The Soothsayer, page 22
Crag closed his eyes, and his countenance disappeared into the rock.
“Crag?” Colin called, but there was no response. He turned to the small campfire and rummaged through the pine needles on the forest floor until he found a large stick. He took off his shirt, ripped the arm sleeve off, and wrapped it tightly about the stick until he formed a makeshift torch.
“This will have to work,” he mumbled as he put the remnants of his shirt back on and knelt to set the torch ablaze from the cindering campfire. He moved down the dark forested pathway, holding his torch high, hoping its flames would be enough to ward off the darkness pressing in on him.
chapter 44
The Sacrifice
MARISELLE SPURRED HER HORSE FORWARD as it raced across the moors. The eastern walls of Gilead were less than a mile away. The flight from the castle had been swift, but her grasp on the kingdom was weakening with every moment the king breathed. Now that she had recovered and regrouped, the time to retake Gilead had come. The long ride back from Korah’s Maw would end with Braeden’s head on a stick. No more illusions, no more deceit. As Lord Dagon attacked the Lion’s Maw from the bay, she and her men would retake the city’s eastern half. Through the fog, she spied the silhouette of Gilead’s great walls looming in the distance. The executions would go on for days.
“Faster!” she screamed to her men. “We will enact a justice so complete the streets will run crimson with their blood, and the first will be that little wench—Alexandra.”
Behind her, her guards kept pace on their black steeds, swords drawn and ready to cleave. As the high wall of Gilead loomed ahead, Mariselle glanced back and saw that her entourage numbered at least twenty capable Amorite warriors. The sheep at the gate would be no match.
Then the battle cry of “Gil-e-ad” reached her ears. Mariselle pulled up her horse to a trot, and her men followed suit.
“Damn them! They’ve rallied,” she said, turning to her advisor, who followed closely behind. “Take my cargo and spoils round to the shoreline and meet me at the docks. I’ll not have my things damaged in this skirmish, short as it might be.”
“M’lady, are you sure you won’t come with us? Storming Gilead’s walls, even with your guard, seems rash at best,” he replied.
“Does a lion kowtow to a lamb? I’m ruler over this kingdom, and it’s time it pays me the respect I deserve, whether by will or by force. Begone!” Mariselle commanded and motioned to the armed warriors behind her.
The advisor bowed and turned his mount to the back of the line. Four servants, bearing a wagon of chests and towing the captured donkey behind, followed him.
A guard brought Mariselle a black obsidian bow and a quiver full of arrows. She fitted them around her. “It’s been an age since I’ve used these, but one never forgets,” she said to her man and notched an arrow into the line. She turned to her warriors. “Form a wedge. We’ll cut through their resistance at the gate and ride straight for the king’s throat!”
The Amorite guards formed behind her as she spurred her steed forward. The battle cries rolled across the moors as they darted through the mist. Mariselle dug her knees against the saddle and let the reins loose as she readied her aim, confident her warhorse knew to keep its course. She hoped the princess was among the defenders. The brat’s death would settle all questions of sovereignty.
Egan watched the fog roll across the foothills of the eastern moors and waited in the darkness alone, crouching low to the ground in a hollow. His horse stood quietly in some thorn bushes nearby. It was a meager camouflage but one he hoped would hold up. Two of his five men were closer to the wall, ready to race forward on their horses from the southwest, and two more men were poised to attack from the north side. This was not how he’d learned to play at war. When he was younger, he had imagined leading a squadron of troops in glorious battle, marching in even rows under the sun. Yet now he stood in the shadows, on a razor’s edge between desperation and annihilation, scared to death. He remembered his eagerness for battle when he was a squire and wished he could cuff that young fool’s head. Perhaps courage came from necessity alone, not from will, and to lean on others was no great weakness.
His thoughts drifted to the shore of his childhood as he toyed with the sling he carried. In simpler times, the answers were clear.
