5

“It is a stupid thing to shut me in here,” Valessa said as Darius prepared his bed.

“I’m sorry if my snoring keeps you awake,” he said. “But surely it isn’t that bad.”

“I do not sleep.”

Darius shrugged.

“Well, then never mind about the snoring.”

“Just because I do not sleep doesn’t mean the sound is pleasant.”

Darius laughed. He pulled off his armor piece by piece, setting it beside his bed. His sword he put by his feet, and was careful not to touch it for long. He didn’t want its light to burn Valessa, for though she would not admit it, he knew it caused her tremendous pain.

“You once served Karak,” Darius said, easing into his bed, which was really a cot with a bit of extra padding. “Surely you can understand Daniel doubting you, especially after all he saw at the Blood Tower.”

“You once served Karak as well,” Valessa said, crossing her arms. “How easily they forget.”

“They haven’t forgotten. I’ve proven myself. You haven’t.” Darius opened an eye, closed it. “You’re not going to stand over me like that all night, are you? Just because you don’t have to sleep doesn’t mean you get to be weird.”

“Damn fool.”

After that there was silence, and that was enough for Darius to know she’d left. Sighing, he got up from his bed, took a look around to confirm she was gone, and then hurried out of his tent. Finding her would be difficult, especially if she didn’t want to be found. She could make herself look like any man or woman, and cover herself with the finest of dresses or the lowliest rags. A frightened part of himself urged retrieving his sword for safety. Valessa still insisted she’d take her revenge against him. Was he being a fool for trusting her so?

Darius shook his head. Enough thoughts like that. Looking about the tents, he tried to think where Valessa would go. She’d want to be alone, he knew. His gut told him she also wanted to be herself, not Vale, nor any other disguise. On a hunch he headed from their camp at the edge of Willshire and into the village itself. Nearly everyone was asleep. Away from all the soldiers that looked to him for leadership, and free of the eyes of villagers who saw him as their only savior, he felt himself relax. Forget finding Valessa, it felt good to be walking alone through empty streets. His walk took him through the center of town, and he stopped to stare at the pit of ash where he’d beheaded Conn. But Conn wasn’t the only person he’d killed there. He’d fought Valessa to a standstill, slaughtered a dark paladin of Karak, and even chased away Cyric.

He shook his head. Burning that altar had been the best thing he’d done.

Continuing north, he found a large barn. It was in there the people of Durham had been imprisoned to await their sacrifice upon the altar. Darius had hidden with them, and he remembered their anger and betrayal when they first saw his face. He’d been at Velixar’s side as Durham burned to the ground. The memory made his heart ache, and he tried to remember the fiery altar, remember saving Jeremy Hangfield and his daughter from the sacrificial dagger.

But of course it hadn’t been him. One of the other soldiers, Gavin, had fired his bow to stop the descent of that blade. Darius had stood frozen amid the crowd, terrified of making a mistake.

“You’re a persistent one, aren’t you?” Valessa said.

Darius looked up to see her hunched on the rafters, wearing the visage of her true self. She was dressed in plain grays, just like when she was a member of the gray sisters.

“You do anything stupid, it’d be my fault,” he told her. “And I do enough stupid things on my own, I don’t need the help. Come on down.”

She shook her head.

“Daniel is a stubborn fool. If I stay here instead of your tent, he won’t be the wiser, and honestly, I’d rather be anywhere in the world than beside you right now.”

Darius sighed.

“What is it?” he asked. “What did I do? Is it because of my sword earlier?”

Her silence was answer enough.

“You told me to do that,” he said, feeling his temper rising. “You said to show how I could control you. You can’t get mad at me for doing what you told me to do.”

“You still don’t get it.”

She turned so her back was to him. Darius stepped deeper into the barn, climbing atop a few bales so he was closer to her, and faced her once more.

“There’s a lot of things I don’t get,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm. “I don’t get why Jerico let me live. I don’t get why Ashhur allows such horrible deeds throughout the world. And I don’t get women. So please, help a paladin out.”

When Valessa looked up, a black cloth covered her face, hiding much of her features.

