The Old Ways (24 page)

W
hen Darius flagged down the men in the boat, Valessa thought her moment of victory was finally at hand. The paladin handed over his blade, leaving him defenseless as he sat amid the soldiers. Valessa crept closer, watching, waiting. She could pass through solid trees as if they were smoke, so what protection could a boat be against her, especially when she did not even need to breathe? Submerged beneath the water’s surface, the men would have no warning of her approach.

And then she tried to enter the river.

When moving, when fighting, Valessa had to concentrate to become firm, corporeal. It came naturally with her feet, for she’d spent her whole life walking. It wasn’t much harder keeping her hands solid, but the rest of her body was another matter. Wearing clothes, or using her knee as a weapon, was far more difficult. But when her right foot dipped into the water, her mind recoiled with a horrible sensation of cold emptiness. The water was shifting, swirling, threatening to pull her away. She was shadow and smoke, she knew, and while the wind was something she could resist, the river was not.

Pulling free, she saw a shriveled stump where her leg should have been. Slowly, feeling returned, and while it hurt, at least it was not as terrible as enduring Ashhur’s light. Fighting down her panic, she told herself she still had all the time in the world. Darius would be their prisoner, yet those walls would mean nothing to her. Racing along the water’s edge, she followed the boat as it traveled upstream, toward one of their towers.

Except the tower was on the wrong side. They pulled their boat to shore and exited into the Wedge, while she remained in the opposite forest. There was no bridge.

“Damn you,” she whispered, trying to think. Perhaps she could not pass through water like she could wall or tree, but what about atop it? Closing her eyes, she gathered her concentration, then stepped again. Her foot remained firm when pressed against the water, which for the moment, held.

Light as air,
she thought.
I am as light as air. Light as a moth’s wing. Calm as a crow’s feather.

She stepped out, now both feet atop the water. Her balance shifted, and her concentration wavered. No good. The water was always in motion, the surface never the same. Her ankle sank, and as the water poured across her, she screamed. Flinging herself to the shore, she crawled free. On her stomach, she closed her eyes and waited for her body to heal. Again she wondered if her form were a blessing, or a curse. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the tower. Darius was inside, she knew, but how to get to him?

Looking to the skies, she saw the bright red star, wafts of its light shining down on the tower. Yet there was something more, and though she did not know why, she trembled. She had known its presence before, just a subtle kiss in the back of her mind, but now it was closer. A black star shone in the sky, darker than the night itself. Others might not see it, but she could. It pulsed in her mind, swallowing all other light.

Karak’s presence was upon Dezrel; it was strong, and it was near. Could she even go to it amid her failure?

When at last she could stand, she knew she had no other choice. It called to her, even stronger than the red.

“What is it you desire from me, my god?” she asked. “Who is it I am to meet that is so dear to you?”

She ran, careful not to stray too close to the water. Her eyes remained on the black star, and she passed through tree and rock without thought. Her daggers itched in her hands. If only she could give them blood to drink, and life to take. The moon dipped, the sun rose, yet even in the daylight the black star still shone, a pockmark on the blue sky. Who might it be? Whose presence left her enslaved to its call? She told herself it did not matter, that she trusted Karak fully...but the doubt still remained.

The day passed, and she saw no signs of life. Even though she made not a sound, the wild creatures sensed her approach and fled. The sunlight burned, but the trees were plentiful, and mostly guarded her from it. At last, as sunset came again, she reached where the black star shone down its darkness: the garrison of the Blood Tower. She thought to hide, but decided it was unnecessary. She could
feel
the presence of whomever the black star beckoned her to. If he was truly so powerful, she would not need to hide her allegiance.

Assuming her normal form, she approached the gate to the wall surrounding the tower. It was shut, and three soldiers stood above it on the wall, calling for her to halt.

“What is your name,” one asked, “and why do you come here?”

“I am to speak with he who is most faithful to Karak,” Valessa said.

This seemed to surprise them, for no doubt it was far from the answer they expected.

“Cyric is the embodiment of Karak’s will here,” said another of the men. “His duties are many, though, and I must ask the reason you would speak with him.”

Cyric...the very name gave her chills.

“I am Valessa of the gray sisters. I answer to none but the priests of Karak. Let me through, so I may speak to Cyric.”

The three debated with one another, then gave her their answer.

“Wait here, Valessa. We will find Cyric, and see if he will allow you to enter.”

Valessa rolled her eyes. She didn’t have the patience for this nonsense. She walked right through the outer gate, emerging on the other side. As the men stared down at her, their mouths agape, she blew them a kiss.

“Escort me, if you wish,” she told them. “But I will not be stopped.”

One of them grabbed his bow and loosed an arrow, which flew through her breast as if she were but an illusion. Another rushed down the steps, his sword drawn. Growling like a feral animal, she blocked the sword strike with a dagger, then stepped forward and clutched the soldier’s throat with her other hand.

“I do not mean him harm,” she said. “But I will harm you, if I so desire. Take me to Cyric.”

The soldier nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

“As you wish, milady,” he said.

“Good.” She let him go, and sent a glare to the man with the bow. “Lead on.”

They crossed the empty space to the tower, then walked around it to the other side. Two soldiers with pikes guarded the door, and they saluted at their arrival.

“Lady Valessa of the gray sisters wishes a word with our master,” the soldier told them. The guards exchanged a glance, then opened the door for her. Valessa followed her guide inside. They traversed the steps that wound along the inner walls, until stopping at a room near the top. The guard moved to knock, but Valessa pushed him aside and walked straight through the door.

