12
There were tears in Valessa’s eyes as she rode from the Castle of Caves. Together; she’d insisted they go together.
I can handle a single disgraced lord, Claire had said. I’ll return by morning, and no one will be the wiser.
But come morning, she was still inside. This might not have caused Valessa to panic. It wouldn’t be the first time her partner had had to improvise. But bells signaled a ceremony of some kind, and as the nearby farmers gathered, Valessa had walked among them, her heart in her throat.
“Last night, an assassin tried to take the life of your lord!” Arthur had called out to the crowd from atop the walls of his castle. “She failed, and took her own life. Before she did, she gave one last request. I grant it now.”
And with that, he flung a body over the edge, a rope tied about its neck. Valessa covered her mouth and choked down her cries. The rope snapped taut, jerking Claire’s lifeless body side to side. No hood covered her face, and her eyeballs popped loose, hanging by red threads from her skull. Valessa’s hands shook.
“You bastards,” she’d whispered as the rest of the crowd cheered. “You bastards.”
“This assassin was sent to me by the one I used to call my brother, but Sebastian is that no longer. He is a fool, and a coward, to send knives in the dark because he fears the slightest threat to his rule. So be it! I reclaim my birthright. I am Arthur Hemman, eldest son of my father, Arthos Hemman, and the North shall be mine!”
But that was not the worst. Standing there beside Arthur was a man she did not recognize, but that did not matter. She recognized his armor, and his strange shield. A paladin of Ashhur. Somehow, someway, one had survived, and no doubt he’d been the one to keep Claire from completing her task. Her rage grew. Both Arthur and this paladin needed to die, but she could do nothing now. Such a simple assignment, Sebastian had made it seem. All so she could take the life of Darius.
As she fled the city, her hatred grew. So many were to blame. Sebastian, for not cooperating. The paladin, for protecting Arthur. Darius, for his failures bringing them to the North in the first place. Arthur, for not dying like he should have, leaving her task unfulfilled. She had enough hate for everyone, and as a gray sister, she had the power to act on her hate.
Torn between finding Sebastian and acquiring reinforcements from the Stronghold, she rode south, knowing she had plenty of time to decide before the roads forked. Come her second night slumbering beside the road, her choice was made for her.
Valessa…
She startled, instantly alert. She expected a man kneeling beside her, but instead saw only a serpent coiled at her feet. Given the weather, she knew it should have been sluggish, and in hiding, but instead it slithered toward her, its red scales gleaming in the moonlight. When it reached her side, it coiled up once more, and its mouth opened. Bloodied fangs dripped poison. Valessa swallowed, tensing. She would give it no reason to strike, no reason at all…
The serpent struck anyway, its fangs sinking into her hand. As its poison flooded into her, her sight vanished, and all sound became the deep whispers of the man in black.
I call you to me, he said. Your task is at an end, as I have said. Come join us at the seventh altar, near Stonefield. I await you there, with Darius at my side.
“You’ve taken the traitor,” she said, unsure if he would hear her or not. All her senses were awry, and the sound of her voice was very far away.
Traitor no longer, and to be punished no more. The Stronghold has sent another, and you will hear from him the wisdom of your High Enforcer.
“They believed your lies.”
The truth is sufficient, even for one such as I. Do not tarry, gray sister. And tell me… where is Claire?
The darkness before her eyes seemed to quiver, and her anger flared as she imagined it was the effect of Velixar’s laughter.
“She died, I believe killed by a paladin of Ashhur.”
The darkness turned to red. As if from a distant land, she felt her right hand throb with pain.
A paladin? Could it be…? Hurry, Valessa. We have much to discuss.
And then it all was gone, and she startled once more in her bedroll. Rolling up her sleeve, she looked to her hand. Two punctures still bled in her palm, but they showed no sign of venom.
“Damn you, prophet,” she whispered as she bandaged the wound. “Surely there are better ways to send your messages.”
Probably, but not one that would amuse him as much. She and Claire had openly defied him. For a man who had walked the land for centuries, he was certainly one to have developed a long memory.
Her nights were lonely as she rode, the village of Stonefield many miles southwest. She crossed dying farmlands, and wondered at the madness that would drive a lord to declare war at the onset of winter. He must expect a swift victory, she thought. Sebastian would be wise to hide in his castle… but he wasn’t that wise. If he was, he would have given her what she wanted: Darius’s head. Now it would be denied to her, if the prophet spoke true. She feared he did. Every inn she visited told the same story, which somehow traveled faster than her. Arthur Hemman had declared war on his brother, and even now gathered his forces.
On the twelfth night, she rode into the ancient altar. In ages past, it had been a shrine to Karak. Looming over a patch of bare ground, where no grass would ever grow, was a worn statue of a lion reared onto its haunches. Below it was sacrificial ground, no doubt unused for at least a century. Stones formed a ring, and as she stepped inside, she felt cool air brush against her neck. Even now, with the runes carved into the circle long faded, power remained dormant in them, focusing the will of Karak.
At the feet of the lion stood the prophet, Darius at one side, an elder dark paladin she didn’t recognize at the other. Valessa did her best to keep her anger in check.
“I received your message,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand. “For a man known to haunt dreams, I expected better.”
“I needed to ensure you came,” Velixar said, smiling. It might have been meant to disarm her, but instead she felt her hands shifting to the hilts of her daggers. No doubt spiders looked that way as they crawled toward their captured prey.
“Welcome, gray sister,” said the unknown paladin, stepping forward and bowing on one knee. “I am honored to meet you at last. I am Mallak, third to Carden in succession of High Enforcer. Your name is well-known to me, even if your face is not.”
Valessa bowed in return. She recognized his name, for many times she’d received orders from him. Always through proxy of course, hidden notes and trusted servants. A gray sister’s stay in the Stronghold was never long, and rarely revealed to other paladins. Should a dark paladin succumb to weakness or lies, it would be the sisters that came for them, after all. Looking at Mallak, she realized she’d always pictured him as older. Despite his gray hair, Mallak had a youthful look to him, ruined only by the many scars across his face. He looked a veteran of battle, and he stood tall and spoke firm like one of his stature should.
Not Darius. His sunken eyes stared at her as if he were within a dream, and she just a phantom he didn’t believe in.
“Honored as well,” she said, turning her gaze to Velixar. “And so here we are. I assume with Darius still alive that you spoke no lie, and the Stronghold forgave him?”
“Not forgiven,” Mallak said, glancing at Darius. “Only that his Tribunal has been put on hold. We will not execute a member of the faithful. It is rare one will fall so far as we believe Darius did, and then be received once more by Karak, but it appears to be the case.”
“My faith in Karak has never wavered,” Darius said, a bit of life flaring in his eyes.
“Doubt comes to us all,” Valessa said. “Just like it does to me now. He killed fellow members of the faith!”
“Members who now reign in the Abyss,” Velixar said, putting a hand on Darius’s shoulder. “As Darius will one day reign. Your arguments go beyond your station, gray sister. Any further, and you will appear to be questioning
