The Broken Pieces (24 page)

“A good man,” he said. “But we don’t seek to make good men. We seek believers. Go your way, Jerico. I will ensure the rest of my brethren treat you with respect.”

Jerico stepped out of the tent into the far reaches of the camp. The privacy was welcome after such a long day amid the mercenaries. For a moment Jerico looked over the rows of campfires and tents, seeing an army sworn to kill, fight, and destroy in the name of Karak. It made him sad, but at least it might accomplish something worthwhile if they stopped Cyric’s conquest. As he walked away, he glanced back, thinking of the torn, twisted priest inside.

Shadows moved, and then the tent shook as several men entered.

Pulling his shield off his back, Jerico charged, knowing he had not a second to waste. Through the tent flap he barged. In the confined space he found Kaide standing in the center, his dirks drawn. The wizard Bellok stood beside him, Adam and Griff each holding one of Luther’s arms. The priest himself was gagged, and his face reddened as he struggled to breathe.

“Kaide,” Jerico said, for he knew not what else to say. The brigand was at first startled by his entrance, but seeing who it was, he smiled.

“It was a cowardly thing Arthur did, trading you,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re alive. You should be here with me when this bastard dies.”

“Don’t!”

Jerico flung himself between him and Luther. The dirks bounced off his shield. Nothing could match the shock and betrayal he saw in Kaide’s eyes.

“How dare you?” he asked. “Have you gone mad?”

“Get out of here Kaide,” Jerico said. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do,” Kaide said. “Sebastian’s dead, and by my hand. It felt good, Jerico. It felt so damn good, but it didn’t last, and you know why? Because Luther is still alive. He killed Sandra. She died in your arms for the gods’ sake. How can you defend him?”

With his shield still blocking Kaide, Jerico pulled free his mace and pointed it at the two Irons twins.

“Let him go,” he said.

Adam leaned to the side so he could see Kaide.

“We could break his neck, if you’d like,” he said.

“No,” Kaide said. “No, his life is mine. Move out of the way, Jerico. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And you won’t,” said Jerico. “Last time, get out now. Go to your daughter. Find happiness, but not through this. I traded my life for Sebastian’s, yet you killed him anyway? Save yourself, Kaide. Save yourself before it’s too late.”

The standoff continued, Jerico bouncing his attention between both sides. Either of the twins was capable of wrestling him to the ground, and Jerico had seen firsthand the speed and skill Kaide possessed with those dirks. So worried about them, he almost didn’t catch the subtle waggling of Bellok’s fingers as he cast a spell.

Jerico shoved his shield in the way. For a half-second he felt a terrible exhaustion clawing at his eyes, but then the light of his shield flared, and the spell broke. The motion stirred the two Irons brothers into action, Adam securing Luther with both hands while Griff flung himself at Jerico. The paladin shifted so the hilt of his mace jammed into Griff’s stomach, blasting the wind out of him. Griff was a big man, though, and that was hardly enough to stop him. As his momentum kept him moving forward, Jerico turned and pushed with his shield, flinging him in the way of Kaide’s desperate lunge. During the brief respite as the two were entangled, Jerico spun on Adam.

“I’ll break him,” Adam said, his hands tightening around Luther’s neck.

“You won’t,” Jerico said, and in a single smooth motion he stepped close and struck Adam with the base of his mace. It connected between his eyes, and in his daze his arms loosened, and Luther slipped free.

Kaide, sensing their advantage almost gone, rushed Jerico, and his dirks flashed with blinding speed. Jerico blocked two strikes with his shield, and with a hard counter he sent a dirk flying from Kaide’s hand. The move put him off balance, though, and like a dancer Kaide angled about him, avoiding his feeble attempt to block the way. With nothing between him and Luther, Kaide ran, his dirk hungry for blood. Jerico shouted for him to stop but knew it was pointless.

Luther, however, had pulled free the cloth from his mouth.

