The Broken Pieces (12 page)

“That is why they need their king,” Redclaw said.

“Is it now?” Silver-Ear asked. “What if we were meant for simple dreams?”

Redclaw stopped, and he let out a soft growl to show his disapproval. They were far from the camp now, at the base of a stump of a hill. Large sections of it were bare, the grass long ago dried up and dead.

“You speak in riddles, shaman,” he said. “Speak plainly, if you would speak at all.”

“Warfang has broken the packs up to fight, each numbering one hundred. We have ten, Redclaw, ten such packs to cross the river. And what is it we aim to do? What is it our god commands us to accomplish?”

“We’re to conquer,” Redclaw said.

“Yes,” Silver-Ear said. “Conquer all of mankind, forcing every village to kneel. We attacked one such village, Redclaw. Do you remember? Do you remember our dead, numbering greater than we could count? We shamans speak ill of humans, but not because we are fools. We do this so great wolves like you will not be afraid. But listen to me now, and hear what we’ve always known. You are not the first to have crossed the river west, nor will you be the last. A hundred times it has happened, many miles south and north, and not just by wolf-men. We listen, we watch, and then we return to tell the others what we have known since the birth of our fathers’ fathers: we will never, ever escape the Wedge.”

Such words were close to blasphemy in the ears of Redclaw, and he could scarcely believe them. Not long ago he’d gathered wolves together, rallied them to attack the village of Durham. Yes, they’d lost, but their foes had been vicious, and possessing such strange magics. One man had fought with a shield shining with painful light, another a blade consumed with dark fire. They’d defeated his pack, but he was stronger now, gifted with similar otherworldly magic.

“Why did you not tell me this before?” he asked. “When you led me into the cave, when you called me Wolf King…why, if you thought it hopeless?”

Silver-Ear let out a sigh.

“Because we have always hoped. We pray to the moon to deliver us a paradise full of fat game and warm blood. The humans fight among themselves, no different than us. One day they may not be ready, and we may claw a tiny scrap of land for our own. And then we would guard it closely, like we guard our pups, so it can grow. So it becomes something strong. But even that is still a dream.”

“Why?” Redclaw asked. “Why, if we are so much stronger than they? Why is it terrible for us to dream of a land our young can hunt on with pride instead of this ugly yellow grass?”

“Because we are but a speck to them!” Silver-Ear cried, grabbing his arm and holding it tight. Immediately she let go, clutching her hand to her breast as the smell of burned fur reached Redclaw’s nose. He thought to say something, to apologize, but Silver-Ear continued on.

“Just a speck,” she said. “There are more humans than you can understand, Redclaw. Our ten packs of a hundred each are nothing. They have armies that make us look like a fly biting an orc’s ear. Do you not remember the stories? In the days of our creation, the first Wolf King led hundreds beyond hundreds down the river, and still we were crushed by the men in their metal armor, their wizards with their evil magic, and their champions with their glowing blades. They hate us, they fear us, and they will never let us escape the prison they have made for us.”

“Why do you tell me this?” Redclaw asked softly. “Why would you try to crush all hope?”

“Because Cyric would have us war against them,” she said. “We’ll travel miles beyond the river. We’ll feast well at first. We’ll drink the blood of our kills, and we’ll howl to the moon following our victories. But then the humans will strike back. They are not like us. They take time to prepare for a battle, but when it comes, they will bury us in waves of glinting metal stretching across the horizon. We’ll die, surrounded, alone, in a land we have never seen before, and will never see again. Cyric says we are to become like we were in days of old, and worship the human god Karak. We died in the days of old, Redclaw. And we’ll die now.”

The shaman stopped, and the music of the cicadas filled her silence. Redclaw clenched and unclenched his paws, trying to think through what she’d said, trying to understand where he stood in all this. He was Wolf King, but he was also Cyric’s champion. When the strange man had come into Redclaw’s camp, he’d bested him with ease, forced him to his knees, and then demanded obedience under threat of death. There was no doubting his strength, and no doubting the strength he could bestow upon others.

“You speak with the wisdom of ages,” Redclaw said, the words heavy on his tongue. “But I will still lead, and I will still fight.”

“Why, Redclaw?”

He turned away from her.

“Because no matter how terrible the chance, Cyric might be who he says he is. This is no time for small dreams. Even if we fail, at least we have tried to conquer. At least we’ll have tried to make a better life for our pups.”

“You’re a wise male,” Silver-Ear said as he stalked away. “Keep your eyes open, my Wolf King, and never forget who you serve.”

Who did he serve? Redclaw pondered this as he returned to the camp. Was it Cyric, his pack, or himself? And did it matter, so long as those loyal to him could feast upon the blood of the weaker?

The sun was soon to rise, and he settled down to sleep near his pups. Not close enough to touch, but enough to hear their breathing, see the rise and fall of their tiny chests.

10

V
alessa sat at the end of the docks before the waters of the Gihon. It was the only place she knew to find solace. Torches and patrols covered the tops of the walls, and tents filled the space between the tower and the walls. It seemed nothing had changed, only instead of it being Karak’s mercenaries, it was Daniel Coldmine’s men who controlled the insignificant construction of stone and brick. To think she’d given everything to take it. Everything…

And when she looked to the dark night sky, she knew it was all for nothing.

“You asked for me?” Darius said, his heavy boots thudding atop the wooden planks.

