The Paladins

by David Dalglish

  *

  Jerico and Darius stood over the bodies, and they watched as Valessa’s corpse was consumed by a dark fire.

  “I’ve never seen such a thing,” Darius said, watching until she was all but ash.

  “I think we’ve seen more than few firsts today,” Jerico said, and he grinned despite the pain and blood that trickled down the inside of his armor. With his good arm, he gestured to where Gregane’s army had pushed into the forest in chase of Lord Arthur’s men.

  “I think we should get out of here,” he said, chuckling despite the pain it caused. “At some point they’re going to come back, and I doubt they’ll be happy with us.”

  “Where do we go?” Darius asked as he came over to inspect his wounds.

  “Later,” Jerico said, pushing him back. “I’ve survived worse. And where should we go? You’re an outlaw now, as much as I.”

  Darius looked to the forest.

  “I spoke with Sebastian,” he said. “I’ve seen how his mind works. If Arthur is alive, we need to help him. It only seems right, given the mess I helped cause here in the North.”

  “Plenty my fault, too,” Jerico said, and he leaned on Darius to remain standing. “Let’s put Gregane’s army far behind us. I know a place we can hide.”

  Epilogue

  “You are certain?” Sir Robert Godley asked as he leaned back in his wooden chair, which creaked from his weight.

  “Sure as I am of anything in this world,” said Jeremy Hangfield, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the chosen spokesmen for the people of Durham.

  “And you have witnesses who will swear to this?”

  “Over a hundred,” Jeremy said. “This was something we’ll never forget. We’ll say it until our graves, or the king brings us justice.”

  “Go,” Robert said, dismissing him. “I promise you an answer by tomorrow.”

  The man bowed and left Robert to be alone with his most trusted friend, Daniel Coldmine, in his room in the Blood Tower.

  “This is bad,” Daniel said.

  “I gathered as much.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Daniel leaned on the desk with both hands, and he looked out the window to the distant wildlands of the Wedge. “A paladin of Karak? We can’t make enemies with the Stronghold. You know damn well how favored his priests are in the capital.”

  “But that many witnesses ...”

  “They’ll mean nothing, and you know it. All their lives are a pile of shit in the eyes of anyone outside the North.”

  Robert crossed his arms and forced himself to bite his tongue. He knew there were good people in the capital, but Daniel was right. Given the current balance of power, they would be making enemies of those who controlled the mind and heart of the king.

  “What is it you think I should do?” he asked.

  “Bring him in for questioning,” Daniel said, turning to him. “Play it safe. Either that, or give him over to the Stronghold and let them handle the matter.”

  Robert scratched at his chin, then shook his head.

  “No. I’m tired of these games, Daniel. The whole North is in chaos because of those two Hemman brothers, and the king already loathes my name. He’ll leave me to settle this on my own, and settle it I will. I want proclamations given to every single village along the Gihon, and for them to send riders west until they reach the sea announcing the same. The dark paladin known as Darius shall be executed on sight, without trial or capture. Offer the largest reward we can afford. A hundred people watched him burn their village to the ground, a village I helped save! If he’ll destroy what all our good men died for, then we’ll destroy him, and to the Abyss with what the Stronghold might think.”

  “Are those your orders?” Daniel asked.

  “They are,” said Robert. “And I expect them carried out.”

  Daniel saluted.

  “You’re thrusting fire at a hornet’s nest,” he said. “But I’ll trust you.”

  He left the room, and once alone, Robert swore up a storm.

  “Damn you, Darius,” he said, slamming a fist against the top of his desk. “How could you do such a thing? How?”

  He would receive no answers, for he wanted none. The entire North would descend upon him, and if the world were just, Darius would receive the punishment he deserved. And if Karak had a problem with that ...

  “I’m afraid of no gods,” Robert said. “Not Ashhur. Not Karak. None of you.”

  He thought of the corpses strewn across Durham’s streets, of what the Stronghold’s reaction might be, and then poured himself a drink to help make some truth of that statement.

