The Old Ways p-3 Read online

  She took the bowl, slowly. This was it, she knew. She dipped the spoon into the bowl, then brought it to her lips. Her hand shook, and its color faded. Opening her mouth, she slipped the spoon inside. She imagined the taste, heavy and meaty, but it was not there. No sensation, just the texture, and an awareness of its lukewarm temperature. The only thing she felt was pain. Every second, day and night, she felt a throbbing ache everywhere she once had muscle and flesh. The taste of food was just another sensation, without pleasure or satisfaction. She wanted to cry, but tears would not come. Her new form refused such a weakness.

  Valessa swallowed. Instead of traveling down her throat, the liquid passed through the bottom of her chin and neck, dripping across her blanket.

  “Careful dear,” Dora said when she saw the mess. Cale had not seen at all, too busy staring into the fire with a half-asleep expression on his face. Fighting down her fury, Valessa offered the bowl back to Dora with one hand. Too fast, her hand became shadow and smoke. The bowl fell right through her, hitting the floor with a dull thud. This time Dora saw, and her mouth dropped open.

  Valessa moved before she could scream. She grabbed her daggers and shot from her chair. She didn’t cast aside the blanket, for she passed right through it. In a single smooth motion, she slashed open the woman’s throat, then turned to Cale. The man was still trying to get up from his chair when she jammed a dagger into his chest and twisted. He coughed once, his knuckles white as he clutched the arms of his chair, and then he died. Blood poured across the handle of her dagger, but when it reached her quivering flesh, it slid past and down to the floor.

  She dropped the dagger, and naked on her knees, she howled out in mindless fury. Softness, pleasure, comfort, a loving embrace…all denied to her. And why? Because she had failed her duty, failed to kill that bastard, Darius. Hatred seethed in her heart at the mere thought of his name. He’d suffer, oh, how she’d make him suffer. Her new form might be a penance imposed by Karak, but there would be no penance for Darius, only torment. When finished, she’d use her daggers to send him to Karak, and let her deity deliver for an eternity all the suffering Darius deserved.

  Stop it, she told herself even as she continued to shriek. Karak was not a god of love. He was a god of order. Darius had broken that order, as had Valessa in failing to kill him. She couldn’t be angry. Not at Karak. No, that wasn’t fair. It took all her willpower to choke down her fury at her beloved deity. Now was not the time for weakness. It was time for revenge.

  She looked down at her naked form. Valessa was not ashamed of exposing her body in any way (and in truth, had seduced many in the name of her god, all to execute the unfaithful), but trying to go about unnoticed would be impossible. She needed clothes. Returning to her chair, she grabbed a shirt and slid it over her head. It was too big, and left much of her breasts exposed, but it was better than nothing. Pausing for a moment to focus her thoughts, she took a single step. Every inch of fabric brushing against her shadowed flesh itched in her mind, but she remained solid. Another step, still good. But she could not waddle everywhere like a lame animal. The real test came as she lifted her arms above her head and twirled in a half-remembered dance that had been common in court.

  The shirt fell through her to the floor, her body a whirling creature of shadow and smoke.

  “Why?” she shrieked. Her fists pounded against the floor until her hands began to pass through, striking nothing. It made no sense! How could she perform her god’s will when saddled with such difficulty? How could he expect her to stroll naked through open streets in a hunt for his fallen paladin?

  “Please,” she prayed. Her body might not create tears, but she was sobbing anyway, her grief overwhelming her. “Please, help me, Karak. Show me the way.”

  She heard no answer, which perhaps she deserved. Trying to overcome her grief, she looked at her naked body and began to think. Her body was not real, only an illusion. She could make parts of it solid, particularly through concentration. Was her skin not also an illusion? As she stared at herself, she tried to see what she truly was, not what she remembered. Before her eyes, she became darkness. The sight terrified her, but in it, she found hope. Perhaps there was more to it than that. Closing her eyes again, she imagined her old leather armor, covered with dull plain clothes, and a long gray cloak wrapped about her shoulders. She’d worn such an outfit so often it was natural to her. She could still imagine the way it felt, and how her cloak would billow in the wind.

