Kaide looked to Jerico, still pinned by the twins.
“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.
“He is,” said Jerico. “But that doesn’t mean you should agree. Go home. Go back to Beth.”
Kaide breathed in deep, then put away his dirk.
“I’ll help you,” he said. “Though no god will keep you safe if you dare betray me.”
“If you say so,” Luther said, the shield before him vanishing.
Kaide strode to the tent’s flap, and the rest followed.
“We’ll be close,” he said.
When they were gone, Luther straightened his robes and began to put right his things. Jerico rubbed his neck, which was sore from the awkward position he’d been held in.
“A duel?” he asked as the priest fixed his bed.
“Yes, a duel,” Luther said, turning. “Why, would you like one as well?”
Jerico was so stunned by the sour humor in the priest’s voice it took a full second before a smile spread across his face.
“No,” he said. “I’d like a peaceful night’s rest. Good night, Luther. And good luck to you when you duel Kaide. I know I’d never like to be the one facing his wrath.”
“You just did,” Luther said, grabbing several pillows and piling them back together. “For that, I thank you.”
“Didn’t do it for you,” he said, stepping out into the moonlight. This time, no shadows lay wait in ambush, and he found an isolated spot of grass, set down his blanket, and slept.
19
In the dark of night Cyric stood listening to the cries of his slaves. No one else might hear them, but he could, and it filled him with anguish. Were they still so blind to the dangers their souls faced? All they seemed to know was fear and anger. So few acknowledged him as the god he was, instead they were content to curse his name and beg for either freedom or death.
“For you,” he told them, and though he was a full mile from his camp he knew they would still hear. “I do this all for you.”
Their number was growing, and sadly at a far faster rate than he’d hoped. Where were the faithful? When his wolf-men charged into these backwater villages, why did so many refuse to bend the knee? He didn’t desire enslavement. He didn’t wish their souls trapped in corpses, forced to march behind his army for however many centuries. What he asked for was faithfulness, for obedience. What sane man would deny him that? It wasn’t as if he strode into the villages and demanded they sacrifice their firstborn or throw themselves upon a fire. Obedience. Faithfulness. How lost Dezrel had grown for these things to be so rare, to be so frightening.
Beside him flowed the Gihon, and he stared across the waters to the wild lands of the Wedge beyond. They’d been following the river south, but as they neared greater civilization it’d become harder to keep his forces together. Soon Redclaw would have to rule on his own, in lands far from Cyric. Who then would create the undead faithful? Perhaps if Redclaw kept them imprisoned, waiting for his arrival. Or maybe he was deluding himself in thinking he might save so many. The world was a wretched place. It seemed no matter what he did, souls would be lost. Feeling guilt for those he could not save was not proper, not when they had turned their backs on him.
But at least they were just lost children, ignorant of the wisdom of Karak. The same could not be said for Valessa.
Cyric knelt beside the river, and as he stared at his moonlit reflection he watched his face change into a vision of the gray sister. She’d been one of Karak’s most loyal. It’d been her place to hunt down and kill those who betrayed the faith. In death she’d failed, and Karak in his mercy had given her a new body and a new chance to wash away her failure. For her to break faith, even when her very life was owed to Karak, was a betrayal of the highest order. He’d thought it only a matter of time before he found her, for day by day more of the North fell under his grasp. Yet his scouts had recently returned, telling of their defeat by her hands, as well as by a man who wielded a shining blade of light.
“Do you feel guilt, Valessa?” Cyric asked the watery reflection. “Do you fear the great retribution you will feel at my hands for all eternity? How you will burn, Valessa. Your very existence is an insult, one that must be remedied.”
Yes, his decision was made. As long as she remained, she was a thorn digging into his mind. Finally he would extract it.
Day by day he felt his power growing, the strength of his imprisoned essence flowing into the newly living. With closed eyes, Cyric lifted his arms to the heavens and felt his spirit sour free of mortal flesh. Below him the lands passed in a blur, and then he arrived in the center of the rebel’s camp. They encircled Tower Silver, hundreds huddled around fires and beneath dilapidated tents. Nearby was an armed man holding a torch, but Cyric walked past him without fear. The man’s eyes were closed to the spirit world. He would see nothing, sense only the briefest hint of his passing. Toward the southern edge Cyric walked, for it was there he could feel Valessa’s presence. In his mind’s eye she pulsed like a great beacon, like a dying star.