“You hurt me to show I would not hurt them. But all of it was a lie, and you know it. No comfort. No truth. Just a farce pretending at control. If I wanted to, I could kill this whole village, every man, woman, and child. Only you could stop me, only you. I offered to stand there to appease Daniel’s weakness. And stand there I did. If you must, I told you. If you must. You could have said no, but you didn’t. You needed that pathetic display as much as Daniel did, and I’m a fool for thinking you were better than him.”

She was blaming him? Darius’s temper flared, and he couldn’t control it this time.

“So I’m to protect you now?” he asked. “The woman who says she does not fear pain, and still vows to take my life once Cyric is gone? Who are you to me, Valessa? Just a lost, broken killer, tossed and abandoned by the same god that abandoned me.”

The second Darius spoke the words he felt a cold slap. Looking up at Valessa, her face hidden by her dark veil, he realized how lost she must feel. He’d felt it himself. He remembered holding his blade aloft with a cursed hand, begging for flame, begging for strength. He’d prayed until he cried, determined to feel the presence of his god just one more time.

“Valessa…” he started to say.

“Get out,” she interrupted. “Get out, now. I have failed Karak again and again, and you are the reason. It is because of you I know no peace in death. It is because of you Karak turns his back to my prayers. You are a wretch and a betrayer. Do not try to drag me down with you.”

Darius climbed down from the hay and made his way to the door.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, pausing. “But what of Cyric? What does that make him? Karak cannot both bless him and deny him, only one or the other. And you stood at his side.”

“A red star hangs over your head,” Valessa said. “And a black one over Cyric’s. That is my purpose now. That is my way to salvation.”

Darius chuckled, even though he felt so very tired.

“I know an easier one,” he said. “Stay here, if you must. If Daniel complains, I’ll tell him to either trust me, or get rid of me. And if you’re willing to endure their anger and sorrow, you can walk about as yourself instead of Vale. It’s not like any of them can hurt you. Just promise you won’t hurt them in return. It’s not their fault. The last time most people here saw you, it was at Cyric’s side, and you were the one holding the sacrificial dagger.”

He left, shutting the barn door behind him. He heard no answer.

The next morning, he awoke to people shouting his name and shaking his tent. Stumbling off his cot, he stepped out into the painful daylight. Several men gathered about, and they looked furious.

“It’s her,” one said. “The one from that night. She’s come back.”

“And?”

They looked at him, baffled. Darius shook his head and gestured.

“Lead on.”

Upon the pile of ash sat Valessa, wearing her true face. About twenty surrounded her, throwing stones that passed right through her. Darius pushed to the front as several asked for his sword. Valessa looked up from where she sat, then leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. Another stone passed through her forehead and out the back. Though it caused no pain, he saw her wince ever so slightly.

“I never should have been at his side,” Valessa told him, answering his unspoken question. Another stone, followed by a dagger. The calls for his holy blade grew.

Darius left the group, ignoring their requests.

“Darius!” shouted Daniel, having joined the ruckus. “Where are you going?”

“To get breakfast. Come hollering if she causes any harm.”

“You said she’d not show herself!”

Darius shrugged.

“Looks like she changed her mind.”

Sir Gregane stepped into his lord’s bedchambers at first light. He’d been woken in his room by a servant and told to come, and quickly. Normally he’d have been annoyed by such an interruption, especially since they’d just arrived at the Castle of the Yellow Rose, but his dreams, what little he remembered of them, were dark and brutal. Upon awaking, he’d gasped in air and grabbed the wrist of the servant shaking him.

Now composed, and dressed as best he could at such short notice, he crossed his arms behind his back, stood to his full height, and addressed his lord.

“You called for me?” he asked Sebastian.

Sebastian looked up from his desk by the window. The shutters were open, and the soft breeze made the dwindling candles on either side of his desk dance and shake. Instead of bedclothes, Sebastian was already dressed for the day, and by the dark circles under his eyes, and the lengthy parchment before him, Gregane guessed he had been awake for some time.

“How many are left?” Sebastian asked him.

Gregane frowned, caught off guard. How many left of…

“A hundred,” he said, realizing what Sebastian was asking. “A hundred men, more than half wounded from the battle. Plus your guard here, that puts us at a hundred and fifty.”

“And how many serve my brother?”

