Matt Forbeck - Marked for Death

Deothen frowned. “I am sorry for your loss,” he said. “We knew not of your troubles here.” He paused for a moment, arranging his thoughts. “Perhaps we can help each other. We would be glad to lend what aid we can.”

Kandler shook his head. “We can manage fine on our own.”

“We do not mean to insult you by trading for your services, justicar. We wish only to help. We expect nothing in return.”

“Sounds good,” Burch said.

Kandler glared at the shifter and then stared at the knights.

“Where can we start?” Deothen asked. “Our offer is given freely.”

Kandler thought about it for a moment and then spoke. “You people have religion.”

“Certainly,” Deothen said, a relieved smile creeping across his lips.

“The dead woman’s family worships the Sovereign Host.” Deothen began to speak, but Kandler waved him down. “The Flame isn’t the same, I know, but it’ll be close enough.”

“Do you not have a priest here who could comfort his flock?”

“He was the first to go missing.”

Deothen offered a slight bow. “We would be honored to lend this woman’s family what comfort we might. I understand you must burn bodies in the Mournland to ensure their spirits fly free. Before we meet with the family, we shall help construct a pyre.”

“That would be a fine start.”

“I assume the family has the remains.”

Kandler shook his head. “Not yet. They won’t want to see them before the burning.”

Deothen raised his eyebrows. “Then where might these remains be?”

Kandler looked down at the bundle on the porch. “You’re almost standing on them.”

The younger knights gasped. Levritt stepped back off the porch to swallow some air and force down the bile rising in his throat.

Before the youth set foot on the ground, Deothen barked a series of orders. His knights set to work straight away, glad for something to keep their hands busy and their minds off of Shawda’s death.

Deothen turned back to Kandler. “We will have a pyre constructed in the main square by afternoon. I suggest we conduct the cremation at least an hour before sundown.”

“I’ll spread the word.”

The elder knight made a curt bow to Kandler, then left to join his fellows in their work.

The knights labored hard throughout the day, ranging for miles about in a quest for enough wood, and by the time the sun was lowering in the west, they had completed the finest pyre Mardakine had ever seen. Kandler sent Burch to tell Mardak about the funeral plan, confident that Mardak’s wife Priscinta would swiftly get the word to every person in town.

When the time for the ceremony came, Kandler and Burch walked Esprл to the main square. It seemed like the entire town was there. Shawda’s family-including her husband Nortok and her daughter Norra-stood closest to the pyre. As soon as Esprл spied Norra, she ran over to her. Kandler started to stop her, but Burch stepped into his way, so he just watched.

Wet-faced and red-eyed, Norra held Esprл close, and they wept together.

Deothen gave them a moment before he lowered his head, extending his arms for those around him to do the same. Kandler looked straight ahead at the knight. The crowd fell silent.

“I am no priest,” Deothen said as he raised his staff before him, its silver flame shining bright, even in the midday light, “although I feel the force of the divine in me, moving me, moving all of us. Today, I pray that this power-which my fellow knights and I know as the Silver Flame-shall move me to eloquence on behalf of our departed sister Shawda.

“I never had the privilege of meeting Shawda, but I know we had a connection. As people good and true, we shared a bond, just as she shared a bond with all of you. As a citizen of Mardakine, as a former daughter of Cyre, she was dedicated to standing up against the darkness, to lighting a candle, to saying ‘No more.’

“Although I never knew her, I am lessened by her loss. We all are. For when one who stands against the darkness falls, the darkness grows. Only by standing together can the light from each of our candles join together. That light is enough to force back even the darkest night. Only by working together can we hope to prevail.

“And so I mourn the loss of Shawda with you. And I pray that the Silver Flame gathers Shawda’s light into her own, now and forevermore.”

Kandler nodded with respect for the knight. Deothen had not been idle while the others built the pyre. He’d obviously talked with some of the people in town. From the kind looks with which Norra and her father favored the paladin, it was clear he’d offered them some comfort.

Deothen’s open plea to lend the knights aid was transparent, nicely couched as it was. Kandler felt a sense of duty to the world tugging at him, but protecting the people of Mardakine-especially Esprл-had to be his top priority.

When Deothen looked up from his prayer, he captured Kandler with his sky blue eyes. Kandler looked away, and his eyes met those of Burch, who gazed up at him like an expectant puppy. Kandler looked away from him too.

Mardak, standing a dozen feet to Kandler’s right, cleared his throat. Suddenly remembering his duty here, Kandler stepped toward the pyre. He unfolded the cloak in which Shawda’s body was bundled, exposing her remains to the sunlight so that the flames that consumed her could carry the smoke from her body straight into the sky.

Kandler winced as he completed the grisly job, knowing that the villagers would be able to see how viciously Shawda had been murdered. As he stepped back from the pyre, he heard a shout from the other side of the pyre.

“By the Flame!” Levritt said as he drew his sword and charged the pyre. Before anyone could stop him, the young knight swung his sword down and cleaved the remains of Shawda’s head into clean halves.

Norra screamed. The assembled crowd, several score strong, roared in shock and rage. Kandler had his own sword out, its curved tip at the knight’s throat before the youth could pull his blade free from the pyre. All around him, scores of rusty knives, daggers, and swords rattled free of their scabbards as the villagers leapt to join Kandler in the defense of Shawda’s corpse. Levritt looked around him wide-eyed, seeing the knights outnumbered at least forty-to-one.

“I think,” Kandler said to the young knight as he pressed his blade hard up under the youth’s chin, “you have some explaining to do.”

A broadsword flashed out. Steel clanged against steel. The young knight yelped as Kandler’s blade was pushed aside, its tip nicking the boy in the throat as it was forced from under his chin.

Kandler stepped back and swung his sword back around to his left at the attacker. The same blade parried his riposte. He found himself staring into the flashing green eyes of the lady knight.

“You shall not threaten a Knight of the Silver Flame,” the woman said, holding her sword at the ready.

“Stand down,” Kandler said, leaning his blade against hers, testing her strength. “Your friend just desecrated a good woman’s corpse.”

“Hold!” Deothen thrust his steel gauntlet into where the two blades met. “Hold friends! Words shall serve us better than swords.”

“I don’t know Thranite customs, but we don’t butcher our dead here,” Kandler said, never taking his eyes from the woman’s. She met his stare without flinching and held her ground, but he could feel that she stood ready to counter any move he might make.

“It’s her!” Levritt said, as he scrambled to his feet, his hand at his throat. When he brought his fingers away to point at Shawda’s corpse, they were smeared with blood. He blanched at the sight. “Am I slain?” he asked weakly.