The Broken Pieces Read online

  The Broken Pieces

  by David Dalglish

  BOOKS BY DAVID DALGLISH

  THE HALF-ORC SERIES

  The Weight of Blood

  The Cost of Betrayal

  The Death of Promises

  The Shadows of Grace

  A Sliver of Redemption

  The Prison of Angels

  THE SHADOWDANCE TRILOGY

  A Dance of Cloaks

  A Dance of Blades

  A Dance of Death

  WATCHER’S BLADE TRILOGY

  Blood of the Underworld

  Blood of the Father

  THE PALADINS

  Night of Wolves

  Clash of Faiths

  The Old Ways

  The Broken Pieces

  1

  In the Castle of the Yellow Rose, Lord Sebastian Hemman stood staring at his throne. Upon the wood of the chair he’d handsomely paid an artist to stencil in various lions, all roaring and clawing with sharpened teeth and claws. The cushions were red, and sewn in golden colors were two symbols. One was of the rose, his banner, the other another lion. His entire seat of power, the representation of his divine right to rule, was nothing but a declaration of his faith in Karak.

  Except he felt no faith, only fury. His thin hand dug into the cloth as he entertained thoughts of tearing off the stitching with his bare fingers.

  “Milord?” said a guard, stepping through the doors into the grand hall.

  “Have they finally arrived?” Sebastian asked, not bothering to turn around.

  “The priest has, if that is who you mean.”

  “Who else would I mean? Leave me, and send the bastard in. Just him, and no others.”

  Sebastian sighed and settled into the throne. It felt like the carved lions bit at his hands, and the stitching growled at his back. The guard hurried away, as if afraid of his master’s ire. Not that Sebastian blamed him. He’d hanged two men the day before, peasants stupid enough to be overheard speaking ill of him. It’d done nothing to improve his mood. Nothing would. Karak had betrayed him. Despite his loyalty, his devotion, and most importantly, his exorbitant tithes, the god of Order had sealed his doom in his war against his rebellious brother, Arthur.

  The doors opened again, and in stepped the elderly priest, Luther. They’d met several times before, though never for long. Something about his manner made Sebastian feel like a child waiting to be exposed for the lies he’d told. Luther slowly approached, walking between the many empty tables. There’d be no feasting, not for several years. Most of the men who’d raised cups to Sebastian’s name were now dead, crushed by Luther’s army of mercenaries and paladins.

  “I know I should greet you, Luther, but I fear I do not know how,” Sebastian said, standing. “Are you my friend, my enemy, or my conqueror?”

  “I am none,” Luther said. “I come as your priest.”

  “Then you are all three.”

  Luther smiled.

  “Your wit is sharp as ever. That is good. I expect you to listen well, and keep your pride in check as I speak.”

  There’d been no spoken threat, but Sebastian felt it keenly, like a sudden chill sweeping through his hall. Taking a deep breath, he choked down his anger. Now was not the time, not when Luther’s army outnumbered his own two to one.

  “Before you speak, I would ask two questions,” he said. “If you’ll permit them.”

  “It is your hall, and I am but a guest,” Luther said. “Ask.”

  “Is it true what I’ve heard? Did you attack my army when it was on the verge of crushing my brother in his Castle of Caves?”

  Luther stood before the throne and crossed his arms. The directness of the question didn’t seem to bother him any. If anything, he looked bored.

  “I did,” he said.

  The words shoved a spike into Sebastian’s gut. His self-control was stretched to its limit as he asked his second question.

  “Then pray tell me, why? I have loyally served you for years. It is my brother who speaks out against Karak, denouncing the mandatory services my people attend on the seventh. I have sent a fortune in tithes south, and yet when I fight a common enemy…”

  “Silence,” Luther ordered, and Sebastian obeyed. The priest’s apathy was gone, if it had ever been. Instead he saw a terrible rage only barely contained. Sebastian tried to rise above it, to stand to his full height and deny a meddlesome priest, but could not, so great was that fury.

