The Broken Pieces(59)

“You won’t kill me, Martin,” Darius said. “Far better men have tried. If you will not believe me, then give the choice to the others. Let me speak my piece, then leave. No one needs to die here, not by my hand. What comes beyond, though, will not be on my head.”

“No one leaves,” Martin said. “And if you do not throw down your weapon and surrender, it will be you who dies today.”

“I have a better idea,” Valessa said. She strode toward Martin without making a single threatening motion. Martin tensed, and he lifted a hand.

“Stay where you…”

In a single smooth motion Valessa drew her dagger, thrust it into Martin’s heart, then spun. Blood spurted as the dagger came free, and without a care to the remaining four, she walked back to Darius’s side. The whole town stood stunned silent, and the men that had been Martin’s bodyguards were clearly frightened by the speed Valessa displayed.

“We have words to speak,” she shouted to the crowd. “Listen well, then make your choice.”

It was a moment before Darius snapped out of his daze and addressed the villagers, warning them of Cyric’s approach. Most stood shocked still, a few coughing or heckling at his warning.

“You have one hour,” he told them. “Then we must depart. Take only what you can carry. Bring food, clothes, and blankets. Your life is not worth your possessions, now hurry!”

A few rushed away, and many others shared looks, no doubt wondering if they should believe him. Frustrated, Darius pointed to one of the big men.

“You,” he said. “Lead me to where Matt’s body is.”

They found him hanging from a post on the opposite side of town. He’d been stripped of his armor and hanged naked from the waist up. Carved into his chest was a single word. Liar. Darius stared at it as he felt his blood boil.

“He came to help you,” he said, turning on the man who’d brought him there.

“Martin swore he was a brigand who stole the armor he wore,” said the man.

“So you killed him without proof?”

The man shrugged.

“Martin owned the lands my crops are growing on. Would you give up your home and crops for some stranger? Besides, Martin said he spoke for god.”

“Indeed he did,” Valessa said, staring at the word carved into Matt’s chest. “And such a loving god he is.”

They sent the man on his way, then cut down the body. Darius knew he couldn’t transport the body back, so he asked about until someone loaned him a shovel, and then outside the village limits he began to dig. Valessa sat on the grass and watched him.

“Why?” she finally asked.

“Helps pass the time,” Darius said as he jammed the shovel into the dirt.

“I mean why give the people a choice? You know those who remain here will die, or meet a fate even worse than death. Without the priest, no one here can stop me. Give the order, and make them obey.”

Darius chuckled.

“The thought’s been on my mind this whole while, Valessa, but every time I think to do it my stomach ties itself into knots. I’m not going to kill people while claiming to save them. That’s something Cyric would do. That’s something I might have done once. No longer. Now help me with the body.”

They’d arrived in the late afternoon, and once Matt’s body was buried, Darius and Valessa waited at the eastern exit of town. He’d planned to leave after an hour, but at the pitiful few that gathered there, he let time stretch, and twice more he cried out to the town. Of their three hundred, only sixty came.

“The sun’s setting,” Valessa said to him when he came back from a third attempt to bring more.

“I know,” he said.

“We have to leave.”

He sighed.

“I know.”

They had two carts pulled by horses, and they put as many children in one as they could, their supplies in the other. Many of the adults looked embarrassed to be there. They thought he might be lying, Darius knew. They thought in a week or two they’d return to Cade’s Rest, shamefaced and terribly behind in their work in the fields. The worst of it was that Darius wished they were right. Far better that than there being no one left to return shamefaced to.

Valessa walked at the front of the sullen band, and Darius joined her side as the town steadily drifted into the distance.

“How far is he?” he asked.

“Thirty miles or so,” she said, staring at the sky.

Darius bit his tongue to hold in a curse. They had seven miles to travel on their own just to get to the Blood Tower.

“Cyric’s been traveling at night, hasn’t he?” he asked.

Valessa nodded, souring Darius’s mood further.