David Dalglish - The Old Ways

“Again, it looks like boats are the best way,” Darius said.

“You didn’t see what I saw, Darius,” Daniel insisted. “That priest wielded fire and lightning in his hands like it was nothing. If they spot us coming, and they will, then what happens if he destroys our boats before we ever reach them? And that’s ignoring the regular arrows the men on the walls will bury us with on the passage over. I won’t have my retaking of the Blood Tower end with half my men drowning, and the other half eaten by lions.”

“You three are too focused on the tower,” Porter said, turning and spitting out the window. “Remember the man who rules it. What does Cyric hope to achieve? What’s he gain by owning some boats and a wall that guards nothing but empty fields and farmland?”

Gregory and Daniel looked to each other, and they both shrugged.

“He spoke of the old ways,” Gregory said. “I’m not sure what else, or what that even means. We were both preparing for battle when he performed his ritual that brought about the lions.” He turned his attention to Darius. “Do you know what he means by the old ways?”

Darius rubbed his forehead with his fingers and tried to remember.

“Study of such things is generally left to the priests,” he reminded them. “Our lectures on the faith were more practical, and devoted to winning over the hearts of the people. But I’ve heard enough stories that I think I know what he means. There’s a lot of old practices that the priests have deemed…no longer relevant. Too violent, really. They lasted as long as they did because the kings had not yet solidified their power over Dezrel.”

“What type of practices are we talking about?” Gregory asked.

Darius shrugged.

“Ritual execution of murderers and thieves. Punishment of those who speak out against Karak. Conversion by the sword. That sort of thing.”

“Shit!”

All eyes turned to Daniel, who stood with his fists clenched.

“The people of Durham,” he said. “Cyric wished to meet with them. He insisted he only meant to talk, but he was damn persistent. He must want to get back at them for taking witness against the prophet of Karak who attacked their village.”

Gregory’s face paled, and Darius didn’t like the way the men-at-arms looked at one another.

“Where are the survivors of Durham?” he asked, dreading the answer.

“Robert gave them land a few miles east of the tower,” Daniel said. “There’s a town there, Willshire. We thought it best the people go there until we could be certain of Durham’s safety.”

Darius’s blood ran cold.

“Someone will talk,” he said. “One of the converted soldiers, or maybe even Robert himself. And when he finds them…”

The old ways, the paladin kept thinking as the others stared him. Something nagged at the edge of his consciousness, some tiny detail. What would Cyric do when he found them? Make them kneel, or be put to the sword? Sacrifice them? If he was so smitten with the old ways, wanted them resurrected…

“A calendar,” Darius said, startling them. “Do any of you have a lunar calendar?”

They looked at him as if he were crazy.

“Of course not,” Daniel said. “We’re lucky enough to have food to feed our men.”

“I have the blood of farmers in me, paladin,” Porter said. “What is it you wish to know?”

“The blood moon,” Darius said, feeling feverish. “It happens once every four years. Do you know of it?”

“Aye, I do,” Porter said. “It’s said to never lay with your lady on that night, for nothing good ever comes of a child conceived during the blood moon.”

“It is this year, isn’t it? How long until then?”

Porter scratched at his beard.

“Five days, I believe.”

“Then that’s how much time we have,” Darius said, turning his attention back to the diagram of the tower. “Even now, Karak’s paladins will sacrifice a man guilty of murder at the steps of the Stronghold. That is how sacred the blood moon is to our…their god. If Cyric wishes to return to the old ways, I can only imagine the tribute he has devised for that night.”

“I’m not sure I want to imagine it,” Gregory said. “What do we do? How do we stop him?”

“Well,” Darius said, nodding toward Porter. “Now we know the man, and I do know him, or at least men like him. Young, stubborn, seeing history through diamond eyes, yet seeing the lives of those around them through mud and contempt. Karak’s gift of the lions will only increase his pride, his certainty of his ways. If he succeeds, he’ll move on, slowly increasing his numbers. He’ll bring the old ways of faith to the North until someone stops him.”

“No one will,” Daniel said. His whole body trembled with rage at the thought. “Arthur and Sebastian are too busy killing each other to pay attention to the lands they’re sworn to protect.”

“Then that leaves us,” Darius said. “The tower might cause us problems, but we know where Cyric will be five days from now, don’t we?”

“We do,” Porter said, pushing off the wall and slowly walking over to the diagram. “And that means a far smaller guard at the tower, too. I’ve learned a few tricks in my time, and my gut says if we’re to save Robert’s life, we’ll do it quick, do it quiet, and most importantly, do it my way.”

“And what way is that?” Darius asked him.

The old man grinned.

“The least honorable way possible, so long as it works.”

J erico knew he’d only been out a moment or two, given that they were still dragging him toward the tents and wagons. A man held each arm, hoisting him from his armpits. His toes dragged across the ground.

“Morning,” he told them, still feeling groggy. They ignored his remark. Jerico wondered why they didn’t make him walk on his own, then realized his ankles were also bound with rope. Not much likelihood for escape. He looked to either side, but the soldiers holding him blocked his view. Where was Sandra? He thought to call out to her, but worried the guards might strike him again. His head already felt like it had split in half. Adding another few bruises sounded like a terrible idea.

But he called out for her anyway. Since when did he let a little unconsciousness get in his way?

“You still alive, Sandra?” he asked.

Sure enough, they beat him, but he heard a muffled ‘yes’ to his right, and he smiled through the pain.

They took him to the blank space between the third and fourth wagon, then looped another rope through his bindings and tied it to a wheel. The soldiers guarding Sandra placed her opposite him and bound her to the fourth wagon, this one by the gate across the back. A man slapped her face after she was tied, and she spat at him in return. Jerico saw the fear in her eyes, lurking behind the defiance, and tried to comfort her best he could.

“Such kind hosts,” he said, smiling at her, knowing with his bleeding lip and bruised face he must have looked a wreck. “Why’d you stay?”

She smiled back, and her lips trembled.

“I didn’t want to be alone.”

The revelry resumed about them, with even greater cheer. They’d caught a paladin of Ashhur, perhaps the last of their kind. Seemed a rather pathetic end to his order. He’d rather have gone out in a blaze of glory, slaughtering paladins of Karak by the dozens while the common folk cheered his name. Dying without his armor in empty wilderness after failing his heroic task of breaking a few wagons felt a little too far from that for his tastes. Not that he had a choice in the matter.

Jerico leaned against the wagon and closed his eyes.

“Good thing there’s room for failures in the Golden Eternity,” he muttered to himself.

“Will they kill us?” Sandra asked, having heard him.