Jerico smiled, and he did his best to push away all thoughts of the coming battle.
“Ashhur be with you,” he said, leaving the tent to speak with Kaide and find out just what chaos he had in mind.
* * * * *
Darius and Velixar camped alone several miles from Deer Valley. Velixar never slept, but he often vanished for long periods of prayer. It was then Darius would sleep. Rarely did he feel rested come morning. Nightmares haunted him, always of the Abyss. He felt its heat beneath his skin. In the darkness, he saw what would be his fate, his torture and release upon accepting his rightful place in the eyes of his god. With fire and flame he would cleanse the sin from the wretched.
But in his dreams he suffered with the sufferers, despite everything Velixar insisted.
Yet those dreams were still better than having Velixar’s burning eyes upon him, or to hear his cold words whispering promises and assurances. He wanted rest, needed it badly, but this time, as the stars rose, the prophet did not leave for prayer.
“Will you need a fire?” he asked as the two sat in the center of their modest camp. Darius nodded. Winter was fast approaching, the last remnants of autumn’s warmth in retreat. A fire sprang forth between them with a wave of Velixar’s hand, and Darius leaned closer to it, his arms hunched and his head low.
“You know what must be done,” Velixar said, watching him from beneath his hood. “Come tomorrow, it will all end. The last consequence of your failure will be faced. Amid Arthur’s army lurks the paladin. I am sure of it. No mere soldier will bring him down. That honor must be yours. What will you do when you meet him in battle?”
Darius thought of the man he’d always considered his friend, however strained their friendship had been because of their opposed deities. What would he do?
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, refusing to look Velixar in the eye. “I will do what Karak asks of me.”
“Karak’s will has often proved elusive to you. I would have an answer, paladin.”
Darius looked up, and he felt a weight upon his heart as he spoke.
“I will kill him. I will cut his head from his shoulders, and hold it high for all Dezrel to see. My faith is to Karak, my god, above all others. Let him go to Ashhur, or Karak, or wherever his soul shall spend eternity.”
A smile spread across Velixar’s ever-changing face.
“You have learned much, Darius, enough that I would consider you both pupil and friend. I know your heart is still troubled. Do not think me blind to your struggles. But freedom comes soon. Bear no guilt for what must be done. Think not of him as your friend, nor as an enemy. He is an obstacle in your path, blocking the narrow road. In this, you must know what Karak has called for. You cannot doubt my words. Since your childhood, Karak has demanded this of you, that you let nothing stand in the way of your faith. Not death, not life, not love, not weakness, and not pride. Faith, Darius. You have it, stronger than most alive, and that is why I offer you a gift, if you would accept it.”
Darius felt a shiver travel up his spine, and he tried to blame it on the weather.
“What is your gift?” he asked.
“Let me see the mark on your hand.”
Darius pulled back his sleeve and held out his sword hand. The skin remained black as charcoal, and looked as if it had been recently charred. It caused him no pain, other than a constant remembrance of his doubt and weakness back in Durham. Velixar put his own hands atop it, his touch like ice.
“Karak marked you, for you went to him seeking your fate if you spared Jerico’s life,” Velixar said. “Now you have seen it, and lived it, all the while bearing Karak’s shame. You doubted his will. You tried to bring mercy to an enemy that deserves only annihilation. Tell me once more the fate you saw.”
“I would fall at his feet,” Darius said, and he felt tears building in his eyes. “I’d be beaten, bloodied, and like a dog I would beg for death.”
“I free you from that fate,” Velixar said. “I free you from Karak’s mark. Your faith has returned, and it will grow stronger than ever. Know Karak’s love has come into you. Know his presence, in his greatest way.”
Velixar’s hands shimmered violently.
Everywhere the mark touched flared with pain, as if Darius had plunged his hand into fire. His arm shook. His stomach twisted, but he had not eaten in a day, and he had nothing to expel. A vision came over him, shocking with its strength and power. He saw himself, and at first he thought it taking place in the Abyss given the fire surrounding them, but then he saw grass and trees. Bodies lay about, cut down by blades
On his knees, his mace lost, his shield broken, knelt Jerico.
