“Cyric is like the prophet,” Jerico said, piecing it together. “Like him, but worse. He doesn’t think he’s just a prophet.”
“Far worse,” said Luther. “He thinks he’s a god. His faith in Karak is unbelievably strong, for his belief is now in himself. An older man might doubt or know his limitations, but Cyric’s young and inexperienced. With each passing day he’ll trust his power more, and wield it with greater skill. Should the North begin to fall to him, he’ll be unstoppable. And with him he’ll bring about a faith in Karak that I have long attempted to quash. He’ll bring back the blood sacrifices, the rituals, the destruction and unbending rules of the old ways. The ideas of choice and free will mean nothing to him. Faith will be little more than chains, and he’ll use them to enslave all of Dezrel if he can.”
The thought was a horrifying one, even worse than the idea of the priesthood having control of the North’s lands and laws.
“You wish for my help,” Jerico said when Luther lapsed into silence. “But why give up the castle? You destroyed Sebastian’s army, then took the Yellow Rose from him. Did he refuse to play a part in your game?”
Luther chuckled, but there was a furious bitterness to it that made Jerico slide his chair away from the bed.
“No, Jerico. My victory here was a heartbeat away, but I could not continue. I will not be a hypocrite. I will not condemn Cyric for attempting to create a kingdom sworn to Karak while I do the same. My wayward pupil has ruined everything, all because I am not strong enough to stop him. My last best chance failed. That is why I need you, Jerico. I want you at my side, Karak and Ashhur, together crushing a man who would render faith in either of our gods irrelevant. Because if our gods can change, and all of Dezrel comes to worship the cruel god of Cyric, then I fear I will have no place left in this world.”
It was such a strange proposition at first, but Jerico remembered when he and Darius had stood side by side defeating the wolf-men threatening to destroy their village. Was it so crazy to think something like that could happen again?
“I don’t how much of what you say I believe,” Jerico said. “But what you say of Cyric is true. He must be stopped, and if it is within my power, I will stop him.”
Luther nodded.
“Very well. Consider yourself no longer my prisoner, but my guest. Open the door. Xarl should be waiting on the other side. I trust him to have heard every word.”
Jerico opened the door, and sure enough, the old paladin stood before the door, arms crossed and a frown on his face.
“Follow me to your room,” Xarl said. “You can stay there until we march.”
Jerico did, but not before looking back to Luther, who lay on his bed, coughing profusely. Even among the lost there are men of faith, he’d been told in his dream. Do not hate them. Jerico knew he shouldn’t hate, he didn’t want to, but lying there was the man who had killed the only woman he’d ever loved.
And yes, he hated him.
“What does the old Karak think of you killing Sandra?” Jerico asked him as Luther continued coughing. “And would Cyric agree?”
He followed Xarl down the steps, letting his hatred and anger hang in the air of Luther’s room.
16
Sebastian’s arrival at the camp was full of raucous joy. To Kaide’s ears, it was the jubilation of betrayal. He’d not been consulted on the offered agreement, nor been informed of the coming trade. Only now, from the whispers of soldiers closer to Arthur than he, did he hear of the proposal. The loss of Jerico was unpleasant, but with it ending the war, Kaide understood. But what of Sebastian’s fate? He knew what should happen. He knew that Arthur should thrust a dagger into his brother’s chest and put a worthy ending to their battle. But that wouldn’t happen. Deep down, he knew Arthur had a weakness in his heart. His reluctance to openly war against his brother for so long was proof enough of that.
So Kaide gathered his men together, those who had been with him from the beginning, and gave them his orders, to be followed whether he lived or died. And then he marched into Arthur’s tent, just behind the escort that brought Sebastian.
Arthur stood before his brother, his hands at his sides. Kevin Maryll was also there, with several of his men. At Kaide’s entrance he was given a cursory glance, then ignored. Something hidden was going on between the brothers, a dialogue of long looks, met stares, and twitches of the face. It’d be settled by the first words either spoke.
And then Sebastian kneeled.
“I wronged you,” he said. “I put our kingdom at risk. Whether you believe it or not, I sacrificed my life, and the life of my men, to save it. I don’t know why they let me live. I don’t know who that man was they traded me for. But if the North is now yours, I rejoice. Forgive me, Arthur, if you feel it right to do so. Take my life if that is right as well. I will accept either without protest.”