Chapter Eight

Some three months later a party of a half dozen men and women crossed the bridge to the south bank of the Hartle River and left Clun behind. They were dressed in attractive but rugged traveling clothes, riding on well-equipped new horses. New packs and saddlebags hung from the horses’ flanks, as well as swords and shields, an axe and a spear. A seventh animal, a mule, was loaded with more packs and gear.

A low line of hills, still green in the late summer, separated the drainage areas of the Hartle and Burrit rivers, with wide passes. One of the passes climbed up to a tower built of gray stone.

“Some of those other passes look a tad easier,” noted Horace. “This here one’s blocked by that tower up ahead. Kin we get past it?”

“It’s actually the best route, and it’s historic,” remarked Vince. “I came upon this pass when I was wandering, years ago. That tower up there is the Red Tower.”

“That tower is gray, not red,” objected Polly.

“It’s named for the Red Company, which defended this pass long ago. As we ride up the pass, I’ll tell you its story. This goes back to sometime after the Big War. What is now Adallo had been devastated by the war, but not as much as other parts of Orilon. This side of the pass belonged to one duke, the other side to another. Adallo is on both sides now, but it hadn’t grown this far in those days.

“I don’t know the name of the duke who ruled here, but his best commander was a man named Edgar. Centuries later he’s still well known across southeastern Orilon. There was a painting of him on a wall in Clun, if you were paying any attention there. Big man, white hair, stern expression on his face, a serious warrior.

“The duke used to chat with Edgar casually, like two friends, not like lord and servant. One day they were talking like this and the duke said, ‘There‘s no such thing as heroes anymore, Edgar.’

“Edgar answered him, ‘There are always heroes, Your Grace, You’re still young. You may be brave and a good warrior, but I’ve seen a lot more in my long life. When I was young I saw a man defend his family from marauders. Four men attacked ’em, wanting to rape the man’s wife and daughters, maybe sell ’em as slaves. He was just a simple peasant, with only a stick to defend ’em. He wasn’t trained, he was outnumbered, but he was fighting for his family. He killed two of the marauders and drove off the other two.’

“‘He was a brave man, certainly,’ admitted the duke.

“‘No, even a brave man might have hesitated to fight four men with only a stick. Last year Sir Ronald went boar hunting with you. The boar came charging right at him and he stood his ground and stuck his spear into it, smack on target. He didn’t flinch. He was brave. But that was not heroic. Others were there to help him, so he didn’t have to face the boar single-handedly. The peasant had no help, no choice but to fight or die. Maybe fight and die.

“‘You think there are no heroes because you don’t see ’em. The reason you don’t see ’em is that many of ’em die bein’ heroic. I’ve led warriors for your father and you for thirty years now and I’ve seen many heroes. And I can tell you where they’re buried, because I buried ’em as soon as I could after they became heroes.’

“The Big War was long over, but people were still fighting a lot. A war broke out with the duke on the other side of this pass. His duke sends Edgar and his personal troop of men, the Red Company, to guard this pass. They were called the Red Company because they all wore red tunics, surcoats, and cloaks. He wanted ’em to stand out in battle. They didn’t dare run away because everyone would see ’em run, and everyone would also see ’em holding their ground forever. Edgar had recruited and trained ’em himself, and they were very good.

“This side of the pass is fairly wide, as you can see. On the other side, it’s shorter than on this side, and narrower. It’s about a hundred feet wide at the bottom, with strong walls and a gatehouse built to block it. As the pass rises, it narrows to what is known as the Narrow Gate, only wide enough for a man on horseback to go through, maybe four or five feet wide.

“They settled in and prepared to defend the pass. Before too long the enemy arrived and attacked. The gatehouse held out for several days of heavy fighting. Edgar was ordered to hold the pass for a week, until the duke could raise his whole army and come to his aid. Unfortunately, rain delayed the duke’s arrival, and the enemy had been weakening the gate every day. It was still intact, but it was showing cracks in some of the timbers.

“Edgar put the question of defending the pass to his men. They’ve been hanging on for twelve days now, two more than they had promised. They all voted to stand their ground and fight to the end, if necessary. The gate was finally smashed and the enemy poured in. Edgar led his men in singing a Death Song. The enemy troops paused, knowing what they were facing. One of ’em who survived, captured, told about the singing. He told the duke that even at the end, almost out of breath, gasping, Edgar was still singing. The fight began, and the front ranks of Edgar’s men stopped singing to save their breath for fighting, but the rear ranks kept singing.

“The fight continued all day, and Edgar’s men were whittled down, and pushed up the hill. Edgar had a lot of men, and the narrow confines of the pass helped their defense. By keeping his formation intact he was able to fall back up the hill slowly.

“Late in the day, the duke arrived as Edgar and two others, all that was left of his force, were in the Narrow Gate. The duke saw the two men fall badly wounded, and Edgar faced three opponents. He killed one and wounded another before going down. One of his wounded men, seeing the duke’s force coming, pulled Edgar from the path of the horsemen. The duke led his knights down the pass in single-file, widening as the pass widened, cutting and slashing at everyone in their way. The foot soldiers came rushing through after ’em.

