“Traps might be set in either direction,” Valessa said, her voice low. She took a careful step toward Claire, then another. What were they waiting for? Two women, riding alone, and they were smart enough to treat them as dangerous prey? Whoever these bandits were, they were either cowards, or too intelligent for their own good. Valessa certainly hoped for the former.
“Stay still!” a man’s voice shouted to her right. She spun. A man camouflaged with mud stepped from around a tree. He held a bow in hand, an arrow notched but not pulled at ready. Another man followed behind him, holding a heavy club.
“Only two?” Claire asked.
“Whose service are you in?” the man with the bow asked.
“Karak,” Valessa answered.
“No, your lord.”
“We have no lord but Karak,” she said, starting to lose whatever patience she had. The men stepped closer, and she spaced out the distance between them. She could be at their side in a second, two at most…
“So you’re not with Lord Sebastian?” the man with the club asked.
Claire rolled her eyes.
“No,” Valessa said. “We’re not.”
He jabbed the other with his elbow.
“I tolds you,” he said. “We just killed them ladies’ horse!”
“How was I supposed to know? They was riding along like they was messengers!”
“You two are bandits, I take it?” Valessa asked. The two men, seeing that she did not appear angry, calmed.
“We’re warriors of Kaide Goldflint, not bandits.”
The two gray sisters exchanged a look.
“Is that so?” Valessa said. “Pardon me. I would hate to insult such mighty men. Please, put your weapons down. I would feel terribly upset if one of us was hurt through another… accident.”
The closer one lowered his bow, but the other kept a tight grip on his club. He was staring at her daggers, she realized. She certainly didn’t look the helpless maiden. Realizing this, she abandoned her stance, and a smile crossed her face, an easy, well-practiced mask.
“We’re ladies of the south,” she said. “My weapons-master taught me a few things, but I can only do so much with these little blades. Hate holding them, honestly. Fighting is for the men.”
“Aye, it is,” said the bowman. He approached, and he bowed clumsily. “Forgive us. We meant no harm to your horse. But we’re fighting a war, and sometimes accidents can hap-”
Valessa rammed her elbow into his throat, silencing him. Her first slash cut the string from his bow. Her other hand sliced in, opening his belly. A twirl, and both daggers ripped gashes across his chest. Mouth hanging open, he stared at her, dumbfounded, as he died. She heard a twang, followed by a sharp whistle, and knew Claire’s crossbow was at it again. Turning to the man with the club, she found him slumped against a tree, a bolt sticking out of his left eye. He tried to say something, but the poison was already working through his body, paralyzing him.
Valessa wiped the blood from her daggers and sheathed them. Checking herself, she found she’d stepped in where her horse had shit itself upon death. Muttering, she scraped her boot clean on the road, then kicked the man she’d killed.
“When we find Darius, he doesn’t die immediately,” she said, frowning at her boot. “I want time to make him suffer.”
Dark laughter cut through the forest, and both women startled at the noise. Standing in the shadow of a tree, his eyes shimmering, was a pale man in black robes.
“I know you,” Claire said, and the chill in her voice was frightening. “You’re the one who claims to be Karak’s prophet; whom the priests call Velixar.”
The man smiled, his face gradually changing as he did. Valessa tried to act calm, but before her stood a legend. Her knees suddenly felt weak, and her heart pounded in her chest. The man with the ever-changing face, the Voice of the Lion, was truly before her?
“I have heard stories of you,” Valessa said, offering a low bow. “Though I never thought I would be gifted with your presence.”
“Few consider my presence a gift.”
“Then they are not loyal to Karak.”
Velixar smiled, but his eyes were analyzing them both, peering into her in a way that left her feeling naked and uncomfortable. Valessa looked to the dead bodies nearby, and for some reason felt embarrassed by them.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
Claire started to answer, but Valessa cut her off. She would not lie about her mission, not to one as ancient as the prophet.
“We hunt for the failed paladin known as Darius. We are to be his executioners.”
“No tribunal?”
“He had his tribunal,” Claire said. “He killed them. We need no further testimony, no trials. The Stronghold has cast him out and declared him a traitor.”
Velixar seemed amused by the words, but that amusement never touched his eyes. They burned like fire, and Valessa struggled to look away.
“Then you two are gray sisters, the priests’ ghosts in the night. I should have known the honor of a Tribunal would be beyond your handling.”
“We do the work of Karak, same as you,” Claire snapped. The ire in her voice stirred something inside Valessa, and she shook her head as if struggling to wake from a dream.
“Will you help us?” she asked. “We’ve traveled from Mordeina, and the North is vast. Darius might hide anywhere, and it is best we deal with this soon, before he might further damage the faithful.”
“Help you?” Velixar laughed. “No, sisters, I will not help you. I recognize your cloaks, your garb, and though you may not remember it, I dipped inside your dreams last night. That is why I am here. I come bearing a command: leave Darius to me. He is mine to teach, and to discipline, as I desire.”
“We can’t abandon our mission,” Claire said. She was openly glaring now, and Valessa tried to figure out why. She knew little of the prophet, only vague stories, many of them surely exaggerated. To be ordered away from a kill was disheartening, true, but Claire looked like she’d been ordered to commit treason.
“You are disobeying the order of your god,” Velixar said, his deep voice rumbling.
“The priests have decided otherwise,” Claire said, and that was then Valessa remembered. The Council of Stars.
“You have no authority over us,” she said. She felt her palms sweating as she clutched her daggers. “The priests gathered, and High Priest Multhar-”
“Multhar was a coward and a fiend who beat children for his sexual perversions,” Velixar said. His hands shook with rage. “None of you hear the words of Karak. None of you have stood in awe of his majesty and strength. I was there, sisters, one of the first men ever given life from the dust. I was there as he battled Ashhur, when he was so close to victory. Our god gave me eternal life even as he was imprisoned by the elven whore. He gave me this mantle, and I have carried it for centuries, you damn fools. Do you think I care about the opinion of a single man, or his councils?”
Claire’s horse backed away at the violent fury of his voice, and Valessa felt a desire to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. But she was stronger than that, and her own fury rose up. No one dared challenge her faith.
“It is no matter,” Claire said. “You are a prophet, indeed, but the words of prophets are slippery, and often confused. The Stronghold, in its wisdom, has demanded Darius’s death, and we shall deliver it. If you disagree, then go to our High Enforcer and let him hear your anger.”
“Slippery?” Velixar asked. “Confused? Hear me, the time comes when war will bathe all of Dezrel, when even the faithful will be tested. Angels and demons will bleed from the sky, cities will burn, and I will be made a prince over the army of Karak. This future approaches, and is closer with every breath you take. Do you think, in that newly come age, you will stand before me and declare me false? Declare me confused? ”
Valessa stood tall, and despite the hammering of her heart in her chest, she spoke calmly, and with
