The Old Ways (17 page)

“I won’t leave you hog-tied through the night,” Darius said, settling down opposite the fire and the trees. “You’ll want to run, I’m sure, but know that I can track you. I’ve been trained for this, Grick. I know where you’d go, how you’d hide, and I can’t promise to control myself the next time I find you.”

“Then what do you want me for?” Grick asked, pressing his hands against his neck and rubbing the raw flesh.

“To deliver you to justice. Like I said, we’ll let the townspeople decide your fate.”

“Then just kill me now. You know that’s what they’ll do.”

Darius rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids. Yes, he did know that. What in the gods’ names was he doing? What did he hope to accomplish?

“You killed people,” Darius said. “You know you must be punished.”

“You killed Gacy. Don’t see no one punishing you.”

“Children,” Darius said. “You killed children.”

“Yeah, I did, and I did it to protect her. You saying you never done something like that?”

Darius opened his mouth, then closed it. The praying family flashed before his eyes, followed by Velixar’s laughter echoing in his ears. Yes, he had. And Jerico had forgiven him for all of it. And now Ashhur placed his trust in him. Damn it, why couldn’t things remain simple?

“Yes,” Darius said quietly. “I have. And then I flung myself to my knees and demanded that my friend deliver justice.”

Grick shifted against the tree he leaned against.

“Why didn’t he kill you?” he asked.

Darius chuckled.

“Because he’s a better man than I.”

He rolled over, clutched the hilt of his sword. When he spoke, he did not look at Grick, did not want to see his reaction.

“Go if you wish, thief. I don’t know what is right anymore. You deserve death, but then again, so do I. So go. Let someone who can sleep through the night decide your fate. Run away from your punishment. When the gods one day find you on your deathbed, may they possess greater wisdom than I.”

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He heard rustling several times, but Ashhur cried no warning in his ear. At last sleep came for him, and he dreamt of a little girl running through a field, flowers in her hair, her face lit with a smile.

When Darius woke, Grick lay against the same tree, his head lolled to one side. His neck was slit, and blood soaked the front of his clothes. Valessa stood beside him, grinning. Darius grabbed his sword, but Valessa only laughed at him.

“Ashhur protected you from me,” she said. “But not him. What does that mean, Darius? Can you answer?”

She stepped through the tree and vanished.

“What does it mean?” Darius asked, fighting away the lump in his throat. “It means I must bury him. That’s what it means.”

He spent the morning digging the grave and the afternoon filling it back up with dirt. He gave a quick prayer over it, for he knew not what else to say.

“I know nothing of him but his sins,” Darius whispered to the cold evening air. “But he stayed. I pray that meant something.”

The grave went unmarked, and traveling east, Darius did his best to think no more on it.

R
obert awoke before dawn, as he often did, but this time he felt unease the moment he opened his eyes. Something was awry, but what? With Luther’s departure, along with the vast bulk of his private troops, he’d hoped things would return to normal. Of course, the younger priest had remained. The way Cyric looked at him when they talked always put a queer twisting into his gut. As he dressed, Robert felt certain the priest was to blame for his current unease.

It felt foolish to fear anything in his own tower, surrounded by his own troops, but he took his sword with him anyway. Dressed, armed, and finished with his pre-dawn rituals, he traveled down the stairs, feeling particularly fat and old that morning. Two men guarded the doorway to his tower, and by the way they saluted him, Robert knew something bothered them as well.

“We weren’t sure if we should wake you,” one said when pressed for an explanation.

“I’m awake now,” Robert snapped. “Tell me.”

“The priest...” said the other, then shrugged. “Best you follow me, see for yourself.”

Robert followed the guard to the northern side, toward where Karak’s followers had relocated their camp. The cause of the guard’s apprehension was immediately apparent. Within the circular wall protecting the tower they’d begun building a structure of impressive size. Its center was of stone, though where they’d found it, Robert couldn’t begin to guess. What looked like stairs were on either side, built of thick slabs of wood. Four pits marked the corners, each one already thick with flame.

“What in Karak’s name is that?” Robert wondered aloud.

“It’s an altar,” said the guard.

“An altar? For what?”

He had no answer, and Robert dismissed him back to his post. The sun was just creeping above the horizon, and it cast a red hue across the clouds. Together with the fires, it gave a strange look to the altar that Robert liked not one bit. His eyes lingered on it as he approached, and his attention shifted from it only when stopped by Cyric himself.

“Welcome, knight,” Cyric said, his smile ear to ear. Robert nodded, just a curt greeting, until he noticed the change that had overcome the priest. He looked healthier, stronger. Once he’d been nothing but a child with his nose in a book, but now...there was an aura, a glow. Now he appeared dangerous. His skin was darker, though perhaps that was just a trick of the poor light. His eyes were different too, he realized. Instead of a baby blue, they were a deep red, as if his irises had begun to bleed.

“Morning, priest,” Robert said, not bothering to keep his tone civil. “What is this you’ve started building on my land?”

“You might rule this small patch of dirt, but all of Dezrel belongs to Karak,” Cyric said, still smiling. “Surely you do not mind Karak taking such a tiny piece back for his own?”

“You’re avoiding the damn question.”

“I do not mean to,” Cyric said. “We are building an altar, one worthy of such a momentous occasion. Come tonight, we will celebrate our god’s glorious return.”