“An hour later, the enemy had been driven back to a safe distance. Night was coming on, and the duke returned to the Narrow Gate and Edgar, who was still just barely alive.

“‘Your Grace said there were no more heroes,’ Edgar gasped. ‘Look down this pass. You’ll find a company of ’em. We died for you, Your Grace, willingly and gladly.’

“The duke promised, ‘I swear that I will build a tower here on this spot where you lie to defend the upper part of the pass, and I will name it after you, Edgar.’

“Edgar objected, ‘No, Your Grace, do not do that, I beg you. We did not die for my fame or honor, but for yours. Build your tower, but name it for the men who died here, the Red Company.’ And then he died from his wounds.

“Here we are. This is the Narrow Gate, still the only way through the pass. You can see how they built the tower behind it, to support the defense of the gate. It’s been said that this tower has never fallen to any attack. Some say it’s never even been attacked. Some say that Edgar’s men defend this pass, even in death. I don’t know if that is possible, but I would never try to find out.”

“What is a Death Song?” asked Polly.

“My grampa’s stories mentioned it,” explained Ben. “It’s like the most dreadful, awesome promise to fight to your own death to serve your lord.”

“Right, Ben,” agreed Vince. “No one sings a Death Song if he thinks he’s going to survive the coming fight. It’s a way to boost your own courage, and that of your companions, by reminding yourself of all the good things your lord has done for you. The food, clothing, weapons, presents he’s given you. And of how you promised to die for him in exchange for these nice things. Now was the time to pay with your life for those gifts.

“It’s not really a promise to die for your lord, or whatever else you’re fighting for. It’s an acknowledgment that you made that promise long ago, in nicer times, sitting around a feast table, eating and drinking. It may have been an idle boast then, but now it’s time to make good on it. You don’t actually have to die, but few who sing the Death Song survive. It’s sung under such dire circumstances that survival is pretty much impossible.

“Having remembered your promise to fight for your lord, and admitted it aloud, you can’t run away now. You’d be a coward. Not just to others, but to yourself. You swore oaths to defend your lord, you have to honor those oaths. You sing it loudly, proudly, knowing it will be the last thing you ever say. Your foes hear it and fear. They know you will not run away, that they will have to kill every man in front of ’em. That none of those men will die easily.

“This tower is a monument to those men, to Edgar, to their devotion to their duke. Few men have so grand and glorious a marker for their graves. Few men do so much to earn such a marker. They’re buried here, in tombs carved into the sides of the pass. I envy them.”

They rode in silence down the pass, through the open gatehouse, and into the valley beyond. Two miles farther on, as the road turned to enter a forest, they stopped and looked back at the tower once more.

***

They rode south at an easy pace until they reached the Burrit River, heading southeast here. Another small river poured into the Burrit at this point and some enterprising men ran boat service on both rivers. The town of Burslem was prosperous, handling downstream trade from towns up both rivers.

Vince’s band rode into the center of the town looking for an inn. The Happy Boatman looked decent and had rooms, which they took. What it didn’t have was space for their horses. A merchant with a large caravan was also staying, and his horses filled the inn’s stable. After putting their gear in their rooms, Vince and the others headed out to a public stable.

As the others went back to the inn, Vince took his shield from his horse’s flank, and stayed to talk to the stableman about getting new shoes for his horse. The stableman checked the party’s other horses as well, and told Vince he could get the farrier in to take care of them in the morning. Vince left and went out into the street for the short walk back to the inn.

***

Scarface had been wandering from one outrage to another for years now. Most of the rulers of Orilon were hunting for him and he didn’t dare face well-trained fighters. Many of his men didn’t have anything better than just leather armor. Their numbers were enough to overwhelm caravans and the watchmen of small towns and villages. He had never worried about the quality of his fighters; to him numbers were more important than ability. They scared their victims as much as fought them, so they didn’t develop the combat skills they needed to win a serious fight. And scaring instead of fighting meant they didn’t need good armor.

His own reputation scared most opponents away. But numbers and reputation couldn’t offset the quality difference when they fought men who knew how to fight. He had more than fifty men now, and they were just brawlers, bullies, and tough thugs. They were the sort of rough men he liked to have around him, willing to do anything to get rich. He couldn’t fight a baron’s troops without taking a lot of losses, but he could easily overwhelm a defenseless village or small town.

He had come to Burslem because he hadn’t been here before. The city government wasn’t yet thinking about locking him up, so he felt he had a free hand to commit crimes for a while. At least until they learned who he was, and what he did. Today he was going to give them a first lesson. The town was too big to take over and steal everything, but there was wealth here, and he’d get some of it. He and his gang had been in town for three days now, seeing which merchants were worth targeting.

Now they’d make their opening attack, a small matter of kidnapping a rich merchant’s daughter. He left most of his men in their camp outside the town walls. The ten men he brought with him would wear only light leather jerkins lest they alert the city watch. But how dangerous could a simple kidnapping be? The only exception was Scarface himself, wearing worn out mail and with a shield slung over his back. He was the boss. He could do what he wanted.