Shadows pooled before him, forming a shield. Kaide’s dirk hit it and bounced off, filling the tent with the sound of reverberating steel coupled with a crack of thunder. The brigand tried sidestepping, but with a twist of Luther’s wrist the shadow-shield followed, remaining between them. Jerico moved to help him, but both Irons twins flung themselves atop him, each wrestling control of an arm.

“Wait,” said Luther, his voice surprisingly calm. “I would make you an offer, Kaide, if you would give me but a moment to listen.”

“Speak,” Kaide said, a dirk still dancing eagerly in his hand.

“As I told Jerico, I have wronged both of you greatly in what I did to Sandra. In this, I will make amends. You may face me, Kaide, and me alone.”

“A duel?” Kaide said, and there was no hiding his surprise.

“Yes, a duel, a single chance for you to find your vengeance. But not yet. I must stop Cyric, a man who threatens to enslave every last man, woman, and child your army has fought to protect. Come with us. Help us kill him, as Jerico has also sworn to do. When my former pupil’s body lies at my feet, then the matter between us shall be settled.”

Kaide looked to Jerico, still pinned by the twins.

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

“He is,” said Jerico. “But that doesn’t mean you should agree. Go home. Go back to Beth.”

Kaide breathed in deep, then put away his dirk.

“I’ll help you,” he said. “Though no god will keep you safe if you dare betray me.”

“If you say so,” Luther said, the shield before him vanishing.

Kaide strode to the tent’s flap, and the rest followed.

“We’ll be close,” he said.

When they were gone, Luther straightened his robes and began to put right his things. Jerico rubbed his neck, which was sore from the awkward position he’d been held in.

“A duel?” he asked as the priest fixed his bed.

“Yes, a duel,” Luther said, turning. “Why, would you like one as well?”

Jerico was so stunned by the sour humor in the priest’s voice it took a full second before a smile spread across his face.

“No,” he said. “I’d like a peaceful night’s rest. Good night, Luther. And good luck to you when you duel Kaide. I know I’d never like to be the one facing his wrath.”

“You just did,” Luther said, grabbing several pillows and piling them back together. “For that, I thank you.”

“Didn’t do it for you,” he said, stepping out into the moonlight. This time, no shadows lay wait in ambush, and he found an isolated spot of grass, set down his blanket, and slept.

19

I
n the dark of night Cyric stood listening to the cries of his slaves. No one else might hear them, but he could, and it filled him with anguish. Were they still so blind to the dangers their souls faced? All they seemed to know was fear and anger. So few acknowledged him as the god he was, instead they were content to curse his name and beg for either freedom or death.

“For you,” he told them, and though he was a full mile from his camp he knew they would still hear. “I do this all for you.”

Their number was growing, and sadly at a far faster rate than he’d hoped. Where were the faithful? When his wolf-men charged into these backwater villages, why did so many refuse to bend the knee? He didn’t desire enslavement. He didn’t wish their souls trapped in corpses, forced to march behind his army for however many centuries. What he asked for was faithfulness, for obedience. What sane man would deny him that? It wasn’t as if he strode into the villages and demanded they sacrifice their firstborn or throw themselves upon a fire. Obedience. Faithfulness. How lost Dezrel had grown for these things to be so rare, to be so frightening.

Beside him flowed the Gihon, and he stared across the waters to the wild lands of the Wedge beyond. They’d been following the river south, but as they neared greater civilization it’d become harder to keep his forces together. Soon Redclaw would have to rule on his own, in lands far from Cyric. Who then would create the undead faithful? Perhaps if Redclaw kept them imprisoned, waiting for his arrival. Or maybe he was deluding himself in thinking he might save so many. The world was a wretched place. It seemed no matter what he did, souls would be lost. Feeling guilt for those he could not save was not proper, not when they had turned their backs on him.

But at least they were just lost children, ignorant of the wisdom of Karak. The same could not be said for Valessa.

