had promised Jerico that he would warn Pallos of the silent war should he encounter him again. It seemed such a warning was no longer necessary. The older man looked up at him, his eyes still lucid despite the thinness of his body and the darkness of his cell.
“Leave me,” Darius told Sebastian. “I wish to have words with this man, of things you’d best not hear.”
“Of course.” The man bowed and stepped back, keeping his torch high so its light might still shine on them both.
“Who are you?” Pallos asked, his voice cracking.
“My name is Darius… of Durham.”
At the name, Pallos tensed against his shackles.
“Have you turned against me?” he asked. “Has the entire world? I warned Jerico, but did he listen? He counted you his friend.”
“And he still does,” Darius said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I had not the heart to kill him. He lives, Pallos, at least last I saw him. The world is dangerous, though, so I cannot know for certain.”
Pallos’s mouth dropped open, and he looked torn between hope and distrust. Darius knew the man had no reason to believe him. Everything he said could be a trick, or a cruel torture to be later revealed as a lie.
“I don’t believe it,” he said at last. “I thought for certain… Karak would call you to kill him.”
“He did.”
“And you refused?”
Darius sighed. This was hardly something he wished to go over again, for the wound still stung.
“Yes, I did.”
“Praise Ashhur,” Pallos whispered.
“I doubt Ashhur deserves much praise. His paladins are being butchered day by day, and now I find you here, chained to a wall and starved half to death.”
Pallos’s eyes twinkled, but he refused to argue.
“What now?” the older man asked.
Darius glanced back at the lord. What now indeed? Here he was, before a man declared to be his enemy by the highest members of his faith. Could so many be wrong? Even Karak’s very prophet insisted the followers of Ashhur were an enemy, and that Darius would only know Karak’s strength when he embraced that reality.
He looked to Pallos. The man’s skin hung on his bones, and his fingers shook without ceasing. Sweat dripped from his head-or was it water from the ceiling? He tried to decide what was right. He thought to pray to Karak, but he suddenly felt afraid of his deity. It wasn’t that he would receive no answer; in fact, the opposite. What if Karak called him to kill? What if Darius still stubbornly clung to an image of his god that was untrue?
“You will die, no matter what I do,” Darius whispered. He pulled his greatsword off his back and held it in his hand. “They will leave you here, starving, chained, until another priest or paladin comes along. They will torture you, make you scream and beg. They might even force you to denounce your faith, to cry out in pain that all your beliefs are a lie. I cannot save you, Pallos, but I can grant you death here, now. It will not be done in anger. I will lessen the pain as much as I can.”
“Your blade,” Pallos said, acting as if he never heard a word. “It does not burn.”
“My faith is still strong,” Darius said. “Will you accept my mercy?”
“You hold faith,” Pallos said, a smile covering his face. “I do see that, but is it in the god you think you serve?”
“Enough,” Darius said, his voice rising. “Karak is my lord, my protector, my strength. I offer you this in kindness. Give me an answer. I will not murder you, only save you. Let me hear the words.”
The old paladin let his head fall.
“I hear you,” he said. “Do what must be done. I know what fate awaits me in the hereafter.”
Darius stepped to the side, closing both hands around the hilt of his sword. He heard Pallos whispering a prayer to his god, and the sound knifed through his heart.
“I do no wrong,” he whispered. “I perform no sin. In this, I take no joy.”
He swung. His greatsword cleaved through Pallos’s neck and struck stone on the other side. As it did, Darius saw a black flame burst from his sword. It terrified him, and he refused to think of it, and locked it far away inside his mind.
“A single cut,” Sebastian said, grinning. “Well done, Darius.”
Darius did not bother to contradict him.
“I must go find lodging,” he said, distracted.
“Nonsense.” The lord beckoned him to follow. “You will stay with me here, in the castle. I’ll not have you go seeking an inn, as if I turned away an honored guest. Consider it another part of my service to Karak.”
“If you wish.”
The keeper of the dungeon, a heavy-set man who had remained hidden in the shadows, stepped out at their departure. Darius glanced back once, saw him unhooking the body for burial, and then looked away.
*
Valessa hated the wilderness. She felt exposed without the comforting crowd of the city to blend in and vanish. Every noise seemed louder, every footfall breaking a twig or leaf. When in cities, though, she yearned for the outdoors, to be away from prying eyes that were ever watchful. In truth, she was generally unhappy wherever she went, though she was reluctant to admit it.
“Must he have fled to the North?” she asked, ducking her head underneath a branch. The top of her hood rustled its leaves, and she felt several break off and fall upon her and her horse.
“Wouldn’t you, if you knew the might of Karak chased after?” asked her companion, a smaller, slender woman named Claire. They both wore heavy gray cloaks over their outfits, plain clothes hiding tightly interwoven leather armor.
“I wouldn’t bother running,” Valessa said. “I’d at least be willing to face my Tribunal and die with honor.”
“Dying in betrayal to Karak has no honor, no matter what manner of death.”
Valessa drew a dagger and stared into its perfect sheen. True, there was nothing honorable about the deaths they brought. They were the gray sisters, and they killed in secret, and in silence.
Claire pulled back her hood and shook her blonde hair loose.
“Day’s warm,” she said. “The most in two weeks, at least.”
“Just means winter’s about to arrive in force,” Valessa grumbled.
“What, you hate winter now?” Claire laughed. “I’ve always thought blood looks beautiful spilled across white snow. That, and it’s easy to blame a death on the frost, if we’re careful enough, and don’t use a blade.”
“Keep your wire and poisons to yourself, Claire. My knife is enough to… shit! ”
She hadn’t been paying attention, only trusting her horse to follow the road. At the last moment, she saw a thin coil of rope hidden beneath an unnatural pile of leaves. Yanking on the reins, Valessa reared her horse back, trying to avoid it, but it was too late. The rope snapped, its knot closing in on her mount’s front two legs. The horse shrieked as its body was brutally jarred to one side, its legs unable to properly balance. Valessa leapt clear to avoid being crushed underneath. She rolled, spun, and drew a blade in each hand, her eyes already surveying the area for assailants.
“Show yourself!” Claire called out, still mounted. So far, no one revealed their presence.
“An unwatched trap?” Valessa asked.
“We’re not far from Sebastian’s castle. Bandits have been making his life miserable, from what I hear. This may be just a nuisance.”
Valessa kept her body in a crouch, ready to move at a moment’s notice. Her curved daggers never wavered in her hands. Her horse continued to make noise as it struggled to stand. Tiring of the distraction, Claire pulled out a small crossbow that had been attached to her belt and fired. The bolt sunk into the horse’s throat. Valessa watched, knowing it would not take long for the lethal poison to end the creature’s pain. Its breathing turned heavy, its head fell, and finally they could hear.
The forest was eerily silent around them. If there were critters about, they remained low and hidden. Valessa felt the hairs on her neck rise, and she knew she was being watched. But from where?
“My horse can bear two,” Claire said, spinning her mount in place so she could check all directions. “We can race along, or flee back south.”
