Redemption (Book 6) (34 page)

Markus shielded his face with his hand from the biting wind. “Good, except for cannon shot.”

Beckett nodded. “I’d love to put some shots into those howlers to teach them not to stand within range, but we’ll need the grapeshot for when they close with the walls.” He looked down the ramparts on either side.

Dragoons and militiamen lined the defenses, their faces tired but determined. The dragoons all had carbines. The militiamen had a mix of old guns, crossbows, and hunting bows.

“We’ll be able to put a good volley into them when they come,” Markus said with satisfaction. “And they’ll have to come at us sooner or later. As long as we can keep access to the docks they can’t starve us out, and they don’t have the ships to blockade the harbor.”

Beckett glanced back into the town.

Smoke drifted up here and there from scattered fires and chimneys, but Redemption seemed strangely quiet and empty. That was no surprise. With the passing of the gale almost all the ships in the harbor had left on the morning tide, crowded with refugees and panicked civilians fleeing Jothland.

It was hard to see Redemption like this. In the cold light of dawn, Beckett knew that Kendril had been right. There was no saving Redemption at this point. It was a matter of delaying the inevitable. Unless by some miracle there were reinforcements from Arbela, or the Jombard army split up and went home, the town would never last a serious attack by thousands of barbarian warriors.

But they could still make the blighters pay for it.

And anyways, the Jombards were waiting for something. Maybe they were worn out after a night without sleep, though somehow Beckett doubted it.

Captain Markus glanced back towards the town behind them. “So where the devil is Lord Ravenbrook? We could bloody well use him about now.”

Beckett frowned, but didn’t answer.

“Funny,” said a voice from their left, “I was about to ask you gentlemen the exact same question.”

Markus and Beckett swiveled their heads to look back down the rampart.

Olan and Renaald stepped up the stairs that led up from the street, their black cloaks whipping in the wind.

Beckett’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I don’t believe I know either of you gentlemen. What do you want?”

Olan stepped up onto the ramparts and lowered his hood. His face was hard and implacable. “I want to see Lord Ravenbrook. Now.”

Kendril stumbled down the steps of the brewery. He felt exhausted, so tired he could fall into the mud and pass out right there and then. He lifted his eyes towards the palisade walls of Redemption.

Smoke blackened the sky to the east. The watery sunlight gave the sky a hazy, reddish tint.

Kendril looked down the street.

It was a mess. Broken glass and furniture covered the boardwalks of the town. A dead horse lay half out of one of the nearby alleys, flies buzzing around its carcass.

Kendril shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

Redemption needed Lord Ravenbrook. He had to lead them, or at least the people who were left. Hold off the Jombards, evacuate the city of the few people who were left. Show them that there was still hope left.

But Kendril
wasn’t
Lord Ravenbrook. What he had told Tomas was correct. He had killed Lord Ravenbrook years ago, put him in the ground right next to Celeste and Atherton.

Now he was Kendril the Ghostwalker. Lord Ravenbrook was just a part he was playing, the echoes of a life long since lost.

Kendril trudged down one of the alleyways, barely noticing the stink of the mixed garbage, blood, and human waste. He put one hand on the rapier that hung by his side, the one that Jade had given him so long ago in Balneth. Beckett had grabbed it off the battlefield at Stockade.

But it was a gentleman’s weapon, a sword that was more than two feet in length. And Kendril the Ghostwalker had vowed never to use such a weapon. Not until he had paid his penance and received his redemption.

It was a beautiful sword, the finest that he had ever seen or used. But it didn’t belong to him. Not yet.

Kendril leaned against the slimy wall at the end of the alley, shifting the weight off his aching leg. Somewhere a rooster crowed, seemingly unconcerned that death was looming so close in the form of thousands of Jombards.

Celeste. Atherton. Both had died because of Kendril. No, not just died. He had
killed
them both. Their blood was on his hands.

And then there was Kara. Kendril had promised Joseph that he would keep her safe, not allow anything to happen to her. Instead, he had led her to her death. And he had been the one to finally pull the trigger.

Kendril’s mind continued to buzz, filling with unwanted names and faces. It was almost physically painful.