“Tate, take two men and go to that end of the street,” said Scarface. “Let me know if you see any of those watchmen, the guys in that green livery. Give us a warning if they come. Arlo and you three, come into the shop with me. The rest of you spread out and wait for us out here in the street. Remember the plan. We knock her father down and tie him up and gag him. Don’t kill him or we won’t get a ransom. Grab the girl and out the door. Through the streets to that empty warehouse. Let’s go.”

Nathaniel had a popular shop in Gold Street, dealing in elegant but not expensive jewelry. He had many customers, drawn in by his prices and returning for his quality. Because he was considered an especially honest merchant he prospered and had a grand house. His daughter Marian was young, blonde, and eager to learn her father’s business. Since he had no sons, she expected to inherit the family business.

The shop was only as wide as a normal house, which it had been when Nathaniel first set up in business. Two small windows on each side of the center door gave light and a view into his display room. The half-timbered facade was painted in yellow and green, freshly done every year.

Marian was helping him tie the last thread on a string of beads, not gem quality, but attractive. Five men, led by a bearded man with a large scar across his face, entered the shop. Three of them grabbed her father and wrestled him to the ground. The others tried to catch her, but she slipped away through the back of the shop into a narrow lane. She ran along it until it opened into the main street.

***

The street ran west from the town square, and was broad and lined with impressive buildings. The only one that seemed out of place was the Temple of Death. It was somber, but dignified; black stone columns backed onto the plain black walls and held up the roof. Small niches were formed by the gaps between the columns, just large enough to take shelter from a sudden rainstorm or a gust of wind.

As Vince approached the Temple he saw a young blonde girl, looking no more than twelve, come running around a corner of another street. She was being chased by a man, several men, a large number of fierce looking men. Vince recognized the man leading the mob as Scarface. The girl ran into the open doors of the Temple and Vince followed her, drawing his sword. She ran through a wide doorway inside, flanked by shiny obsidian-covered columns.

The girl entered the room beyond the doorway without hesitation, not thinking about where she was, only about escaping her pursuers. She looked around at the statues and altar, but saw no way out. Vince followed her but stopped when he saw the Temple’s inner sanctum beyond the doorway. He turned on the door sill, swung his shield off his shoulder, and faced the attackers.

“Well, ain’t this my lucky day,” shouted Scarface. “I’m about to grab a sweet little rich girl, and I get to kill little Vincey boy to do it. How great is that!”

“You’re not grabbing any little girl, today or ever again,” growled Vince. “I’ll defend this girl from you if I have to die doing it. No matter how many wounds I receive I will pray that Death will let me fight you until you and all your men are dead, and this girl is safe. I will die happy then.”

“You’re going to die now, and unhappy,” boasted Scarface as he swung his sword at Vince’s head.

Vince parried with his shield, checking the columns next to the doorway to see if any of Scarface’s men could attack him from either side. The entrance was wide. Wide enough for religious processions, wide enough to carry a coffin through for a funeral, wide enough for worshipers to witness the ceremonies inside. Wide enough to leave him unprotected.

Scarface’s men lined up next to him, trying to attack Vince from front, left, and right. Vince thrust his shield at a man on his left, pushing him back hard. His sword struck at a man on his right, making him take a step back from the doorway. Scarface tried to take advantage of Vince’s split defense by swinging again at his head. Vince shifted to his right and avoided the blow.

Vince considered his position. I can’t stay in one place, holding this doorway. It’s too wide, and if I let ’em get behind me, they’ll kill me and take the girl. My only option is to move around, keep dancing from side to side. Hit a man here, shift and kill one there. Wound a man enough he drops out of the fight, cripple a man’s leg so he can’t get close to me.

Vince, having shifted right, struck again at the man trying to get past him there. This blow connected, slashing through the man’s neck, and he dropped. His body partially blocked the entrance, which also pleased Vince. He could now spare a moment to worry about Scarface again.

Scarface threw a flurry of blows at Vince, hoping to sneak one past his defense, but without success. Vince’s shield work was good, and any blows that the shield missed bounced off his mail. Vince took his time to watch for openings, knowing what a wild fighter Scarface was. Vince saw a shift in Scarface’s shield, a drop of only an inch, but Vince lifted his sword high and stabbed down into Scarface’s left arm. The point slid off the rings and into a gap in the ragged mail, the sharp blade pierced deeply, and Vince twisted the sword to make the wound worse.

With a loud cry of pain, Scarface dropped his shield and stepped back from the fight. Two of his men took his place and began attacking Vince. Another of his men fell back, ripped his tunic to make a bandage, and wrapped it tightly around Scarface’s arm.

Vince found the two men in front of him now to be eager, but not well skilled. The man on his left had come back into the fight, trying to find an opening past Vince’s shield. The man on the right had been replaced by another. His hard blow landed on Vince’s mail, giving him a bruise, but not cutting through. One of the men facing him had no armor, not even leather, and he died quickly as Vince’s blade cut through his torso.