The sight of Cyric immediately sent her to her knees. Outwardly he was but a simple looking man, wearing the garb of a priest. He was only a pupil, she realized, given the chains he wore about his neck. But her sight was not like that of mortals, and as Cyric turned to greet her, a smile on his face, she saw the ethereal fire. It was a dark gray, flickering violently across his clothes and skin. It made no noise, and gave forth no heat, but the power within it would have taken her breath away, if she had breath to take.

“I...I am Valessa,” she said, lowering her head. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Karak has guided me to your presence, and I am but your humble servant.”

“Servant?” asked Cyric. His voice was deep, commanding. “I do not want servants. I desire followers. A servant obeys without thought or choice. A follower obeys all the same, but with a loyal heart. You do not strike me as a slave, gray sister.”

“I am a slave to our god,” she said. “For I would be a fool to think I could ever exist without his mercy.”

“Then you are as wise as you are beautiful,” Cyric said, gesturing for her to stand. As she did, her body swirled with shadow, and she knew he saw it. His eyes widened for a moment, and his smile thinned.

“You have a gift about you, Valessa. What is it?”

Valessa knew not how to answer, so she closed her eyes and let the image of herself fade. She became darkness, then bowed as her skin returned along with her clothing. When she looked into Cyric’s eyes, his smile was gone.

“I have read of your kind,” he said. No charm remained in his voice. No bemusement. “That is no blessing upon you. How did you fail Karak, gray sister? What is it you have done that would anger our god so greatly?”

To hear her spoken of so poorly, to hear her blessing from Karak denied, filled her with fear.

“I was to kill a traitor to our order, a paladin named Darius,” she said. “I failed, and died by his blade. Karak showed me mercy, and gave me this form that I might bring his vengeance upon the traitor.”

“Darius?” asked Cyric. “How...interesting. I am aware of him, for his bounty was a disgrace against our faith. If Karak has given you a second chance at removing him, then I will aid you, if I can. Do you know where Darius is now?”

“South along the river,” she said, feeling shame at letting him slip away. “He was taken into the nearest tower, but I could not cross the river to follow. My...form...does not allow it.”

“That close? Then he is with Daniel and the rest of Robert’s unfaithful lot.”

Cyric turned to the large map against a wall, which showed much of the North, and the many towers along the Gihon River. He rubbed at his smooth chin.

“If he joins with that rabble, then you will yet have your chance. Have patience, Valessa. From what I have read of your curse, none have ever failed Karak in killing their target. For now, I would have you accompany me as I travel. There is a village nearby, and I think your talents might have use for me.”

“As you wish,” Valessa said, dipping her head. The sight of that fire was so unearthly, so unnatural, that she wished for any chance to not look upon him. He was a man most faithful to Karak, she knew. She should feel comfortable in his presence, but for some reason, did not.

“Where is it we go?” she asked as he opened the door for her. Prudence kept her from mocking the unnecessary, chivalrous act.

“A small place of little importance, other than who I believe hides there. It’s called Willshire, and is not far.”

Exiting the tower, Cyric nodded to the guards, but dismissed them when they tried to follow.

“I will be safe with Valessa at my side,” he said. “And I trust Lilah to be close behind as well.”

“Lilah?” Valessa asked as he led her toward the gate.

“You will see.”

His smile only unnerved her further. They crossed the compound, exited the gate, and then turned north. Waiting along the path, fur bristling with embers, was a creature Valessa had never believed existed. It was a lioness of the Abyss, fire burning deep within her throat, her yellow eyes watching with frightening intelligence.

“What dream is this?” Valessa asked as Cyric rubbed the creature across its back. It turned and nipped at him once, but he did not flinch.

“No dream. This is Lilah. Karak sent her to me, along with her brother, Kayne.”

“You named them?”

“I would never dishonor them so. Lilah is her name, for she told me herself.”

“If you say so,” Valessa said, walking past the lioness, who continued to watch her.

“Do you question me?” Lilah asked, her voice a deep, feline growl. The sound sent shivers down Valessa’s nonexistent spine. The force of it was like wind pushing against her being. The lioness padded alongside her, eyes never leaving hers. Valessa’s mind spun. The creatures could
talk?

“Of...of course not,” Valessa stammered. “I only...forgive me, Lilah. You are truly a wondrous gift to this world.”

The lioness growled, and Valessa feared she had somehow offended her further. But then Lilah stepped aside, allowing her to pass. Cyric’s eyes sparkled with amusement at her discomfort.

“Karak is power and fury,” he said. “These lions represent his strength, and they serve me now, for I am Karak in this world, his physical incarnation. We shall bring the truth to this hollow wasteland.”

Valessa looked at him, saw the fire burning hidden on his skin, the black star shining down upon him, and could not deny the possibility that he spoke truth. Could Karak truly have found a way to break free of his prison and assume mortal form? But why Cyric? Why a young priest in the relatively empty North? But the lion served him, and Lilah did not dispute his claim.

“I will listen and learn, so long as I may bring vengeance upon Darius,” she said, dipping her head in respect.

Again that smile from Cyric. She tried to see wisdom in it, to revel in his presence, but only saw madness instead.

“Lilah, we go to Willshire,” the priest told the lioness. “Do you know the way?”

“I have watched these lands bloom and fade over the centuries,” Lilah said. “There are few corners of this dark earth that I have not looked upon. Yes, I know the way.”

Lilah leapt ahead, and Cyric and Valessa followed. While there was no road, Valessa soon saw signs of wear along their path. Perhaps a farmer or two traveled from Willshire to the tower every week, just enough to beat down the grass. Ahead, the cracks in Lilah’s skin burned deep, like red embers. Every graceful step sent ripples through her muscular body. Valessa yearned to see the creature in combat, yet feared it as well.

“Why do we go at night?” she asked as they passed over the gentle hills.