Marley
. Dead because of Kendril, because he never sent him away when he could have.
Wilkes
. Just a boy, with a whole life and future ahead of him, but now with no arm. All because of Kendril’s stupidity and selfishness.

Kendril looked down into a still puddle that covered the dirt street of the town. His vague image bobbed and danced in the reflection of the brown water.

So who was he
really
? Lord Ravenbrook? Or Kendril?

Kendril took a deep breath. He pushed off from the wall, ignoring the condemning voices in his head. He limped down the broken boardwalk of the street, swaying like a drunken man.

A horse galloped through the almost empty street of the town behind him.

Kendril didn’t even turn to look. He dragged himself up the steps of the pillaged town hall, then in through the door.

What few items he had left, whatever had been saved from Stockade, had been thrown back into one of the side offices of the building.

Kendril made his way down the hall, then into the dark room where his chest was. He kneeled down gingerly in front of it, grunting a little at the renewed pain in his leg.

Redemption needed Lord Ravenbrook. But Ravenbrook was dead. Kendril had fooled himself into thinking that he was still alive, that he could still help the people of the township, but all that was past. He knew the truth now.

Kendril opened the chest. He unbuckled the Balneth rapier from his belt, and set it down gently. The cold light coming in through the room’s windows sparkled off the weapon’s blue and green gems.

Kendril reached into the chest, and pulled out his black, hooded cloak.

“General?” Captain Beckett pushed open the door to the town hall, peering into the dim building.

“Let me,” said Olan irritably. He pushed past Beckett and strode into the large foyer. “Kendril? Are you in here?”

“Yes,” said a quiet voice to Olan’s left.

Surprised, Olan turned, one hand instinctively reaching for his sword.

Kendril sat in a chair by the front desk. He was dressed in the weather-stained black cloak and gloves of the Ghostwalker Order. His hood was up over his head, covering his face in shadow. Two simple short swords were sheathed at his belt, as well as two pistols. The valuable Balneth steel rapier was gone.

Beckett stepped in behind Olan, and was followed closely by Renaald. He stared at Kendril in amazement. “General?”

Kendril got to his feet. “Sorry, Captain Beckett. I’m not Lord Ravenbrook. I’m just Kendril. I always have been. It just took me this long to realize it.” He looked over at Olan. “I realize that I have been insubordinate, sir, but I’d like to officially place myself back under your command.”

Olan gave a triumphant smile. “You’ll be tried, of course. By the Order, when we return to Rothland.”

Kendril gave a slight nod of his head. “I understand, Commander.”

Beckett pushed back his coonskin cap and scratched his blazing red hair. He looked quizzically from Olan to Kendril. “Does someone want to tell me what is going on here?”

Kendril stepped forward. He kicked a loose drawer out of his path. “I’m not your commanding officer anymore, Beckett. I never should have been in the first place. Lord Ravenbrook is dead.”

Beckett made a face. “Now I’m
really
confused, sir.”

Other Ghostwalkers began to file in behind Beckett. Callen, Tomas, and Yvonne all entered one after the other.

“Well,” said Kendril with a cheerless smile, “looks like the gang’s all here.”

“If it were up to me,” Olan said, “I’d have all of us on any ship we could find left in the harbor that would take us west. But we have a problem.” He turned towards the doorway of the town hall.

Kara stepped into the room. She reached up and pulled down the hood of her green cloak. “Hello, Kendril,” she said uncertainly.

Kendril gaped at the woman. He didn’t move.

Kara moved forward slightly, then hesitated. “Wow,” she said. “This is a lot more awkward than I—”

Kendril went up to her and crushed her in a massive bear hug. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered.

She held on to him for a long moment. “I kind of was.”

Kendril let go of her and stepped back. “How are you—?”

“That’s a long story,” Joseph said from the doorway. He watched Kendril carefully.

Kendril looked up at his old friend. “Joseph,” he said. He didn’t make any movement forward. “You’re here too.”

“Yes,” said Joseph slowly. “I am.”

“What about Maklavir?” Kendril asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is he hiding outside?”

Kara looked down at the floor. “Actually, Maklavir was—” Her voice faltered.

“He was kidnapped by pirates,” Joseph finished.

Kendril looked at both his friends. “Seriously?”

Joseph shrugged. “I can’t really make something like that up.”

