The Old Ways (3 page)

Robert crossed his arms and tried to think. The offer was tempting, but something about it bothered him. The two priests were acting too kind, too understanding. No doubt they were trying to save face for their order by having Darius executed in private. Hardly the example Robert wanted to set.

“His crimes are against the King’s citizens,” Robert said, trying to stall.

“Whose protection has been left to Lord Sebastian,” said Luther. “But has he done anything? Of course not. He’s too busy squabbling with his brother for land, leaving this matter to you. Speaking of which...”

The old man walked over to the map on the far side of Robert’s wall, and he rubbed his chin as he stared at it with bloodshot eyes.

“How goes the North?” he asked. “We hear only rumors in Mordeina, and struggle to know what is true and what is not.”

“Lord Arthur met Lord Sebastian in fair battle, and lost,” Robert said. “He retreated to his castle, which Lord Sebastian has put under siege. That is the last I have heard, but I expect it to take months before the Castle of Caves falls.”

“Sebastian is a good friend of Karak,” Cyric said, more to Luther than Robert. “We must ensure his victory over his brother.”

“I thought the priests and paladins of Karak remained neutral in political matters,” Daniel interrupted again. Robert knew well his distaste for the priests, and if he couldn’t hold his tongue...

“Go prepare lodging for Luther’s men,” he ordered. Daniel looked displeased, but he bowed low and left to carry out his orders.

“A rebellious man,” Luther said, softly chuckling.

“He only asks what I myself am thinking,” Robert said.

“And you are right, in a way. We are neutral in most politics, but when it comes to Karak and his children, we are ever vigilant. Sebastian is a faithful servant, whereas Arthur is under the delusion we are a ... detriment to the North. Besides, is Sebastian not the lawful ruler of these lands? We only uphold the law, Robert.”

“As do I,” said Robert. “And Darius has broken it. Forgive me, but my bounty stays. If he is no longer a paladin of the Stronghold, then he should be of no concern to you.”

“We do not operate under your laws,” Cyric said. “We live under the law of Karak, which is wise as it is...”

Cyric looked furious, but Luther remained calm, not even turning from the map.

“Enough, Cyric,” said Luther. He gestured to the door. “Leave us. I will speak with our host in private.”

Cyric’s look was bitter, but he bowed low and obeyed. As the door closed, Luther sighed.

“May I sit?” he asked.

“By all means.”

Luther walked over to a chair pressed against the wall that was usually reserved for Daniel. His joints creaked as he sat. His eyes bored into Robert, who sat at his desk. Something about that look shriveled his testicles and made him wish he could call Daniel back in.

“You must forgive my pupil,” Luther said. “He is still young, and has difficulty understanding that the way of the world is rarely as easy as his books would imply.”

Robert grunted.

“Very little of the world is easy, especially here in the North.”

“Indeed. I do not think he would understand what I have to say to you, for I know what he expects me to say. The will of Karak is lord of all things, and for you to resist speaks blasphemy against that which is holy.”

Robert decided to the Abyss with it, and poured himself another glass.

“And what would you say?” he asked before taking a drink.

“That such a claim would be an insult to your honor. You have the safety of many people in your hands, and the lawful authority to do what you have done. You also fear our power, for you know how strong our influence is in Mordeina. You also fear Karak. I can see it in your eyes. Yes, what you did is within your power, but not all we do is wise. You may have the authority to lay judgment on a priest or paladin of Karak, but it is not your
place
to do so. I need to be convinced you are aware of that.”

“You just said Darius was no longer a paladin of the Stronghold.”

“Something you were unaware of when you offered that bounty.”

Robert tried to summon fury at having his station challenged, his authority mocked. Instead he could only stare into Luther’s eyes and feel the power of the entire priesthood prepared to move against him.

“I fail to see how you are any different from your pupil,” he said, putting aside his glass.

“Cyric would view your resistance as blasphemy, worthy of punishment and purging with cleansing fire. He would threaten you with the Abyss, and escalate this into a conflict of wills and pride. I only hope that we might see eye to eye. You do not have to agree with me, Robert, only acknowledge who wields the greater power, and act as the pragmatic man I know you are.”

Robert swallowed. There was no doubt about who wielded the greater power. It took months of begging just to get King Baedan to send a fraction of their needed resupplies, yet meanwhile, the priests of Karak whispered into his ear day and night.

“You want the bounty changed to capture only, correct?” he asked.

“I do,” Luther said. He smiled, as if sensing Robert’s breaking resolve.

“I want you to make me a promise,” Robert said, “and swear to it in writing on the same parchment upon which I alter the bounty.”

“And what do I promise?”

“That your order will execute Darius for his crimes. I don’t care how, and don’t care when. I just need to know he will suffer for what he did to Durham.”

“He has turned his back on our god,” Luther said, rising to his feet. “The stars may fall from the heavens, and our sun dwindle and die, yet his suffering will continue amid darkness and fire. Never ending. Never relenting. If you wish, you may write so on your parchment, and I will sign it with my blood. Will that suffice?”

“It will suffice,” Robert said, but he felt no comfort. Cyric may have been a fanatic, but this man...he truly believed what he said, that he would capture Darius and force him to endure such tortures. But even amid the fanatic belief, he could still see through Robert’s eyes, understand his motives, and react accordingly. Luther had left him with no argument against accepting his request other than basic pride. Should he resist anyway, it would only take the time for a letter to reach King Baedan and back before he was reprimanded and overruled.

