Redemption (Book 6) (18 page)

Kara was quiet. She looked down at the ship’s railing.

Joseph looked down, too. “You know how I feel about you,” he said quietly. His voice was almost lost in the snapping ocean wind. “I’ve been pretty stupid about it almost since the day I met you. Made an idiot out of myself more than once.”

Kara gave a small smile. “Yes you have.”

“I’m in love with you, Kara,” Joseph said. He scratched the back of his head, giving the woman a cautious glance. “That’s why I’m here, following you over the ocean to a place I’ve barely heard of.” He shrugged. “I’d...I’d follow you to the ends of Zanthora, Kara. I mean that.”

Kara looked up at him. “I know.”

Joseph looked out over the buffeted sea again. “But...well, I need to know if you share any of the same feelings for me. Because if you don’t, then I’m just being unbelievably stupid.”

Kara looked down again. She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “I—” she started to say. She stopped and took a shaky breath. “Joseph, I just...I don’t know. Not anymore.”

Joseph looked as though he had been punched in the stomach.

Kara put a hand on his arm. “Let me finish,” she said quickly. “I care about you, Joseph, I really do. And, and I...thought that I loved you, too.”

Joseph sucked in a breath. “You
thought
that you loved me?”

Kara made a face. She anxiously brushed her hair out of her eyes, looking out over the water again. “When Maklavir told me that
he
loved me, it—” she paused, fumbling for words. She turned pleading eyes on Joseph. “It’s thrown everything out of whack. I don’t really know how I feel anymore. How I
should
feel.”

Joseph took a step back. One of his hands tightened against the railing. “But that’s not all, is it?” His voice was low, but not sharp. “There’s something else between us, isn’t there?”

Kara hesitantly raised her eyes. “You really want to go here?”

“I think we have to, don’t we?”

Kara gave a long, heavy sigh. She opened and shut her mouth, searching for the right words again. “You—” The wind caught her cloak and flapped it like the wings of a bird. “I mean, you aren’t—” Her voice faltered off.

Joseph’s eyes grew hard. “I’m not the same.”

Kara hung her head. She seemed afraid to meet his gaze. “There’s...something different about you,” she said. She glanced up, finally meeting his eyes. “You’re...harder. There’s an edge to you that wasn’t there before Vorten.” She put a hand quickly on his chest. “That doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you, Joseph. I do. But sometimes when I’m looking at you it feels like you’re someone else.”

It was Joseph’s turn to avoid eye contact. “When you were in that coma...it was a dark time for me,” he admitted. He made an effort to look Kara in the eyes again. “It made me question a lot of things.
Become
a lot of things that I never expected.”

“You’re still the man I met in the Howling Woods so long ago,” Kara said softly. “But you’re also...well,
different
enough that I feel like I’m getting to know you for the first time all over again.”

“You know,” said Joseph with the faintest hint of a smile, “I don’t think any of what you just said makes a lick of sense.”

Kara laughed. “I suppose you’re right.” She removed her hand and leaned back against the railing. Her voice turned more serious. “All the same, I think you know what I mean.”

A shadow passed over Joseph’s face. “Yes,” he said at last. “I do.” He glanced over at Kara, his voice soft. “You’ve changed yourself, you know. Ever since the Soulbinder, and Indigoru—”

Kara looked down. “I know.”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. The wind howled over the surface of the ship’s deck, sending sprays of mist curling through the air.

“So what happens now?” Kara asked in a small voice.

Joseph looked up and met her gaze. There was a kindness and gentleness in his eyes that surprised her, until she realized that it had been missing for so long.

“We go to Redemption,” he said. “Kendril needs our help.”

Colonel Root came to a halt and saluted smartly. “My lord. The men are being disarmed, sir, and I’ve made arrangements—” He stopped mid-sentence, temporarily taken back.

Kendril was in the middle of his office. Wilkes hovered behind him, adjusting the straps of his cuirass. His lobster helmet was on the desk beside him, along with his rapier and several pistols.

Root’s eyes wandered in puzzlement over the military equipment. “Sir—?”

“Forget the demobilization,” Kendril snapped. He finished checking the lock on a pistol, then shoved it back into his holster. “Get Beckett’s troop mounted and standing by. All soldiers are to be re-armed and standing by ready to march on my order. Understand?”