The sound of racing hooves brought his attention back as the Amorites raced across the high moor above him. He knew it was time. Mariselle flew past, making her charge on the eastern gate. Egan mounted his horse and darted up from the bushes to follow her war party. In the dim moonlight, he drew his sword and spied her leading the vanguard. Egan pushed his horse harder and came up behind the back line of her warriors. In a flash, he sliced his blade through the backs of two men. They fell from their steeds like rocks in the water. Two more of their number turned their horses to give chase, and Egan led them around a hill away from the others. From the corner of his eye, he saw two of his men swoop in from the shadows and pierce Mariselle’s formation from the side, cutting through three of her soldiers before vanishing into the darkness again.
“Shore up!” Mariselle screamed. “They’re upon us!”
Mariselle pulled her horse to a halt. She looked around desperately for the attackers, but Egan and his men were nowhere to be seen. The Amorites readied their weapons as another two of Egan’s soldiers raced past and cut down the guards on either side of Mariselle. She shot her arrow, but it missed the mark and landed in the chest of one of her warriors. He fell from his horse and crumpled to the ground.
“Damnit! I said shore up! Protect me!” she screamed again, and her remaining men formed a circle around her on their horses. Mariselle notched another arrow. Egan had whittled her fighting force in half in a few moments.
Egan could hear the echo of “Gil-e-ad” from the walls and spied his prey, checking her flanks, but only shadows greeted her. He saw his chance and encircled Mariselle’s troop from the right while two of his men came at them from the left. Her circle of protection crumbled as Egan smashed through it. She screamed in the chaos, and her horse flew forward, terrified. She clutched at its mane, trying to balance herself as it rushed towards the high wall.
The moon peered out from the clouds, laying bare the wall and the ruse at play. In that instant, Egan knew his plan was about to fail.
“Open the gate!” Helen yelled at the eastern wall. “He’s out there!”
The large doors opened a sliver, and Helen rushed out from the eastern wall peering at shadows at its base.
“Taran!” she hissed. “Please, any of you? My little one got loose!”
“Here, lady.” A woman called and beckoned her to the wall’s edge. At her feet squirmed the toddler. He rushed to Helen’s side.
“You should be within the walls with your baby!” she whispered to Helen.
“There were so many wounded.” Helen sighed. “I looked away for a moment and he was gone. I fear there’s little shelter within.”
“Aye, I saw you.” The woman nodded. “How fares your husband?”
“He’s recovering. I think he’s raring to fight, actually.” She tussled Taran’s head. “As is this one.”
The woman nodded. “A little lion of Gilead.”
The boy broke free from Helen’s grasp and ran out from the wall onto the field. “Taran!” Helen screamed and chased after him.
“Forward, men!” Mariselle’s voice howled like a banshee through the mist. “They’ve played us for fools!”
She burst from the shadows like a wolf, notching an arrow in her bow and flying towards the child on her horse.
“No!” Helen screamed.
Avery’s leg was still ablaze from his wound, but he needed to know Helen was safe. He moved around the gate, keeping to the waning shadow, and to his horror, saw his wife running into the broad moonlight toward their toddling child. He watched Helen push Taran aside as Mariselle shot an arrow. It perfectly pierced his wife’s chest. Helen fell to the ground and was trampled as the steed sped past them.
“Helen!” Avery screamed. But he knew it was too late.
chapter 45
The Steady Blade
KING BRAEDEN WATCHED RUSTAG AND Absalom move down the street below and disappear into the shadows. His son’s words weighed on him. Once again, he had sent another in his stead, forcing someone else to clean his mess.
“Soldier.” He motioned to the armored figure standing behind him. “Ready my horse and the men. Whether Absalom’s trap fails or succeeds, I’ll not be unready to face the enemy.”
A shadow emerged at the king’s side, and a guttural laugh echoed in his ear.
Braeden spun around and caught the assassin’s blade hand. A serpentine dagger stopped inches from his face. His arm shook as he held back the dagger’s embrace.
“Father!” Alexandra’s voice screamed, and the armored soldier behind him jumped onto the Amorite, knocking him off balance.
