The Old Ways (33 page)

The dark paladins leapt in the way. He blocked their strikes with his shield, but each one sent a jolt of pain through his arm. His mace struck the armor of one, but it could not penetrate. Fury gave him strength, but he was still tired, and vastly outnumbered. Swords hit his armor, and the bruises swelled. Jerico continued on, enduring them, fighting them away. He would reach Luther, would look upon Sandra’s cruel murderer.

And then he was through, beaten and weary. Luther lifted a hand, and before Jerico could strike, a bolt of shadow struck him in the chest. He gasped, fighting for breath. A second bolt followed, this one hitting his throat. The muscles in his neck tightened, and spots swam before his eyes as his lungs threatened to burst. Unable to stand, he collapsed to his knees once more. Luther stood over him, and he leaned down so he could put a hand on Jerico’s head and whisper.

“At least you are wise enough to kneel,” he said. “Now do you understand, Jerico? You have done all that I wished, and little more. You are insignificant, just a puppet to my desires. Go off into the wilderness and die. There is no longer a place for you in this world.”

Luther pushed him onto his back. When he hit, it knocked the air from his chest. Fighting through the agonizing pain, Jerico drew a breath, then another. A heavy ringing filled his ears, and he heard the priest call for the others to prepare for their march south. Rolling onto his stomach, he tried to stand, but could not. Tears blurring his vision, he looked back to the castle, saw Kaide on his knees, his little sister’s body in his arms. The bandit leader cried out wordlessly, whatever rage that dwelt in his heart now magnified tenfold.

What little strength Jerico had left drained away. His fingers clawing the dirt, he pressed his face into the grass and sobbed, a broken man.

T
hey pulled their boat off the Gihon so they might walk the final mile. Porter led the way, looking strangely spry and alive in the growing light of the blood moon. Daniel followed him, content to let the man lead. It was his plan, after all.

“Stay low,” Porter told them. “A single alarm, and we’ll all be dining in the Abyss before the night’s over.”

There were only five of them, a small enough force to slip in and out of the fortification without notice. Their true force marched for Willshire, where battle might be fought without towers and high walls. If they took Cyric’s head, most of their problems vanished, but just in case, they needed Robert. No matter how much the King might hate his family, he couldn’t sit idly by if the knight knelt before his throne and told of the usurpation of his tower. Treason was still treason, even when committed by priests.

The trees thinned out the closer they came to the tower. Daniel felt his nerves rise, and his heart quicken. This was it, the first major obstacle. It all depended upon how numerous the guards were, and how alert. When they saw the torches, and the handful of men upon the walls, Daniel let out a sigh of relief.

“A skeleton crew,” he said. “Cyric must be gone after all.”

“I’d be pissed to know if my tower were as lightly guarded in my absence,” Porter said. “Laziness and lack of discipline is what that is.”

“What it is, is a lucky break,” said one of the other soldiers. “We ready to swim?”

“Aye,” Daniel said. “Let’s go.”

The walls surrounding the tower went deep into the river, but once around it, the way was clear. From their inspection of the defenses, the few men guarding the walls were all stationed along the southern end. They did not watch the opposite shore, or the north. They no longer guarded against the creatures of the Wedge, as was their purpose. They watched for a human army. Daniel and his men were all smeared with mud, wore no armor, and brandished only short swords, light and small enough for them to swim without difficulty, plus a few extra supplies just in case things went terribly wrong.

Beyond the reach of the tower’s torches, the five circled around to the north, nothing but black and brown shapes in the far distance. When they reached the other side, they slipped into the Gihon, submerging all but their heads.

“Damn that’s cold,” muttered one.

“No words,” Porter said. “We’re too close now.”

Going limp, they floated, aiming for the wall within the river. Normal circumstances would have had a guard atop it, and as they neared, they saw a man sitting there, his back to them. His armor was that of Karak’s mercenaries.
Watching the courtyard
, Daniel realized, and he pointed to make sure the other four saw.

Boisterous sounds of cheers and song met their ears as they floated closer. Daniel clenched his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering. Carefully, he swam toward the wall, then went limp again, letting the water bump him against it. He lay flat, until all five were gathered. Glancing up, Daniel waited for the light of a torch, or even a single glance downward to show them as odd shapes in the reflected moonlight. This was it, the most vulnerable part of their plan. Porter lifted three fingers, then counted down. At one, he alone pushed off and floated around the wall.

All they could do was wait and listen. After several minutes, they heard a soft gasp, then the sound of armor hitting stone. Another minute later, Porter leaned over from atop the wall and beckoned them to come. Pushing off, Daniel led the others around and onto dry ground. They kept their backs to the wall, in the deep shadows cast by the scattered torches. He could see the men on the opposite wall, and he tried not to panic, and convince himself he could not be seen.

One of the soldiers with him, a young dark-haired man named Slint, tapped him on the shoulder.

Lion?
the man mouthed, lifting his shoulders to accentuate the question. Daniel shook his head. They saw no sign of it yet. If they were blessed, the two horrible creatures would be in Willshire, or even better, back in the Abyss from whence they came. Daniel pointed to his eyes, telling them to stay alert. On the far side, many tents filled the killing field. They could all hear the ruckus. It was a time of celebration, just as Darius had insisted. They were gathered about bonfires, roasting meat and drinking themselves stupid. No wonder the few men on guard were inattentive, and kept their attention focused toward the interior. The fires would also ruin their vision, something Daniel was plenty thankful for.

Besides the men on the walls, the only other guards were two stationed at the doors of the tower, both looking tired and leaning against the building. Daniel kept his anger in check when he saw they were both recruits of theirs, men who had bowed the knee to Karak and turned against their commander.

