The Broken Pieces(58)
“I’ve changed my mind,” Darius said as his breath returned to him. “Some blades really are evil.”
Valessa regained her form, skin shimmering back over her essence.
“Next time you’ll listen,” she said, picking up the dagger and then sliding it into her belt. How it stayed there, Darius had no idea, nor did he want to know.
“Next time?” he asked. “You think there will be a next time?”
“For that, no,” she said. “For listening to me? I hope so. Now what are we to do here?”
Darius turned his attention back to the village.
“First we find out what happened to the rider,” he said. “Then we get the town to move.”
“And what of Martin Reid? What if he causes trouble?”
“Well,” said Darius, grinning, “that’s why I gave you your dagger.”
They walked into the town, and much to Darius’s chagrin, it seemed no one appeared the least bit panicked. The words of the messenger had fallen on deaf ears. Passing through the rows of wood homes and thatched rooms, the people shot them glances but said nothing. Darius didn’t like it one bit.
“Not much for hospitality,” he said to Valessa, who shrugged.
“Your armor doesn’t make you look like the most welcoming of men.”
“True. Perhaps you should put on your silver armor and purple cloak. Might as well match me.”
She snickered at him but said nothing.
Halfway through town they met a group of five coming from the other way. Four of them were big men, with burly arms and heavyset chests built from long hours in the fields. The fifth was a small man, balding, and he wore a long black robe.
“Really?” Darius muttered as he came to a halt. “Livstrom couldn’t bother to say Martin was a priest?”
“Welcome, friend,” said the priest. “My name is Martin Reid, and this is my village of Cade’s Rest. We do not see travelers often, but I assure you our accommodation will be welcoming, so long as you bring no trouble.”
“And if we do?” Valessa asked.
Martin’s beady eyes narrowed.
“Troublemakers are not welcome here, nor liars, thieves, murderers, or any other sinners.”
“The only village without sinners is an empty village,” Darius said. “We’ve come looking for a friend of ours, a rider from Tower Red named Matt. Might you have seen him?”
Martin frowned, and Darius didn’t like the way the other four men tensed and looked at one another.
“A man by that name came here,” Martin said. “He spoke lies in a feeble attempt to rob our village. He suffered punishment for it. If you so desire, you may return his body to Livstrom at the Tower Red for a military burial.”
Darius’s jaw dropped open.
“Matt was sent here to warn your village of an attack,” he said, feeling his anger rising. “An attack that is still coming! Everyone here must take what they can and head east toward the Gihon.”
Martin crossed his arms.
“These lands are mine,” he said. “They have been in my family for three generations, and when I took the cloth of Karak my duty to these people only grew, for now I must supply not only their earthly needs but their spiritual as well. Your armor is not of the king’s, but of Ashhur. What authority do you have to speak to me in such a way? Who are you to order me?”
The arrogance was astounding. Darius reached for his sword, and the other men drew theirs, fine shortswords that were cleanly polished. Martin stood there, waiting. Darius glanced at Valessa. So far she looked bored. The men could do nothing to her, but if the priest had any sort of power, then he was a threat. If Darius eliminated them quickly, perhaps targeting the priest while Valessa took out the men…
No, he thought, shaking his head. He let his hand fall to his side, not once touching the hilt. Coming in, shedding blood, and then demanding the people obey him felt too horribly similar to what he’d witnessed Velixar do to Durham.
“My name is Darius, and I speak for Daniel Coldmine, lord of the Blood Tower. The message I bring is true, and I will have no man question it. A madman is coming south with an army, and he will kill every man, woman, and child here. We must flee, now. If this village is yours, as you say, then give the order.”
“Darius?” asked Martin, and the excited way he said it put a pit in the paladin’s stomach. “Darius, the betrayer? Last I heard you carried a bounty on your head. Now you come claiming to speak for the man who put a warrant out for your death in the first place?”
“This is getting ugly,” Valessa whispered into his ear.
Darius glanced around and saw that villagers were gathering, all wielding crude weapons of some kind. Over fifty surrounded them. Darius swallowed. He’d come to save their lives. Slaughtering half their village to do it felt like a mockery of such a goal.