The assassin fell back, and Braeden kicked him away. His eyes widened as he saw his guard’s helmet fly off and his daughter struggling to pin the killer down.
“Alex? Guards! Guards!” Braeden yelled.
The assassin smashed his fist into Alexandra’s face and threw her off. Another royal guard ran up the stairs and plunged his sword into the Amorite’s side. The assassin screamed and dropped his dagger before grabbing the man by the neck and throwing him from the roof. The Amorite reached for his dagger but found nothing. Turning around, he met his blade as Alexandra pushed it into his chest.
The Amorite fell, lifeless. Braeden looked at his daughter standing above the killer, bruised and bleeding from her nose.
He embraced her. “How in the Maker did you . . . No, never mind. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.”
Tears rolled down Alexandra’s face. “How could you expect me to stay away? How could you think I’d leave you to face this alone?”
Braeden nodded. “I shouldn’t have. But you’re all I have left. How long have you been here?”
Alexandra wiped a tear from her cheek. “Long enough. I saw all of it.”
“Absalom despises me, as he should. I’d hoped to reconcile with him privately if possible, but these dark days led to brash action and reckless words—from us both.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “Still, he risks his life to free us from Mariselle’s grasp. His heart beats for Gilead.”
“And if your bastard son will fight for you, why wouldn’t I?” Alexandra pushed away from him.
“The night is long, Alex. Don’t take my ill planning as a slight,” Braeden replied. “I know you are capable. You’re as strong as your mother. I won’t ask you to sit idle again.”
Braeden pulled Teacht Riocht from his side scabbard and studied it for a moment before turning to his daughter. “Kneel then.”
She kneeled, and he placed the blade at her shoulder.
“Though some would say the kingdom is your birthright, I believe succession should be clear. Or else claims to my throne will bring another war to our doorstep. The weight of the crown will bring you enough worries on its own. I name you knight protector and heir to my kingdom. You fight for our future as much as any man here. Just don’t fight it alone.”
“I-I won’t father. Thank you. Thank you for trusting me.”
“Rise, my lady.” He offered his hand, and she took it. “Find Egan. Help him if you can.” Braeden looked over the armor fastened about her. “I know you can.”
“And you? Will you promise to be with me come the morning?” she asked.
“No matter what happens to me, daughter, I will always be with you,” Braeden said and hugged her.
Alexandra nodded as she pulled away and turned toward the steps leading down to the street below.
Mariselle brought her horse around. The woman had not been her intended target, but it mattered little. The rest of the commoners would fall as soon as her remaining men could be rallied. She raced back toward the fighting on the moor. If the king’s soldiers were bolstering the walls with defenseless peons, they were desperate, and any fighting men on the field were no doubt their last. She ignored the peasant who had run out into the field to grab the child and darted toward a grouping of her guards fighting off three guerilla attacks. She notched another arrow, but a shadow at her side lunged, throwing her from her horse. Gilead’s chief warrant officer landed on top of her and slammed his gauntlet into her side, making her drop her bow.
Mariselle delivered a swift knee to his crotch and pushed him off. She leaped to her feet, brandishing a twisted dagger in each hand. Like a cobra, she stabbed her left-hand blade into Egan’s shoulder as he struggled to stand. Egan screamed and slapped the other blade from her right hand. He stood, wrenched her blade from his shoulder, gasping from pain. Mariselle took a step back.
“Come, boy! Make your last misstep here and be done with it!” She spat as she pulled another dagger from her belt and smiled. “I’ve outmaneuvered you and your pathetic people for years and—”
Egan slashed his sword forward in a perfect arc and severed off three of Mariselle’s fingers. She wailed as she dropped her weapon and fell to her knees—blood gushing down her hand. The last vestige of her beauty, the last reminder of herself, was gone.
“Enough!” Egan screamed and pressed the blade to her chest. “Tell them to drop their weapons, or you die here and now!”