  “The North is in shambles,” Luther said. “And the blame lies on your shoulders. In my travels I have talked to the people, and I have heard their faith. It is nothing, Sebastian, an idiot’s faith at best. There is no love for Karak in your lands. No devotion. You put faith as a yoke around their necks, then rip gold from their hands far beyond what we ask.”

  “But…but I have done things this way for years, and your order…”

  “Is full of men who thought you caused no wrong, and might foster a better way,” Luther said, disgust dripping from every word. “But we judge a farmer by the harvest, and this harvest is poor. Rebellion stirs in their hearts, and not just against you. The Citadel is crushed, and Ashhur’s paladins are nearly extinct. There is a chance to accomplish something here in the North, something great, but it will not be with you as its lord.”

  Sebastian felt his blood pounding in his ears. So this was it? The priesthood would try to overthrow him at last? Years ago, when he first took rule of the North, Karak’s priests had come to him, whispering careful words about remaining respectful of their faith. Sebastian had known what it meant, and been a careful follower ever since.

  “If you take any action against me, all of Mordan will war against you,” Sebastian said. “No lord or lady will risk losing their throne because of the whims of a priest.”

  “That has been happening since the dawn of time, Sebastian. But no, I will not take action against you. I only present you a choice, one you will either accept or refuse. The consequences will then be yours, however you decide.”

  So this was it, then. At last he’d hear the true reason for the betrayal.

  “Speak it, then,” Sebastian said, leaning back in his chair. “Waste no more of my time.”

  “Your army is crushed,” Luther began.

  “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

  “Please,” Luther said. “Do not waste my time, either.”

  Sebastian waved for him to continue.

  “Regardless the reason, you are defeated,” said the priest. “Your brother marches this way, the rebel Kaide at his side. Together they have gathered men, more than enough to surround your castle and starve you out. The North knows of your defeat, and the seeds of rebellion are sprouting. Your only hope, other than surrendering, is to accept our aid.”

  “Aid?” Sebastian asked. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You crush my army, then offer me aid? What nonsense is this?”

  “Not nonsense,” Luther said. “Just the plain truth.”

  “You would blackmail me,” Sebastian said, realizing what was going on. “By the gods, you have the stones to do it, too.”

  “One god,” Luther said. “And I will do all he desires, regardless of my…stones. As for you, you have no wife, and no heir, something your people have grumbled behind your back about for some time. Not that you’ve cared, selfish as you are. You have never worried about succession, or ensuring peace after your death. I will end that, now. With my aid, you’ll sign a will donating all of your lands, and the lands of your brother after his defeat, to the temple of Karak.”

  Sebastian blinked, hardly able to believe his ears.

  “All of it?” he asked.

  Luther nodded.

  Sebastian rubbed his eyes, then stood from his throne. Fo
r once, he felt a fire brewing in him, and he would cower no longer.

  “You ask for land that has been in my family for generations!” he cried. “You ask that I crush my brother, and then in death hand over the entire North to your temple? And how long, pray tell, until I die in my sleep? A year? Two? You’re a patient one, Luther, but I have a feeling you’ll want this to happen in your lifetime. This is…this is…this is unacceptable. You have overstepped every bound imaginable. I will send word to Mordeina. When the King hears of how you attacked my army, how you blackmailed me…”

  “The King will hear what we tell him!” Luther roared back, his voice shockingly powerful for his age. It was as if Karak’s fury thundered out of his throat. “If you do not agree, then we’ll reveal the fleecing of your people in our name. We will tell him you waged war with the claim of our approval, and even used the faith of our god to recruit and fund this brothers’ squabble. Do you know who King Baedan’s advisors are, Sebastian? They’re priests, and not of Ashhur. What do you think they’ll whisper in his ears? They’ll say we did what was just, for how could we ignore a lord insulting and profaning Karak in such a way?”

  Sebastian didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, but he knew it was true. Common knowledge throughout Mordan was of how the priests of Karak guided the King’s every move. Just yet another reason why Sebastian had tried to side so publicly with the Lion.

  “Why?” he asked, slumping in his throne. “Why have you turned against me so? Why such hatred?”