Vince stepped over his body and pushed beyond the other fighters. He was leaving the doorway open, but he judged their temperament correctly, and they attacked him instead of trying to grab the girl. I’ve wounded their boss, so I must be killed. The girl will still be there when I’m dead. Ha! Fools! I can do this if I’m careful. But so many of ’em!

He spun around as he passed through their line and swung his sword at the man he had already pushed back earlier. The man, like his buddies, had no shield, and Vince’s blow cut through his belly. A man came up on Vince’s left side and Vince skipped backwards. His shield blocked the man’s swing, and Vince cut his left arm. The man yelled in pain, but did not drop out of the fight.

Gods above! The Temple is full of thugs! Scarface must have ten or twelve men here. All against me. That’s all right. I’ve fought against numbers before. Just keep moving, don’t get cornered. They ain’t that good and if I can kill Scarface when he comes back into the fight, the others may run away. But I won’t let ’em beat me. How should a Death Song go? They’re all individual, aren’t they?

He began chanting:

Scarface’s men had begun the battle yelling and clamoring, but now they were quiet. Scarface’s wound and Vince’s Death Song had silenced them. They realized they were in for a hard fight. Vince’s chanting echoed through the Temple, accented by the sound of sword blows and cries of pain.

Vince kept slashing at his attackers, turning and twisting away from them as they tried to get close to him, then stepping in close to them for a quick blow. His sharp sword sliced through their thin leather jerkins or linen tunics as he danced nimbly around the thugs. The floor was red, bodies and lots of blood lay all about the outer temple. Scarface’s men kept stumbling over dead bodies that Vince just skipped over. He moved constantly, never standing still long enough for them to trap him.

Scarface’s men still kept coming at him. There were few left, but they didn’t run away. They look dead already. Their eyes show no signs of life or feeling. They come at me as if they’re being forced to attack by something beyond ’em. Is Death feeding ’em into me, making me His killing machine?

Once his arm had been bandaged, Scarface tried to pick up his shield, but the wounded arm could not bear its weight. He picked up a second sword and went back to the fight. There were only two men left now fighting Vince. He didn’t care, he was blind with rage, and bellowed it to the world.

This is my fight, my chance for victory over this scum, the one man I hate the most in the world. No one can deprive me of this success. I don’t care how good he thinks he is, he can’t parry both my swords. Prancin’ around like a clown. Singin’ silly songs as if that could protect him – ha! He won’t be able to stand up to the strength of my blows. I’ll finally kill him.

Vince saw Scarface coming back in and smiled. Now it’ll be settled, one way or another. He’s wounded, without his shield, and angry. That means he’s even more out of control than usual. Good.

One of Scarface’s men turned at his leader’s bellow, and Vince brought his sword down on his head. Vince turned to the other man and cut his arm and then his leg badly, leaving him to bleed to death. Scarface jumped over the latest victim and stood facing Vince again.

Another furious storm of blows from Scarface, one sword blow after another, right and left. Vince parried with his sword as well as his shield, waiting again for an opening. Scarface swung at Vince’s head, then tried to thrust his other sword past Vince’s parry. He failed. He tried another flurry of blows. That also failed.

Vince planned his attack carefully. He feinted a blow at Scarface’s head, and Scarface parried with his left hand sword. Vince, expecting this, dropped and turned his sword arm, lowering the angle of his swing, and struck Scarface’s lower right arm. Scarface’s torn mail shirt only came to his elbows, and Vince’s hard blow now slashed the lower arm deeply.

Scarface screamed in pain, stepping back away from Vince again. His sword fell from his fingers, clattering on the floor. He turned and ran in fright from the Temple. He pushed his way through the crowd that had gathered outside and fled down the street and out of sight.

Finally the fight was over. Vince stood there, gasping for air, tired from his long fight. He looked around and saw no one else coming to attack him. He turned around to check on the girl. She was cowering by the altar, looking at him with a mixture of fear and awe. He stuck his sword upright into the nearest body, removed his helmet and shield, knelt, and held his arms open to her. She rushed into his embrace, weeping her thanks.

A voice sounded from somewhere above them all, distant, but loud and clear. A girl’s voice.

“My name was Katie and today you did, freely, what you should have done then. But you were never responsible for what happened, so I forgive you. Go in peace.”

***

“Where’s Vince?” asked Jenny. They had stashed their gear in their rooms at the inn, changed out of their mail and traveling clothes, and were having a drink in the tap room of the inn. “He should be here by now. What could be keeping him?”

“We passed a Temple of Death on the way from the stable,” remarked Betsy. “Could he have stopped in to pray? He still visits them in every town we pass through.”

“Yes, but usually not until he’s taken off his armor,” countered Ben. “I’ll go look for him ’n’ bring him back.”

“Let’s all go,” Horace said. “Ah’d like to see some more of this town. Ah like visiting new places, admiring how they build their houses.”