Gregane thought back to the siege, his second confrontation with Lord Arthur and his men. It’d seemed like such a small force they faced, but then had come Kaide’s ragtag army, followed by the most horrific of all: the backstabbing mercenaries and paladins of Karak.

“When we lost, they did not have great numbers,” he said. “But our siege had prevented many various houses from joining Arthur’s side, plus Kaide’s forces could not appropriately arm or train themselves. But surely you received the same notices I did on my march here. The Marylls have pledged their swords to Arthur, as have the Cranes and the Elliots. Not the most fearsome of houses, but together they’ll prove formidable. Our loss emboldened our enemies.”

“You mean your loss.”

“I did,” Gregane said, swallowing down his pride. “Forgive me. But a safe bet puts them with around a thousand, and five hundred at minimum.”

“We should be able to crush them,” Sebastian said. He turned to his desk and began rolling up the long parchment he’d written. “Here in our castle, even a thousand isn’t enough to breach these walls. If we hold out long enough, perhaps until the winter, the snows will drive them back. Those wretches with Kaide won’t have the stomach for a lengthy siege, not like…”

“Milord,” interrupted Gregane. “If we hold out for the winter, then all is lost. Time is no longer on our side. Either we defeat Arthur, and soon, or we’ll face an army ten thousand strong.”

Sebastian looked up, and there was panic in his eyes. Gregane recognized it well. It was a man staring at death and knowing there was no way to escape its touch.

“Explain,” he demanded.

“That thousand strong will swell with each passing moment you appear the weaker. More minor houses will ally themselves with Arthur. Those still loyal to us will prepare for your downfall by ignoring our requests for aid when the siege begins, so they might more easily befriend Arthur when he comes to power. But worst of all will be the commoners, the peasants, the farmers…‌they’ll join by the thousands, especially should a siege begin. They’ll see us as the cowards, the frightened, the ones destined to lose. By the end of winter, they might be twenty thousand strong. Our few hundred will mean nothing to that.”

At first Sebastian said nothing, only nodded his head as he sucked on his teeth in thought. Then he flung himself to his feet, hurling his chair to the other side of the room where it broke against the wall.

“Why?” he screamed. “Why this betrayal? Why are the people I have protected, the people I have lawfully ruled, so willing to see me ruined?”

“The people love Arthur,” Gregane said. “They love Kaide. They do not love you.”

That was it, the whole truth, and why Gregane had hurried his siege against Arthur weeks ago. Arthur and Kaide were a wildfire, one that, if unchecked, would consume them all. And because of Luther’s interference, a sure victory had turned into a disastrous defeat, allowing that wildfire to steadily burn its way south. But saying these things to his vain, cruel lord was dangerous, and he knew it.

The tension in the room thickened until it was suffocating. Sebastian refused to meet his eyes, instead standing there, breathing heavily, the rolled parchment in hand. And then he tossed it to Gregane, who smoothly caught it.

“I have no faith in Karak,” his lord said. “I know it looks otherwise. I’ve enforced the prayers. I’ve memorized the various litanies and scriptures. A lot of it makes sense. A lot of it is wisdom the world needs. But the priesthood…‌they’re not satisfied. I send them a fortune in gold, and they are not satisfied. I drag men, women, and children before their priests to hear their words, and they are not satisfied. I’ve let my rule be governed by them, my laws crafted by them, my advisors chosen by them. But it is not enough. It’ll never be enough. Get your things, and prepare to leave. I want you to take that letter to my brother.”

“Milord, this letter isn’t sealed.”

“I know,” Sebastian said, walking over to his bed and sitting down on the edge. “That’s because I want you to read it first.”

The defeat in his lord’s voice sent a chill up Gregane’s neck. Still standing before the door, he unrolled the parchment and began reading. As he did, his shock grew. The letter was addressed directly to Arthur, and lacked any sort of wordiness or pomp that Sebastian’s official decrees often carried. Instead it made Arthur an offer, and a simple one at that: spare his life, and Sebastian would cede control of all the Hemman lands to his brother. The only other condition was that Arthur protect him from the wrath of Karak’s priests.

“You’re surrendering,” Gregane said, feeling stupid even as he said it. But he had to hear it for himself.

