The Old Ways by David Dalglish Read Free Book Online Page A

whispered to Ashhur. “Jerico insists I feel no guilt, that I am redeemed. But he wasn’t there, and sometimes I wonder if you were either...”
    Enough, he thought. He laid his sword above his head, the handle in easy reach, and closed his eyes. It took plenty of shifting and turning, but at last sleep came to him.
    It didn’t last long.
    His eyes opened, and his instincts fired off commands he did not understand. His hands flung above him, and only then did he realize a club swung for his face. It hit his arms hard enough to make his bones ache. His legs kicked out, but someone was on top of him. He felt rope and fists, and his eyes hurt in the light of torches. His groggy mind yearned for his armor, and reaching for his sword did nothing but expose his face to another blow of the club. Blood splashed across his lips as it connected with his nose. He gagged, and then the rope was about his neck.
    “Quiet now,” one of the men said as he felt himself pulled to his feet. “Don’t want him hearing.”
    Him? Him who?
    He opened his mouth to ask, but one of the men shoved a thick wad of cloth between his teeth. He spat it out, but they struck his cheek with a club, then shoved it in again. Slender rope looped about his face, holding the cloth in place. Tears ran down, but he finally could see. A group of ten men surrounded him, with two of them holding his arms at either side. A heavy rope wound around his knees, waist, and arms. Several held torches, and others held clubs. Many bore splashes of his blood.
    Who? he thought again. Kaide? Or did they mean Jerico? Who was it that had sold him out? He looked to the men, and he felt anger stirring in his heart. These fools, these men he’d come to help, now sought to sell him for coin? So much for the incredible loyalty Kaide supposedly instilled. So much for a noble war against Lord Sebastian.
    “Hurry,” said the same man, apparently the leader of the group. Squinting, Darius realized it was the one who had found him, the enormous, ugly man with the scars. Adam. That was his name.
    And then someone who looked just like Adam grabbed the front of his shirt. At first he thought he saw double, but no, there were two, both alike but for their scars. He remembered the twins, having seen them briefly when eating around the campfire.
    “Bring the horses over, Griff,” Adam said, and the other nodded.
    “Don’t let him make a sound,” Griff said.
    “I’m not a damn fool, now go.”
    Two men restrained his arms, plus the huge Adam held him by the shirt. It didn’t matter. Darius felt his anger growing. He struggled. The knots weren’t the tightest, and they’d been hastily tied. Adam struck him across the mouth, and Darius’s chest heaved as he gagged on the cloth. But his legs were gaining strength, and he flung himself to one side, knocking the two men off balance. They fell, Adam cursing as his fingers caught in the rope. That curse turned to a cry of pain as one of the fingers dislocated.
    Darius rolled as the rest of the men swung their clubs, as if to beat him into submission. When he hit a man’s legs, he curled onto his knees, then kicked. The top of his skull rammed into the man’s groin, dropping him like a log. The knot at his heels loosened even more, and he freed his right leg. His arms were still bound, and he could only breathe through his nostrils, but at least he could run.
    Not that he had anywhere to go. The men still surrounded him, and more worrying, Adam had regained his composure and grabbed a club from one of the others.
    “Don’t be a fool, Darius,” Adam said. “We’re hoping your bounty’s worth more with you alive than dead, but we still get paid even if we drag your corpse to Robert. Drop to your knees, before I crack your fucking skull like a walnut.”
    If Darius had his armor and sword, he’d have laughed, and dared the man to try. Instead, he tensed with all his strength. With Karak, he could have called upon his deity for power,