“You’re in danger, Kendril,” said Kara quickly. “Something bad is going to happen here. I’ve...seen it. You have to believe me.”

“With thousands of Jombards sitting right outside the town walls, I believe you,” said Kendril with a smile. “Though I got the part about me being in danger all by myself.” He lowered his voice. “It’s good to see you again.” He glanced over at Joseph, who still leaned against the wall by the door. “
Both
of you.”

“Yes,” said Yvonne in a flat voice, “well, like Olan said, there
is
a problem.” She looked directly at Kendril. “You have shown yourself disloyal to our Order, a traitor to our cause who apparently now wishes reinstatement.” She turned towards Kara. “And this woman is an abomination, a host of Indigoru and a potential agent of the enemy.”

Kendril gave Yvonne a sharp look.

Joseph moved off the wall, his face uneasy. “I thought we already—”

“Whatever you thought,” said Yvonne coldly, “is irrelevant. Renaald?”

The Ghostwalker drew his rapier and placed the tip within an inch of Joseph’s chest.

The room grew suddenly chill and quiet.

“Yvonne,” said Olan, his arms folded. “Would you mind telling me exactly what is going on here?”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing that myself,” rumbled Beckett.

“What’s going on is simplicity itself,” Yvonne said in a voice like ice. “This woman cannot be allowed to live. Kendril must prove to us that he still loyal to our cause.” She looked at Kendril with a steely gaze. “So you’re going to execute her, right here and right now.”

Chapter 20

Kendril put a hand on one of his flintlock pistols.

In a flash, Yvonne’s hand emerged from the folds of her cloak. She pointed a large, double-barreled pistol directly at Kendril’s head.

Joseph carefully raised both his hands, his eyes riveted on Renaald’s sword. “Tell me again why we came all the way out here, Kara?”

“You have two choices, Kendril.” The pistol in Yvonne’s hand stayed rock-steady. “Kill Kara, or I kill
you
as a traitor.”

Beckett’s hand moved down to the hilt of his own sword. “General?”

“I told you, Beckett,” Kendril said calmly, his eyes still on Yvonne, “I’m not a general anymore.”

“And I have two barrels on this pistol,” said Yvonne in a tone that was just as calm as Kendril’s. “And I can assure you that I am a terrific shot at five paces. Please do not interfere in this, Captain.”

Beckett tightened his hand on his sword.

“You hear her, Beckett. Stand down,” Kendril said in a low voice.

Olan kept his arms folded. He glanced at Kendril for a long moment, then back at Yvonne. “Don’t get me wrong. No one would love seeing Kendril’s brains splattered all over the wall as much as me, but I still don’t recall agreeing to this.”

Yvonne kept her eyes on Kendril. “Your permission or knowledge is not required, Olan. You may be the Sword Commander in charge of this detachment, but as Staff division I have the responsibility of dealing with issues of betrayal, penance, and contamination.”

Callen nervously rubbed the tip of his nose. “Actually, that is entirely correct.”

“Thank you for the lesson, Callen,” Olan grumbled. He looked back at Yvonne. “What about what Kara said before? About the Seteru coming to Redemption?”

“I believe her vision,” said Yvonne in a tone that sent shivers down the spines of everyone in the room. “There
is
a Seteru coming to Redemption. She’s already here.” Her eyes flicked to Kara.

“That’s ridiculous!” Kara looked back at Yvonne. “I told you before. Indigoru is
gone
.”

“And that,” Yvonne said, “is exactly what you would say if Indigoru was still inside you right now.” She turned fiery eyes on Kendril. “You have a choice, Kendril. If you don’t choose, then you’ll die along with her.”

Beckett’s hand was still clenched firmly on the handle of his sword. “
Sir
?”

“I said stand down, didn’t I?” Kendril said with more a trace of irritation. He looked over at Tomas. “Some help here?”

Tomas gave a helpless shrug. “You know the rules as well as I do, Kendril. Technically, Yvonne has every right to—”

“To do what
you
were too weak to do,” Yvonne said with a snarl that was amplified by the twisting scar on her cheek. “We can’t allow Kara to live. Nor can we allow Kendril’s disloyalty to go unpunished or unchallenged. This is the perfect solution to both dilemmas.”