Shadow’s Lure (39 page)

“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 looked 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.

“Miserable curs.” Volmer took a step toward the disturbance. “They will learn discipline at the end of a lash!”

The priest jerked to a halt as Arion’s sword slid between his ribs. As Volmer fell, his Uthenorian protector swore and reached for his blade, and was jerked upright as a massive forearm whipped around his throat. Stiv yanked twice, until there was a soft pop, and then dropped the mercenary’s limp body to the ground.

Arion pulled his blade free and glanced around, but everyone’s attention was focused on Brustus and Davom as they pretended to pick a fight with each other.

“Put them in my tent.” Arion ducked into his shelter and pulled out their packs.

He whistled loud as he trotted across the snow. Brustus and Davom gave up their game and dipped into the disappointed crowd. They all met at the road. Okin rode up on a courier horse with four steeds in tow.

“Back to Liovard?” Davom asked.

Arion jumped into the saddle. “That’s right. And we don’t stop until we reach the palace gates. Not for any reason.”

Receiving a nod from each man, he took off down the snowy road like the Lords of the Dark were on his tail.

C
aim winced as someone’s misplaced foot stepped on a branch hidden under the snow. The resulting snap echoed through the trees. The troop leader, Malig, turned around and scowled at the score of men strung out behind him. Caim thought Malig was going to bark at them, but the outlaw held his tongue. With a wave, he motioned for them to keep after him. He was learning. Finally.

From atop a small tor between two sturdy asper trees, Caim watched the column of outlaws march through the woods below. He had been drilling them for six days straight in close combat, ambush tactics, infiltration, and reconnaissance—all the things they needed if they were going to have any chance against the duke’s forces. So far, the results were slow. Each night, exhausted, he fell into a dreamless sleep that was never long enough before dawn arrived, and all the while one unavoidable truth refused to be ignored. He was the leader of a rebellion.
If Hubert could see me now, he’d laugh good and hard. Caim the Knife, leader of rebels and insurrectionists
.

He’d had his chance to skip out, and not taken it. That alone was enough, in his mind at least, to condemn him. But what did he hope to achieve? What would victory look like, and would any of them know if they managed to achieve it? He didn’t have the answers.

The daylight was fading. The nights were getting darker as they approached the new moon. In the old days, this would have been his preferred time to strike. The old days … Caim took a deep breath of the bracing air. His need to see Kit was bordering on desperation, not for her talents, but just to see her and talk to her again. He’d wrestled with the question of how to find her, and come up empty. Why didn’t she come back? Didn’t she see how much he needed her?
Kit, if you can hear me, I need you. I’m sorry for whatever I did. Dammit, just come back
.

Caim exhaled a long sigh that turned to mist in the cold air. He didn’t know what he felt about her. She was his friend. Wasn’t that enough? Things had been simpler once, though he could hardly remember when. But she wasn’t the only source of advice. He’d gone to see Caedman one night after a frustrating session with the men. The outlaw leader sat up in his bed, looking paler and thinner than the day they rescued him. When Caim laid out his problems, Caedman shook his head.

“They aren’t soldiers, Caim. They’re loggers and trappers.” Candlelight flickered across Caedman’s face, hiding some of the scars. “You can’t beat them over the heads with drills and instruction about tactics.”

Caim threw back the last of the crude mead in his cup. “They don’t listen. I spend half my time breaking up fights.”

“You have to show them what you want, Caim.”

“How do I do that?”

“Start at the beginning.”

Then, as he had made his way back to Keegan’s hut, he found Hagan sitting on the same stone as before, looking up at the moon. “You figure out what you’re doing yet, son?”

Caim stopped not far from him. “I’m not sure. Feels like I’ve been running for days, but not getting anywhere.”

“It’s not you they’re fighting.” The old man took a puff from his pipe. “It’s the witch. Our people hold to the old ways. They believe stories that the southlands pass off as myth and legend.”

When Caim didn’t understand, Hagan explained. “A long time ago, before there was a land called Eregoth, or even Nimea for that matter, another empire ruled over the land. An empire of darkness.”

Caim had heard tales of old empires before. They were all evil in the stories. But Hagan told of a dominion that spread its wickedness to every corner of the world, until there were few places of light left.