There was a large crowd standing in front of the Temple of Death but the street was silent. The doors were open but no one went in. The people looked into the Temple with awe and amazement. Someone was running the other way down the street. Jenny tried to see over their heads but couldn’t. Horace pushed into the throng and made a path for them until they were at the front of the crowd.

They looked into a room full of dead bodies, pools of blood, a room that looked more like a slaughterhouse than a Temple. They saw Vince at the entrance to the sanctuary, holding a young girl in his arms. He was covered in blood, his outer clothes in shreds. They heard a girl’s voice ringing through the Temple. Confused thoughts ran through the crowd’s minds. Who was that girl who spoke? What did she mean? What have I just seen? How could one man kill so many by himself?

Jenny came up to Vince and drew the girl from his arms. She knelt before the youngster and asked, “Are you hurt? Where do you live?”

Shaking from the release of her fears, the girl said, “I’m fine. I’m really scared. I was scared. I’m fine now. I’m Marian. I live on Gold Street. My father is a goldsmith, Nathaniel, at the sign of the Ruby Ring.” Then she started to cry uncontrollably.

Polly looked around the Temple floor, littered with dead men and blood, the first time she had ever seen the result of combat, other than Vince’s slashed arm. Vince’s arm scared me, so much blood. But now, after Sam’s training and all his talk of stabbing and slashing people, I’m not scared. It’s awful, but this is what his training was for, so I could do something like this. Horrible, but it’s what they deserved, trying to kidnap this girl.

Polly went in search of Gold Street and Nathaniel. She found the shop and went in, stepping over the overturned table on the floor. She looked for a sign of the owner, and finally found him tied up and gagged behind his counter. She cut his bonds and helped him to stand.

“Your daughter is safe,” Polly told him. “A friend of mine rescued her. The men who attacked her are dead. Come with me, please; I’ll lead you to Marian. She’s safe, but the place is full of dead bodies and blood and looks horrible. Try to be brave when you see it.”

He followed her into the Temple and saw his daughter standing with a bloodstained man. He looked at the room, the bodies, the blood everywhere. He worried about Marian until he got close enough to see she had not been wounded. He ran to her and threw his arms about her joyfully. He hugged her and kissed her as if she had returned from the dead.

As the priests and acolytes of Death gathered up the bodies for burial, Vince told his friends and Nathaniel what had happened. Marian confirmed his story and added the detail Vince left out, the Death Song.

“Why did you sing the Death Song?” asked Polly.

“I know,” Jenny replied, quietly. “He’s always tried to atone for letting that one girl, long ago, be raped and die. He saw this as another chance to make up for that. Rescuing you was the same thing, and you haven’t been the only one. Fight for her before she was dead, instead of after. Defend her, not just avenge her. His life would be a small price to pay to save her.”

“That’s it,” confessed Vince. “Jenny knows me too well. Years ago I could’ve done more to save a girl like Marian. God, I never even knew her name! What good did avenging her do? It did no good for her. It did no real good for me either, because I’ve been hounded by guilt all these years. My Gods, she spoke to me! She forgave me! Her name was Katie, she said. I know her name now! Am I finally free? I must speak to the priests.”

***

“I am Malachi, high priest of Death in this Temple. I saw your fight. I did not understand what you were fighting for until I saw the girl. That was a most extraordinarily brave thing you did. I rarely see men fight, but I hear them talk about their fights as they seek pardon from Death for killing others. I have never even heard of such a fight as this.

“What was that voice? Who spoke? It was a girl’s voice, but not the girl you were protecting. Do you know who it was?

“Excuse me, I’m asking too many questions of you. You need counsel and solace. Killing people is never easy to live with, especially so many slain. Even if you’ve led a violent life, this may be hard to handle. I will try to comfort you, to help you to bear the pain of so many deaths. Since you were fighting to defend someone you should feel no guilt. But you might feel remorse, even if those you killed were very bad.”

“If you only knew!” Vince declared. “To call ’em ‘very bad’ is quite an understatement. They were evil, killers, rapists, thieves, destroyers of small villages and even towns. Half of Orilon knows and hates ’em, and would hang ’em if the opportunity arose.

“I feel no remorse for killing ’em. I know I should. I’ve visited Death’s house many times over my life and talked into the night with a great many of His priests. I know the prayers to say at a funeral as well as you do. Let me tell you why I saved that girl.”

Malachi led Vince to a side chapel and offered him some wine while they talked. He listened to Vince’s story of his early life and the unknown girl with close attention. He had heard many stories of violence in his years as a priest of Death so he was not shocked by the girl’s death. But he was intrigued by the depth of Vince’s guilt over his part in her death.

“How many Temples of Death have you visited since then?” he asked at length.

“I never counted,” Vince stated. “Every city, town, village I came to, I visited the Temple and spoke to the priest. Even the smallest village has a Temple to Death, because He is everywhere. I could always find someone to talk to. Some sent me to Death’s sister, Palliarna, Goddess of Mercy, for comfort. But neither Death nor Palliarna could remove the pain in my heart.