  Luther pulled his robe tighter about his shoulders and turned to the door.

  “I do it because there is no faith in your heart,” he said. “Just a shallow lie that has damaged our cause greatly. Dress yourself head to toe with the mark of the Lion, but you still hide nothing, not from me. Think on my offer. If you refuse, you’ll have to fend off Arthur on your own. But we both know how that will go, don’t we?”

  Sebastian’s hands shook as he clutched the sides of his chair. His mind whirled, trying to make sense of it all, to think of some way to save himself from his predicament.

  “Give me a week to decide,” he said at last.

  “No,” Luther said, walking away. “You have three days. Use them well, Sebastian.”

  The guards opened the doors so he might leave, and the noise of them shutting thundered throughout the suddenly quiet hall.

  Sebastian rubbed his eyes, felt them tearing up with frustration and panic. He wouldn’t lose this war. He couldn’t. Arthur would hand him over to that rebel, Kaide the Cannibal. What the man would do to him…would he even kill him?

  “Damn you, Luther,” Sebastian said, though he had no clue what god might be left to do it. Karak would not damn his own, and as for Ashhur…

  Ashhur was dead, his paladins gone, his priests too weak to stop it. There was no one left.

  No one left at all.

  2

  Jerico awoke with a start, crying out while hardly aware he was doing so. Sweat poured down his face, and it felt cool against his skin in the chill night air. He’d flung off his bedroll, no doubt from flailing about in the night. Clouds hid most of the stars, but the moon shone through one of the scattered gaps, and in its light Jerico stared at his hands. They were shaking.

  “Just dreams,” the paladin said, steadying his breathing in an attempt to slow down his heart. “Dreams, that’s all, nothing more.”

  He lay back down and closed his eyes. Though he was on the outskirts of Robert’s camp, he was still close enough to hear the snores and shuffling. From all around thrummed the cicadas, plentiful in the tall grass in the Knothills where they camped. To some it would have seemed dreadfully loud, but to Jerico it was nothing compared with Sandra’s echoing screams in his head.

  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it. The battle at the Castle of Caves was at its end, Sebastian’s siege crushed by the unexpected aid of Luther’s army. Sandra had come running, leaping into his arms, oblivious to the gore and death all around them in the gates of the castle where Jerico had helmed the defense. She’d been his first love, his only love, and night after night he re-lived that moment where Luther came, pointed his finger, and blasted her heart to pieces with a bolt of lightning that had shimmered black.

  Now do you understand, Jerico? Luther had said as Jerico held Sandra’s corpse in his arms. You are insignificant, just a puppet to my desires. Go off into the wilderness and die. There is no longer a place for you in this world.

  Such calculated cruelty. It made him shiver still. Luther had meant every word, and spoken them as if to a child or troublesome animal. Jerico, covered in the blood of dozens of soldiers, had been nothing but a tool. But for what reason? As he closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, he pondered on that, wishing his mind to remain on things other than the life vanishing from Sandra’s eyes. Why had Luther wanted Jerico to keep Lord Arthur alive? What purpose? Everything he knew about Lord Sebastian implied he was an ardent supporter of Karak.

  …just a puppet…

  That’s how Jerico felt. A clueless puppet. How did one fight against the strings when ignorant of the direction they pulled?

  “Forget it,” Jerico muttered, slowly rising to his feet. His mind was too awake.

  Walking away from the camp, he hoped to put his mind at ease, to let the sounds of the night and rhythm of his steps drown away the lingering fears. Just south of the camp was a larger hill, and Jerico climbed it, the motion stretching the muscles of his legs in a satisfying way. He’d thought to overlook the encampment alone, but was surprised to find another. Jerico’s first instinct was to reach for his mace, but Ashhur cried no warning in his mind. Besides, he’d left his mace and shield next to his bedroll, a rather stupid act in hindsight.

  “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” the other man asked. He sat facing the camp, a long dirk in hand. When he looked up to speak, the faint light shone across his face, revealing his gray hair tied in a long ponytail.

