The Old Ways

20

Sir Gregane stood at the entrance of his tent and stared at the castle. The sun was starting to set, and from the high walls, he watched one of Arthur’s men wave a loaf of bread then duck below the ramparts before someone shot him with an arrow. Gregane rolled his eyes and stepped back into his tent.

“They’re still getting food,” he told his trusted advisor, a seasoned knight named Nicholls. “Damned if I know how, though. How many of their tunnels have we collapsed?”

“Eighteen, if I remember correctly,” Nicholls said. “Though to be honest, we’ve dug in so many I’ve lost track. Are you sure they aren’t waving the same loaf over and over again? It might be tough as stone by now, and they’re down to eating rats.”

“We’ll be there soon ourselves,” Gregane said, walking over to his desk and glancing over his most recent tally of their supplies. “Three wagons, all raided and burned to the ground. No survivors. Our private stores dwindle, yet our guards see nothing. What does it sound like to you?”

Nicholls sighed.

“It sounds like Kaide finally made his way here.”

“That’s what I think, too, and it hasn’t been for long, either. Four days, five at most. Yet look at what he’s done with so little time. I’ve already had to cut our rations in half. Morale wasn’t great to begin with, and now the men grumble behind my back when they think me too far to hear.”

Nicholls cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. Gregane knew he was about to hear something he wouldn’t like, but demanded that his friend spit it out anyway.

“What if we break siege?” Nicholls asked. “We’ve already beaten Arthur in the open field, and he was damn lucky to escape then. Why not fall back, resupply, and catch him on the road south? If we cannot deny them food, and it is our men dying in the night instead of theirs, what good is it if we stay?”

Gregane put his hand on the parchment before him and stared at the numbers as if he could make them grow through sheer force of will.

“We cannot,” he said. “Our lord gave us our orders, and we must follow them. The siege continues until victory, or our deaths. We have numbers, supplies, and time.”

“Forgive me, sir, but time is not on our side, and it seems everyone but our lord knows it.”

Gregane struck his desk with his fist.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” he asked. Embarrassed by his outburst, he looked away and took in a deep breath. “Kaide’s only gotten better at this…dishonorable way of combat. If we sit here, he’ll starve us of supplies. If I send out escorts, he’ll pick off my men one by one, and if I send too many, I risk leaving us vulnerable to an attack from Arthur. No, only one option remains. Is the battering ram finished?”

Nicholls blanched.

“It is, but we’ve yet to reinforce the top. Arthur’s archers…”

“Will not stop us,” Gregane said. “Is that understood? Come first light, we smash open his gates and hang his soldiers from the ramparts, along with their loaves of bread. If they want to flee through those caves of theirs, then so be it. We’ll claim the castle, and Arthur will have his second defeat. The common folk will not consider him their savior after that.”

“If you say so, sir.”

“I do. Now go.”

Nicholls left, and in the following silence, Gregane felt his frustration boil over.

“Damn you, Sebastian,” he said, scattering his reports to the dirt. Come morning, he would end it all, one way or another. And if he failed, then so be it. At least then the better lord had a chance of victory.

“First light,” he whispered. “First light, Arthur, we settle this. I pray you have the wisdom to surrender.”

Arthur wouldn’t, though. Not to him, and not to his brother. Much as it saddened him, their conflict was to the death, and they all knew it. Buckling his sword to his waist, he stepped out to observe the final preparations, and ensure every last detail was set. Next morning, hundreds of his men would die. The best he could do now was minimize the loss.

“A re you sure you’re still up to this?” Daniel asked him.

“No,” Darius said as he adjusted his plain shirt and slacks. “But we don’t have much choice, do we? The blood moon’s tomorrow, and I’m not expecting any knights to come riding in to the rescue.”

They stood by the bank of the river, on the opposite side of Tower Silver, with Darius and six other men dressed as common villagers. The only things uncommon about them were the swords they held, and Darius’s greatsword strapped to his back.

