CHAPTER TWELVE

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Wicket

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15th of Decepter, 935 PC

Blood splattered on Wicket’s face. Never would he have imagined something so warm could freeze him so thoroughly. He was face to face, mere inches apart, for what could not have been but seconds, yet he found himself with time to see every hair on the man’s chin, every wrinkle beneath his eyes. There were no thoughts. No witty comments. Certainly not from Wicket. There may have been from the mercenary, had he not been choking on blood, dying standing up. Then, there was a sharp pinch in his shoulder blade, followed closely by intense pain. He fell toward his victim, hit his knees on the hard rocky surface of the plateau but was in too much pain to notice more. The Hound fell backward. And in a rare moment of quick thinking, Wicket made sure to slide his blade from the falling corpse.

Someone was telling his name but it was blurred. Elgar?

There was a loud crack behind him. A surge of adrenaline, the kind that wills you to survive, spun him round without thought. Diedro was holding half a broken polearm. The pointy end was laying on the ground beside a motionless Hound.

“Get up,” Diedro said.

Before Wicket could do so, he noticed movement behind Diedro. “Move!” he yelled as he brought his leg up to gather his weight. Diedro sidestepped just as Wicket pushed off his steady foot. His sword sunk deep into the incoming mercenary’s stomach. Still, the Hound tried to bring his sword down from his head. To hack Wicket in half, he assumed. But Diedro caught the pommel of the sword. Held the weakening arms in place effortlessly and jammed the jagged end of the broken polearm into the bottom of the Hound’s jaw, then helped him tipped backward with an annoyed shove.

There was a calm all around them.

Wicket collapsed to his hands and knees. The pain in his shoulder was still there, but he’d felt worse. I’ll survive. That he knew as truth.

Diedro pulled Wicket’s sword from the corpse's stomach and once again told Wicket to get up. Not one to possess too much pride to look vulnerable, Wicket got himself to his knees and put his hands on his thighs. He caught his breath as quickly as he could, then extended his hand and looked at his comrade tiredly.

“Reckon I got at least ten more years to my name than any of ya’s.”

Diedro shook his head. Let a small grin form. Then helped Wicket stand. “And forty pounds.”

“It ain’t that much,” Wicket said. Diedro was unconvinced.

For the first time, Wicket had a chance to register just how much death lay atop the plateau. There were bodies everywhere. Some in armor, but most in thin tan rags. Most had something made of wool that reminded him of a blanket tossed over their shoulders, a hole cut for the head. Only one Hound was still moving and he was being strangled by Shade. Somehow the assassin had not only gotten atop the headless statue in front of the temple, but had also managed to get a piece of rope around the mercenary’s neck and was lifting him a foot off the ground. His back pinned tight to the statue, his legs kicking furiously.

“It’s a barbed,” Diedro said as he felt Wicket’s chest to see if the arrow had gone completely through. It hadn’t. “It’s all they use. Makes gettin’ it out a whole lot more painful.”

“Figures.”

“I got some goose quills in my bag down with the horses. Won’t make it painless, but it ain’t gonna feel like torture.” Goose quills? He snapped the arrow off unexpectedly, sending a jolt of pain through Wicket’s shoulder.

“Three hells!” Wicket said and turned away.

“Easier if ya don’t know it’s coming.”

“There!” Elgar shouted from his place near a hut that had all but collapsed. He was standing over an armored corpse and pointed at the back of the burning temple.

A slightly overweight man in a hood had managed to sneak out of the temple and was running toward the cliffside in the distance. Where he thought he could go, Wicket was unsure. Suppose if I had betrayed Alaric I’d be willing to jump off a cliff too.

Shade dropped the rope that was strangling the Hound, causing the body to fall limp to the ground, and jumped from the statue. He was in full stride almost instantly. His black clothes made it look like Ames’ shadow was chasing him down. One time you should be scared of your own shadow.

Elgar yelled, “Don’t kill him!”

Shade closed the gap on the sprinting commoner in seconds. The fleeing informant looked over his shoulder when he sensed his pursuer coming. He lost his balance just enough to make him stumble. He stopped, realizing he had no chance of escaping. Then, with unexpected skill, his hand slid from inside his cloak in a backhanded fashion. A silvery projectile flew toward Shade. The assassin caught the dagger in front of his chest with his forearm, in stride. He lowered a shoulder and put Ames on his arse in a dirty cloud of dust. Even before it cleared, Wicket could see Shade had the commoner pinned to the ground by his neck. The dagger was sticking from his arm. Shade pulled it from his arm and tossed it away with a quiet clink against the rocky ground.