“I’ve rescued girls from kidnappers, thinking it might alleviate the pain at least. But it doesn’t. Today, though, seeing how many thugs I was facing, I realized what I had to do. It wasn’t enough to fight and rescue her, then stand back and accept everyone’s praise. That made the fight about my glory, not her rescue. I had to worry about something more important than my fame. I had to put her safety above any personal consideration. My fame, my survival, were of no account.

“Dying to save her would be the perfect way for me to die. I didn’t die, but I was willing to die. I sang the Death Song. I know what it says, what it means. I offered myself to Death as a sacrifice to Him to save this girl. I didn’t save that other girl. I couldn’t let that happen again.

“What troubles me now, Malachi, is that voice we heard. ‘I forgive you. Go in peace’ it said. It’s been a great many years, but I still remember the sound of that girl’s voice as we kidnapped her. It is burned into my brain just as deeply as the sight of her dead body. That was her voice we heard. Can the dead speak to us? Does Death allow that?

“Am I forgiven? Can I even be forgiven? If anyone could forgive me, she could. But why? Why now? What does this mean for my life? I can’t forget my part in her death. How could I? How am I to deal with it now?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Malachi. “I must pray to Death for His help. I’ve been His priest for almost forty years and I’ve never before heard such a life story as you tell, or such a pardon from beyond the grave. I trust Death to give me an answer, indirectly at least. The Gods expect us to understand Their slightest clues as to what They want. Come back when you’ve bathed. You must do that to pray here, as you know. Death resides here, but blood is not wanted. There will be much scouring of His Temple tonight.”

***

“I must clean myself for prayer,” Vince told the others as they left the Temple. “I don’t know, really, what is happening with me, what that voice meant. Neither does the priest, but he’s hoping for an answer from Death. Jenny, would you please get some money from my personal purse, enough for the funerals of ten men. I want to spare the Temple the expense of burying those men I killed. It’s a day for offerings.”

An hour later, cleaned and dressed in fresh clothes, Vince went back to the Temple of Death. Some men were still at work scrubbing the blood from the floor. Vince felt strange, tired from his fight, uncertain what sort of forgiveness he could have received, not knowing what Death might have to say.

I offered my life to Death for the girl’s life. Death hasn’t accepted. Yet. Would he want payment now? If he does, I can accept that. I made the offer freely, expecting it to be taken. I can’t renounce the offer now. Here comes Malachi. He’s smiling. Doesn’t mean anything, they always smile. It really pleases ’em to give comfort to the dying and their relatives. It’s good they do this, because who else would want to?

“Come, Vince, let us go into the inner Temple,” indicated Malachi. “The other priests and acolytes are already gathered there. The prayers we must make together are deep and serious ones. Death spoke to me when I prayed to Him about you. Not a hint, not a suggestion. He spoke clearly. This rarely happens and has never happened to me before.”

The inner Temple was also solid black. Black marble glowed with obsidian inserts. Torches lit the room, as did a great many small glass windows high up in the ceiling. A large statue of Death stood against the back wall of the room, looking majestic, calm, stern but almost kindly. Other statues of Death lined the walls to either side of the main statue. Death as an old man, Death as an invalid, Death suffering an accident, Death with a sword, Death in sleep, Death gaunt with hunger.

“In your previous visits to Temples of Death, have you ever been allowed into the inner Temple? I thought not, few but priests ever enter here. I noticed that you stopped at the threshold earlier.

“You offered your life for this young girl’s life. The Death Song is a serious prayer, one which Death rarely ignores. He’s not anxious to take our lives, since we will all die eventually. But a bargain is a bargain. You must show us that you were sincere in that offer.

“Step here. This is Death with his sword, one of the tools He uses to harvest His crop. Notice how it is held at head height. Place your neck against the blade, please. Now repeat your offer.”

“I, Vince the rogue, offered my life for the life and safety of Marian, a young girl. I did so of my own free will, without compulsion from anyone. And I repeat that offer here, also freely.”

“Thank you. Now repeat this prayer with us. It is an oath to Death. It is long and will be unfamiliar to you, so I will speak it slowly and in short phrases.”

Fifteen minutes later Malachi stopped speaking. Vince felt strange again, but a more hopeful strangeness. A weight seemed to have been lifted from his being, as if he had been carrying a great boulder and it was now gone. As if he were now freed from being trapped under that stone.

“I told you that Death spoke to me, Vince. He asked me to bring you here before Him. I’ve told my brother priests and acolytes. They are here to witness your oath, and also to bear witness to the vision we all had. We all had the feeling that Death was in our presence, sharing some of His knowledge with us. This is the usual method the Gods use to tell Their priests things.

“We saw, or rather, felt, sensed in some way, a young girl repeating those words you heard earlier. She said, ‘I forgive you. Go in peace.’ We knew this to be a true vision because the Gods do not lie to Their followers. She did not elaborate, but we felt, sensed that she forgave you because you were willing to die for this other girl. You mentioned your debt to the dead girl in your song. She felt the pain behind that promise. We sensed, felt, thought that she considered your debt paid with that offer. Even if you did not die, you had made an honest offer to Death. That satisfied her, convinced her that you could be forgiven.