“Stop!” Mariselle croaked. The pain from the wound coursed throughout her body and clouded her senses. Her men dropped their weapons.
“You’ve killed enough innocents tonight, witch, and you’ll answer for it,” Egan barked at her. “Call off your men at the harbor and perhaps the king will spare your life.”
“My men?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she clenched her hand. “You give me too much credit. No. What you see rampaging through the city is not my doing alone. The full might of the Black Throne has crushed your kingdom. The Dark Lord has sent Dagon, Lord of Death, to your shores! Kill me if you wish, but you and your friends will be hanging from the archways within a day!”
Egan pulled Mariselle to her feet. His other men had Mariselle’s warriors kneel while they restrained them.
He faced Mariselle with cold, steel eyes and grabbed her bleeding hand. She flinched. He pulled a loose swath of fabric from his tunic and wrapped her wound, never breaking his stare.
“You’re under arrest, for crimes against the kingdom. You’ll face a tribunal and see justice done. May the Maker have mercy on you.”
“Pathetic pup!” Mariselle spat into Egan’s face. “Do you seriously fancy yourself in command? You’re a joke. A fraud. A mouse to be stomped.”
“If there’s no hope for me . . .” Egan set the tip of his blade to her neck. “Then there will be no mercy for you.”
Mariselle’s eyes went wide as she saw the quiet rage in Egan’s face and felt the sting of his blade biting into her neck. Then, as if the universe were responding to her outrage, she felt a strange force pulling at her. The ground became as pliable as water, and she felt herself sinking into it. Egan’s shocked face melted into the darkness.
Suddenly, she was falling into an empty abyss, and then, in an instant, she landed hard on rough gopher wood. The impact was painful. She looked up and saw she was on the deck of a ship under the same darkened sky. She had somehow been ripped away to another place. A familiar face came into view. Standing over her, staring with those nightmarish reptilian eyes, was Dagon.
“I should have you killed,” his voice echoed in her ears, “but you’ll serve a purpose yet.”
Mariselle felt the saliva leave her mouth and wondered if Egan’s blade would have been better.
chapter 46
The Trap is Set
ABSALOM BACKED INTO RUSTAG AND dropped the barrel of black powder onto the hard cobblestone. He winced, but the barrel rolled an inch and stopped.
“Damnit, fool,” he yelled at Rustag. “We’ll die if we’re not more careful.”
“Then watch where you’re going,” Rustag grunted and returned to the lamplighter shack for more of the explosive material. He returned, hugging four of the barrels in his massive arms.
Absalom wondered if the slaughterman’s lumbering strength would become a burden when stealth, speed, and agility would be required for rigging their trap. However, four hands were better than two in a pinch, and the pinch was ever-tightening.
Absalom helped Rustag move the remaining barrels to a small wooden cart and paused to count the stock. His eyes danced over the leather skins of lamp oil, leaking grease that dripped down the wheels, and the thin corded rope was hastily thrown on top of it all. “I’m not sure it’s enough, but we don’t have time to scavenge for more,” he said.
“I can hear their war drums. Let’s finish this,” Rustag replied and peered down the alleyway. The sound of the Amorites’ laughter and slaughter was louder now.
Absalom nodded and beckoned Rustag to follow him down the road.
Rustag took hold of the cart’s tongue like it was a feather and quickly pulled the wagon after him. The two men turned onto the main thoroughfare—the market road curved for several hundred yards ahead here. The glow from the fires reflected on the windows of the homes lining the street. Absalom turned back and saw the archway leading to the bazaar in the distance.
“This is as good a choke point as any,” he whispered. “The bastards won’t bother scaling the inner walls when they can come right up to the front door. Help me.” He hurried over to the nearby doorway of a house. Rustag followed behind, carrying a barrel of powder, a skin of oil, and the hemp line. Absalom pulled out a lockpick and coaxed it into the lock. He placed his ear to the door as he began working it.
“Now just one little click and . . .”
Rustag kicked open the door and pushed past him. “It’s open,” he grunted.
