“This ugly thing’s been crying out for beauty for too long,” Rodrick had said. “I hope the gods can forgive me for not getting it done before your mother died.”
Over twenty men had worked for days on end, painting, drawing, marking sections for the various flowers and carving holes in the stones to help with the planting and watering. Months had passed as the castle front transformed into the symbol of his family, a family now perilously close to being wiped off the face of Dezrel.
An image struck Sebastian with enough force to take his breath away. He saw his castle, except instead of the yellow rose a roaring lion was painted over the stone, white flowers as the teeth, red roses the drops of blood that dripped down toward the castle entrance. It felt profane, and his stomach clenched. Shaking it away, he turned back to the soldier escorting him.
“Take us to the wall,” he said, his conviction renewed.
It was a long walk to the wall, built just shy of a mile from the castle. The wall itself wasn’t extraordinarily tall, and ladders could scale it with ease, but it’d been built sacrificing height to enclose a greater area. They had plenty of wells for water and grazing land for livestock. So long as they weren’t shut into the castle, they could endure a siege from a smaller force for many months. A larger one might force a retreat to the castle proper. But what about one made up of dark paladins and priests?
“Are all of my men at the wall?” Sebastian asked as they walked.
“Per your orders, yes. Your men are loyal to the true lord of the North.”
“Even to the end?”
Not the slightest hesitation to his words. It made Sebastian feel proud, and for once, grateful.
“Even to the end.”
As the wall neared, Sebastian saw his gathered men. It wasn’t that impressive of a force, but the hundred and fifty were formed up on either side of the gate, safely out of view of Karak’s lurking army. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them, for they couldn’t guard even a shred of the wall’s length. But it didn’t matter. He wanted to, at least for one brief moment, show Luther he was unafraid.
“We could last longer if we pulled back to the keep,” the soldier said. He spoke tentatively, as if afraid his suggestion might cause offense.
“If we do, we’ve lost all chance at surprise,” Sebastian said. “Luther thinks of me as a coward. He’s probably right. He’s the lion, and I’m the hare, and the last thing he’ll expect is me to jump straight into his mouth. Perhaps with a bit of luck, we can rip off his tongue and shove it down his throat before we die.”
When they arrived at the wall, he saw the men looking his way. Many had expected death for years, and were finally being given the chance to meet it. Others were nervous, and were looking to Sebastian to see if he would offer them hope, or change his mind completely. He’d give them neither. Maybe a noble death, if there was any nobility in rebelling against a god.
“I have no words, no speeches,” Sebastian said to his escort. “All I have to say is for Luther’s ears. And like I said, find yourself a bow.”
The soldier called out a name, and then with two men as escort, Sebastian climbed the steps of the wall, and above his gate he peered over at the forces arrayed against him. Luther’s army had been gaining in number every single day. Sebastian knew he must have called for them long before arriving at his castle. Perhaps he had always expected a fight, perhaps he only wanted to increase his show of force. Guessing why was pointless, so he didn’t bother to try. At last count there were five hundred mercenaries in the temple’s pay. Far more worrisome, though, were the dark paladins, twenty in number. Sebastian could pick several of them out from where he stood, tall men in dark platemail walking like kings among the more ragtag ranks. Along with the twenty paladins were a handful of priests, each one possessing an unknown degree of power.
But Sebastian knew that power well. He’d heard the stories, and seen the rare example of it in use. His gates? His walls? They’d mean nothing to them. In fact, he was counting on it.
“Where is Luther?” Sebastian called out. He saw a younger man wearing the dark priestly cloth standing before the gate below him, but he had no interest in speaking to a whelp like that, regardless of the message he carried.
“I am to speak for him,” said the young man.
“Good for you, but I will be speaking only to Luther, and it is my answer he desires. Piss on your message. Bring me Luther. I will surrender only to him.”
Every word was carefully chosen. The young man bowed low, then ran back to the camp. Sebastian watched, and was not surprised to see how quickly they readied for war. Regardless of whether or not Luther expected him to surrender, he was still prepared for a fight. Catching him unaware would be a nightmare, yet that was exactly what Sebastian was hoping to do. A bitter smile crossed his face. By the gods, he must be going as crazy as his late father.