scion, the punishments she would inflict on his body and soul would fling him screaming into the outer darkness. But first she needed some nourishment to recharge her energies.
With a sensual tingle, Sybelle went back to the cell holding the new prisoners.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Set on the bank of a sluggish creek outside the city, the abandoned house might have once been a respectable homestead, but time had taken its toll. The wooden porch wrapped around the front of the domicile was warped and sagging, and the yard behind the slumped wrought-iron fence was more dirt than grass. Several holes, some as large as wagon wheels, gaped in the dilapidated roof.
Caim trailed behind Keegan and Liana, who walked with their father around to the back of the house. Although she stole glances at him during the trek from the city, Liana said nothing more, and Caim was content to travel in silence. He was tired, and he hurt everywhere. On the way out they stopped long enough for him to wrap up his sliced ribs, but his leg and forearm had gone stiff. He just wanted someplace he could sleep for a couple years. But he couldn’t get what had happened in the alley out of his head. He’d never felt such bloodlust before, so out of control. The sword rested across his back, quiet now, but what would happen the next time he drew it?
Keegan took them to a door at the rear and rapped on the wooden panels. After a minute, it was opened by a young man about Keegan’s age. Caim didn’t recognize him, but the others apparently did. Keegan shook the lad’s hand as he went inside. Liana gave the boy a wave, and Hagan slapped him on the arm. When Caim approached, the young man hurried to get out of his way. I must look almost as bad as I feel.
The door led into a large country-style kitchen. A gray-haired woman in a faded blue housecoat and a handkerchief minded a pot on the stove. Broken steps led up to the next floor, but the outlaws bypassed the stairs in favor of a long hallway entering deeper into the house. Caim followed them to a large room. The walls were paneled in dark wood, now pitted and cracked. There was a sizable organ against the south wall, its dusty pipes extending to the high ceiling, and a massive marble fireplace. The meager fire that burned in the hearth looked pitiful within its regal confines.
A band of men stood around the fire. Some were from the store cellar, and others he recognized from the woods, including the big man. Ramon’s clothes were ragged, his hair matted with dirt and sweat, and his left hand was wrapped in a crude bandage crusted with dried blood. His nose was flattened as if it had been broken and reset, maybe more than once.
Grendt was speaking when they entered. Caim caught the wary look in the man’s eyes. He’s a cold one. No surprise he survived that massacre. If this whole house came tumbling down, he’d be the only one to crawl out alive.
Ramon saw Hagan and called out his name. A few of the others rushed over to surround the old man, asking where he’d been and how he got here.
Hagan gestured to Keegan and Liana. “I came to see if my brother had heard from these two.”
“Where’s Corgan?” one of the outlaws asked. “He didn’t go back to his shop, did he? The south ward is crawling with soldiers.”
“He’s dead,” Hagan said.
A couple of the men glanced at Caim as Liana leaned against her father’s shoulder.
“But,” Keegan said, “Uncle Corgan died on his feet.”
Ramon nodded. “Like a true son of Eregoth, subject to no overlord, beholden to no king.”
“And no southerlander empress neither!” Grendt croaked from the back of the group with a hard look at Caim.
Keegan broke the uncomfortable silence. “Where have you been, Ramon? We thought you would meet us at my uncle’s shop.”
Ramon shook his head. “At the clearing I fought for as long as I had breath in my body, but they were too many. So I broke away and made for the low camp. It took me two days, crawling through the bracken like an animal, to get clear of the woods. I stopped at the Malgar steading. Some of you know my cousin Joram. He wanted to join us against Eviskine.”
Ramon pointed a thumb over his shoulder at a tall, rawboned man in a wool vest who stood near the hearth. A large blacksmith’s hammer leaned against the wall by his feet.
Grendt leveled a finger at Caim. “What about him? He’s the one who brought the duke’s soldiers down upon us!”
Other voices grumbled in agreement.
Liana looked around with a frown. “It’s thanks to Caim that we’re even alive. He saved us! Tell them, Keegan.”
Keegan turned away as Liana shook his arm.
She turned to their father. “Papa, tell them.”
Everyone quieted as Hagan gazed down at his daughter. “I saw him, standing over the bodies of a dozen men. Covered in blood. As it covers him now and always will. He is the hand of death, and wherever he goes, death follows.”
Caim could feel the tension in the room. His palms itched. Some men nodded at those words; others shifted from foot to foot and could not meet his gaze. Keegan was one of them. The youth was clearly divided between his loyalty to his cause and his gratefulness to Caim. Or is it something else? Does he resent the help I’ve offered, even though it saved his life? What was it that Kas used to say? Never overestimate the depth of a man’s gratitude, or the length of his memory.
He’d learned to heed those words in Othir, and now it appeared he would have to observe them again. Yet despite their disdain for him, he hoped he didn’t have to hurt these people. Caim kept his hands by his sides.
“I’ll go, if that is what you want,” he said. “But so should you. Someone told the soldiers where to find you, and more could be on their way here right now.”
“It was you!” Grendt said. “We all know it.”
“He’s no spy.” Keegan stood in the firelight. “I wasn’t sure at first, but he helped me and my sister. He could have left us in the woods, but he didn’t. Risked his own life, and I don’t think a spy would stick around to see his own goose cooked. That’s all I have to say.”
Ramon clapped a hand on the youth’s shoulder, making him wince. “Keegan sees the truth. Besides, the southerner fights too good to be a spy.”
“But he’s-” Grendt started to say.
“What do we do now?” someone asked.
Ramon gave Keegan a little shove, pushing him back toward his father. “We’ve been mauled by the duke’s men, many of us burned out of our homes and separated from our families. I wouldn’t cast doubt on any man who wished to leave now and try to find some way to live in peace.”
When scattered cries against the idea filled the room, Ramon raised a hand. “Then we must return to the castle and save our strength. Come back in the spring when the snows have thawed.”
“We can’t leave,” Keegan said. “Caedman is still in the duke’s hands. What will happen to him if we flee?”
“Aye,” a stout man with a gimpy leg said. “That don’t sit right with me neither.”
One of the brothers, Dray, shook his head. “You’re bat-shit crazy. You’ll never get close to him.”
Another came forward. The blond-haired spearman. “I’ll go.”
His brother snorted. “You’ll make a fine fucking candle, Aemon. Tied to a stake and set alight by the duke’s executioners.”
As the others leapt into the discussion, Ramon shook his head.
“I know what you would do,” he said when they quieted. “But it’s too dangerous. We’ve lost many of our brothers. Would you have us all killed? Or trussed up for the sport of Eviskine’s witch? We cannot defeat soldiers in armor, nor strive against sorcery and demons with any hope of winning.”
No one spoke. Caim watched as each man struggled with his conscience. Beaten and disheartened, it wouldn’t take more than a stiff wind to knock them over. Like Ramon said, they had no chance against soldiers. And
