only served to make Arion hate him more, as if he needed another reason. A burly Uthenorian mercenary halted a few steps behind the priest and crossed his arms. His gaze settled on Stiv. It amused Arion to watch the big men measure each other. Stiv hawked and spat a mouthful of phlegm into the snow.
“What do you want, Volmer?”
The priest held out his bony hands to the campfire. His fingernails were like chips of white chalk.
“Our mistress sends word. The Queen of the Night wishes you to devise a plan of invasion into central Nimea before we reach the border.”
Stiv grunted.
Volmer glared down at the soldier, apparently unfazed by the sergeant’s disfiguration. “You find our mistress’s commands amusing, dog?”
Stiv shrugged and went back to looking into the fire.
“We’re eager to be on our way,” Arion said. “I’ll have the plans ready by morning.”
The priest nodded. “That will do.”
A shout broke above the camp noises. Arion looked across the tops of the tents to a space where several men squared off. Sunlight reflected off bared blades. He couldn’t make out the words being exchanged, but their tone was driven by hot tempers. Nearby soldiers started to gather around the noise.