“You should never forget that girl and what happened to her. After talking with you earlier, I know that you never will forget her. But she would like you to think of her without guilt now. She knows, she knew then, that you did not intend her rape or death. You helped in the kidnapping which led to that, but your fault was in not acting faster to protect her. She now believes that blame is wiped clear. She said ‘Go in peace’ and I believe she meant it.

“I told you that Death wanted me to bring you here, into the inner sanctum of His Temple. I do not know why. Something beyond hearing of our vision. Gods do not normally explain Their actions, even to Their priests.”

A voice suddenly rang through the sanctum, deep, sonorous, majestic.

“Because you have preserved My house from defilement, I grant you one favor.”

Vince knelt at the sound of the voice, as did all the priests and acolytes. It’s like when I was little and had done some rare good deed. Father would thank me with a pat on my head. Now a God has thanked me!

The priests began chanting prayers to Death, thanking Him for speaking to them and to Vince, who tried to repeat their prayers.

When they finished, Malachi said to Vince, “Death has blessed you. He has spoken directly to you, and He has granted you a favor. Such a thing has happened before, but not here, and not for a very long time. We will a erect plaque in honor of this day.”

“What did He mean by granting me a favor?” asked Vince.

“I heard no more than you did,” said Malachi. “But He will never forget what you did for Him today, and if He thinks you need His help, He will give it to you without being asked. Gods do what They want, without explaining why. You at least know why, because you protected His Temple from desacration. As Katie said, ‘Go in peace.’ You have earned that.”

***

“I’m free, Jenny,” Vince revealed when he returned to the inn. “For the first time in years I can think about Katie, that long dead girl, without guilt. She forgave me. I still can’t believe it. She forgave me because I sang the Death Song to save Marian. I still feel pain thinking of her, but the guilt is gone. Utterly gone! It’s been replaced by regret, the sense of failure back then, but the need to redeem myself by slaying as many evil men as I can is gone. She forgave me. Hold me, Jenny, I can’t deal with this. I need you to comfort me. Please.”

Vince fell into Jenny’s arms, weeping. Tears of sorrow for his past sin. Tears of joy for being forgiven. The others left them alone and went to the tap room downstairs.

“Could that dead girl have really forgiven him?” asked Polly. “We all heard the voice, and Vince says it was her voice. He’s told us his story and he’s always been so protective of me, even after I learned to fight. I understand why he feels so much guilt over that girl, and it hurts me to see him so pained by it. I hope that he’s really been forgiven.”

“I’ve never heard of someone speaking from beyond the grave,” commented Betsy. “Maybe the Death Song, in Death’s Temple, brought her to the fight. Marian says Vince mentioned her as he sang it. Maybe she wanted him to know she had heard him. I don’t know. How can dead people do anything?”

“The Death Song is very powerful,” Horace stated. “It’s an offer of oneself to Death. It’s saying one intends to die here, to refuse to run away, to defend something at all costs, including one’s life. Life means nothing when someone sings this song. Only the sacrifice is important.”

“Vince talked to me about his way of lookin’ at his life,” added Ben. “Mebbe he’s told you this, but he looks on Polly ’n’ me as people he has to protect. Not because we couldn’t defend ourselves in a fight. Jenny ’n’ Sam trained us well enough he ain’t gotta worry about that. He’s concerned about our inexperience in the world. Worried about us gettin’ caught up in somethin’ that might go wrong the way that kidnappin’ did for him. Here he comes now.”

“I’m fine now, everyone,” Vince announced as he entered the tap room. “I’m tired, very tired. Too much fighting today, and too much emotional strain. Barman, bring us your best stout, please. We need to celebrate. Celebrate the saving of Marian. Celebrate my killing an awfully large number of Scarface’s gang. Celebrate my scaring off Scarface. Celebrate a poor unknown girl’s forgiveness of me. Celebrate my knowing her name, Katie, which I will remember forever.

“I’ve talked to you all before, about how I felt about her death and my guilt. I still feel regret because I didn’t save her then, but the hole that guilt ate inside me is now filled with her forgiveness. I don’t know how else to explain how I feel now. Regretful, and I’ll always have that, but accepting of my role, my failure. I don’t have to hate myself anymore.

“The priests told me something else today. Death spoke to ’em, plainly, clearly, which is unusual. He said ‘Bring him to Me.’ The priests didn’t know why, but they brought me into the inner sanctum. After more prayers they asked me to repeat the offer I made in the Death Song. I did, of course. Then Death spoke to me. Directly. To me personally. He said, ‘Because you have preserved My house from defilement, I grant you one favor.’ The priests couldn’t tell me what the favor might be, but that Death had honored me by speaking to me directly and by giving me this favor. I’ve been doubly honored by Death. That is humbling.