  *

  Valessa thought she went to her god, to join her deity in the Abyss, but something was wrong. The image of Darius refused to fade. Fire burned across her flesh, but she saw no darkness, just the face of a man who had turned against everything she stood for. Her body felt strange, full of pain but without any definitive source. At last Darius’s face broke like shards of glass, and she saw darkness. Within that darkness, a lion roared.

  Not yet, she heard a voice say, the words flooding her existence with cold terror.

  And then she was plummeting downward, feeling wind blasting against her hard enough to steal away her breath ... if she was still breathing. When she hit, she screamed, and all at once her senses returned to her. The world was dark, and high above glittered a field of stars. She felt no sensations of heat, or cold. All she felt was pain, a constant ache from every part of her pale, naked body. Looking about, she realized she was beyond the Gulch, instead at the distant shrine where she had met Karak’s prophet.

  When she took a step, she fell. Forcing herself back to her feet, she took another, this time watching her naked body to see what betrayed her.

  When she moved, her body lost all color, texture, and became a swirl of shadow.

  You have your most heartfelt desire, that cold voice spoke once more. Find him. Kill him. I will not wait for my prophet’s return to bring punishment to my most unfaithful servant.

  “As you wish,” Valessa whispered to the stars. Near where she awoke, she saw her daggers lying there, as if calling out to her. When she brought them into her hands, they swirled with darkness and power.

  “Thank you,” she prayed, and she would have cried if her body remained capable of tears. “Thank you so much.”

  Her heart’s greatest desire.

  At her hands, Darius would die.

  Note from the Author:

  It’s hard to describe just how difficult this book was to write.

  I mean, it shouldn’t have been. Bringing back recurring characters always makes things easier than starting from scratch. In terms of length, Clash of Faiths isn’t particularly long. Heck, it even featured Velixar prominently, who makes every scene I write so much easier and enjoyable. So what was so difficult?

  I’ve done scenes where Velixar tries to tear down a paladin before (notably in Shadows of Grace, with delicious scenes between him and Jerico). But this time, it wasn’t someone fighting against him, proving him wrong. It was someone accepting him. It was someone willing to believe, if only for a moment, that he might be right. That the story went down a dark road for awhile after that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. Jerico’s words very much echoed my own, so much I wonder if Darius’s salvation was a necessity for myself. Accompanied by Jerico’s own failures and struggles, this whole novel was an uphill climb. I’m glad they’ve reached the top, and are now side by side (for however long). They’ve got some work to do.

  Not sure when I’ll be back for paladins #3, though it is pretty clear that I will be soon. Darius and Jerico are not yet done, and I have a sneaking suspicion Darius will have a book of his own. And Valessa...ah Valessa, I plan on having so much fun with you. I say that in an author sense, not any weird, creepy...moving on. More paladins, but not yet. I’ve got plenty of readers wanting me to finish up Haern’s story in the Shadowdance Trilogy, so that’s next on the project list. Hopefu
lly not too long after, I can see how well Darius takes to a new set of morals and beliefs. I have a feeling it won’t be easy.

  As always, thanks for making it to the end. I hope you enjoyed yourself immensely, and if you didn’t, I apologize and promise to do better next time. If you’d like some updates, swing by www.facebook.com/thehalforcs or ddalglish.com. I try to keep them both current on what I’m doing. Also, feel free to email me at ddalglish@yahoo.com and I’ll try to respond promptly. One last big thanks to all of you who have been writing reviews, recommending to friends, groups, and on message boards. You’ve kept me going, and helped me entertain countless others. It’s still just me, flinging my stories to the world and hoping readers give it life. I couldn’t, nor wouldn’t, do this without you. Thank you.

  David Dalglish

  July 23, 2011

  The Old Ways

  1

  Jerico reached for his shield as he heard the rider thunder into the dark village of Wilhelm.

  “What’s going on?” asked Darius, sitting up in his bedroll. “Is he one of Sebastian’s?”

