Marked for Death

Chapter 7

Kandler peered around the right corner of his front porch, back toward the town square. The knights lined up in the doorway behind Deothen, each of them peering over their leader’s back as he kept a respectful distance from the justicar.

“Who is it?” Deothen asked.

“Stay here,” Kandler said. “Don’t leave.”

The knights filed out onto the porch as Kandler leaped down and waited for Mardak and his followers to reach him. The mayor walked at the front of the pack of men, with Rislinto striding along next to him, arguing every step of the way. Behind them, they had a score of armed men.

The men chattered among themselves, their gait scattered and offbeat, nothing like the confident march of soldiers. Kandler had led each of them into battle before and knew them all like brothers. Pradak, the mayor’s son, dogged his father’s heels, his face a mixture of excitement and embarrassment. Temmah, the only dwarf in town, brought up the rear. Puffing along hard to keep up with the others, his long beard swayed before him, bouncing off the handle of the battleaxe he carried in both of his wide, meaty hands.

Kandler could hear the blacksmith growling at Mardak. “Stop this madness,” Rislinto said. “The justicar is not our foe.”

“We are at war here,” Mardak said. His eyes darted from Rislinto to the men following them. He spoke as much to them as to the blacksmith. “An army requires a strong chain of command. He refused a direct order.”

Rislinto put his hand on Mardak’s shoulder. “This isn’t an army. It’s our home.”

“All the more reason to protect it.” Mardak shrugged off Rislinto’s hand as they entered Kandler’s yard. “We are being picked off one by one. Any of us could be next.”

The hawk-faced man strode up to the justicar and said, “Kandler, you are under arrest.”

Awry smile found its way to Kandler’s lips. “What are the charges?” he asked. He looked into the faces of the others as he spoke. Only Rislinto dared to meet his gaze, puffing with indignity as he did. The rest bowed their heads sheepishly.

Mardak stabbed a finger at the justicar as he spoke and used it to punctuate his sentences. “You failed to protect us. You sided with these outsiders. You disobeyed me. This cannot be tolerated!”

With each word, Mardak’s anger grew. By the end of his pronouncement, he was spitting out each word like bolts from a crossbow. It was then that a real bolt appeared between his feet.

Kandler cursed under his breath.

Mardak and his men looked up as one to see Burch perched on the edge of Kandler’s roof, his crossbow in hand. He was already reloading.

“Archers!” Mardak said. A half-dozen townspeople broke off from the mob. In a handful of heartbeats, they each nocked an arrow, stretched their bowstrings, and took aim at the shifter. Burch ignored them and drew a bead on Mardak’s heart.

“Stand down!” Rislinto said. “We’ve had enough mayhem today.”

The archers hesitated for a moment. Two of them lowered their bows.

“There will be more if anyone disobeys another order,” said Mardak. “Temmah! Take Kandler into custody!”

The crowd parted around the dwarf, who stood near the rear of the pack, thumbing the blade of his battleaxe. He noticed all eyes on him, and he cursed in the thick tongue of his people. “This is a hard vein of rock,” he said, his face flushed red.

Temmah looked at Kandler. “Will you come peacefully, justicar?” His eyes pleaded with his friend to make this easy.

Before Kandler could answer, the knights stepped into the circle formed around Kandler, their swords drawn and ready. “He’s not going anywhere,” Deothen said.

Kandler shook his head in exasperation. He understood why Burch had loosed a bolt without waiting for a signal. Despite the shifter’s laconic facade, he always stood ready for a good fight. Kandler had thought Deothen and the knights would have been better disciplined though. “Can’t anyone around here do what I tell them?” he asked.

“By Dol Arrah’s sacred sword,” said Mardak, a dark vein pulsing in his forehead as he spoke to the knights, “this is an internal matter. It has nothing to do with you. I’ll thank you to stay out of this.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Kandler said to Deothen. He tried to sound as confident about it as he wanted to be. “I can handle this.”