“Return? Where? Speak some sense, or I’ll have my men tear this thing down and haul that chunk of rock into the Gihon.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Robert.” Cyric’s smile grew wider. “Change comes upon the wind. Do you not feel it? You should rejoice to be witness to this miracle.”

He felt it all right. It just wasn’t inspiring any rejoicing.

“What miracle?” he asked. “Enough preaching. Tell me what you plan to do. Where has Karak returned, if that’s even possible? And what does this have to do with your altar?”

“Karak has returned in me,” Cyric said. “Tonight, upon that altar, I will show all your men, show all the world, proof of that fact. Do not interfere. It is no longer your place to stand in the way of gods and men.”

Robert felt too old to deal with shit like this. The altar loomed before him, the flat stone as tall as him. Over twenty men worked on it, hauling in logs cut from distant trees. Others cut the logs into boards, ready to be hammered in by five men who worked non-stop, their muscular bodies slick with sweat. They all moved like men possessed, and he would have none of it.

“Tear it down,” he said. “Karak has enough land as it is. Go build your altar elsewhere.”

“No.”

The word entered his ears and then sunk down into his stomach like a brick. Cyric said it so casually, so simply, that it showed he held no fear of Robert, no respect at all. Robert swallowed, and did his best to keep his temper in check.

“Pardon these old ears, priest, but I fear I heard you wrong.”

“You did not. If you wish to destroy this altar, you are welcome to try. But you will fail. I’m stronger now, Robert, stronger than all of you. Don’t throw away your men’s lives, not when they are so close to seeing the coming glory unfold before them.”

Robert’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword, and he almost drew it then and there. He stared into the face of fanaticism, and he saw no reason in those red eyes. But he was surrounded by men loyal to Karak. Nearby, in particular, was a dark paladin, and he kept his axe ready at all times. If Robert struck at Cyric, the others would tear him to pieces long before any of his soldiers could protect him.

“You have one night,” Robert said, releasing the hilt of his sword. Cyric’s smile widened even more at the words. “But after tonight, you tear it down, you hear me?”

“Come tomorrow, you yourself will be kneeling before that altar,” said the priest.

“Fuck all, I will,” Robert muttered as he traveled back to his tower. Ignoring the guard’s questioning looks, he returned to his room. He found little solitude there, for Daniel barged in moments later.

“Sir,” he said, sounding immensely relieved. “I’m glad you’re here. For a moment I feared...”

“Feared what?” Robert asked.

Daniel stood up straight, but it was clear he didn’t want to answer. Robert shook his head, motioned for his lieutenant to relax.

“I feel it, too,” he said, slumping into his chair. “I thought with Luther gone they’d be more obedient, but while their numbers have shrunk, their confidence has grown. Cyric outright refused an order of mine, and threatened me in return.”

Daniel stood in the doorway, his jaw clenched tightly against his trembling anger.

“We need to strike,” he said. “Before they’re prepared. Before they have that altar built, whatever its purpose truly is. He’s a threat. You know it, I know it, now let’s do something about it.”

“To what end?” asked Robert. “Losing half my men, all because I’m scared of a single priest? Their troops are well-armed, and you can tell by their scars alone they’ve seen more combat than most see in a lifetime. We cower and act like fools for no reason. King Baedan would never, ever allow an attack by the priests to go unpunished.”

“If he hears,” Daniel said. “If he believes it. The truth that reaches his ears will be what the priests make of it. We’re the ones so far away. This is our land to protect, and I say we not give a fuck what those in Mordeina might think and just act.”

“And what of my men?” asked Robert. “How many knelt in prayer yesterday before Luther’s departure? Tell me that.”

“Fifty,” Daniel said.

Robert rubbed his forehead and swore. That was a quarter of their current standing forces in the Blood Tower.

“But they will surely not break their oaths to lord and king,” Daniel said. “Not because of some priest.”

“I’ve seen what men of faith will do,” Robert said. “If Cyric has his claws in the hearts of our men, then any action we take risks defeat before the first swing. Whatever he plans, we’ll wait, and we’ll watch. He’s a young man, foolish, proud. This may well bite him in the ass if things go awry.”

“This is a mistake,” Daniel insisted.

“Yeah? But it’s my mistake to make. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Daniel bowed and left without another word. Robert had plenty, all of them foul. He cursed, stormed about his room, and drank away the day waiting for nightfall. As the sun began its descent, one of his soldiers knocked on the door.

“What is it?” he asked, in no mood for courtesy. The door swung open, and the soldier stuck in his head.

“Sir, Cyric wishes me to give you a message. You’re invited to join him at tonight’s ceremony. He says you’ll be given a place of honor.”

Robert snorted.

“I’m sure I will. Tell him I’d rather fuck a goat.”

The soldier blanched.

“I’ll tell him you declined,” he said, turning to leave.

“No, damn it,” Robert said, flinging the door open. “I gave you an order, and I expect you to carry it out. Now what message are you to deliver?”

The soldier stood erect and saluted.

“That you’d rather fuck a goat, sir.”

He made it sound so urgent, so important, Robert grinned.

“That’s right. Now leave me be.”

He slammed the door in the soldier’s face and poured himself another glass of wine. Half an hour later, the door reopened, and Daniel stepped inside.