  Jerico shook his head, peering through a crack in the door of the small shed that they slept in.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”

  They’d been on the run since the battle between Arthur and Sebastian Hemman, the two paladins originally on opposite sides of the conflict. But Jerico had won his friend over, and together they’d defeated several faithful to Karak. Arthur’s army had lost, however, forcing them to flee to safety. Sebastian’s men had combed the surrounding forests, and it had taken a lot of running, and a bit of luck, for the two to reach Wilhelm without being seen. They’d rented the only room available in the farming village: the shed.

  “I only use it when an animal gets sick, to keep it away from the others,” the farmer had said. “Don’t worry none. Been awhile since the last, and I changed the straw.”

  Jerico had been looking forward to his first peaceful night of sleep in what felt like days, but then the horsed rider had come, crying out something Jerico hadn’t quite caught...

  “He might be looking for Arthur’s men,” Darius said, rubbing his eyes.

  “The village is loyal to Kaide,” Jerico said, pressing open the door. The rider had stopped in the village square, and several older men and women were coming out to greet him in their bedclothes.

  “You so certain?”

  Jerico nodded. Kaide was a local hero in the North, a bandit who robbed Sebastian Hemman’s caravans and gave away the wealth and supplies he didn’t need. It was his private war against Sebastian that had started everything, with Arthur only recently taking up arms against his brother.

  “We are safe, no matter the coin they offer.”

  “No matter the coin?” asked Darius.

  Jerico shrugged.

  “Well, within reason. Everyone has their price.”

  “That so? Then what is yours?”

  “Eternity,” said Jerico, stepping outside the shed. “I’d love to see Sebastian offer me that.”

  Given Jerico’s prominent role in the battle, he knew he needed to be careful, in case the rider had been told his description. With his long hair, red beard, and blue-silver armor, he wasn’t the most easily forgotten of men. Still, the night was dark, and his armor was in the shed. If he kept his distance, he should be able listen in without being noticed.

  The rider was still gathering people, ensuring that there would be no need to repeat himself before riding off to his next destination. Jerico leaned against the side of a house, hidden in the shadows cast by the torchlight. The rider wore light armor, and he bore a crest Jerico recognized. Sir Robert Godley and his men had worn similar markings when they came to help fight off the wolf-men in Durham. It seemed like ages ago to Jerico, but he knew it’d been hardly three months. He felt his worry lessen. Robert was a friend, and had little to do with the brothers’ conflict.

  “People of Wilhelm, I seek a man responsible for a most terrible tragedy,” the rider began. The speech was well-rehearsed, and though his words were fiery, he spoke them in a perfunctory manner. To Jerico, he sounded beyond exhausted. “Not long ago, a man helped burn down the village of Durham, and slaughtered many of its residents. This act was done without mercy and without reason. I’ve come offering a bounty of five hundred gold coins to whoever brings me, or any proper authority of the King, this man’s head.”

  A gasp ran through the people. Five hundred gold was a fortune, a thousand times more than any farmers might see in their lifetime. Jerico felt something catch in his throat as he thought of Durham. He’d preached alongside Darius there, becoming friends with the people. He’d lost many fighting the wolf-men, succeeding only because of Robert’s help. Now someone had attacked it again?

  “Who?” asked one of the crowd, as if on cue. Who indeed, thought Jerico. He found himself wishing he held his mace in hand. Who would dare defile the sacrifices they’d made?

  “His name is Darius,” cried the rider. “A tall man with long blond hair. He hails from the Stronghold, and wears the cruel armor of their kind. He is extremely dangerous, and should be greatly feared. My master, Sir Robert Godley, offers this bounty so this vile criminal will be brought to justice for his terrible deeds.”

  Jerico felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His blood drained from his face, and as the people began to murmur, he remembered the words he’d spoken in jest not moments ago.

  Everyone has their price.

  Indeed. And the villagers’ were just exceeded tenfold.