  When she opened her eyes, she was no longer naked.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She moved her arms, watched the sleeves fade along with her skin. Her body was just an illusion, a projection of how she imagined herself. Which meant…

  She closed her eyes again. Thinking of her former partner, Claire, she tried to imagine Claire’s blonde hair falling down to her shoulders over her more slender form. And then she opened her eyes, saw the hair, saw the subtle shift of her hands. The true power of Karak’s gift came to her then, and she might have wept for joy. Yes, she would have to endure pain, but all gifts came with a price. She could be anyone, limited only by her imagination.

  Valessa retrieved her daggers. Only they would remain in her grasp when she moved at full speed, somehow blessed by Karak during the process of her…revival. One last thought came to her, one she had to finally test. Turning to a wall, and without any time to think, and therefore frighten herself off her course of action, she ran straight at it. No slowing. At the last moment, she closed her eyes.

  When she opened them, she was outside, daggers still in hand.

  She laughed.

  “Where is he?” she asked, looking to the stars. “Where is the traitor?”

  When she lay down to sleep, she relived her moment of death, thrusting her neck upon his blade. But when she focused on his name, his face, she could always look to the sky, day or night, and see a red star burning, showing her the way. Sure enough, she saw it, and forgetting her hunger, her pain, her sorrow, she left the corpses inside the farmhouse and headed southwest.

  Toward Darius.

  3

  As the two paladins walked into Stonahm, Jerico did not wonder about linking back up with Kaide, or worry that the villagers might hand Darius over for coin. All he cared about was finally getting himself a decent meal.

  “You sure they won’t try for the bounty?” Darius asked as they passed the nearby homes. “I’m not too eager to repeat what happened at Wilhelm.”

  “Neither am I,” said Jerico as he glanced about. “But this is Kaide’s home, his family.” The last time Jerico had been in Stonahm was not long after Sebastian’s army had come and pillaged it. Much of the damage had been repaired over the past two weeks, and as faces peered at them from windows and doorways, he saw no anger, only fear. “I’ve helped them, fought for them. To go against me, and turn over an enemy of Sebastian, wouldn’t even cross their minds.”

  He stopped in the center of the village, with not so much as a word spoken to them in greeting. Everyone seemed eager to either avoid them or pretend they were not there.

  “I think,” Jerico muttered as a group of men came around a corner and approached. He recognized their leader, the elderly Kalgan, the closest person the village had to a healer.

  “I see you survived,” Kalgan said, hardly sounding pleased by that fact. Jerico tried not to feel angry with him. Jerico’s protection of a woman from one of Sebastian’s knights had caused the lord to send his army down to punish them in the first place. As much as he tried to convince himself he was in the right, it did little to sway his guilt, and he well understood Kalgan’s ire.

  “We’ve come for shelter,” Jerico said. “We’ve traveled far, and are hungry.”

  Kalgan eyed him and Darius, and the other men with him shuffled nervously.

  “Follow me,” he said. “We need to get you out of sight.”

  Jerico glanced at Darius, who only shrugged. They followed the elderly man back to his empty hut. Opening the door, he
gestured for them to enter. Once inside, Kalgan waved away the others, then joined them, shutting the door after them.

  “You have a lot of nerve to return here,” Kalgan said, his voice more tired than angry.

  Jerico sat on the bed, glad to be off his feet, while Darius remained standing in the corner, clearly on edge.

  “I never fled the battle, if that is what you’re thinking,” Jerico said. “I was there to the end, but Sebastian had too many. It was Kaide who called for the retreat, not me.”

  “It’s not that. I’ve heard what you did. You are a two-faced blessing, Jerico, sometimes bringing joy, sometimes sorrow. Sebastian has sent knights to all corners of the North looking for, as they put it, ‘the man with the god shield’. His reward is substantial, though I wouldn’t worry about any of the villagers here turning you over. Should you travel beyond Kaide’s influence, however…”

  The old man looked to Darius, and his frown deepened.