One last chance, he heard himself say. Yield to Karak, or face his judgment.
Jerico stared at him, his face full of anguish and sorrow. He said nothing, only shook his head. Darius felt himself dip into the body of the vision, becoming one with it. Sensations nearly overwhelmed him; the heat of the fire, the ache of his muscles from the fight, and the taste of blood on his tongue. Most of all, though, he felt pure, total exhilaration.
He lifted his sword, wreathed with black flame so thick it hid the blade completely. It felt light as air in his hands. His mark, which had marred his skin, was gone. Jerico looked to the blade, then closed his eyes.
Karak’s judgment, Darius heard, though he knew not who said it. It comes for all.
He swung the sword. As it connected with Jerico’s neck, the vision shattered, and he felt himself returning to his true body. He lay on his back in the grass, shivering from the cold. To his left, the fire had dwindled down to nothing. Velixar stood over the ashes, and even he looked shaken.
“Such glory,” he said, his voice soft. “Such honor. Your mark is gone, Darius, and your fate now your own. Show faith to Karak, and you will achieve all you have seen. Fail, doubt, and you will break before Jerico. Two destinies, both yours to decide. Either Jerico falls, or you fall before him. I have faith in you to make the right choice, to wield the power meant to be yours. Karak’s strength embodies you. Stand, Darius. Lift your blade.”
Darius did, and though he felt unsteady on his feet, he could not deny how much lighter his armor felt. When he lifted his sword, it was with a single hand instead of two. At his touch, fire consumed it, dark and deep. The metal of the blade was visible, but only just.
“My choice,” Darius said.
“It always has been.”
Darius looked to Velixar.
“Then I will live, and bring Order to a world that sorely needs it.”
Velixar’s smile was ear to ear.
“As it should be,” he said. “Karak be praised. You have truly returned to the fold.”
Darius sheathed his sword, closed his eyes, and gave his first ever prayer to Ashhur. He asked him to keep his champion from partaking in the battle. Otherwise, his mind was decided. His fate was chosen.
Should they meet, Jerico would die.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“You’re grumpier than normal,” Jerico said as Bellok shouted orders at every nearby person, whether they deserved it or not.
“The whole damn night,” the wizard said, rubbing his eyes. “Ever tried swinging your mace for eight hours straight? I did that with my head. Grumpy doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. The next person who yells next to my ear gets turned into a jumping toad.”
They walked amid the bustle of the camp, preparing to move out. Arthur had sent them a rider, alerting them to Gregane’s location. Come the late afternoon, the battle would begin.
“Are we ready?” Jerico asked, tightening his armor. “I still don’t know our plan.”
“Better you don’t. It’s not going to work.”
“This the grumpiness talking?”
“Common sense. Now where’s that blasted little brat, Kaide?”
Jerico pointed toward the top of a hill.
“Giving his best speech to the men.”
Bellok rubbed his temples with his fingers.
&nb
sp; “I don’t have time for speeches. Let me just show you, then.”
The paladin followed him to the wizard’s tent. Inside was a chest, its lid closed. Before Jerico even took a step inside, Bellok whirled on him, jamming a finger against his breastplate.
“Whatever you do,” he said, “not even if Ashhur himself commanded it, not even if you thought your very life depended on it, do not bump that chest. Understood?”
Jerico stammered, his jaw working up and down as if it might somehow figure out a correct response.
“Um … understood?”
Bellok eyed him, clearly not believing, but then turned to the chest and carefully opened the lid. Jerico leaned forward, curious to see what the fuss was about.
“Rocks?” he said. “I must confess, Bellok, I expected something a little more … impressive?”
The look the wizard gave him made him feel like a child, and he started to blush.
