The Broken Pieces(36)

Several minutes later Luther arrived, a paladin at each side. He looked up at Sebastian with an expression unreadable at such a distance.

“Come now, Sebastian,” Luther said, “it is uncomfortable for a neck as old as mine to crane up at you in such a way. Can we not talk in your castle, or face to face at your gates?”

“I promise to keep this short to spare your neck,” Sebastian called back. “Not that I should. You wouldn’t spare my life if I went against your whims, let alone my neck. Tell me, why should I extend you the courtesy?”

“I have no desire for banter,” Luther said. “Just your answer.”

This was it. He could still change his mind. He could agree to the terms, and live out the rest of his life in relative peace. Did it truly matter what happened after his death? Did it matter who ruled his lands once he no longer walked upon them?

Sebastian glanced at his father’s castle and saw the rose replaced with a lion. It did matter, he knew. He might not leave much of a legacy, and little of it would be fondly remembered, but at least he’ll have done one thing right.

“No hesitation,” Sebastian said to the man with the bow beside him. To Luther, he shouted, “I will not surrender. I will not obey. I will not kneel. You can cross these walls, but my keep will delay you. By the time you drag my body out, the King’s army will be on its way to crush your squalid dreams. If you’re still alive then, Luther. I pray otherwise.”

The bowman drew an arrow and fired in a single smooth motion. Another was in the air before Arthur registered the hit of the first. The arrow punched into Luther’s chest, knocking him to the ground. The two paladins reacted with shocking speed, flinging themselves in the way so the second arrow struck armor and ricocheted off without causing harm.

Sebastian fled down the stairs before any of the other priests might retaliate with a spell. Deep down, he dared feel a spark of hope. The arrow hit had been solid, though he hadn’t caught where Luther had been pierced.

Be through a lung, he begged. Be through a lung, and kill that goddamn lunatic.

Feet back on solid ground, the men around him drew their weapons and readied their shields. From beyond the wall he heard war cries and the sounds of marching feet.

“Should we open the gates?” one of his men asked.

“Keep them closed,” Sebastian shouted over the din. “Let no one be seen through them, either. I want Luther thinking we’ve fled to the keep.” He looked to the gate and imagined the furious priests on the other side. “Besides, we won’t need to open it. They’ll do that themselves.”

Sure enough, the spell hit before he could even finish the sentence. The gates were hurled inward, torn from their hinges and accompanied by the sound of shrieking metal. A solid beam of shadow continued through the gap, and the few men caught in its path died, the bones in their bodies crushed by the force. With a shout to Karak, the mercenaries charged. Sebastian looked to his army, split evenly between the two sides of the entrance, and hoped they would carry far less regrets to their graves than he.

“Crush them!” he cried to his men. “Tonight we bathe the Yellow Rose in blood!”

The first of the mercenaries rushed through the entrance, and then Sebastian’s men charged. There were only about fifty through at the time, and caught on both sides, they were overwhelmed. Sebastian watched from the rear of the fight, wearing no armor and not even bothering to carry a blade. He would take no lives with him, other than those who already bled and died at his orders.

The ambush couldn’t have been more perfect. The mercenaries fell, many trying to turn back around to flee. They had no room, the rest of Karak’s men pushing forward with only a vague idea of the combat on the other side. As Sebastian watched, his men merged into a single line, bowed at the middle, completely enclosing the gate entrance. Hopelessly outnumbered, the mercenaries slowed their rush, until at last they were beaten back.

“Build a wall of their dead!” one of Sebastian’s commanders cried.

Despite the victory, Sebastian felt a pall settling over him.

Not enough, he thought. Still not enough. Where are their paladins?

With another cry, a second wave hit, and this time the dark paladins accompanied it. Their blades burned with black fire, and when Sebastian’s men tried to lock shields against them, they beat them back with flurries of blows that tore their shields in twain. Mercenaries swarmed around them, letting the paladins spearhead the assault. Where the initial ambush had Luther’s men dropping like flies, now they died in equal numbers, and outnumbered nearly four to one, equal numbers was not something Sebastian’s men could keep up for long.