Root gave a slow, sober nod. “Yes, my lord. As you order.” He half-expected what was coming next, and he wasn’t sure yet what his next response would be. The order to disband from Lord Blackstone had been clear, and to ignore it meant an inevitable conflict with Yearling’s regulars.

Kendril caught the look on Root’s face. “It’s not what you think,” he said quietly. “I’m not marching on Redemption. We have bigger problems.” He snatched a dispatch off the desk and handed it over to Root. “See for yourself. Ow, Wilkes, not so tight.”

“Sorry, sir,” the lad squeaked.

Intrigued, Root took the dispatch and scanned it.

It was a daily report from Yearling about the progress of the dragoons and reports of enemy movement along the Wall. Prominent in it was the attack on Hangman’s Hill earlier that morning.

Root gave a shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t—”

“Forget the stuff about Hangman’s Hill,” said Kendril. “Look there, at the most recent reports.” He didn’t wait for Root to find it. “No movements of the enemy observed along the Wall.
Nowhere
. No raids, no skirmishes, no movements along the fringes of the woods.
Nothing
.”

Root tried not to show his confusion. “Yes, my lord. But I still don’t see—”

Kendril gave an impatient snort. “The Jombards are
coming
, Root. Soon. Maybe tonight. Certainly by morning. They’re massing for an attack.” He rolled his shoulders as Wilkes fiddled with the straps. “If we disband now, the Wall will be overrun by mid-morning.”

Root pursed his lips and glanced down at the dispatch. “Forgive me, my lord, but you’re basing all this on....”

“On the
lack
of Jombard movements along the Wall,” Kendril said impatiently. “Wilkes, tighten up that left strap.” He looked directly at Root. “Make sure Beckett’s troop is ready to ride. They may have to spend all night in their boots. And the gate to Stockade stays closed from here on out, unless someone’s coming in or out.”

“Yes, sir,” Root mumbled. He cleared his throat, and set the dispatch down on the desk. “Forgive me, my lord, but has it occurred to you that—” He paused, aware that he was overstepping his bounds. “Well, if the Jombards
don’t
attack—”

“They will,” Kendril said in a voice to end the conversation. “Post extra men in the guard towers to watch for signal fires. The moment one is spotted, come and tell me.” He stepped away from Wilkes, and gave an approving nod. “Good job, lad. Feels secure enough. Have you found me a replacement horse yet?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, sir. A good thoroughbred, one of Squire Molluth’s.”

Kendril reached for his rapier. “Have her saddled and standing by. I may need her at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, sir.” Wilkes scrambled out the door to the office.

Kendril raised an eyebrow at Root. “Something else, Colonel?”

Root shook his head. “No, my lord.”

“You’re dismissed, then,” Kendril said curtly.

Root saluted, then turned out the office door. He walked down the hall and out the front door of the blockhouse.

The rain outside was pattering gently away. It had the last chill of late winter in it, but the promise of early spring as well. The parade ground was already sodden and muddy, trampled and churned by the drilling of dozens of men.

Captain Beckett came from the direction of the stables. He gave Root a lazy salute. “My men are turning in their weapons as we speak, Colonel. At least the ones that—”

“Then get them back,” Root said. “General’s orders. He wants your troopers ready for action right away.” He turned his face towards the barracks. “As well as the other men. He thinks the Jombards are going to attack.”

Beckett’s eyes twinkled. “I see. Well, sir, I’ll tell my men to be ready to move.”

Root’s gaze wandered back to the central blockhouse. “I hope the General knows what he’s doing.”

“Lord Ravenbrook?” Beckett chuckled softly. “Oh, I’d say he knows what he’s doing, sir. He’s no pup wet behind the ears, he’s not.”

Root turned back to Beckett, ignoring the falling rain. “You knew Lord Ravenbrook from before, right? During the last Jombard Wars?”

Beckett beamed proudly. “That I did, sir. Fought with him in the field.”

Root pulled up his coat against the chill. “But he left Redemption, didn’t he? For quite a long time. Why?”

Beckett’s face darkened. “I...couldn’t rightfully say, sir.”

Root narrowed his gaze. “But you know something, don’t you? Something I don’t know.”

Beckett gave a cautionary glance towards the blockhouse, then gestured towards the stables. “If you’ll walk with me, sir,” he said in a quiet tone, “I’ll tell you what I know.”