Valessa nodded, not bothering to turn around. At her silence, Darius closed the distance and sat beside her. His feet dangled off the dock. Beside him he put his enormous sword, which glowed for a moment at his touch. Though its light still caused discomfort, it did not burn her.

“Well,” Darius said when she didn’t speak. “I’m here. Care to talk?”

“I’ve prayed to Karak,” she said, blurting out the words. “And I’ve prayed to Ashhur. Neither hear me. I’m lost to them both now, aren’t I? A blasphemy against the two gods, that is what I am. That is what you created.”

“You’re a fool if you think I created you, Valessa. I’d give that credit to your parents.”

She glanced at him, saw that he was smiling. She rolled her eyes.

“Wipe the smile from your face. That wasn’t particularly funny.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“To each his own. Or her, I suppose. If you feel abandoned now, I assure you, it’s a fairly normal feeling. As a gray sister you were used to Karak’s constant presence, for he is a jealous god, and protective of his powerful servants. But most of the farmers and laymen I preach to hear only silence whey they pray, yet still they believe their prayers heard, and often answered.”

“Then they’re dogs used to scraps that fall off the table. I was better. So were you. Or are you so much better now?”

Darius sighed.

“I’d like to think so. I’m not dead, at least, and I sent Cyric running the last time we met. Can’t do much better than that.”

“You could have killed him,” Valessa said, staring at the water.

Beside her, she heard Darius shift uncomfortably.

“What is it you see?” he asked her. “Something more than this weighs on you. Tell me what it is.”

Valessa looked up to the sky. High above, amid the rest of the stars, she saw two separate from the others. One was a red star, still showing her where Darius might be. It seemed a mockery now, a call to kill a man she had no desire anymore to kill. As if killing him would change anything. The other, like a scar in the sky, was different. It gave no color, only absorbed it all in. That black star was further away, and over the past hours, it’d been steadily moving, like a comet.

“Cyric’s crossed the Gihon,” she said. “Whatever his delay, it’s over now. We need to flee south as soon as possible, before he can reach us.”

“Flee?” asked Darius. “Wait a moment now. In case you haven’t been paying attention, I kicked his ass at Willshire. I don’t see any reason why that might change now.”

“Do not play pretend, not with me,” Valessa said, feeling her temper flare. “I can see the fear of him deep in your heart, no different than mine. He’ll be stronger now, more furious. The time in the wild has done something to him. The black star has grown larger. I can only assume it grows with his power.”

“A pleasant thought,” Darius said. “But that doesn’t mean we should run. Don’t you still desire to kill him? That’s why you came to me, wasn’t it?”

At the time she thought it was. Staring at the black star, she once decided the mad priest’s murder was her purpose, and part of her still believed it. But why had she gone to Darius? Was it because she thought him the only one who could stop Cyric? Or was it because she’d desperately needed some sort of order, some sense of worth, after her near-death and banishment at Cyric’s hands?

“Why did he delay?” she finally asked. “Why did Cyric remain in the Wedge instead of coming back to the tower with Lilah and his men? He wanted something there, and at last he’s found it.”

“Perhaps he needed some solitude, maybe a chance to meditate after I humiliated him and his claims at being a god.”

Valessa shook her head.

“No, that’s not him. Cyric would never have the humility for such a course of action.”

Darius shrugged.

“Well, what else is there but orcs, goblins, and wolf-men beyond the river?”

“All that once served Karak.”

She saw a flash of recognition cross Darius’s face, and then he immediately quashed it.

“No,” he said. “No, that’s not right. That’s not right at all. If he rallied an army of orcs, or wolf-men, or even those strange hyena creatures…”

“There’s no way to know,” Valessa said. “Not until it’s too late. Cyric wants to conquer all of the North, perhaps all of Dezrel, to force his faith upon every last man, woman, and child. We can’t stop him, not with the few we have. We must flee south until we have a proper army.”

Darius leaned his head on his hand, his fingers rubbing his temples.

“Daniel’s not going to like this,” he muttered.

V
alessa had expected an outburst when they told Daniel what they surmised. Instead, he’d sat calmly in his room in the tower, a map of the North rolled out before him on his desk. Beside him stood Brute, eating a peach and looking extremely bored.

“This is what you wake me up for?” Daniel asked. “Guesses?”

“More than that,” Darius said. “Well, slightly more,” he added after the older man’s glare.

“There’s no doubt that he’s on the move,” Valessa said. “I can see the black star clearly, more than I ever have before. He’s crossed the Gihon about twenty miles or so north of Willshire. He’ll be moving south soon enough.”

“Twenty miles…”

Daniel traced his finger along the map, then winced when he reached what he’d been looking for.

“There’s a small town by the name of Bellham twenty five miles upriver,” he said. “It’s one of the last before reaching the mines.”

“We have to warn them,” Darius said.

“It’s too late,” Valessa said, and she felt an ache in her chest that was entirely foreign. “He’s already there. He’ll come for Willshire next, then here.”

“He’s coming for us is what he’s coming for,” Brute said, taking another bite of his peach. “Question is, is there anything we can bloody do about it?”

“I’m not running,” Daniel said, preempting the suggestion.

“Then call it a tactical retreat,” Valessa said. “These walls will mean nothing to Cyric. You’ve seen what he can do, and he’s only going to get more powerful with time. We need to flee down the river, and take as many as we can with us.”