“The people of Durham will recognize you, even if Cyric doesn’t,” Gregory said softly, standing beside him in similar plain clothes. “Are you so certain they will protect us?”

“No, I’m not,” Darius said. “But I have to trust them. Whatever fear they have of me, I think they’ll fear Cyric more.”

Daniel paced before the men after shaking their hands.

“You make me proud,” he told them. “Every one of you deserves a song sung in your praise.”

“And we’ll sing it nice and loud when we come back with that bastard’s head,” one of the seven said, and the others laughed. Daniel smiled, and clapped the man on the shoulder.

“Damn right,” he said. “And no one will be singing it louder than I. My men will arrive on time, don’t you ever doubt it. Try not to die before then.”

“No promises,” Darius said, bowing low. “Have fun at the Blood Tower.”

He looked at the rest of men, and the way they looked back, he knew he was their leader now, the one they put their faith in. He prayed he wouldn’t disappoint.

“Let’s go,” he told them. “We have a village to save.”

They traveled north, keeping the Gihon to their right at all times. Darius’s hand often reached for his sword, and he kept expecting Valessa to be behind every tree, or lurking in every shadow. Each time, nothing, but his nerves remained on edge nonetheless. The rest of the men said little, even Gregory falling silent as they marched. They had many miles to cover, so they saved their breath. An hour in, Gregory spotted a road, and they followed it away from the river. It wound through the flatlands and fields of wild grass. Darius felt naked without his armor, but was glad for the lack of weight as the miles passed.

“Don’t look like there’s any patrols,” said the oldest of the seven, a long-haired man named Zeke.

“Why would there be?” Gregory asked. “Why would Cyric think we knew his plans? He was an overconfident bastard the few times I met him, and I doubt he’s gotten any better now he thinks he’s a god.”

“He ain’t a god,” said Zeke. “He ain’t even much of a man. Just wait. I’ll shove my sword in his gut, and we’ll see how proud he is then.”

The rest laughed, all nervous chuckles and sideways glances. Darius made sure to grin wide, and let none know of his private fears. A priest claiming he was Karak returned in human form? The rest of the priesthood would flay the flesh from his skin when they learned of such blasphemy. So why hadn’t Karak denied him his power? Why send lions of the Abyss? Was there a grain of truth to it? Darius had killed a prophet with his blade, but could he kill a god?

The road widened as they neared the village, and the ground was markedly flatter. By now they could see torches, mostly gathered around the village center.

“Close enough,” Darius said. “Time we split up.”

“Darius with me,” Gregory said. Darius could sense the young man assuming leadership, and was glad to let him do it. He knew the men better. “Zeke, go with Reb and Thomas. Stay at the farthest edge of town, close to the road. I want us to always know who leaves and who goes from Willshire.”

The three men saluted, lowered their backs, and ran toward one of the homes. Gregory turned to the final two, lowborn brothers who’d enlisted at the same time, and been considered unworthy of anything other than a station at the towers. Darius had rarely spoken to them, learning little more than their names. They both had short red beards, making them even more identical.

“Something’s going on in the center,” Gregory said. “Think you two can find a home close enough to see?”

“Finding one’s the easy part,” said Gavin, grinning. “It’s sneaking in unnoticed that’ll be tricky.”

“Can you?”

“We can,” said Kris, the younger. “And no tiny village door is going to be locked or barred, not well enough to stop us.”

“You certain?” Darius asked.

“There’s a reason Daniel picked us for this,” Gavin said. “We might have been a bit… troublesome before being sent to the towers. Come on, Kris. I promise, come tomorrow night, we’ll be ready for Cyric’s little game.”

“Stay low, and don’t do anything stupid,” Gregory told them.

“You mean besides our whole damn mission?” Kris asked, grinning.

Darius looked at Gregory and shrugged.

“He’s got a point.”