  “I could ask you the same thing, Kaide,” Jerico said.

  Kaide met his gaze, and for several long seconds he showed no reaction. Then he looked away, back down to his dirk.

  “I think we both know the answer,” the bandit lord said.

  Jerico did, of course. Six days ago they’d buried Sandra along with the rest of the dead. If anyone felt the pain keener than Jerico, it’d be Kaide.

  “Mind if I sit?” Jerico asked. “If neither of us can sleep, we might as well talk.”

  “Why not?” Kaide said. “You do tend to help one fall asleep.”

  “That’s what the people in Durham used to say after my sermons,” Jerico said, forcing an unreturned smile. Shaking his head, Jerico sat beside the man, and together they overlooked the tents. On one side were Lord Arthur’s men, about five hundred in number. On the other side were those belonging to Kaide. Most slept below the open sky instead of in tents, having little more than the clothes on their backs and a desire for vengeance in their hearts.

  “What is it you see?” Jerico asked when Kaide continued to stare at the camp.

  “I see my men outnumbering Arthur’s,” Kaide said. “Yet we will receive no honor at Sebastian’s defeat. We’ll earn no lands, and be given no credit. It’ll all belong to Arthur.”

  “I thought he promised to give you back Ashvale,” Jerico said.

  Kaide let out a chuckle.

  “I’m not sure I want it anymore. Enough blood on my hands.” He fell silent for a moment, and Jerico could tell he was struggling for words. “She told me, you know,” he said after a time. “That bastard, Luther, he gave her warning. Said I was to stay away, me and my men. I laughed at her. Laughed. And now look at what’s happened. Here I am, Kaide the Cannibal, marching south to have my revenge, and all I can think of is how I wish I’d let you and Arthur rot in that castle.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Jerico said.

  “It’s not?” Kaide asked, shooting him a glare. “Then whose is it? Luther’s? Arthur’s? Yours? Tell me, Je
rico. Tell me, so I can shove this blade up their ass and rip it out their throat.”

  Jerico waited to respond, letting Kaide calm first. In truth, he wasn’t sure what he had to offer in answer, but he had to try. He’d felt distance growing between him and Kaide for a while, and when Sandra died it’d turned into a massive chasm.

  “Revenge isn’t how you should honor her,” he began.

  “Bullshit!” Kaide shouted, stabbing his dirk into the dirt. “Bullshit. Revenge is all I have left. It’s what’s gotten me this far. It’s what has rallied these men to fight on my side to overthrow Sebastian. All I had beyond revenge was my sister and daughter, and now I’ve lost one.”

  “She’s not lost, not…”

  “No,” Kaide said, glaring. “No, don’t you dare tell me that. I don’t want to hear about the hereafter. I don’t want to hear about golden streets and rows of angels. My sister is dead, gods dammit! Dead, gone, lost, and for what reason? Because I pissed off a priest? Because I was stupid enough to think I could accomplish something in this miserable fucking world?”

  “Luther killed Sandra to hurt me,” Jerico said, the words like acid in his throat. “That’s why she died.”

  “To hurt you?” Kaide said. “That’s all? To think she died for so noble a purpose. Why are you so special? If he wanted to hurt you, he should have just hurt you. Not my sister. Not my little…”

  He was crying, and he jammed the dirk into the dirt again and again. His upper body trembled with the action.

  “What good are you, Jerico?” he asked at last. “Sandra loved you. I know she did. And you couldn’t protect her, not even her. I sit here, and you have no comfort to offer other than petty dreams of gold you desperately pretend are real. You’re an excellent killer, I’ll give you that. An excellent killer in a world that’s gotten so very fucking good at that lately.”

  Kaide stood, dirk in hand, and paused. His back was to Jerico, as if he were waiting, giving Jerico one last chance to refute the words. Jerico wanted to. He wanted to say something profound, something meaningful. A dozen responses he’d learned at the Citadel came to mind, things he’d been trained to say at such questioning. But they felt prepared. They felt dishonest. If he and Darius were wiped out, what did the world of Dezrel lose? What did he have to offer?