“Never enough,” Sebastian said, staring out the window from his bed. “All I’ve done, and it’ll never be enough. That priest, Luther…‌he came to me yesterday, just before you returned. He wants me to put all the North into their hands after my death. They don’t want puppet rulers anymore. They don’t want loyalty. They want to be everything, priest and lord and king. All that our father once owned, all that I now control…‌gone. Out of our family line forever.”

The parchment crinkled in Gregane’s hands as he fought down his rage at the thought of such a betrayal.

“Are you sure this is wise?”

Sebastian shook his head. For once he seemed melancholy, calm and sober.

“Sure? Of course not. But it is my right to rule, and if not me, then Arthur. This is my family’s land, and shall always be. Family.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You probably think it strange that I of all men would talk of family. Here I am, having tried to kill my brother, and I well know the peasants say I did the same to my father.”

“Milord!”

“Don’t tell me lies, Gregane.” Sebastian rubbed his eyes. “I did, too, but not for the reasons they guess. He wasn’t my father anymore, not by the end. At times he didn’t even know my name. He was a child, just a child. Arthur felt the same, and tried to give our father a potion to make him sleep a few days so he might take over rule. I almost let him do it, too.”

Gregane knew all of this, all but what Sebastian wanted to say. He tried to think, to understand whatever was motivating him to surrender now.

“Why didn’t you?” he finally asked.

“Because I didn’t think Arthur would be a good lord,” Sebastian said. He laughed. “He wanted to put our deranged, insane father to sleep instead of killing him. Arthur didn’t have the strength, but I did. That…‌that…‌shell of a man was ruining the memory of Rodrick Hemman. I would know how to rule. I would know how to play the game of politics and priests. Nothing would take over my land, and I’d do whatever I must to keep it. Arthur’s honor would only be a hindrance. But now I’ve gone in too deep. I’m terrible at a game I thought I could master. My wife died years ago without blessing me with children, and I have no stomach to remarry. I’ve no heirs, and no love. But Arthur has the love of the people. He has the vagrants, the criminals, and the outlaws all swearing devotion. He has the strength to rule, so let him rule.”

Sebastian shook his head.

“But not the priests. This land cannot be a land of Karak. Let them teach. Let them spread their word, and every man from peasant to lord believe as they choose. But I cannot let them rule.”

Gregane felt himself at a loss.

“I will do as you say, milord. I will take this letter, though I must ask…‌do you think Arthur will accept?”

“I’ll be giving him everything he wants. Why wouldn’t he accept?”

“Because he swore your death,” Gregane said. “You sent assassins to kill him, and an army to surround and starve him. To him, you were once his brother, but I fear you are no longer. You are just an enemy to be defeated. To let you live would be to break his vow. There is also the matter of Kaide. I’m not sure living out your life peacefully in your castle is what he desires.”

Sebastian’s head dipped low, and he closed his eyes.

“Then pray Arthur isn’t foolish enough to let his vow interfere with the fate of all our lands. Convince him, Gregane. Tell him of my fate, and the desires of Karak’s priests. Surely he must still hold some measure of love for me, enough to side against that bastard cannibal. Most of all, tell them to hurry. They no longer march to take the North from my hands. They march to take it away from Luther’s, and they don’t even know it yet.”

“I will ride immediately,” Gregane said. “How soon must I have their answer?”

Sebastian looked up at him again, and his eyes were red with veins.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he said. “Luther claimed he’d leave me to my fate at Arthur’s hands, but I am no fool. In two days, I will give him my answer, and it will be the strongest denial my cowardly self can summon. And then they’ll capture me, torture me, kill me, whatever it is they need to get what they desire. There’s a reason that army camps outside our walls. Ride, Gregane, ride fast and hard. And maybe, just maybe, shed a tear for me two days hence.”

Gregane bowed low.

“Keep soldiers with you at all times,” he said. “And don’t let any servant of Karak through these gates. Survive, milord, just somehow survive.”

“Thank you. Now go.”

Gregane left for the stables, stopping only to pack a few provisions that would get him to the nearest town. He told no one else of his leaving, for he did not want to risk word getting back to Luther. Ten miles out from the Castle of the Yellow Rose, the smoke from the fires of Luther’s camps just a distant haze, Gregane realized he’d forgotten to have Sebastian seal the letter with his ring.