The Broken Pieces (13 page)

“She’s right,” Darius said. “We only have two hundred men. Cyric may have thousands.”

“All this depends on the word of one woman, you realize,” Brute interjected. “How sure are you of this? Could you be wrong?”

Much as she wanted to be, Valessa knew Cyric’s location with a certainty that could not be shaken.

“He’s there,” she said. “I know it with every bone in my body…if I had any, that is. Forgive the poor analogy.”

Daniel rolled up the map, breathed in deep, and then blew it all out.

“All right then. We’ll send for the people of Willshire come morning, and by nightfall we’ll sail south.”

Valessa could hardly believe it was that simple.

“We will?” she asked, even though she knew it had to make her sound dumb. “You trust my opinion so much?”

“Milady, I saw you rip open these gates with your bare hands, completely unafraid of that giant lion on the other side. If you’re frightened now, then I trust your instincts. This tower wouldn’t be mine without your help. If you say it’s time to leave, then we leave.”

Valessa felt oddly flattered, though she resented the accusation of being frightened.

“I must say, I thought you’d protest a bit more,” Darius said, chuckling.

Daniel let out a sigh.

“I knew this might happen, but I needed the boats here if we were to flee, plus the extra supplies. The river’s our only hope of fleeing fast enough, and we couldn’t use it until we retook the tower. Now the mercenaries are gone, and we’re free to run like the chickenshits we are. I’ve got messages already sent down river, pleading with King Baedan to muster his army. Only job we have left is protecting the people of Willshire from that madman, as well as alerting all the other villages we cross along the way.”

“The king won’t be too pleased you left your post,” Brute said, tossing the remains of his peach out the window.

“That’s why I’ll be staying, along with whoever will volunteer to remain with me,” Daniel said. “Someone has to stall them for a bit. If Cyric thinks the tower guarded, he’ll approach with caution. Even if I can buy the rest of you only a few hours, it still might make a difference.”

“I agree,” Brute said, looking to Darius and Valessa to see if they would argue. Valessa said nothing, for the lieutenant’s life was his own. Darius clearly looked unhappy, but didn’t seem willing to challenge the decision.

“But it won’t be you that’s staying, Daniel,” Brute continued. “I’ll remain behind. You have a duty to your men, and dying here ain’t it.”

“Absolutely not,” Daniel said.

“If you stay, then that makes me in charge of the men who come with me on the river,” Brute argued. “And the first order I’ll give will be to turn every last one of them around to aid you along the walls. The peasants can fend for themselves. You’ve got no choice in this matter, Daniel.”

Now Valessa saw the rage and stubbornness she’d expected from the man. But Daniel let it go as quickly as it came, and he stood so he could embrace Brute.

“Take as many with you as you can,” he said. “And if that priest prick comes alone, put an arrow through his eye and then send word down the Gihon for the rest of us to join you for the celebration.”

“Bring some women with you on the way back,” Brute said, and he laughed. “I’ll tell the men in the morning, see how many volunteers I can rope into dying with me. I suggest we grab some sleep. It’s going to be a long few days, for all of us.”

Sleep wasn’t something Valessa needed, but she did desire solitude. She made herself incorporeal, but when she slipped down through the floor, she saw something in Darius’s eye that filled her with terrible annoyance. Stopping at the bottom floor, she walked through the wall and then waited for him. When he stepped out, he seemed surprised to see her.

“You look upset,” he said.

“You damn well know why, too.”

“Is that so? I beg to differ. Care to let me in on the secret?”

He started walking toward the docks, where he’d left his sword. She followed.

“You’re staying,” she said.

“None of your concern.”

“It’s suicide, and noble or not, you know that isn’t your place.”

“Is it?” Darius asked as he walked out onto the wood planks. “What if you’re wrong, Valessa? What if he’s alone? I could face him myself, put an end to all of this right here and now. I could save the lives of every man left here to die. What use am I otherwise? Do you think Daniel needs my help to nursemaid a town of people? Besides, Jerico would have stayed.”

“Is that all you know?” Valessa asked. “What Jerico would do? What Jerico would say? How about what you want to do? How about what you would choose?”

“If I do what I want, instead of what I know is right, how am I different from any other man?”

“Is that how you see yourself?” she asked. “Is that how you convince yourself you’re better?”

“I said different,” Darius said, glaring.

He reached down for his sword. As his fingers closed about the hilt, a soft light enveloped the blade. She squinted at it, the proximity filling her with a sense of vertigo.

“But you’re still wrong,” she said, standing before it despite the intense discomfort. “This isn’t what’s right. Your place is with the people.”

Your place is with me.

She almost said it. Almost. The vulnerability of it alone kept her mouth shut.

“What are you really upset about?” Darius asked, turning on her. “Worried I might die to Cyric instead of you? Your concern for my life would be more touching if you weren’t saving it for your own murder.”

Despite the veil she immediately created to hide herself, he must have seen the shock and pain on her face, for his shoulders sagged, and he reached out a hand for her.

“Valessa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Stay here and die,” she said, turning away. “But you’re not dying alone. If you’re to face Cyric, then I will too. You’ve already turned me into a walking blasphemy. I might as well join you on your trip to the Abyss.”

She knew he’d argue, but she didn’t care. Putting her back to him, she ran to the tower, then through it, through the outer wall, and out into the open wilderness where she could finally be alone. She looked to the sky only once, to see if the red star followed after her. It did not, and though she was unsurprised, she was disappointed nonetheless.

11

S
ebastian sat on his throne, knife in hand. At his feet lay a pile of fluff, along with large strips of cloth. He’d cut the Lion from every cushion, and as for the carved wood, he’d hacked at it with an axe. His throne was a disheveled, mutilated mess, but he’d never felt more lordly than when he sat awaiting Luther’s arrival.