“Excellent,” Luther said, clapping his hands. “My men will stay here while we await word of Darius’s location, as well as plan our conflict with this rebellious Lord Arthur. Oh, and before I forget...”

He pulled out a scroll from one of his lengthy robe pockets.

“I know your provisions are low, so as a measure of gratitude, we have brought gifts from Mordeina.”

Robert accepted the scroll, unfurled it, and began to read. His jaw dropped. Bread, butter, caskets of ale, jars of honey, clothes, coats, furs, blankets...He could reinforce nearly every tower along the Gihon for the winter, just with what their wagons had brought.

“Thank you,” he said, stunned.

“No, thank you,” said Luther, “for your cooperation.”

Robert heard his meaning loud and clear.

“My men thank you as well.”

Luther smiled.

“I am glad. Do not worry about finding my men a place to sleep. They will bunk in our wagons and tents, to lessen our burden upon you. I must insist upon a room for Cyric and myself, though. Now, if you do not object, I must oversee my companions.”

He left, and Robert leaned back in his chair. His eyes flicked over the list, still stunned by the donated wealth. A rock built in his stomach as he thought of how refusing the priests would have kept him from receiving a single crumb of bread. His men would have found out, too. His blood chilled. They’d hear of the warm coats, the abundant food, and then hear how they’d lost it all because of a single criminal. As dissension spread, Luther would have remained outside his tower, surrounding it with his wagons...

“Damn it,” he said, tossing the scroll to his desk. It had never been an option. The result had never been in doubt. In time, Luther would have had his way.

Once more he felt the power of the priesthood arrayed against him, and knew how helpless he was before it. His only consolation was knowing that that same power had turned its focus to Darius. Deep down, he believed Luther would find him, and bring him back to the Stronghold in chains. It would only be a matter of time.

V
alessa stood naked before the door of the farmhouse. She wanted to barge in, but knew she had to find out for certain. She had to know how much was left of her humanity. Her knuckles rapped against the wood, its solidity against her touch reassuring. At least there was that. As the door opened, she tried her best to act the poor, wounded girl. She held her daggers behind her back.

“Bandits,” she stammered to the heavyset farmer and his wife.

Her body shivered like she was cold, yet her red hair was singed in places as if by fire. The husband set aside the dagger he’d been holding while the wife reached for her, sympathy in her eyes.

“You poor dear,” said the woman. “Come in, please. Cale, go see what you can find for her to wear.”

The ceiling was low, but the house was large enough for several rooms. The walls were old wood, but clean, as the floor was meticulously swept. A fire burned in the hearth, and she fought an urge to sit beside it. As Valessa stepped inside, the woman reached for her. Both flinched at the contact, the woman’s fingers touching her shoulders only briefly.

“Oh my,” she said, pulling back and rubbing her hands together. Her face looked a mixture of sadness and fear. “By gods, you’re cold.”

Cale returned holding a blanket, and he made a point to stare at her eyes instead of elsewhere.

“Here you go, miss,” he said, wrapping it about her shoulders. As the blanket settled over her, she forced herself to concentrate, to remain calm. Part of her expected it to fall right through her, as if she were a ghost, but it did not. There was no warmth to it, no comfort, but at least she wasn’t standing there naked.

“Care to sit with me by the fire?” asked the woman. She gestured to two chairs carved of wood, each on opposite sides of the fireplace.

“I...yes,” said Valessa. She shuffled as if she had been wounded. In a way, she had been, though of her own volition. Every time she closed her eyes to rest, she relived the memory of impaling herself on Darius’s blade. Darius, the betrayer...

“My name’s Dora, and this is my husband, Cale,” said the woman, settling down in her chair. “Might I have your name?”

“Valessa,” she said, wrapping the blanket tighter about her. It wasn’t her nakedness she was trying to hide. It was how with every movement she made, her skin thinned, its color draining away as it became liquid shadow. She was darkness given form, and a soul. That she could hold the blanket gave her hope. Perhaps there was still a chance she might have some decency and normality, even in the form her god had cursed her with.

“Forgive me,” she muttered.
Blessed,
not cursed. She’d been given a chance to hunt down the traitor, to make amends for her failure. Never should she spit in the face of her god and his gifts.

“Oh, it’s no bother,” said Dora, misunderstanding her. “Truth be told, neither of us were sleeping. The older we get, the more the night seems to like us better than the day.”

Valessa settled in the chair, focusing on every inch that touched her body. There could be no give, no shift. There was still plenty she had to experiment with, but if she were to be the assassin she needed to be, simple acts like sitting in a chair needed to be mastered. So far, so good. Feeling confident, she set her daggers beside her, still hidden by the blanket.

Cale returned, a meager assortment of clothes in his calloused hands.

“It’s not much,” he said, holding them out for her to take. “But it’ll do until we can get you back to your family.”

Valessa tried to smile. As a gray sister, she’d been trained in a hundred different personas, from obedient servants to wealthy noblewomen. She tried to be the wounded victim, to keep her motions quick and startled, her eyes wide, her speech rare. Concentrating amid the pain, though...

“Thank you,” she said, reaching a hand out from underneath her blanket. Her reaction was too fast, despite it being appropriate to the persona she channeled. A wisp of smoke trailed over her skin. Cale didn’t seem to notice, and she thanked Karak for that. Grabbing the clothes, she felt the rough fabric, its touch almost painful. She set them on her lap, and assumed correctly the couple would understand if she remained there, still warming.