There’d be no mercy, not for them. Daniel drew his sword, pressed his back to the wall, and crept along. Above them, Porter did the same, tracking their progress. When they reached another guard, they stopped and waited. Porter snuck behind him, for the man watched the north. Daniel winced as he heard the man’s body hit the ground on the opposite side of the wall. Too much noise, but it seemed no one heard. They continued on after Porter gave them the go ahead. Once they’d crossed beyond the two guards’ line of sight, they ensured no eyes watched and then made a break for the tower.

No time to waste, Daniel knew. He hurried to the tower door. No hesitation, no commands, he trusted his men to follow. The closest of the two guards died before ever realizing he was under attack. As Daniel held his hand over the man’s mouth and twisted the blade he’d stuck in his back, the other let out a soft yelp before two of his soldiers thrust their swords through his throat and belly. The dying cry went unnoticed amidst the songs of the mercenaries. Testing the door, Daniel found it unlocked. Throwing it open, he gestured for the other three to hurry. They dragged the bodies inside, and Daniel quickly followed, slamming the door shut behind him.

The sounds of revelry quieted once within. Knowing whatever time they had was dwindling fast, Daniel led the way toward the stairs. The second anyone noticed the missing guards, and was sober enough to look into the matter, they’d be caught. They needed to have rescued Robert and vanished long before then.

“I hear snores,” Slint whispered into Daniel’s ear. Daniel paused a moment, then nodded. Men were sleeping in the adjacent rooms. The three looked to him, and he could tell they wanted orders.

“Kill them,” he whispered back. “I’ll get Robert.”

The three opened the door, and like wraiths in the night, they slipped inside with swords drawn. As Daniel climbed the circular steps leading to Robert’s chambers, he heard a sound that made his heart freeze. It was the roar of a lion, and it was furious. Racing up the steps, he found a window overlooking the wall Porter hid upon. There, atop the stone, was one of the lions of Karak, Porter’s body flopping as the creature shook it in its jaws. Daniel forced himself to look away.

At the top of the steps, Daniel found a mercenary rushing down to investigate. A quick stab underneath the ridge of his breastplate sent him toppling. Daniel yanked free the iron key attached to his belt, then continued on. Stopping at Robert’s door, he unlocked it and thrust it open.

“Time to go, sir,” he said, then froze. His jaw dropped, and his hands trembled.

“No,” he whispered. “Gods, no.”

Robert sat in a chair, his waist and legs strapped to it with chains. Before him was a table, rows of parchment, and a single candle. He held a quill in his gray, lifeless hand. His eyes were open, and his mouth hung limp. His flesh was already rotting, his tongue cut from his throat, but he still lived...if living was what it could be called. A wicked cut remained open across his throat, his clothes and skin below it stained red, but the wound itself did not bleed.

“What have they done to you?” Daniel asked as he heard the lion roar once more.

Robert dipped the quill into an inkwell, then carefully wrote a message on the parchment before him. Daniel stepped forward, and he read it with tears in his eyes.

Kill me.
Last order.

Daniel swallowed.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The undead mockery of his commander nodded. Daniel clenched his jaw and wiped away his tears, so he might strong, might be proud.

“I understand,” he said. “It was an honor to serve you, Robert. A true honor.”

He cut off Robert’s head. It fell to the floor, rolled once, then lay still. The rest of the body sagged in the chair, all strength vanishing from it. Daniel stared, holding back his grief, but not his anger.

“Sir?”

Daniel turned to see the other three gathered there, looking at the corpse with wide eyes.

“Cyric’s doing,” Daniel said, his voice croaking. “May the bastard suffer for an eternity when we find him.”

“We barred the door downstairs,” Slint said. “The rest of the traitors are dead, but...”

“The lion,” Daniel said, knowing what they feared. Porter had been found, and the lion stalked the tower. He looked out the window, saw men hurrying to investigate. Whatever hope they had of escape was gone.

“Forgive me,” he told them. “I led you to your deaths.”

“Save the apologies,” Slint said, pulling some rope off his back, one of their emergency provisions. He thrust it into Daniel’s hands. “You’re lord of the Blood Tower now, and our commander. Any hope of honoring Robert is now in your hands.”

Daniel looked to the rope, then the window, and shook his head.

“I won’t. They’ll find me before I ever set foot on the ground.”

“Not if we distract them.”

The three saluted him with their swords. They were willing to die, and appeared ready to carry out their plan whether he agreed with it or not. Taking a deep breath, he saluted back.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he told them. “Take as many with you as you can.”

“Damn right.”

Daniel tied the rope to Robert’s desk, which he shifted closer to the window. When the tower was built, the entrance had faced the river, but Robert’s window faced the gate to the walls, so he might always see the arrival of any guests. Looking down, he saw no one watching, everyone gathering at the other side. From down below, he heard a loud banging as something smashed into the barred doors. Holding the rope in his hands, he waited to throw it, listening for what he also feared.

Loud cracking, then screams. They were through. Daniel offered a prayer for his men, then tossed the rope. He climbed down fast as possible, the rope burning his hands as he slid at a reckless pace. Hitting the ground, he looked about, knowing he had no time. He wanted to run to the dark side they’d entered, but his gut told him otherwise. Sprinting for the side with the tents, he kept his head low. Whatever celebrations had been going on had clearly halted, with nearly every armed man making their way to the walls and tower, letting out confused cries and shouting questions about a surprise attack. As he weaved through them, he heard shouts from up top. An arrow struck the ground beside him, another just ahead. Daniel said another word of thanks, this time for intoxicated archers.