The Broken Pieces(60)

“Just perfect. Then we travel at night as well.”

The miles passed, and when the sun set, thankfully the sky was clear. Under starlight they followed the road to Wheaton, from which Tower Red was but a mile. Darius moved through the ranks, talking to them, encouraging them, but found words difficult.

“What do I do?” Darius asked Valessa after the first hour. “Reassuring them they made the right choice is the same as telling them the friends and family they left behind are dead.”

“Then say nothing, if you’re so afraid the truth will hurt them,” she told him.

Darius looked to the distance, and Cade’s Rest.

“We needed more time,” he said, letting out a sigh.

When they arrived at Wheaton, most of the children had fallen asleep in the cart, and the others looked tired, their emotions frayed. Darius stopped them at the edge of the village, for in the past few minutes he’d felt a strange urgency in his mind. It was foreign to him, but the closer he got to Wheaton, the more certain he became that it was a warning from Ashhur.

“Something’s not right,” he told Valessa.

They stared into the village, waiting, and then they saw the first of the shadows moving.

“A scouting party,” Valessa said.

“How far away is Cyric?” he asked.

“Five miles at least,” she said after a quick glance at the stars.

“Then we have a chance.” He stood beside the cart with the children and called the others around him. “Stay close,” he said. “I fear a small force of the enemy is already here. Wake your children and keep them alert. They might need to run with you should things turn ill. Remember, always go east to the river, and from there to Tower Red.”

He watched the panic bubbling beneath the surface of the crowd, but they remained strong. Darius drew his sword, and as the soft light bathed over him, he felt himself calm.

“I’ll draw them to me,” he said to Valessa. “Stay in the rear, and take them out quickly while they’re still overconfident.”

Valessa drew her dagger and nodded. With a wave, Darius led the two carts into the village. Wheaton had been completely deserted, so through empty streets they walked. Darius kept his head on a swivel, checking either side of the road as they passed. With their numbers, and him leading the way, he hoped whatever creatures serving Cyric might decide to not take them on.

Valessa drifted toward the back of the group, looking no different from the others. The surprise would easily be worth a kill or three, thought Darius. Several times Darius caught glimpses of shadows moving around them, and from the gasps of others he knew he was not the only one. After a minute, Valessa returned to the front.

“Wolf-men,” she whispered into his ear. “At least ten.”

Darius nodded.

“Bloody fantastic,” he said, thinking of the horde that had attacked Durham. Alone they’d been deadly. With a mad priest leading them? He didn’t want to think about that. Urging the people along, he bade Valessa back to her place of ambush, then lifted his sword high. The light shone upon them all. Let the wolves see who protects them, thought Darius. Let them know the death awaiting their charge.

If they knew, they were not afraid. A sudden cacophony of roars heralded the wolf-men, ambushing from a dozen various buildings. They leapt from the alleys, they leapt from the rooftops. Darius screamed for the people to run, his voice lost amid sixty others crying out in panic. Only two attacked him from the front, and he rushed at them like a madman. No time, he had no time. The first to lunge had its belly opened. The other tried to use its greater size and weight to bury him, but Darius’s blade stabbed through its chest, and a twist sent it toppling to the side instead of crashing atop him. He had only the briefest moment to notice the way the wolf-man’s black claws shimmered red before he turned around to the people of Cade’s Rest.

They fled along the road as he’d bidden them, but from what Darius could tell, nearly fifteen wolf-men had joined in the ambush. There were too many of them, and they slashed and cut through weak, unarmored flesh with a wild frenzy. Darius rushed into the gore and death, and he prayed Valessa would match him kill for kill. The first wolf-man he neared was too busy gorging himself on the innards of a dead man to notice. His sword lopped off its head with a single swing.

“To me!” Darius screamed. The people fled, and the wolf-men heard his challenge and rushed to meet it. A heavyset gray was the first to near, his mouth already smeared with blood. He held the arm of a man in his left hand, wielding it like an obscene club. The horror didn’t seem to register to Darius. He felt furious yet strangely in control. He felt powerful, yet helpless to prevent the deaths happening all about him. More than anything, he saw the wolf-men and wanted to stop their killing. His sword lashed out, cutting through the severed arm. His foe dropped it and bared his teeth. They too shimmered with red. In answer, Darius shoved his sword into the mouth, pushing all the way through the creature’s skull.