David Dalglish - The Old Ways

“Morning, priest,” Robert said, not bothering to keep his tone civil. “What is this you’ve started building on my land?”

“You might rule this small patch of dirt, but all of Dezrel belongs to Karak,” Cyric said, still smiling. “Surely you do not mind Karak taking such a tiny piece back for his own?”

“You’re avoiding the damn question.”

“I do not mean to,” Cyric said. “We are building an altar, one worthy of such a momentous occasion. Come tonight, we will celebrate our god’s glorious return.”

“Return? Where? Speak some sense, or I’ll have my men tear this thing down and haul that chunk of rock into the Gihon.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Robert.” Cyric’s smile grew wider. “Change comes upon the wind. Do you not feel it? You should rejoice to be witness to this miracle.”

He felt it all right. It just wasn’t inspiring any rejoicing.

“What miracle?” he asked. “Enough preaching. Tell me what you plan to do. Where has Karak returned, if that’s even possible? And what does this have to do with your altar?”

“Karak has returned in me,” Cyric said. “Tonight, upon that altar, I will show all your men, show all the world, proof of that fact. Do not interfere. It is no longer your place to stand in the way of gods and men.”

Robert felt too old to deal with shit like this. The altar loomed before him, the flat stone as tall as him. Over twenty men worked on it, hauling in logs cut from distant trees. Others cut the logs into boards, ready to be hammered in by five men who worked non-stop, their muscular bodies slick with sweat. They all moved like men possessed, and he would have none of it.

“Tear it down,” he said. “Karak has enough land as it is. Go build your altar elsewhere.”

“No.”

The word entered his ears and then sunk down into his stomach like a brick. Cyric said it so casually, so simply, that it showed he held no fear of Robert, no respect at all. Robert swallowed, and did his best to keep his temper in check.

“Pardon these old ears, priest, but I fear I heard you wrong.”

“You did not. If you wish to destroy this altar, you are welcome to try. But you will fail. I’m stronger now, Robert, stronger than all of you. Don’t throw away your men’s lives, not when they are so close to seeing the coming glory unfold before them.”

Robert’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword, and he almost drew it then and there. He stared into the face of fanaticism, and he saw no reason in those red eyes. But he was surrounded by men loyal to Karak. Nearby, in particular, was a dark paladin, and he kept his axe ready at all times. If Robert struck at Cyric, the others would tear him to pieces long before any of his soldiers could protect him.

“You have one night,” Robert said, releasing the hilt of his sword. Cyric’s smile widened even more at the words. “But after tonight, you tear it down, you hear me?”

“Come tomorrow, you yourself will be kneeling before that altar,” said the priest.

“Fuck all, I will,” Robert muttered as he traveled back to his tower. Ignoring the guard’s questioning looks, he returned to his room. He found little solitude there, for Daniel barged in moments later.

“Sir,” he said, sounding immensely relieved. “I’m glad you’re here. For a moment I feared…”

“Feared what?” Robert asked.

Daniel stood up straight, but it was clear he didn’t want to answer. Robert shook his head, motioned for his lieutenant to relax.

“I feel it, too,” he said, slumping into his chair. “I thought with Luther gone they’d be more obedient, but while their numbers have shrunk, their confidence has grown. Cyric outright refused an order of mine, and threatened me in return.”

Daniel stood in the doorway, his jaw clenched tightly against his trembling anger.

“We need to strike,” he said. “Before they’re prepared. Before they have that altar built, whatever its purpose truly is. He’s a threat. You know it, I know it, now let’s do something about it.”

“To what end?” asked Robert. “Losing half my men, all because I’m scared of a single priest? Their troops are well-armed, and you can tell by their scars alone they’ve seen more combat than most see in a lifetime. We cower and act like fools for no reason. King Baedan would never, ever allow an attack by the priests to go unpunished.”

“If he hears,” Daniel said. “If he believes it. The truth that reaches his ears will be what the priests make of it. We’re the ones so far away. This is our land to protect, and I say we not give a fuck what those in Mordeina might think and just act.”

“And what of my men?” asked Robert. “How many knelt in prayer yesterday before Luther’s departure? Tell me that.”

“Fifty,” Daniel said.

Robert rubbed his forehead and swore. That was a quarter of their current standing forces in the Blood Tower.

“But they will surely not break their oaths to lord and king,” Daniel said. “Not because of some priest.”

“I’ve seen what men of faith will do,” Robert said. “If Cyric has his claws in the hearts of our men, then any action we take risks defeat before the first swing. Whatever he plans, we’ll wait, and we’ll watch. He’s a young man, foolish, proud. This may well bite him in the ass if things go awry.”

“This is a mistake,” Daniel insisted.

“Yeah? But it’s my mistake to make. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Daniel bowed and left without another word. Robert had plenty, all of them foul. He cursed, stormed about his room, and drank away the day waiting for nightfall. As the sun began its descent, one of his soldiers knocked on the door.

“What is it?” he asked, in no mood for courtesy. The door swung open, and the soldier stuck in his head.

“Sir, Cyric wishes me to give you a message. You’re invited to join him at tonight’s ceremony. He says you’ll be given a place of honor.”

Robert snorted.

“I’m sure I will. Tell him I’d rather fuck a goat.”

The soldier blanched.

“I’ll tell him you declined,” he said, turning to leave.

“No, damn it,” Robert said, flinging the door open. “I gave you an order, and I expect you to carry it out. Now what message are you to deliver?”

The soldier stood erect and saluted.

“That you’d rather fuck a goat, sir.”

He made it sound so urgent, so important, Robert grinned.

“That’s right. Now leave me be.”

He slammed the door in the soldier’s face and poured himself another glass of wine. Half an hour later, the door reopened, and Daniel stepped inside.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Cyric’s extended an invitation to the rest of our soldiers,” Daniel said. “Many want to go. What do I say?”

Robert scratched at his chin and looked out his window. He couldn’t see the altar from there, but he could imagine it, grand in size and surrounded by a large crowd.

“Much as I hate that bastard, he’s right. I won’t stand in the way of a man and his god. Whoever wants to go can go, so long as their duties are completed.”

Daniel clearly felt otherwise, but he held his tongue. Once he’d left, Robert peered down from his window. He might not be able to see the altar, but he could see the path there. He counted seventy men heading north. A third of his men.

“So much for king and country,” Robert muttered.

He belted his sword to his waist, flung on a heavy cloak, and descended the stairs. Joining in the ceremony was out of the question, but he would not remain in the dark about whatever Cyric planned.

The altar was even more impressive than he’d expected. The stone slab had been painted a dark black, though how he did not know. Fires burned at the corners in the thick pits, while crisscrossing outward in seemingly random directions were tall torches whose fire gave off no smoke. Over a hundred men encircled the altar. Atop the stone were three men. Robert recognized Cyric, but the other two were unknown to him. They were naked from the waist up, their bodies covered with red paint. They knelt with their heads bowed, their eyes blindfolded, and their hands bound behind their backs. The crowd sang a song Robert vaguely recognized, though it lacked any joy, just the sound of a droning litany of faith toward Karak. The chant made his skin crawl.