in the adjacent rooms. The three looked to him, and he could tell they wanted orders.
“Kill them,” he whispered back. “I’ll get Robert.”
The three opened the door, and like wraiths in the night, they slipped inside with swords drawn. As Daniel climbed the circular steps leading to Robert’s chambers, he heard a sound that made his heart freeze. It was the roar of a lion, and it was furious. Racing up the steps, he found a window overlooking the wall Porter hid upon. There, atop the stone, was one of the lions of Karak, Porter’s body flopping as the creature shook it in its jaws. Daniel forced himself to look away.
At the top of the steps, Daniel found a mercenary rushing down to investigate. A quick stab underneath the ridge of his breastplate sent him toppling. Daniel yanked free the iron key attached to his belt, then continued on. Stopping at Robert’s door, he unlocked it and thrust it open.
“Time to go, sir,” he said, then froze. His jaw dropped, and his hands trembled.
“No,” he whispered. “Gods, no.”
Robert sat in a chair, his waist and legs strapped to it with chains. Before him was a table, rows of parchment, and a single candle. He held a quill in his gray, lifeless hand. His eyes were open, and his mouth hung limp. His flesh was already rotting, his tongue cut from his throat, but he still lived…if living was what it could be called. A wicked cut remained open across his throat, his clothes and skin below it stained red, but the wound itself did not bleed.
“What have they done to you?” Daniel asked as he heard the lion roar once more.
Robert dipped the quill into an inkwell, then carefully wrote a message on the parchment before him. Daniel stepped forward, and he read it with tears in his eyes.
Kill me. Last order.
Daniel swallowed.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
The undead mockery of his commander nodded. Daniel clenched his jaw and wiped away his tears, so he might strong, might be proud.
“I understand,” he said. “It was an honor to serve you, Robert. A true honor.”
He cut off Robert’s head. It fell to the floor, rolled once, then lay still. The rest of the body sagged in the chair, all strength vanishing from it. Daniel stared, holding back his grief, but not his anger.
“Sir?”
Daniel turned to see the other three gathered there, looking at the corpse with wide eyes.
“Cyric’s doing,” Daniel said, his voice croaking. “May the bastard suffer for an eternity when we find him.”
“We barred the door downstairs,” Slint said. “The rest of the traitors are dead, but…”
“The lion,” Daniel said, knowing what they feared. Porter had been found, and the lion stalked the tower. He looked out the window, saw men hurrying to investigate. Whatever hope they had of escape was gone.
“Forgive me,” he told them. “I led you to your deaths.”
“Save the apologies,” Slint said, pulling some rope off his back, one of their emergency provisions. He thrust it into Daniel’s hands. “You’re lord of the Blood Tower now, and our commander. Any hope of honoring Robert is now in your hands.”
Daniel looked to the rope, then the window, and shook his head.
“I won’t. They’ll find me before I ever set foot on the ground.”
“Not if we distract them.”
The three saluted him with their swords. They were willing to die, and appeared ready to carry out their plan whether he agreed with it or not. Taking a deep breath, he saluted back.
“I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he told them. “Take as many with you as you can.”
“Damn right.”
Daniel tied the rope to Robert’s desk, which he shifted closer to the window. When the tower was built, the entrance had faced the river, but Robert’s window faced the gate to the walls, so he might always see the arrival of any guests. Looking down, he saw no one watching, everyone gathering at the other side. From down below, he heard a loud banging as something smashed into the barred doors. Holding the rope in his hands, he waited to throw it, listening for what he also feared.
Loud cracking, then screams. They were through. Daniel offered a prayer for his men, then tossed the rope. He climbed down fast as possible, the rope burning his hands as he slid at a reckless pace. Hitting the ground, he looked about, knowing he had no time. He wanted to run to the dark side they’d entered, but his gut told him otherwise. Sprinting for the side with the tents, he kept his head low. Whatever celebrations had been going on had clearly halted, with nearly every armed man making their way to the walls and tower, letting out confused cries and shouting questions about a surprise attack. As he weaved through them, he heard shouts from up top. An arrow struck the ground beside him, another just ahead. Daniel said another word of thanks, this time for intoxicated archers.
A roar behind him curdled his blood. He was almost to the river, but he dared a glance back. The lion chased, far ahead of any soldiers still on the ground. It barreled through the tents, which burst into flame upon contact.
Shit, thought Daniel. Shit, shit, shit.
He cast aside his sword, every bit of his strength going into his pumping legs. Another roar, this time closer. The ground seemed to shake with every leap the lion took, and it was so close, so close…
Something slashed at his back. It tore through his clothes, and his skin burned with fire, but he continued on, leaping into the river. The pain in his back eased with the cool water, and like a madman he swam toward the far side. He glanced behind only once to see the lion snarling furiously as it thrashed about. Massive amounts of steam curled into the air from its skin, and when it roared again, it was clearly with pain.
The river might stop the lion, but the rest would be in boats in no time. Reaching the other side, Daniel paused a moment to catch his breath, then ran. He knew well the lands of the Wedge, which grounds were safe and which were occupied by various monsters. Wishing he’d kept his sword, he ran deeper into the Wedge, his back to the tower. Let them chase, but he would not be caught. He couldn’t be. Death would not take him-not yet.
Not until he found vengeance for what they’d done to Robert.
23
Cyric’s men brought food and water into the barn only once, just after dawn. Darius reluctantly took his share. The people of Durham were clearly malnourished, but if he were to protect them in battle, it wouldn’t help to do so on an empty stomach.
“Is there a way up to that window?” he asked Jacob when he noticed the light streaming in through it. The window was up in the loft, and in answer, Jacob pointed to where a ladder had been.
“They broke it when they locked us in here,” he said.
“Where are the rest?” Gregory asked.
Jacob shrugged.
“They’ve got plenty at whatever they’re building in the center. Don’t know where the rest are. Maybe in a home or two, locked up like we are.”
Time crawled, and Darius spent much of it pacing and wondering what was going on outside.
“I trust my men to do their job,” Gregory said, relaxing in a pile of hay.
“And if they’re noticed? Interrogated?”
Gregory shrugged.
“Least we have our weapons. We’ll get to die fighting.”
Darius chuckled, and he leaned against a wall of the barn, wishing he could see out.
“You’re right, Gregory. That makes it so much better.”
“You whine like a child.”
Slowly, so slowly, but the day continued to pass. As night approached, a cold tension filled the air. Even locked away, the two could sense it, could hear it in the way the guards outside the barn talked, and in how the