  “And you. You look like the man Sir Robert is searching for, the one who supposedly burned Durham to the ground. Are you Darius of the Stronghold?”

  When Darius nodded, Kalgan rubbed his eyes and swore.

  “Two wanted men appearing in our town. Ashhur help us. Sebastian already fears us rebelling. To have both of you out in the open…damn it, do neither of you have any sense?”

  “I thought you said no one here would turn us in,” Darius said.

  “I meant Jerico, not you,” Kalgan said. “And it doesn’t matter. One errant word, one man with more greed than sense, and Sebastian’s knights will ride in again, and this time they may not stop at just rape and fire. You two must leave now, before you cause any more trouble.”

  Jerico leaned against the wall and sighed. So much for a night of relaxing and enjoying a bit of corn meal, warm soup, and maybe a roll of bread…

  “Where is Kaide?” he asked. “That is why we’re here. We separated after the battle, with Sebastian’s army between us.”

  “He’s back in the forest,” Kalgan said. “Not sure how long he’ll be there. He’s trying to recruit more men. The gods help him, he thinks he can break Sebastian’s siege of Arthur’s castle.”

  Jerico frowned, though he wasn’t surprised by the news. With Arthur’s defeat, he’d have little choice but to flee. A lengthy siege would be expensive and draining for Sebastian’s men, but he had the patience and manpower to do it. Victory would only be a matter of time.

  “We’ll leave for his camp, then,” Jerico said, slowly rising to a standing position. It felt like every muscle in his body ached from the constant walking, and his stomach growled, as if realizing its good meal had been delayed. Kalgan opened the door, glanced about to make sure no one waited for them, and then gestured for them to leave.

  “A fine welcome for one who fought and bled for you,” Darius said as he brushed past the old man.

  “There have been enough of both in this village,” Kalgan said, unimpressed. “Forgive me for hoping we might have peace for a change.”

  As they headed for Stonahm’s limits, someone cried out Jerico’s name. He turned, then smiled, as Beth came running up to him. Without slowing, she hugged both her intact arm and her stump about him. That she was not self-conscious about the injury brightened his mood considerably.

  “You’re back,” she said, all smiles.

  “I promised, didn’t I?”

  “Beth, don’t you have work to do?” Kalgan said. Beth took a step back and nodded curtly to him.

  “I do, but Katie said she saw Jerico, and I wanted…”

  “Enough. Go on.”

  She nodded again, then turned back to Jerico.

  “My father will be so happy you returned,” she said. “Tell him I miss him.”

  “I will.”

  He kissed her forehead, then continued on toward the forest.

  “A fan?” Darius asked, eliciting a chuckle from Jerico.

  “A spider bite nearly killed her. I saved her life, but still had to take her arm. She’s Kaide’s daughter.”

  “That makes a bit more sense. I’d be interested to meet this Kaide. How does he compare to his rumors?”

  “He doesn’t care for honor, has no qualms about killing, and is driven by revenge. But he’s not a cannibal, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Darius smirked.

  “Well…I guess there’s that. How far a walk is it?”

  “Better part of a day.”

  The other paladin sighed.

  “We should have asked for food before we left.”

  Despite Kalgan’s obvious impatience, Jerico rubbed his eyes and sighed as well.

  “Yeah…”

  T hey slept at the forest’s edge, eating a few berries they found as well as some roots that Darius was certain were the most bitter thing he’d ever tasted. They built a large fire, Jerico hoping the smoke might alert one of Kaide’s gang of their approach, but come morning, there was no one. Jerico tried assuring Darius it would be no problem, and with their things packed, they trudged into the forest. There appeared to be no path, though a couple of strangely cut branches might have been a marking.

  “You do know where you’re going, right?” he asked Jerico.

  “More or less.”