“Rocks,” Bellok said, his voice flat. “I spent all night casting spells, turning these into our one slim hope of victory, and you come in and call them unimpressive rocks? Do you think me a loon that guards a few plain stones like they were Karak’s balls?”
“But I—”
“Did you not think for even a moment they might be hidden, or of a magical nature? A wizard’s stash of artifacts, after all, might just be magical.”
“But—”
“And did it not once ever occur to you,” Bellok said, now nearly roaring while jamming his finger an inch away from Jerico’s nose, “that just maybe, maybe, there is an inherent deception involved in the creation of certain artifacts, or that the plain might be infused with the magical, just like your miniscule little brain somehow manages to swing a giant mace to smash other miniscule little brains?”
Jerico stared at him, torn between laughing and running in terror. He started to speak, stopped, watched Bellok narrow his eyes as if anticipating another stupid comment, and then spoke.
“I just—”
“Forget it. Would you like to see what they do?”
Jerico sighed.
“Yes.”
Bellok knelt by the chest and delicately picked up one of the stones. They were about the size of his palm, and smooth on all sides. He gestured for Jerico to follow, and then left the tent with the chest lid still open. Jerico glanced within, saw about twenty more of the stones, and then hurried after.
“Wands and staves are beyond anything Kaide’s men might use,” Bellok said as he led them away from the camp. “But I think even these are within their skills.”
They stopped at the stump of a tree, cut down the night before for firewood.
“Take off your gauntlet,” Bellok said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to die from too rough of a touch. Gods, how Ashhur puts up with you is beyond me.”
Biting his tongue, Jerico removed his gauntlets and set them aside. Accepting the stone with his bare hand, he was immediately struck by how warm it was to the touch. Bellok pointed to the stump.
“Throw it.”
Jerico wound up and hurled the stone, and only as it left his hand did he realize Bellok had retreated a significant distance. The stone struck the stump, and instead of bouncing off like it should have, it broke into pieces. With a bright flash, the pieces burst into flame. The fire spread rapidly, as if the surrounding area were bathed in oil. Jerico let out a shout at the sudden heat, and he jumped backward. Nearly stumbling, he caught himself, then glared at Bellok’s far too pleased expression.
“Rocks,” the wizard said with a smug grin. “Still unimpressed?”
“Far from it,” Jerico said, looking back. The stump was already black, the fire spreading to the dead grass nearby. The paladin feared a wildfire, but then the wizard raised his hands and whispered words of power. The fire lessened, and then died.
“These will certainly kill a man,” Jerico said, grabbing his gauntlets. “The surprise will be huge.”
Bellok scoffed.
“I would not have them used for something so brutish and simple. I show you a brilliant weapon, and all you can think of is to throw it at the enemy like a child? Think, paladin. Remember the terrain we are to fight on, and where Arthur plans to hold his defense.”
Jerico paused, and then it clicked into place.
“The forest,” he said. Bellok grinned.
“We’ll surround them with fire, leave Sebastian’s men with nowhere to run. With these stones, they’ll find themselves in the midst of an inferno before they even smell a whiff of smoke. Burning them alive may not be honorable, but Sebastian cast aside honor long ago.”
Jerico bit his lower lip in thought. It could work, though he doubted it would be as simple as the wizard hoped. Of course, there was one other major flaw.
“Promise me one thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Adam and Griff don’t get to carry one.”
Bellok finally laughed.
“Perhaps there is some shred of intelligence hidden under that skull of yours.”
“Thanks,” Jerico muttered, following him back to camp.
Once there, the paladin found Kaide grabbing a drink of wine for his parched throat.
“How’d it go?” Jerico asked.
“Were you not there to listen?”
“Afraid not. Was getting lectured by the wizard.”
Kaide shrugged.
“I did my best. We’ll have surprise on our side. Won’t be able to ride our horses, though. Saddles aren’t right for it, and neither riders nor horses are trained. We’ll fight on foot, with knives, clubs, and a few stolen swords. To think this is what I wanted. Should Sebastian turn on us with any real amount of numbers, our line will break like water.”