Cyric knelt beside the river, and as he stared at his moonlit reflection he watched his face change into a vision of the gray sister. She’d been one of Karak’s most loyal. It’d been her place to hunt down and kill those who betrayed the faith. In death she’d failed, and Karak in his mercy had given her a new body and a new chance to wash away her failure. For her to break faith, even when her very life was owed to Karak, was a betrayal of the highest order. He’d thought it only a matter of time before he found her, for day by day more of the North fell under his grasp. Yet his scouts had recently returned, telling of their defeat by her hands, as well as by a man who wielded a shining blade of light.

“Do you feel guilt, Valessa?” Cyric asked the watery reflection. “Do you fear the great retribution you will feel at my hands for all eternity? How you will burn, Valessa. Your very existence is an insult, one that must be remedied.”

Yes, his decision was made. As long as she remained, she was a thorn digging into his mind. Finally he would extract it.

Day by day he felt his power growing, the strength of his imprisoned essence flowing into the newly living. With closed eyes, Cyric lifted his arms to the heavens and felt his spirit sour free of mortal flesh. Below him the lands passed in a blur, and then he arrived in the center of the rebel’s camp. They encircled Tower Silver, hundreds huddled around fires and beneath dilapidated tents. Nearby was an armed man holding a torch, but Cyric walked past him without fear. The man’s eyes were closed to the spirit world. He would see nothing, sense only the briefest hint of his passing. Toward the southern edge Cyric walked, for it was there he could feel Valessa’s presence. In his mind’s eye she pulsed like a great beacon, like a dying star.

Most of the camp was asleep, but he did not expect Valessa to be. Her gifted form had surpassed such a mortal need. At her tent he gathered his strength. Miles away his body lay unconscious beside the river, but his strength was the essence of his soul. It burned with fire, with faith, for why should it not? He was Karak made flesh, the god of Dezrel come to save them all. Into the tent he stepped, and he discovered Valessa’s capabilities for blasphemy had stretched even further than he gave her credit for. In the cot beside her slept Darius, the traitor paladin.

For one brief moment he dared feel fear. He remembered his shame in Willshire, when he’d fled from that glowing blade. But his strength had been like that of a child compared to the power he wielded now. A needed lesson, he told himself. A reminder that his power could indeed be limited if he closed his mind and did not fully embrace his godhood.

“Hello Valessa,” Cyric said, focusing his attention on her. He didn’t need to introduce himself, for her whole body shimmered with fear at his entrance.

“How are you here?” she asked.

At this, he laughed.

“You stand before your god, yet ask such simple questions. Is that your deficiency? Is that why you so easily gave into fear and cowardice?”

There was no way for her to deny it. Her terror held her immobile. Cyric walked closer, and a red glow shone from every surface of his body.

“You’re not my god,” she said, but it was such a weak denial. “You’re a madman.”

“Mad, perhaps,” he said. “I am mad when I see you walking free in this world. I am mad when I see others spitting in the face of the one who gave them life. But you’re wrong about one thing, Valessa. I am not a man.”

He outstretched his hand.

“You no longer deserve your gift,” he said. “And so I take it back.”

She started to scream, but he silenced it in a heartbeat. Power flowed from his hand, and it tore at her form. He knew she could feel pain, and what she did feel must have been intense, but it was nothing compared to what she’d feel as the eons rolled along and she burned in the purifying fires of the Abyss. The woman crumpled to her knees, and she flashed with shadow and light. Her mouth remained open in a silent, wordless scream. Tears ran down her face, and when they touched the ground they were red like blood. She looked so pitiful, so weak, but Cyric hardened his heart against mercy. This is what he’d come to do. Valessa had been given enough chances to make amends.

“Enough,” said Darius, and that single word sent a shiver through the soul-being of Cyric. Chastising himself for his fear, he turned and smiled at the traitor paladin.

“He awakes,” he said. “Not that it will change anything.”