  Hardly the confidence Darius was hoping for.

  “’More or less’?” he asked as they pressed through the rough thicket. “Jerico, what does ‘more or less’ mean?”

  “I’ve been this way a couple of times. I’m fairly certain I can find it.”

  Darius winced.

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Kaide’s men will find us,” Jerico said, grinning at him.

  “Find our starved corpses, you mean,” Darius muttered.

  They walked for an hour, at a fairly slow pace, as Jerico kept checking the surroundings. What his friend was looking for, he didn’t have a clue. At last they stumbled upon a stream, which Jerico insisted was a great sign. They stopped to rest. Darius yanked off his armor and dipped his head into the wonderfully cold water.

  “What I’d give for a mule or something to carry my armor instead,” he said.

  “Not much of a luxury either of us can afford. I’d sleep in it if it were at all comfortable.”

  Darius grinned at him as water dripped down his face and hair.

  “That worried about daggers in the night? If you’re asleep, wearing armor matters little when the assassin stabs you through the eye.”

  Jerico chuckled, then turned his attention to Darius’s armor. He nodded toward the chestplate.

  “You should do something about that,” he said.

  Darius followed his gaze and saw the lion painted across the chest.

  “Would you have me paint a golden mountain there instead?” he asked.

  “Honestly? Yes.”

  Darius shifted uncomfortably, and he ducked his head back into the river to stall. As the cold seeped into his pores, he tried to think. In Jerico, he’d seen something he knew he wanted, a hope for a dark world far more sacred and meaningful than the fire and order Karak promised. But he still felt uncomfortable calling himself a servant of Ashhur. Ever since his childhood he’d been a warrior for Karak. It was hard not to consider himself a traitor, no matter how terrible some of Karak’s servants had been, or what Karak had shown in blessing him for the killing of innocents because they worshipped Ashhur, the enemy. And now he was sworn to that enemy. According to his teachings in the Stronghold, he was doomed to an eternity of torment. Was that still true? Or would he escape to the Golden Eternity?

  Pulling his head free from the cold water, he gasped in air. While wiping at his eyes, he inspecting his armor. Jerico had a point. He looked so much darker, so much more dangerous than Jerico when they stood side by side. There was little he could do about the color, which was stained into the armor during its crafting. The symbol of the lion, though, he could remove with enough diligence and the scraping of a knife. No matter how hesitant he might be to publicly anno
unce his worship of Ashhur, he was certain he wanted to claim no allegiance to Karak.

  “Give me time, and I’ll get it off,” he told Jerico. “Might make it a bit easier to go unnoticed without it, too. Robert’s looking for Darius of the Stronghold, not the Citadel.”

  At the mention of the Citadel, Jerico’s mood darkened.

  “Forgive me,” Darius said. “I’m sure such a loss will take a long time to heal.”

  Jerico nodded, then reached for his shield, flinging it across his back.

  “I must go back there sometime,” he said. “I must see for myself its ruin. But Arthur needs my help more urgently than I need some shallow confirmation. Are you ready to go? If we follow the stream, I believe I can find their camp.”

  “Just let me get dressed. Daggers in the night and all.”

  Darius put back on his armor, and for the first time felt uncomfortable with the lion on his chest. To be sure, he touched his greatsword, and saw the faintest of blue light shimmer across its edges. He still believed, at least some small part of him did. He held on to that, and followed Jerico.

  Another hour later, Darius felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. Long used to trusting his combat instincts, he looked about, then spotted a man in a distant tree. In his hands the man held a bow, the arrow already nocked and ready to fly.

  “Jerico,” he started to say.

  “I see him,” Jerico said. “Let’s pray he’s a friend. Hail!”

  He waved, while subtly letting his shield shift to his other arm, in case he needed its protection. The man tensed for a moment, then relaxed as he caught sight of the blue glow.

  “Jerico!” cried the distant man, shimmying down the tree. He was a far bigger man than Darius expected, and his was face covered with scars.