“Tower Silver,” said the leader of the four, extending his torch so its light reached Darius. Tower Silver was the closest tower to the Blood Tower, which meant Darius would not have to travel far for his meeting with Sir Robert. He wasn’t sure if this made him happier, or more nervous.
As the light shone upon him, the four men suddenly tensed.
“I see you are a paladin,” said the leader. “But of what god? Things have not gone kindly between us and Karak lately.”
“Ashhur,” Darius said, wondering what business with Karak they referred to. He took a deep breath, pushing that aside in his mind. This was it. “But I have not always been. My name is Darius, and I once hailed from the Stronghold.”
Silence filled the air, broken at last when one of the four looked to the others and muttered.
“Oh shit.”
“I did not come here to fight,” he said, jamming his sword into the soft earth before him. “Only to speak with Sir Robert Godley, so that I might tell my story, and have him remove the bounty placed upon my life.”
“Begging your pardon, Darius,” said their leader, “But there is no bounty for your life, not anymore. It’s only for your capture, not execution. Robert changed it a few weeks back.”
Darius grunted. Well, that was a pleasant surprise, though he dared not let himself feel hopeful. If it was still for capture, that meant they wanted to interrogate him, or even worse, send him to the Stronghold. Their torture rooms were the last place he wanted to be.
“Well,” said Darius, “consider me captured.”
The boat beached before him, and he offered his sword. The men held their weapons drawn, and they looked at one another.
“Climb on board,” said the leader as he accepted the blade. “But don’t get too eager about talking to Robert just yet. A lot’s happened at the Blood Tower, and I think it best Daniel be the one to explain it.”
Darius stepped into the boat, and he accepted a seat at its center. They pushed off, and one by one the men sheathed their weapons. With poles and paddles, they traveled upriver, toward the tower. Darius looked back many times, always for a glimpse of Valessa. He saw her once, standing at the water, watching. Then no more.
Hours later, they reached the tower. Once it might have been impressive, a great cylinder overlooking the savage lands beyond the river. But now he saw the disrepair, the moss growing on the stone, and the cracks across its foundations. Windows that might have given killing room to archers were instead boarded up to hold in heat for the winter. Of all the towers, it was the only one built across the Gihon, within the Vile Wedge. This had been when their cavalry numbered in the hundreds, and their lightning rides across the Wedge had been legendary. Now Darius hardly saw a single horse.
“Time hasn’t been kind to the Silver,” Darius remarked.
“Ain’t nothing the wilderness is kind to,” said a soldier. “Least of all those trying to keep order.”
Two men at the docks threw them ropes. Once they were looped about the boat’s front they pulled them in. Darius was led out first.
“Who’s he?” asked one of the men on the dock.
“A guest,” said the patrol leader. “Where’s Daniel?”
The soldier jerked a thumb behind him to the tower.
“He’s asleep in his room. Where else would he be?”
“Then go wake him. And don’t ask me why, or how important it is. That’s an order, now go.”
The leader turned back to Darius.
“We have a small dungeon, fit for only a man or two. I plan on taking you there, where no one else but Daniel will know you’ve arrived. Will you come peacefully?”
Darius chuckled.
“Lead on. Just take care of my sword, will you?”
At the western side of the tower, dug into the earth like a cellar, was their dungeon. Darius stepped inside as the soldier locked him in. The only light came between the bars of the slender window in the door. The walls were cold stone, and he could touch every side from where he stood in the center. Man or two? No kidding. He shuddered to think of sharing such a small space with another.
Of course, such tight walls meant little to Valessa. Without his sword, he had nothing to fend her off, no light to burn her shadowed flesh. He could only hope and pray she did not show until after his business with Daniel was done. Time wore on, and though the night was deep, Darius had no desire to sleep. At last he heard a commotion on the other side of the door, and then it opened. Holding his hand to block the torchlight hurting his eyes, Darius smiled and stood.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, bowing. “I’m Darius, who once hailed from the Stronghold.”
“Where do you hail from now?” asked the man. He was slender, but carried the scars of battle, and his eyes sparkled with wary intelligence.
“If the Citadel still stood, it might be from there,” Darius said. “But for now, I guess I am without home or country.”
The man leaned against the door and crossed his arms.
“I’m Daniel Coldmine, lieutenant for Sir Robert Godley. Do you remember me, Darius?”
Darius lowered his hand, his eyes finally adjusting. He better saw Daniel’s face, and then nodded.
“You helped us fight the wolf-men at Durham.”
“I did. Robert and I pushed our men night and day to reach you in time, to save the life of that little town. Yet all that’s left now is ruin and graves. Tell me why, Darius. Why would you turn on those you once protected?”
Darius saw that Daniel held a knife, barely concealed between his arms. This was it, Darius realized. No court. No appearance before Robert. Looking into Daniel’s eyes, he knew the man could not care less for the bounty. Either he gave Daniel a worthy answer, or kissed his life goodbye.
“I was a fool,” Darius said softly. “I was desperate, and afraid. I feared I had lived my entire life as a lie to Karak, and then a prophet came to me, offering proof. Offering meaning. He brought me back to Durham, and demanded they kneel in faith to Karak, or perish. I was to execute all who refused.”
Daniel shifted his arms. The blade glinted in the torchlight.
“Did you?”
Darius rubbed at his eyes as the horrible memories came back.
“No,” he said. “I could not. I don’t know who lived, who died, but ask them if you must. Ask Jeremy Hangfield. Ask Jacob Wheatley. I begged them to run. The prophet would return, and I couldn’t stop him. At the time, I thought no one could…”
He shook his head.
“I see the anger in your eyes, and I will not deny it. Please, before you act, tell me how many survived. Let me go to eternity, be it fire or gold, knowing at least that.”
Daniel remained silent for a very long time.
“Little over a hundred,” he said at last. “And they’ve told me, same as you, that you begged them to run. That doesn’t make you innocent, Darius. A boy who sets a house aflame, then yells for those inside to flee the fire, still deserves his lashes.”
He moved to close the door, then stopped.
“That prophet,” he asked. “Did anyone ever stop him?”
“I did,” Darius said. He knew he should feel proud, but strangely did not. “I cut off his damn head.”
Again Daniel fell silent. He was working something out, Darius could tell, but what?
“Things have changed since the battle at the Green Gulch,” Daniel said, leaning against the door. “Two priests of Karak arrived at the Blood Tower, demanding that we hand you over to them. They want the North to worship their god forever. One of them, a pissant named Cyric, led a revolt against us. He sacrificed his own men to bring about strange creatures made of fire, and hurled arrows of shadow from his palms. Few of us escaped, and I don’t know the fate of those we left behind.”
Daniel struck the door with his fist.
“You say you killed this prophet,” he said. “The one who many of Durham said wielded killing flame with his hands, and whose eyes shone red like the Abyss. Can you kill Cyric?”
“Release me, and I will try my best to end his threat.”
“I don’t need you to try. I need a fucking promise. Will you help me reclaim my tower, save Robert, and send