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Wicket sat beside Shade at the base of the statue as Elgar and Diedro did what they could to check for survivors in the burning buildings. Ames was laying on his side in the softest dirt they could find a few feet in front of them. His wrists were bound and a sword had been driven through his forearm and into the ground. A second man was lying unconscious near Ames, his wrists and ankles bound, his eye bruised and his lip bleeding from where Elgar had lost his temper. Wicket knew him as Richard Danfield. Ames had given up the man’s location in the temple as soon as Shade had stopped choking him. It wasn’t as if they didn’t intend to check for other informants, but the fact that Ames could give up a friend so easily made Wicket want to let Richard go. Ain’t nothing good waiting for him in Thronerock but Elgar would have none of that.

Wicket watched as Ames writhed in pain. Reckon he deserves everything Alaric’s gonna do to him. “Nice touch,” he said.

“An eye for an eye,” replied Shade as he rubbed the wound in his forearm.

Wicket chuckled softly. “Not quite equal.”

Shade shrugged.

“Please. Please take it out,” said Ames, almost in tears. “I’ll tell you anything. I have information about The Lotus and The Hounds.”

Neither man acknowledged his pleas.

“So you weren’t using your magic?” asked Wicket.

Shade shook his head. “Not over there.” He pointed at the trench where they had first fought The Hounds. “I did a few times over here.”

“Damn,” said Wicket.

“Hell,” said Shade. “Diedro caught an arrow and killed that mouthy asshole before I even moved.” He’s right. I didn’t even see the arrow coming until it was in Diedro’s hand. “And when I was sparring with him… I couldn’t touch him. And I tried. Tried to put my blade right through his heart because I knew I couldn’t.” He looked at Wicket. “Don’t tell him that.”

“He said ya caught his forearm once. First time anyone’s landed a blow on him in years while using his magic.”

“Ain’t killed too many men scratching an itch on their forearm for ‘em.”

“Please!” begged Ames.

Shade leaned forward and grabbed the broken head of the statue. He tossed it at the sword in Nathaniel’s arm, sending reverberations through Ames’ arm. He let out a shriek and squirmed around in pain.

“Shut up, we’re talking,” Shade said.

Diedro was walking toward them from where he had been by another building. “No survivors. Not their way of doin’ things.”

Ames whispered, “Look, fellas.” He looked toward the temple where he knew Elgar to be. “I can show ya what Alaric’s been hiding here. Elgar knows all about it but he can’t tell ya. His brother’s got his lips sealed tighter than a drum.”

No one was quite sure what to say. Each Purist looked intrigued but also unsure if they wanted to be the one to admit it.

“Most incredible thing you ever seem,” Ames said, trying to pique their curiosity. “I’ll tell ya exactly how to find his little secret. All ya gotta do is let me slip away. Elgar’s got him.” He cocked his head toward Danfield behind him. “Everything I know, he knows. Alaric don’t need both of us. It could mean life over death when The Lotus Queen starts raining shit down on all your heads.” Lords know Alaric is one to keep secrets. And Iris ain’t one to give up. Might be worth knowin’ something that could save me. Question is, why ain’t Elgar willing to tell me? Like a brother to that man these days.

Shade took the high road before Wicket caved. “How about you keep your mouth shut until it's time for you to explain to Alaric why you let the Hounds kill these people. And if you talk again before that I’ll rip your eyes with my bare hands. Understood?”

Ames looked mortified as he nodded his head.

Elgar approached not long after. And as one as observant as Elgar does, he noticed the uncomfortable energy of the group immediately.

“He told you, boys?”

Wicket said, “Aye.” Elgar looked at him apologetically. At least as much so as a man like Elgar could.

“It don’t matter now. The Hounds destroyed it.”

“What was it?” Diedro asked.

“Not my place to say. If Alaric wants the rest of ya’s to know, he will tell you.”

“What are the odds of that?” Shade asked.

Elgar paused for a moment. "Even longer than you think.” Sounds about right.