“I’ve worshiped in His Temples often, but never been a proper member of His cult. I’ve done His work often, also, helping Him harvest dozens of evil men. I don’t know if He appreciates my assistance but He doesn’t hold it against me, at least. Let’s drink up. Let’s have as good a meal as this inn can provide. Then I want to go to bed and sleep for hours.”

***

‘Thank you for not talking about yesterday at dinner last night,” said Vince at breakfast. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it then. I’ve had a good night’s sleep and some very good dreams where I used to have nightmares. I can talk now. I don’t have answers to all the questions you might have, but I can talk about ’em.

“Scarface’s men weren’t wearing armor except some leather, or even carrying shields. No one knows why. The city guard found their camp, empty, the innkeeper told me this mornin’. Maybe they didn’t want to look too dangerous walking around the city. For whatever reason, they were extremely vulnerable to someone used to fighting men in mail.

“The priests counted the dead and said I had killed ten men, though I missed Scarface. I’ve never heard of anyone, even the biggest liar, claiming so many dead in one fight on his own. Their lack of armor made it easy, but there were so many of ’em that I was tired before I was half done. Knut’s mail kept me alive, too. Thank all the Gods we stopped in Clun back then to get decent armor.

“Ten men! I have trouble thinking about fighting that many men by myself. I can’t comprehend actually killing that many. The first were eager to fight, taking Scarface’s place when I had wounded him. But they died so fast, and were replaced so fast, the numbers kept going up and up. After I wounded Scarface, I thought they’d run away. But they kept on coming, victim after victim after victim.

“They were like the undead. Do you know about those monsters? No? There’s a rare plant that has a poisonous root. It looks like a carrot or parsnip, but it’s blue instead of orange or white. If you eat it, the poison attacks your brain and you become mindless. You walk about as if you were dead, no expression, no emotion, trying to eat people. I’ve helped priests of Death destroy ’em.

“That’s what the last few of Scarface’s men were like. They came at me as if something was forcing ’em to attack. There was nothing in their faces, no hate, no desire for revenge, no interest in the fight even. Ben told us one of his grandfather’s tales about these monsters, how they couldn’t be talked out of their desire to kill. They could only be killed. So I obliged.

“We can talk more about this, between us. Any time you want to know more. As often as you want. I’ve already accepted what happened and it won’t bother me to talk more about it. But don’t talk more than is necessary to others. I don’t want the reputation as the Man Who Killed Ten Men. It ain’t really something I want to brag about. And a reputation like that just attracts tough guys who’ll want to beat me. I don’t need that.”

“What about the favor Death is going to give you?” asked Betsy.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Vince shrugged. “Even the priests can’t tell me what it might be. We shouldn’t be trying to read the minds of the Gods. They ain’t like us, so how can we tell what They’re thinking or what They intend. I’ll take it as it comes, when it comes.”

***

The house that held the Shrine of Lesopatia, Goddess of Healing, was in a side street in the village. The village was small enough that it couldn’t support a full Temple, and the healer worked and worshiped from his own home. Scarface was almost falling from his horse when he got there. He had only ridden five miles from Burslem, but his arm was bleeding badly and he had lost a lot of blood. He stumbled into the Shrine and shouted at the healer.

“Heal me! Now!”

Tobias, the healer, came up to him and examined the wound across his forearm. He led Scarface to an alcove and pushed him into a seat, and a servant helped him to remove the wounded man’s armor and tunic. Scarface sat with his arm stretched out on a table. Tobias washed the great cut carefully, looking for signs of dirt or cloth inside the wound. When he was satisfied the wound was clean, he wrapped it in fresh cloths.

Then he undid the improvised bandage on Scarface’s left arm. He cleaned this wound as well, pulling some lint from the opening. More fresh cloths and the gash was again covered and protected. The healer knew better than to ask how a man came to have two sword wounds. The answer was obvious, and the man might not want to answer.

“Here, take that,” growled Scarface, throwing some coins toward Tobias and stalking out. He went down the street and found a cheap inn. Inside his room, he passed out.

The next day he awoke to find Tobias looking at his right arm as he lay in bed. The healer was unwrapping the bandages and inspecting the slash.

“What are you doing here?” yelled Scarface. “Leave me alone, you filthy bone-cutter! There’s nothing wrong with that arm! Leave it alone! You’re not goin’ to cut it off!”

“You apparently came here right after seeing me yesterday,” Tobias said, “and have been asleep ever since. You need medical care. If I don’t clean your wounds again, they may get infected. If that happens you’ll be in grave danger. You’ll either die, or I’ll have to amputate both arms. So your choice is this: Let me clean your wounds now, or ask me to cut off your diseased limbs later. Which will it be?”

A week later Tobias undid the last of Scarface’s bandages and let him go his way. Tobias was glad to see the last of a very unpleasant, argumentative patient. Scarface was glad to be on the road again. I have no idea where I can find Vince and get my revenge. I’ll have to start askin’ for information. Maybe in Burslem. Why was Vince in Burslem? Does he live there now? Could someone tell me where he might be? First I have to find my gang.