“Thanks for the confidence,” Gregory said, gesturing to the quiet village. “Where are we to go?”

Darius analyzed the homes, then shook his head.

“To the other side,” he said. “Maybe we will see something from a new angle.”

He led the way, his body crouched and his head low. So far they had yet to see soldiers, or any sign of Cyric, but he refused to believe the priest had not begun preparations for the blood moon. Someone watched over the city, and kept them in line. As they circled Willshire, they reached a space where they could see through a gap of homes to the center. Both stopped, and Darius felt his heart stutter.

“What is that?” Gregory whispered.

“It’s an altar,” Darius whispered back.

“It can’t be. It’s too big to be one.”

The paladin shook his head.

“Blood will spill there,” he said. “Trust me.”

Surrounded by torches and watched by soldiers bearing the standard of Karak was a massive table, built of five carved slabs of stone. Tied to the stone were twenty men and women. They sat with their backs to it, their heads sagging as they slept. Darius felt fury burn in his gut, and time slowed as he saw the man lording over it all: a priest dressed in black, standing atop the stone with his head bowed and eyes closed.

“We can attack them now,” he said. “We have surprise, and I count only thirty or so guards.”

“No,” Gregory said. “We follow the plan.”

“But the people…”

“…will die if we fail.” Gregory put a hand on his shoulder. “They will endure. Now come, I think I see a place for us to stay.”

He pointed to a large barn, far from any torchlight. The two of them could stay the night there, and come the morning, they’d just be two more villagers native to Willshire, eager to work the fields and participate in whatever ceremony Cyric had planned. Darius gave one last look at the priest, let his face burn into his memory, and then followed.

The barn itself was not quite as empty as they had expected. Instead of silence, they heard snores, and shuffling. Peeking inside through a crack, Darius saw at least thirty people sleeping amid the hay. Gregory snuck around to the front, then hurried back.

“Six men guard the entrance,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Those from Durham must be inside.”

“Cyric fears they’ll flee. I can’t imagine why.”

“What do we do?”

Darius looked up, saw a high window. Too tall to climb. Other than that, there was the front entrance. The paladin scratched his chin, thinking. He looked at Gregory and frowned.

“How good a liar are you?” he asked.

“No one will play dice with me anymore. That good enough?”

Darius pulled the sword off his back and lay on his stomach. The wood on the barn was old, and carefully he checked board after board until he found one that was loose. It didn’t have much give, but when he pulled, it opened up enough of a crack that they could slide their weapons inside. Gregory looked unhappy doing so, but he trusted him. That done, Darius stood, wiped a bit of dirt into the sweat of his face, then did the same to Gregory.

“The men at the front are just mercenaries,” Darius explained in hurried whispers. “We at the Stronghold never liked them, nor respected their faith. They’re in it for the money and power. While they praise Karak, they think like men, not priests. And like men, they assume other men are just like them.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Just stay with me, and say as little as possible. We’re going to get ourselves some women.”

“ What? ”

Darius ignored him, and stepped around the corner of the barn and into the light of the guards’ torches, pretending to have come from further inside the village.

“Stay where you are,” one of them said upon seeing him. Several drew their blades, and Darius let a heavy drawl enter his voice, as if he’d downed too much liquor. Gregory stood behind him, looking nervous, which was exactly how Darius wanted him to look.

“Them people in there,” he said, pointing at the door. “They’re nothing but trouble. No good, that’s what they are.”

“You should be in bed, farmer,” said the man directly before the entrance. Darius saw the markings on his armor and knew him the highest ranked of the six, so he focused his attention on him.

“Sun’ll rise no matter whether I sleep or not,” Darius said, and he grinned as if what he’d said was the most brilliant thing ever. “But my friend here, Greg, you see, Greg ain’t never been with a gal, and that’s a damn shame. Damn shame. But I’m thinking some of them women in there, well, they ain’t too proud, know what I’m saying? Durham girls, they’re loose…”

The guards shared a look, and it took all of Darius’s self-control to hide his anger. The soldiers knew what he asked, and it amused them, for they had done the same. They’d taken the women inside, no doubt while their husbands watched. The question was…would they let them in?

