David Dalglish - A Sliver of Redemption

“Look closer into the water,” Peleth said, his smug grin not at all lessening.

Bram leaned over, but saw only mud and his frowning reflection.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Exactly. I’ve been wanting to try this since that Moore the Red pulled a similar tactic on me up near Lake Cor. Brought me a whole mess of smiths. Follow me.”

He led them back into the camps, toward the heavy sound of hammers. Sure enough, ten master smiths worked around hastily constructed forges, their helpers hurrying to and fro. Bram saw them working on either square plates of iron, or thin spears of metal.

“I don’t like riddles,” Bram said. “What is all this?”

“Here,” Peleth said, reaching past one of the smiths and grabbing a strange object. “Take a hold of this.”

Bram accepted it, and he turned it over in his hands. It was an iron plate, flat and twice the size of his hands. Attached to its center was a four inch barb.

“Watch,” said Peleth, taking it out of his hands and placing it on the ground. He hovered his foot above it, gently letting the tip press against his boot.

“You hope to hamper them when they charge,” said Bram.

“Not just hamper them. I’ve had them working on these nonstop for weeks now. The ore’s low quality, had a stockpile of it for ages wondering what to do with it. These’ll work perfect. They’ll be rushing ahead, all hollering and hoping to catch us by surprise, but then they’ll plant foot on these beauties. They’ll drown, Bram. These won’t let go, and they’re not light. Get a whole mess of men behind, pushing and shoving to move forward, and they’ve got nowhere to go but down into the water. Best of all, no one will have a clue what’s going on until it’s too late.”

Bram grinned at the simplicity.

“Not bad,” he said. “Though I think we should still set up some palisades. How many do you have of these devils?”

“Over a thousand,” said Peleth. “My men have been shoving them into the water night and day.”

“A thousand?” He looked at the contraptions with a whole new respect. “Damn. I’m glad we’re not the ones trying to cross.”

“And don’t you worry about holding that river side,” Peleth said. “I may not look the warlord, but you’ve been treated with silk gloves down in Angkar. Up by the lake, we have the real bandits. You get your knights and hold that bridge, where the fighting is bloody and honorable. Down here in the mud…I got my own plans. My men’ll be ready. I promise you that.”

Bram smiled, clasped the man’s wrist, and pumped it twice.

“This works, I’ll make sure your lands double in size,” he said.

“The other lords won’t like that,” Peleth said.

Bram picked up one of the spike traps and held it before his face.

“The other lords didn’t give me these,” he said.

“S o where are you going?” Harruq asked as he neared.

Jerico winced, and he was glad the half-orc couldn’t see his guilty reaction.

“Was hoping to do this quiet,” he said. “But you’re not one to cooperate just for the sake of being nice, are you?”

Harruq laughed. They stood at Jerico’s campfire near the outer edges of the camp. His tent, however, was conspicuously absent. Instead, all of his supplies were on the paladin’s back, including his shield. Harruq pointed and then waggled his finger.

“I’d say you were trying to run from trouble, but that isn’t like you or Lathaar. So how about you tell me what’s really going on before I start yelling for soldiers to lock you in some stocks until you change your mind.”

“Friends of mine are in trouble,” Jerico said, shifting his pack so it hung more comfortably from his shoulders. “I spoke with several men from Mordan in between their prayers, and let’s say I didn’t like what I heard. People dear to me, people I nearly failed to protect once, are trapped and in danger. I have to help them.”

“And the fight at the bridge?” asked Harruq.

Jerico shrugged. “I’ll try to make it back in time. If not, you’ll have to kill double for me.”

He winced, waiting for a reaction, but instead the half-orc laughed again.

“Far as I know, you haven’t sworn yourself to any king here, so get going. I’d recommend going really, really far south before crossing the river, though. You hear about them spike things they’ve been laying? Not a time for a casual swim, but neither do I think they’d be too keen on you walking over the bridge.”

“Thanks,” Jerico said, and inwardly he sighed with relief. He’d worried Harruq would call him a coward or bring too much attention to his leaving. Even worse, he thought he might run and tell Tarlak. He bowed awkwardly due to the pack, then hurried off.

Of course, he didn’t get far. Less than five minutes later a blue portal swirled open, but instead of the wizard, Lathaar stepped out. Without a word, Lathaar punched him in the chest, hoisted his own pack, and then trudged west.

“That’s for trying to leave me behind,” he said without looking back.

“You were needed back there,” Jerico insisted, feeling like he’d done something wrong even though he was sure he hadn’t. “Someone needed to preach the light of Ashhur to the soldiers before battle.”

“Keziel is my friend as well,” said Lathaar, slowing a little so they could walk side by side. “I know that’s who you’re hoping to rescue. The question is, why? What is going on at the Sanctuary?”

“Two different men told me that Mordan’s priest-king had sent soldiers and priests of Karak to surround the Sanctuary, effectively trapping them inside. They’ve held out, so far as they know, but as for food and water…I won’t let them waste away, not when I have my mace and my shield.”

“And my swords,” said Lathaar. “Those at the crossing will have to make do without us. You’re my brother in arms, Jerico. Don’t try something like this again.”

“Will you punch me again if I do?”

“Yes. And much, much harder. Here’s far enough. Let’s wade across.”

Holding their supplies above their heads, they pushed across the river and into the land of Mordan, where Melorak ruled.

“K eep it quiet,” Deathmask said as he and Veliana watched the wagon roll toward the enormous gates of Mordeina. He glanced back, saw her scarred neck, and then chuckled. “I guess that won’t be much of a problem for you.”

She jabbed him in the side with her fingers.

“Fuck. You.”

He grinned. Her voice was steadily coming back, but still she spoke in broken sentences. Every word was pain to her.

“Watch your mouth, little lady. And keep it down.”

They peered over the small hill, through the heavy grass atop it. The wagon lumbered slowly, as if the oxen pulling it were tired from a long journey. They saw two riders at the front, only one of them visibly armed with a blade. The wagon itself was covered, but the time and size accurately matched their expectations.

“It’s loaded with grain,” Aaron Hocking had told them at their last meeting. “Just the first of many coming in from storehouses along the wall of towers. You want to starve the city? You burn those wagons down to the very last grain.”

Deathmask had volunteered him and Veliana for the task, not that there had been much choice. Time and money, or more importantly the lack of money, had dwindled down their forces. They still had a token force, but they were scattered about the city, killing the stray guard and whispering words of rebellion. Besides, the day he and Vel couldn’t handle a single wagon was the day he hung up his mask and took up farming.

“You want the driver or the guard?” he asked.

“Guard.”