The Broken Pieces(8)

“Maybe I’ll find justice, too,” Conn said.

Down came the blade in a sweeping angle, chopping through Conn’s neck side to side. His head rolled, and Darius turned away, not wanting to see. The two guards reached for the body, and the paladin trusted them to clean up the mess. Wiping down his sword, he placed it on his back and marched away. Brute stepped in line, following.

“We get all kinds of men for our towers,” Brute said. “Most we hammer and beat into something worthwhile, something a man can be proud of. But sometimes…sometimes we’re trying to make armor out of mud. Can’t change what a man’s made of, only improve what’s there.”

“So you’re saying Conn was mud?”

“I’m saying if you gave him a hundred chances, he’d break every one.”

Darius shook his head, troubled but not wanting to reveal why, not even to Brute.

“Then perhaps I should have given him a hundred and one.”

Brute grabbed his arm, forcing Darius to stop and look at him.

“You son of a bitch, you really are bothered by this,” he said. “I told you to let me swing the damn sword. Next time maybe you’ll listen.”

Darius opened his mouth to retort back, but then just sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “And pass your own laws, too. I’m clearly terrible at it.”

“Not so bad as you think.”

They stopped, for down the street rushed one of their men, clearly excited about something.

“He’s back,” the man said, out of breath from the run.

“Who’s back?” asked Darius as Brute raised an eyebrow.

“Daniel,” said the soldier. “Daniel Coldmine’s back from the Wedge!”



They gathered in Darius’s tent, the largest and most private in the camp. Daniel sat on the cot, a blanket wrapped about his upper body. He held several slices of buttered bread, wolfing them down and pausing only to speak. A cup of ale rested between his knees, half-empty. A small boy stood in the corner of the tent, attending him should he need more to eat or drink.

“Best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Daniel said, finishing his third slice. “After eating bugs for a week, you’d be surprised how close to tears a sliver of butter will bring you.”

Darius chuckled, sitting in a rickety chair opposite the cot. Beside him stood Brute, arms crossed and patiently waiting for his returned commander to tell his tale.

“We assumed everyone lost,” Darius said. “Did anyone else survive? What of Sir Robert?”

Daniel stopped eating, and the bread trembled in his hands.

“No,” he said. It was as if he were suddenly an inch from breaking down. “No, no one lived, especially not Sir Robert.”

He glanced up, and Darius realized it wasn’t tears that made Daniel tremble. It was seething rage.

“That bastard, Cyric, he turned Robert into an abomination. His throat was cut, yet somehow he still lived. Still moved. They kept him chained in the tower, writing letters south, telling people that Cyric’s takeover of the Blood Tower was all a lie, and that the priest was only advising him. I…I cut off his head. It was his order, his last order. Gods help him find peace.”

“What happened then?” Brute asked.

Daniel gestured to the dirty child in the corner.

“Not sure I wish to say more with the lad here.”

Darius tried to reveal nothing with his gaze, and shrugged off the comment.

“That lad’s my helper, and he’ll hold his tongue. Tell us, what happened at the tower?”

“The rest of my men gathered at the door of Robert’s tower, sacrificing themselves so I could escape out a window. Nearly died even then. One of those abyssal lions spotted me. If you’d care to look, you can see the scars he left on my back with his breath.”

“Her,” Darius said. “It was a her, by the name of Lilah.”

“How the fuck do you know?” Daniel asked.

“Because I killed Kayne, the other.”

Daniel shook his head in disbelief.

“If you faced one of them down, you have greater stones than I do. Only way I escaped was by crossing the river. Fled into the Vile Wedge, and lived among the monsters. Shouldn’t have had problems staying hidden, but something’s amiss in there. Too many wolf-men, and not enough of anything else. You’d think they’d have learned after we slaughtered them at Durham.”

The man drank down the rest of his ale, then tossed the cup to the floor.

“Are you two really the ones in charge?” They nodded. “Shit.”

“We stopped Cyric’s plans here,” Darius said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “His soldiers were killed, and his sacrifices halted. Cyric lived, though. Ran before I could shove my sword through his belly. After all that, we weren’t sure what else to do. Our numbers are too few to recapture the Blood Tower, and the town lacks the supplies for any lengthy travel. The only way to reach civilization would be to sail down the river, right past the Blood Tower. The garrison there would crush us if we tried. So we’ve stayed here.”