“Really?” said Sallah. “You could take on a few score of battle-hardened veterans yourself? I’d like to see that.”

“Step back, and you might get a chance,” Mardak said, his voice dripping with desperate menace.

“Are you out of your mind?” called a strong feminine voice. Kandler turned back around to see Mardak’s wife Priscinta smack him in the back of the head. He hadn’t seen her march up with the others. She must have followed Mardak from the square and watched from a distance until she figured out what he and his people were up to.

Enraged, Mardak turned to slap his wife, but she snatched his arm before he could land the blow. “This is Kandler,” she said, “not some wandering beggar worshiping some upstart god!”

Sallah started to object, but Priscinta kept talking. “Kandler founded Mardakine with you, and he’s saved our little settlement more times than I care to count. Who slew that carcass crab when it came crawling out of the Mournland looking for a meal?”

Mardak opened his mouth to say something, but Priscinta kept rolling. “And Burch,” she said as she pointed up to the shifter’s rooftop perch, “he brought down three of that flight of harpies before these archers of yours even unslung their bows. I think they’ve earned their place with us.”

Mardak took advantage of the fact his wife was looking away to slap her to the ground. Everyone gasped. Mardak looked down at his hand as if it had just come to life on its own. His face, red with anger only moments before, blanched pale as a skeleton left out in the desert sun.

Priscinta sat on the ash-coated crater floor, her hand covering the red mark Mardak’s blow had placed on her ivory skin. She stood with painstaking care and brushed the ash from her skirts. Then she turned to her husband and spat blood from her mouth on the ground before him. Where it landed, it turned the ash black.

Without a word, Priscinta launched herself at Mardak. Before she could reach him, Rislinto stepped between them and held her at bay. “Don’t!” he said. “He’s not worth it!”

“He’s not worth my blood, but he’s already had some of that!” Priscinta said. “I was a warrior-maiden!” she said as tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. “I gave that up to bear your children, you spiteful bastard!”

“That’s right,” Rislinto said. “Your children. Like Pradak, who’s standing right there!”

Priscinta turned to see her eldest son gaping at his parents. The fight fled from her. With that, Rislinto wrapped his thick arms around Priscinta, and she collapsed against his barrel chest. She pressed hard against him, muffling her sobs.

Mardak stared at his wife for a moment. Kandler could see the tears welling up in the man, but he knew that Mardak would never allow them to flow, never admit that he was wrong in front of so many other people. Mardak’s eyes went to his son, and his face burned with shame.

“None of that matters right now,” Mardak said, more to himself than anyone else, then louder he said, “We are under siege by forces unknown. If we are to survive, everyone must follow orders. No one is exempt.” He turned to Kandler. The justicar could see that all of his old friend’s shame and fear was now hammered into a red-hot blade of righteous rage, its new-forged tip pointed straight at him. “Not even our finest.”

Kandler let loose a hard laugh. “So,” he said, “what are you saying exactly?”

“You’re not that dumb, justicar.”

“Pretend I am.”

Mardak sighed. “You and Burch shall surrender yourselves into my custody now.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Not even you two can stand against so many of us. You may manage to kill many who have called you friend, but we will bring you down.”

Kandler scanned the faces arrayed against him. Many of them, like Temmah, refused to meet his eyes. They stood tall, though, with their hands on the hilts of their weapons. He had fought alongside many of them, and since the founding of the town he had trained with them all. He had worked to instill in them a sense of duty to their town, to each other. He had never guessed that this would be used against him.

How many of them could he bear to kill? If he tried to run, the archers would bring him down before he reached the crater’s wall. If he stood and fought, he would be forced to murder his friends or die at their hands. Once such a fight began, there would be no turning back.

“Priscinta is right,” Kandler said. “You are a bastard.” He glared at the mayor, measuring the distance between the two. He knew he could draw his blade and slice through Mardak’s throat before the man could even raise his sword. He considered it. The thought felt good.

“Sticks and stones, Brelander,” said Mardak. “What will it be?”