“Not all of it,” Jerico said, lifting his shield so its light shone across Kaide’s face. “I will be at your side. Your line will not break, so long as we stand.”
Kaide smiled, and it lit his handsome face. It was the first true smile Jerico had seen from him.
“As you say, we’ll make it be. Thank you, Jerico.”
“My pleasure. Just don’t run on me. I’d hate for you to miss your own victory.”
*
Sir Gregane stared across the open field to the distant forest on the other side of the half-mile gap.
“A fair place for a battle,” Nicholls said, looking at the smooth terrain. “Arthur chose well.”
“They were here before us,” Gregane said as he glanced at his vanguard. “We must act carefully. There may be hidden ditches to break our horses’ legs, or tripwire laced between the trees.”
“All that seems a bit low for one such as Arthur.”
Gregane frowned.
“Arthur consorts with brigands and murderers. We cannot assume he has gone unchanged.”
He stared at the field, confident no ambushes lurked there. The grass was too short to conceal a man, and there were no hills tall enough to hide behind. He saw faint whiffs of smoke from the forest, and even at their distance, he could tell the entire army waited within.
“Fighting amid trees,” he muttered. “We’ll need to draw them out.”
“A minor advantage,” Nicholls argued.
“Not if they flee. But first, let’s see if Arthur is willing to submit before any blood is shed.”
Gregane’s vanguard, twenty knights and their mounts, all fully armored, rode with multiple banners waving the sigil of the Yellow Rose. From the forest Arthur rode out to meet them, with only five at his side. They too wore armor, and it shone in the afternoon light. When they were within a hundred yards, Gregane motioned for his vanguard to halt, and then he rode forward alone, as did Arthur.
“Greetings, Sir Gregane,” Arthur said, lifting the visor of his helmet. “Have you come to aid my rightful return as lord of the Yellow Rose?”
“You forfeited that claim,” Gregane said. “Please, Arthur, I ask you to throw down your sword and go home. You can see our numbers. T
here is no hope for you here, only death.”
“Are those your terms?” Arthur asked. “Disarm myself, and run like a frightened child to cower and hide for the next assassin to come? I will not live my life frightened of my drink and distrusting every shadow of my room. Sebastian tried to take my life. He failed. I will come for his, and I will succeed.”
Gregane shook his head.
“Very well. I have one last offer, this from Sebastian himself. Dismiss your army, and announce to the people of the North that Sebastian is still lord of the Yellow Rose. In return, milord will bear no grudge against you, ensure no assassins ever dare strike at you, and allow you the freedom to leave your Castle of Caves without fear. What say you?”
Arthur grinned, and the wolfish gleam in his eye told Gregane the answer before the lord ever spoke.
“His promises are nothing. One last chance, Gregane. The men will listen to you. Join my side. I am the eldest son, and I have come for my birthright.”
Sir Gregane saluted, even as he felt sadness pang in his heart.
“Ready your men,” he said. “It comes to bloodshed, then.”
Arthur saluted in return.
“I pray we do not meet in battle,” he said. “For no matter the victor, I will always offer my hand to you in friendship, should you ever choose to accept it.”
They rode back to their escorts.
“Well?” Nicholls asked.
“Prepare the archers,” Gregane said. “I want the whole damn woods buried with arrows.”
Nicholls shouted the order, and then the army began marching. As expected, Arthur vanished into the forest behind the many trunks and naked branches. No troops came out to meet them as they marched. It looked like they wished to fight amid the trees, but Gregane had no intention of doing so.
Once within two hundred yards, Gregane called a halt. Archers rushed to the front, forming three lines of a hundred each. Sir Gregane lifted his arm, and he looked through the trees at the line of soldiers. Somewhere in there, an honorable lord would die. Such a shame.
“Let loose,” he said.
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