Ramon jerked back at the words, snorting like a bull. “That’s your decision?”
The leader nodded, looking tired and old.
“It is the decision of Clan Indrig,” Killian said.
Ramon stepped back from the bedside. “Those who wish to stay will do it without me, or the rest of the Gilbaerns.”
Without another word, Ramon strode away. No one else moved, though Vaner was considering the patched ceiling as if looking for answers. Caim moved his head from side to side, not sure to believe what he was hearing. Me? Are they crazy? These people need a leader, not a killer .
Killian herded everyone outside, but as Caim turned to go, the veteran shook his head. “Not you. He wants you to stay.”
The others looked at him as they left.
“Caim, come here.”
Caedman tried to sit up higher. Caim watched him struggle, making no move to aid him.
“Why me?”
The outlaw leader winced and settled back onto the cushions of the bed. When he looked at Caim again, his eyes were clearer, but a shadow lay upon them. He’s dying, and he knows it.
“I’m just a knife for hire,” Caim continued. “These people don’t know me and they don’t trust me. Choose Ramon or Killian to take over your rebellion.”
Caedman lifted a hand toward the window. “This valley is where my forefathers settled when they first came to Eregoth more than seventy years ago. This land was untamed then, and unkind to strangers. The strong survived, and the weak perished.”
It hasn’t changed much. I see it in Keegan, the drive to be stronger than his father.
“You’re more than just a hired blade, Caim Du’Vartha. Your father was a man of honor. He wasn’t afraid to fight, and even die, for what he believed was right. You are such a man, Caim.”
“And if you’re wrong, a lot of people are going to die.”
“That will happen regardless. But if they die for a purpose, for something they believe in, then it will have meaning.”
Caim shook his head. There was no meaning in death. Dead was dead. He turned toward the door.
“Caim.” A wet cough made him stop, but he didn’t look back. “Only you can give them the chance they need.”
He pushed open the door and let it close behind him.
Outside, men argued as snowflakes rained down on them. Fewer were standing around the fire than before; Ramon had made good on his promise. Caim estimated almost half of the crowd had departed, among them many of the more seasoned warriors. But Killian had stayed, and a few of the other lieutenants. Still, there were too many young men in the crowd, and too many past their prime. Caedman is wrong. With or without me, these people don’t have a chance.
“That’s it,” the one called Malig was saying. “Without Caedman, we’re finished.”
Oak stood up on the other side of the circle. “We could stay here. Hole up in the castle until spring.”
“And then what? Don’t you get it? We should pack up everything we can carry and move out, to another land.” He made a sour face. “Uthenor, maybe.”
A man with a bushy yellow beard grunted. “Go begging to those brigands? You’re addled, Malig. They’d as soon bury us as help us.”
“We can’t run!” Keegan shouted, but he was drowned out by the others.
Malig put a hand on the butt of his dirk. “You got a better plan? Maybe you want to die here, but I’ve had enough. Run and live, or stay and die. There ain’t no other choices.”
Caim took a deep breath. The same debate was rumbling around inside him. Stay or go? There was nothing holding him here. Nothing but ghosts screaming for vengeance. Innocent people. My people. I don’t owe them anything. No?
But thoughts of leaving vanished as Caim moved through the press. Men stood aside to let him into the circle. He felt their gazes on him. Hard looks, gauging him.
Spy. Traitor. Killer.
That’s what they’re thinking. Lead this bunch? Half of them want to kill me. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere.
“He’s right.” Caim nodded toward Malig. “You don’t stand a chance against the duke’s army, not to mention the Northmen. I’ve seen what they’re like up close. You men are untrained. You’re too few. You’d be better off running. Take your families elsewhere.”
“That’s what I told you all!” Malig shouted.
The men started murmuring again, a low hum of resentment Caim could feel coming at him. He let it build for a few moments. Keegan lingered on the edge of the crowd, watching with guarded eyes. Don’t dare to believe in me, boy. Not for a single instant.
Caim pitched his voice to be heard above the noise. “But there’s another choice. You can fight, and maybe die.”
“Is that your idea of a fucking joke, Southlander?” Dray muttered.
Caim shrugged. “You’ll die in any case. You think the duke will just let you leave after this? He has no choice. He has to make examples out of you, until the last man is slain. So you must choose. Die on your feet.” He looked to Malig. “Or on your knees.”
Malig grabbed for his knife. “I’ll carve out your goddamned eyes before I stand here and let you name me a coward, Nimean.”
Caim walked over to the clansman. Everyone hushed. Fury flickered in Malig’s eyes, but he made no move to attack.
“Then let me help you,” Caim said.
“How?”
“We will attack.” Caim turned in a slow circle. “We’ll strike swiftly and strike hard. We’ll strike where the duke’s men do not expect us, where they never imagine we can reach. And as they rush about trying to find us, we’ll steal in under their noses and prick them where they feel it most.”
“The duke’s got an army,” Yellow Beard said. “He’s got castles and forts.”
“And horsemen,” someone else added.
“Aye,” Caim said. “The duke has much to protect. And much to lose. But not us. We only have each other.”
Smiles touched some of the faces, faint glimmers of hope where before there had been only dejection and defeat.
Keegan dipped through the crowd to stand before him. “I will follow you.”
“And I,” Aemon said.
One by one the outlaws affirmed their willingness to follow him. Caim looked around the fire, into the eyes of these men who had been commended into his hands. They were just a band of woodsmen and shepherds, but there was strength here, and courage. That was a start. As for the rest…
Only one way to find out.
Caim cleared his throat. “I only know one way to fight. You’ll either learn it, or you’ll die trying. Get some sleep. Tomorrow maybe you’ll regret this decision.”
As he turned away, someone muttered, “What if we already do?”
Caim kept walking, down into the valley to be alone.
Arion dropped the empty tin cup and looked across the fire. Stiv sat on his cloak, scraping the last forkful of beans from his cup. The sergeant had never been what the ladies considered a handsome man, but now his face was truly a horror to behold, a mass of black gouges left by the sorcery of the man in black, the one Sybelle called the scion. It was difficult to look the sergeant in the face, but Arion did it without flinching. He owed the man that much, at least.
A driving snowstorm pummeled the army four days out of the city. They stayed in camp while the drovers cleared a path. Arion didn’t like the idea of riding south. He had no love for the Nimeans, but he knew the true