  Jerico turned and ran for the shed, knowing time was not on their side. Darius waited for him, leaning beside the door with his arms crossed. Seeing Jerico’s worry, he frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Put your armor on,” Jerico said, ignoring him. “Now.”

  The countless hours spent putting on and taking off the cumbersome plate and chainmail served him well as Jerico donned it in the darkness. Darius strapped on his greaves, then reached for his chestplate.

  “What’s going on?” he asked again.

  Jerico knew he should ask about Durham, but wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Still, he had to know.

  “There’s a bounty on your head,” he said, not looking at his friend. “They say...they say you helped destroy Durham. Helped kill a lot of people.”

  He left his question unspoken as he pulled on his gauntlets. Torchlight flickered through cracks in the walls as outside the first of many arrived. They would not rush in until the whole town was gathered, Jerico was certain. Their little shed would be surrounded, with more coming every second, all to guarantee no escape. He grabbed his mace and his shield. Soft blue light shone across them. In the light, Darius met his gaze.

  “I killed no one,” Darius said. “But I was there, and I deserve their anger.”

  Jerico struck a board, felt the whole shed vibrate. Several people outside gasped.

  “Come out, Darius,” someone shouted. Jerico recognized him as the messenger from Robert. “There’s no reason to spill any more blood.”

  Darius finished putting on the last of his armor, then reached for his weapon. It was an enormous two-handed sword, its edges serrated in sections. It shimmered with a faint light, far dimmer than Jerico’s shield. The glow represented the strength of their faith, and Jerico felt worry squirm in his gut at how weak Darius’s was. Whatever had happened at Durham, it still troubled him greatly.

  “Darius!” cried the messenger amid an uneasy rumble of conversation.

  “What do I do?” asked Darius. “They’ll be knocking down the walls any second.”

  “We can’t kill them,” Jerico said. “They’re just desperate.”

  “I’d say greedy. How much was the bounty?”

  “Five hundred,” Jerico muttered.

  “Silver?”

  “Gold.”

  Darius chuckled. “Damn.”

  “If you are guilty, they’re just obeying the law.
I won’t shed innocent blood.”

  Darius shook his head.

  “I won’t give myself up for a hanging. You must trust me. I killed no one; even did my best to protect them. Don’t you dare turn on me here.”

  The door rattled. Jerico kicked it open, and as the people scattered away, he stepped out amid the mob, his shield shining bright on his arm. There were over two hundred gathered, men and women of all ages. Those closest bore weapons, sickles, pitchforks, and staves designed for farming, not warfare. Only Robert’s messenger wielded a blade, and he held it before him as if expecting Jerico to attack at any moment. Jerico looked into their eyes as they held their collective breaths. He saw fear, desperation, and a greedy hope for something far beyond their tired, meager lives. He could not blame them.

  But that didn’t mean he had to accept it.

  “Go back to your homes,” he told them. “We were offered safety, and a soft place to lay our heads. Will you betray that now, all for the promise of gold?”

  “He’s a criminal,” said an older man. Jerico recognized him as the farmer who had lent them the shed. Several others murmured in agreement.

  “As am I,” Jerico said. “An outlaw, so says your Lord Sebastian. Will you turn me in next?”

  Plenty looked unhappy at that. Support for Kaide ran deep, and Jerico had quickly become a hero for his pivotal role in the battle at Green Gulch. Only the messenger seemed not to care.

  “That’s different,” muttered one of the farmers. “You ain’t done what he’s done. Send him out, and let it all be over quick.”

  Jerico felt torn, but knew he could show no weakness. He needed to hear it from Darius’s lips, know for certain what had happened. Shed no innocent blood. If there was anything that had been hammered into his thick skull during his training at the Citadel, that had been it. But he was also trained to protect, and letting his friend be strung up by a mob felt a bit contradictory to that.

  “The coin won’t buy you happiness,” Jerico said, his voice softer. “It will only tear apart the love you have for one another. It won’t bring peace. It won’t bring safety. Do not do this. You offered us shelter and safety. Don’t stain your hands with treachery.”