“Those whores in there won’t be much for a first time,” said the guard, and he laughed. “What’s wrong with your friend? Why ain’t he porked one of the local gals, instead of harassing us in the dead of night?”

Darius tried to think of a reason, but Gregory beat him to it. He opened his mouth, closed it, then made a slashing motion over his throat. Darius bit his tongue to prevent a reaction. He’d told the man to talk as little as possible. Leave it to him to pretend to be a mute.

“Can’t sweet talk a lady when you got no tongue to do it,” said one of the other guards, and they chuckled.

“Lots of things you can’t do to a lady with no tongue,” said another.

“Least if the lady’s got a tongue, she can still be of use.”

Darius’s sword was inside that barn, and it was probably a good thing, too. Fantasies of cutting off all six of their heads turned his vision red. But he smiled, shifted side to side as if he were still drunk out of his mind.

“So you fine men understand,” he said. “Care to let us in? Anyone asks, we’re just there to talk. Right?”

“Talk?” said their leader, grinning at mute Gregory. This sent him to laughing again. “Aye, we’ll tell Cyric we let a mute fucker inside to talk.”

Darius stretched his grin, and acted as if he didn’t understand why it was so funny.

“Let ‘em in,” said the guard. “Worth it for the damn laugh.”

They stepped aside, and Darius grabbed Gregory by the shirt and pulled him into the dark barn.

“Greg don’t know what he’s doing,” he said just before they shut it. “So we’ll be ‘ere all night.”

“Fine by me,” said the guard. “But if they cut off your balls while you’re asleep, don’t expect us to do shit about it.”

The door closed, sealing them in darkness. The two stood there, letting their eyes adjust to what little light streamed in through the cracks of the walls. Darius could hear people shuffling, and knew their conversation had awakened many. They might have overheard why they were there, or deduced the reason, so caution was of the utmost importance. As his sight improved, he saw many lying in piles of hay or under blankets, staring at them with wary looks. Two thirds appeared to be women, and many of the men looked old or frail. One man looked healthy, and Darius recognized him all too well.

“I don’t see no sword,” said Jacob Wheatley, standing before two young girls huddled behind him. “No armor, neither. You think you’ll have fun just like the others?”

“No, I don’t, Jacob,” Darius said. “I expect to hide, and pray, and hope that come tomorrow night I cut off Cyric’s head and present it to you all in penance.”

Jacob’s jaw dropped. He took a step closer, and squinted in the darkness.

“Darius?” he wondered aloud. Before Darius could answer, Jacob clocked him across the face with his fist. As Darius dropped to his knees, Gregory flung himself in the way, just barely keeping the farmer from latching about his throat.

“Enough,” Gregory hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “We’re Sir Robert’s men, and we’ve come to help!”

“Help?” asked Jacob. He pushed Gregory away, then pulled at his shirt to fix it. “You got a lot of nerve coming here, Darius. Thought you’d be out there with that fucking priest, singing praises and sharpening your sword.”

Darius took a deep breath and rubbed his sore jaw. He deserved worse, he knew, and did his best to keep his temper in check.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said, walking around him while giving him a wide berth. “I’m not going to explain myself, for I’m getting tired of finding a thousand different ways to say I’m sorry I was a fool.”

He reached the far wall, found his greatsword, and lifted it into the air. Soft light enveloped the blade, and it shone upon the people of Durham, all of whom were now awake.

“But I’m here to protect you,” Darius said, his voice falling. “Will you let me?”

Jacob grunted, and he sat down next to one of the women.

“Don’t mean we’re even,” he said. “But if you can kill Cyric, I think it might be a damn fine way to start.”