An hour after dawn, the dreaded message came, bringing with it a surprising amount of relief.

“A steward of Luther requests an audience,” said one of his soldiers. He remained by the doors of the great room, as if nervous to come too close. Sebastian nodded, and with a weariness he pushed himself to his feet.

“Come with me,” he said. “And bring your bow. It’s time we give our answer.”

“I do not have a bow,” the soldier said as he took up step beside Sebastian.

“Then I suggest you find someone who does.”

They exited the front of the castle. Pausing for a moment, Sebastian turned around so he could observe the mark of his family. The castle was large and inelegant, little more than an enormous rectangular block of stone hollowed out with rooms, but across the front was its true beauty. It was a yellow rose, drooped to one side, with a single petal falling from its center. Sebastian remembered the day they’d begun, back when he and Arthur were children, and their father was still himself.

“This ugly thing’s been crying out for beauty for too long,” Rodrick had said. “I hope the gods can forgive me for not getting it done before your mother died.”

Over twenty men had worked for days on end, painting, drawing, marking sections for the various flowers and carving holes in the stones to help with the planting and watering. Months had passed as the castle front transformed into the symbol of his family, a family now perilously close to being wiped off the face of Dezrel.

An image struck Sebastian with enough force to take his breath away. He saw his castle, except instead of the yellow rose a roaring lion was painted over the stone, white flowers as the teeth, red roses the drops of blood that dripped down toward the castle entrance. It felt profane, and his stomach clenched. Shaking it away, he turned back to the soldier escorting him.

“Take us to the wall,” he said, his conviction renewed.

It was a long walk to the wall, built just shy of a mile from the castle. The wall itself wasn’t extraordinarily tall, and ladders could scale it with ease, but it’d been built sacrificing height to enclose a greater area. They had plenty of wells for water and grazing land for livestock. So long as they weren’t shut into the castle, they could endure a siege from a smaller force for many months. A larger one might force a retreat to the castle proper. But what about one made up of dark paladins and priests?

“Are all of my men at the wall?” Sebastian asked as they walked.

“Per your orders, yes. Your men are loyal to the true lord of the North.”

“Even to the end?”

Not the slightest hesitation to his words. It made Sebastian feel proud, and for once, grateful.

“Even to the end.”

As the wall neared, Sebastian saw his gathered men. It wasn’t that impressive of a force, but the hundred and fifty were formed up on either side of the gate, safely out of view of Karak’s lurking army. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them, for they couldn’t guard even a shred of the wall’s length. But it didn’t matter. He wanted to, at least for one brief moment, show Luther he was unafraid.

“We could last longer if we pulled back to the keep,” the soldier said. He spoke tentatively, as if afraid his suggestion might cause offense.

“If we do, we’ve lost all chance at surprise,” Sebastian said. “Luther thinks of me as a coward. He’s probably right. He’s the lion, and I’m the hare, and the last thing he’ll expect is me to jump straight into his mouth. Perhaps with a bit of luck, we can rip off his tongue and shove it down his throat before we die.”

When they arrived at the wall, he saw the men looking his way. Many had expected death for years, and were finally being given the chance to meet it. Others were nervous, and were looking to Sebastian to see if he would offer them hope, or change his mind completely. He’d give them neither. Maybe a noble death, if there was any nobility in rebelling against a god.

“I have no words, no speeches,” Sebastian said to his escort. “All I have to say is for Luther’s ears. And like I said, find yourself a bow.”

The soldier called out a name, and then with two men as escort, Sebastian climbed the steps of the wall, and above his gate he peered over at the forces arrayed against him. Luther’s army had been gaining in number every single day. Sebastian knew he must have called for them long before arriving at his castle. Perhaps he had always expected a fight, perhaps he only wanted to increase his show of force. Guessing why was pointless, so he didn’t bother to try. At last count there were five hundred mercenaries in the temple’s pay. Far more worrisome, though, were the dark paladins, twenty in number. Sebastian could pick several of them out from where he stood, tall men in dark platemail walking like kings among the more ragtag ranks. Along with the twenty paladins were a handful of priests, each one possessing an unknown degree of power.

But Sebastian knew that power well. He’d heard the stories, and seen the rare example of it in use. His gates? His walls? They’d mean nothing to them. In fact, he was counting on it.

“Where is Luther?” Sebastian called out. He saw a younger man wearing the dark priestly cloth standing before the gate below him, but he had no interest in speaking to a whelp like that, regardless of the message he carried.

“I am to speak for him,” said the young man.

“Good for you, but I will be speaking only to Luther, and it is my answer he desires. Piss on your message. Bring me Luther. I will surrender only to him.”

Every word was carefully chosen. The young man bowed low, then ran back to the camp. Sebastian watched, and was not surprised to see how quickly they readied for war. Regardless of whether or not Luther expected him to surrender, he was still prepared for a fight. Catching him unaware would be a nightmare, yet that was exactly what Sebastian was hoping to do. A bitter smile crossed his face. By the gods, he must be going as crazy as his late father.

Several minutes later Luther arrived, a paladin at each side. He looked up at Sebastian with an expression unreadable at such a distance.

“Come now, Sebastian,” Luther said, “it is uncomfortable for a neck as old as mine to crane up at you in such a way. Can we not talk in your castle, or face to face at your gates?”

“I promise to keep this short to spare your neck,” Sebastian called back. “Not that I should. You wouldn’t spare my life if I went against your whims, let alone my neck. Tell me, why should I extend you the courtesy?”