Paul Kemp: Realms of War

Bareris nodded. "A vilewight."

"I just couldn't make myself go near it. Not even when it caught my friend Madivik with its gut-arms. He screamed for my help, too, but I stood frozen while the poison of the thing's bites shriveled him away. It turned toward me next and would have had me too, but one of the temple priests cast a blast of fire at it. I don't think he destroyed it, but he knocked it back over the wall.

"After that, I was done. I scurried down off the wall walk and hid in the stable until the autharch broke off the attack. Later on, I sneaked out one of the posterns."

Bareris nodded. "It was your first real battle, and fear got the better of you. It happens to many untried warriors, especially if facing nasty foes like undead. You'll do better next time."

"I don't want there to be a next time."

"Deep down, you do. You'd grieve to see your comrades and your temple destroyed. It's evident in every word you say."

"You don't understand. When I ran away, I broke my vows. Even if I did manage to get back inside the temple, the other Fire Drakes would kill me themselves."

"Maybe not. If you consider them your friends, they're likely fond of you as well. Perhaps enough to show mercy, particularly considering that you'll have brought them useful information, and if not, at least you'll die knowing you've redeemed your honor."

"That's all that matters to you, isn't it? You don't care at all about staying alive, but I do!"

Bareris hesitated, then said, "I won't argue that you're mistaken. But I've taken your measure, too, and I can see that if you let it, shame will blight the rest of your life. Whatever else happens to you, in your own estimation you'll be the coward and oathbreaker forevermore. But it doesn't have to be that way, because you have what I never will: a second chance to make things right."

Kemas took a long breath. "All right. I'll try."

"Good." Bareris sprang to his feet, grabbed a pair of folded garments, and tossed them to the boy. "I have a sword for you as well."

When Kemas had donned his disguise, tucked Bareris's message inside the tunic, and hung his new baldric over his shoulder, he and the spy proceeded to the tent flaps. Bareris peeked out, then said, "Go on."

Kemas reached to pull the hanging cloths apart, then faltered.

"I can sing a song to bolster your courage," Bareris said. "I will if you need it. But I'm afraid that if I do, afterward you'll worry that you only acted bravely because you were drunk on magic."

"I'm all right," Kemas said. Trying not to think or feel, just move, he forced himself out into the open.

No one was up and about anywhere close at hand. Kemas headed north, past officers' tents and the snoring mounds that were common soldiers asleep in their bedrolls on the ground. He averted his eyes from the dying campfires lest they rob him of his night vision and resisted the urge to tiptoe like a thief in a pantomime. Better to move as if he had nothing to fear and trust his stolen garments to protect him.

A figure emerged from the darkness. The soldier peered at Kemas, and he held his breath. Finally the legionnaire raised a casual hand, Kemas returned the wave, and the man turned and trudged away.

Another twenty paces brought Kemas to the edge of the camp. Now was the time to creep, so the sentries wouldn't spot him sneaking away. Even if they believed he was one of their own, slipping out of camp to engage in some sort of mischief, they'd still try to stop him.

Mouth as dry as desert sand, heart thumping, he kept low and skulked from shadow to shadow. Perhaps his dark mantle and wiry frame helped to hide him, or maybe the tired men on watch weren't exceptionally vigilant. For no one spotted him, and eventually he peered back and judged that he'd left the camp a long bowshot behind.

Now he could turn his steps toward the temple, and until he drew near to the ring of pickets surrounding it, give more thought to haste and less to stealth. If that was what he really wanted to do.

Did he? At that moment, he was free. Safe. He needn't face the autharch's soldiers and undead horrors again, nor scorn and possible punishment from his own comrades. He could avoid it all simply by running away.

But he wouldn't avoid the guilt that would come as a result. Bareris, damn him, had warned that it would weigh on him like a curse till the end of his days.

Kemas made sure his broadsword was loose in the scabbard, then he headed east.

Stands of apple and cherry trees rose among the fields surrounding the temple. As Kemas had already discovered to his cost, the autharch's pickets were lurking in the groves, taking advantage of the cover, and no doubt eating the ripening fruit. Unfortunately, even knowing they were there, Kemas saw little choice but to skulk through the orchards himself. The only other option would be to attempt his entire approach to the shrine over open ground.

He made it far enough to spy the limestone wall of the temple complex between the trees. Then a soldier pounced down in front of him, or at least it startled Kemas so badly that it felt as if a wild beast had plunged out of nowhere to bar his path. In reality, the legionnaire had simply slipped down from the crotch of the tree where he'd been perching, his form obscured by the night.

"Who are you?" the picket asked.

Kemas reminded himself that it was dark. He was, more shy;over, wearing the uniform of the autharch's guards and coming from the direction of the noble's camp, not the temple. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. He took a breath and said, "The officers decided you could use a few more men standing watch up here."

"Did they send you without a bow?"

Kemas shrugged as if to convey disgust at the idiocy of the men in charge.

"Come talk to the sergeant," the picket said. "He'll tell you what to do."

No, Kemas thought, he'll recognize me. He had too good a look at me when you bastards caught me before.

He wanted to turn tail, but if he fled now, he'd never reach the temple. He smiled and said, "All right." As soon as the soldier turned his back to lead the way, he'd draw and cut the fellow down from behind.

But he was no accomplished deceiver like Bareris, and something in his tone or manner must have put the legion shy;naire on his guard, because the man frowned and gripped the hilt of his own blade. "Tell me the name of the person who ordered you here," he said.

Kemas whipped out his sword and ran at the picket, hoping to kill his adversary before the other man's weapon cleared the scabbard. But the soldier scrambled backward, and that gave him time to draw. He beat Kemas's blade out of line and extended his own, but fortunately, his aim was off by a hair. Otherwise, Kemas's own all-out charge would have flung him onto the point.

He hurtled past the picket, knew the man was surely pivoting to strike at him from behind, managed to arrest his forward momentum, and lurched back around. The guard's sword flashed at his neck, and he parried it.

The jolt stung his fingers but didn't quite loosen his grip. He riposted, and trained reflex guided his arm through one of the moves his teachers had drilled into him. He feinted to the flank, disengaged, and cut to the head. His sword split the left side of the pickets face from brow to chin and crunched into the bone beneath. The soldier's knees buckled and he dropped, dragging the blade down with him.

His feelings a tangle of relief, incredulity, and queasiness, Kemas stared down at the other swordsman. Shouts and the thuds of running footsteps jarred him from his daze. The legionnaire's comrades had plainly heard the ringing of blade on blade, and they were rushing to investigate.

Kemas yanked his sword free and sprinted onto the clear ground between the grove and the temple wall. When he'd covered half the distance, arrows started flying after him. He couldn't see them, but some came close enough that he heard them whisper past his body.