men? You must remain here in the city! We must be patient, and wait for the voice of Karak to return with his demons and dead.”
“How many of our friends live and preach throughout Ker?” Melorak asked. “Our brethren die at this very moment, hunted like dogs! Tell me, how many soldiers do we have at our disposal?”
“At last count, fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand men, plus my priests, my paladins, and a veritable army of Lionsguard. And yet you would counsel me to be patient while my rule is challenged, and my vassal declares itself a sovereign nation beyond my control?”
“Avlimar floats above us,” Olrim said. “The seeds of rebellion lay scattered throughout the city. The Ghost is not dead; you know that, for Haern still hunts. This is a trap. I urge you not to walk knowingly into it, no matter how great our advantage may seem.”
Melorak approached his friend and put his hand on his shoulder.
“I won’t,” he said. “You will.”
“My lord?”
“You are right about my leaving,” Melorak said as he returned to the throne. “I must remain. My control over Haern would lessen given that great a distance, and I dare not let Ashhur steal away the hearts and souls of my nation just because some blasphemous king thinks he is above the judgment of gods. But your faith in Karak is strong, your knowledge of his teachings rivals my own. Take my priests and lead our army south. Cross the Bloodbrick into Ker and start burning. I want the whole country to be ash by winter. When you encounter this Bram, kill him and bring me his head. I will set it on a pike and give it life so he might scream for a year above the city gates.”
“As you wish,” Olrim said. “I am humbled by such a great honor, and will do all I can to destroy the challengers to Karak’s reign.”
“Go with the Lion’s blessing.”
Olrim bowed low, then turned to leave. As he exited the throne room, he shook his head and murmured to himself. Melorak’s call stopped him at the door.
“Do not consider me rash, old friend,” he said, his deep voice softening. “I have not forgotten the burning of the Great Fields. We lack the food to feed both our army and the people of this city. But Ker has plenty. Pillage and burn. Well do I know how precarious our position is until Velixar returns. Crush them all. I will be safe here among my Lionsguard.”
Olrim bowed low, and this time the respect was honest.
“I will not fail you,” he said. “For I could not bear the shame of kneeling at your feet when you have so nobly trusted me to succeed.”
After he was gone, Melorak closed his eyes, letting his vision merge with that of another.
“Come, Watcher,” he whispered. “The Blade is dead. It is time we find the Ghost.”
D eathmask and Veliana had bounced from estate to estate, from Hocking’s to Gemcroft’s to Ewes’s home. They’d waited for the riots to start after the burning of the fields, but to their frustration, they never came.
“The priests insist to the crowds that the fields are fine,” John Ewes grumbled as they gathered before the fireplace of his home. “But I’ve had my men return twice in daylight. They’re gone, all of them.”
“Everyone is scared,” Deathmask said. “No one will dare contradict the priests. The price of bread has risen only a little, and the coin you distributed only eased things for the city instead of burdening them greater.”
“I have nothing now,” John snarled. “No fields, no wealth. I’ve destroyed it all on your advice, and does the false king bat an eye? Does he squirm on his throne? Ruined, all ruined, and for nothing! ”
They all looked about, but none could deny him.
“Perhaps he only stalls,” Hocking offered. “He must feed his army somehow. They must eat.”
“Unless he kills them all and brings them back,” Dagan said, and his words cast a dark pall over the rest of the meeting.
“Come,” Deathmask said to Veliana when the others disbanded. “Let us stay at Hocking’s tonight. I don’t think we’d have a warm welcome here.”
She nodded and glanced about with her good eye.
“Broken,” she said, her voice a painful croak.
Deathmask glanced back at John.
“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “I know. And I’m the one who did it.”
“No,” she said. “Melorak. His fault.”
He smiled. “Of course. Shame on me to forget that.”
They slipped out the door and caught up to Hocking (whose first name was Aaron, Deathmask had learned through not-so-subtle attempts). The sun had long set, the moon bright and comforting. Hocking had two guards with him, burly men who clearly preferred honest combat to skulking in the shadows. One stayed at Aaron’s side while the other hurried ahead, checking each street before waving them clear.
“We just need to give it more time,” Deathmask whispered to the lord while they hurried along. “That John’s a damn fool if he thinks we’ll win this with a single act.”
“None of us are fools,” Aaron said. “But we are human. Leave us be for now.”
Deathmask shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Up ahead, the guard turned to wave them along, then lurched behind a house out of sight.
“What happened?” Aaron asked, his voice a whisper. Beside him, his other guard drew his sword.
“Run,” Deathmask hissed. “Run, now!”
Veliana drew her daggers and twirled them in her hands as Aaron hurried the other way. Deathmask pulled his cloth tight about his head and then sprinkled ash from his pouch. It wrapped about his head, floating, and through it he watched and waited.
“When?” Veliana asked.
“He alerted us to his presence,” he said, looking every which way. “That was no misstep. But why?”
They couldn’t stay frozen there in the street, not even with Haern lurking unseen. The thought kept nagging Deathmask that a delay was what he wanted, and that a Lionsguard patrol was already on its way. He thought of climbing to the roofs, but while Veliana might be comfortable up there, he was not near as limber or quick. Besides, up there was Haern’s territory. He’d practically lived on the rooftops of Veldaren.
“Can you protect me?” he asked.
Veliana blew him a kiss in answer. He glanced at the shadows on the far side of the street, a good fifty yards beyond where Haern seemingly lurked. With that small a distance, perhaps he could make a shadow doorway. He hadn’t created one before on such short notice, but the only way he saw them surviving against the brutal specter was by doing something unexpected.
He knelt there in the center of the street, putting his back to the moon so his hands pressed the stone in the center of his faint shadow. Words of magic slipped off his tongue with expert precision.
A single cry from Veliana was his only warning. Haern leapt off a nearby building, soaring through the air as if a pair of wings stretched from his back. His cloaks flapped in the wind but made no noise. His sabers curled downward, ready to strike. Deathmask closed his eyes, continued his spell, and trusted Veliana to save his life.
He heard the sound of steel striking steel disturbingly close above his head, then the heavy thud of what must have been two bodies colliding. The conflict traveled to his right, where weapons clanged against one another with horrific intensity. He dared not sneak a peak, not when a single errant word would ruin his spell. Faster and faster he spoke, risking the delicate weave for sheer speed. Veliana cried out once in pain, and he nearly lost his concentration.
“No time!” he heard her shout. He looped his hands about, the spell near completion. She’d just have to find a way. She might have erred, but he would not look. He’d die with his eyes closed, ash about his face, trusting her with all he knew.
Something sharp sliced his wrist, but he continued.
Veliana’s firm body pressed against his back, and he felt her arms and legs jostle against him as the sound of melee combat rang deafening in his ears.
He continued.
At last, as he felt a saber curl across his face, looping down for his neck, he spoke the last word of the spell.