Root nodded. He stepped in beside the captain.

“Something happened with Lord Ravenbrook’s wife,” Beckett said. He still kept his voice down, as if afraid of being overheard. “She...had an affair with a man who was the General’s friend, someone who had bled and fought with him against the Jombards. Atherton, his name was. He was the General’s armor bearer, his childhood friend.” His face showed a bristling anger. “Though I can’t imagine what kind of
friend
would betray a man like that, sir, I really can’t.”

“But what happened?” Root splashed through a brown puddle, rippled with rain drops. “Did Ravenbrook find out?”

Beckett nodded. “That he did, sir. Came on them in the act. In his own mansion, too.”

Root raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “I can’t imagine that ended well.”

“No, sir, it didn’t.” Beckett glanced over his shoulder at the dwindling shape of the blockhouse, as if fearing that the subject of their conversation would appear at any moment. “Things are a bit fuzzy on what happened after that. Lord Ravenbrook and Atherton got into a fight, at least according to the household staff. They were going at it with swords, and then—” Beckett stopped.

Root frowned. “And then what?”

“Ravenbrook’s wife was killed,” Beckett said, his voice a whisper. “Atherton was the one who did it. Her blood was all over his sword.”

“Great Eru in Pelos,” Root cursed. He glanced up as they came to the entrance to the stables, and slowed his steps to give more time for the conversation. “What happened?”

Beckett gave an uncaring shrug. “They hanged Atherton. There was a huge trial, of course, and Lord Ravenbrook was the key witness. But the facts were clear enough.”

Root furrowed his brow in thought. “I suppose. But why would Atherton have killed Ravenbrook’s wife? Didn’t he love her?”

Beckett shook his head. “I can’t say, sir. I don’t pretend to understand the mind of a man like that.” He turned to the entrance of the stables. “I’ll have my troopers ready to march, sir.” He gave a malevolent grin. “I rather hope Lord Blackstone marches out here to disband us himself, sir. We’d show him a thing or two.”

“Careful, Captain,” Root warned with a disapproving glance. “Lord Blackstone is still the honorable mayor.” He glanced back at the front gates of Stockade, which were swinging open with a flurry of shouts and calls. “Besides, Blackstone won’t come here himself. He’ll send Yearling and his men.”

“If it comes to it,” Beckett said under his breath, “we can take that lot too.”

“You might well get your chance,” Root responded in a cold voice. His gaze was firmly fixed on a small party of horsemen riding in through the front gates. “Because unless I miss my mark, that’s Colonel Yearling now.”

Beckett’s eyes widened.

Root started stomping back towards the blockhouse, speaking over his shoulder. “See to your men, Captain. Mounted and ready for action.”

“Yes, sir!” Beckett disappeared inside the stables.

Root strode quickly across the parade ground. He came up to the blockhouse again just as the riders were stopping in front of it.

Kendril came out onto the steps of the blockhouse, still dressed in his cuirass and buff coat. His rapier and flintlock pistols hung by his side. He raised a hand in greeting. “Welcome, Colonel Yearling.”

Yearling pulled up his horse. The beast stamped the ground impatiently.

Behind him were several dragoons from the Northampton Dragoon Regiment. They were soaked to the bone from the rain. Even the regimental banner carried by one of the riders drooped in the limp breeze.

Yearling threw open the visor of his helmet. He reached into a pocket of his vest coat and removed a monocle, wiped it on a pocket handkerchief, and stuck it into his eye. Only then did he turn his imperious gaze on Kendril. “Lord Ravenbrook.” He swiveled his head to look around the parade ground. “Are you almost ready for the hand-over? It’s getting close to sundown.”

Kendril folded his hands behind his back. “Disbanding the militia is foolhardy right now, Colonel. I received your report this afternoon. I believe the Jombards are massing for an attack.”

Yearling peered down at Kendril through his monocle. His face hardened. “I’m confused, Lord Ravenbrook. I received a copy of Lord Blackstone’s orders. I trust you did as well?”

Colonel Root felt tension welling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced over at Kendril.

The General stood implacably on the blockhouse steps. “I did,” he responded blithely. “I rode to Redemption this morning and...
discussed
it with Blackstone himself.”

“Then,” continued Yearling in his nasally voice, “am I to understand that you are ignoring the mayor’s order to disband the militia?”