Sandra shook her head.
“Sir Gregane gave chase, and while my brother led them on a wild hunt, the rest started filtering back here.” She shuddered. “So many were wounded, and there was no one else. I kept hoping you’d return, be there with those healing hands of yours. That light...but you never came. Just me. That was all. I sewed and stitched everything I could, but we didn’t have enough herbs for the pain, not for any of them...”
She looked at him, and her eyes had tears.
“Tell me of other things, of a world so much better than this one. I want to think of anything else but the bloodshed and heartache of the North.”
Jerico took her hand in his, and she did not protest, only squeeze hard against his fingers.
“I’ve not traveled much,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips. “But I did visit Ker before heading north, and traveled to Angkar’s harbor...”
He told of men and women he’d met, a few strange creatures kept in cages as pets, of Ashhur, and even how he’d defeated a gang of thieves with nothing but a wooden spoon. They talked, and the sun swung low across the sky.
Darius chose a place to sleep on the far outskirts of the camp. It felt as if eyes lingered too long on him, and conversations turned to whispers just by his passing. He ate around the main bonfire when they served supper, hoping that he might acclimate Kaide’s men to his presence. He expected Jerico to help, but the other paladin was nowhere to be seen.
“Thanks, Jerico,” Kaide muttered as he prepared his bedroll and blankets. “Just leave me out to dry.”
The sun was just setting, but he was tired from the travel, and the many people had worn him thin. He sat down, removed his armor, and then held his chestplate in his lap. He stared at the sigil of the Lion, and wondered what it meant to him anymore. Was it just a dead reminder of what he had been? Did it represent the enemy? Or was it nothing but paint, a useless symbol given far too much importance?
It didn’t matter. He wanted it gone. Slowly, carefully, he scraped away with the thick edge of his greatsword near the hilt. Chip by chip, the paint vanished, and the stars came out above the forest canopy. He thought Jerico might swing by at some point, but he did not. Darius knew he shouldn’t be upset, but was anyway. Yes, he’d come to help, but he didn’t know these people, and they certainly didn’t know him. Well, other than that tiny fact of a bounty. The gold glinted in their eyes when they glanced his way.
He lay down, and thought to pray to Ashhur. But what was he to pray for? Every night, it seemed he begged for forgiveness. Every night, he reopened old wounds and felt his soul bleed. The scars Velixar had inflicted ran deep. Even in his dreams, he remembered the fire and bloodshed at Durham. In his mind’s eye, he saw the innocent family praying to Ashhur, Velixar peering through a dirty window like a hunting animal, a locust, an evil beast come to consume everything pure and good. And now he was there, on his bedroll, in a dark forest, trying to pray just the same. Darius would have rather been the child, to have known nothing, for how did he go to Ashhur as anything other than a miserable wretch?
“I’m sorry,” Darius 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, and filled his hands with fire to burn away the cords. But what did Ashhur offer? He didn’t know, but it was time to find out. His neck muscles tensed, the rope dug deep into his wrists, and he snarled into his gag like an animal. Adam shook his head, as if disappointed, but his grin was ear to ear as he stepped forward to swing.
The rope snapped, the club hit his left forearm, and even though he felt bones snap, Darius struck Adam with his right fist, throwing all his weight into the blow. The roundhouse sent the big man staggering, and blood splattered across the dark earth as several teeth flew. The sound of the punch seemed to freeze the others, as if they could hardly believe what they’d seen.
“Goddamn,” Adam sputtered, his hand against his mouth. Blood dripped through his fingers. “You hit like Jerico.”
And then he swung his club. Darius ducked underneath, falling back into a retreat. The rest moved to join, his advantage of surprise finally lost. He shifted and parried blows with his right arm, keeping his left tucked against him and using it to absorb hits only when he had to. He head-butted one m
an, spun, and then rammed his elbow into the neck of another. Two bandits with torches tried to burn him, but the torches made poor weapons, and Darius pushed them aside. A club struck his back, but it hit thick muscle, not even knocking the air from his lungs. Spinning, he kicked the man in the knee, hard enough that he could hear the joint crack.
Adam closed the distance, but Darius caught him with a knee to the groin, and as he bent over, Darius uppercut him in the throat. Adam’s mouth opened and closed, trying for air, but he remained eerily silent. The rest backed away, and Darius felt his rage overwhelming him. Don’t kill, Jerico had said. Protect the innocent. But what of these bandits, these pathetic cowards who would steal him away in the night? Did they deserve his protection?
When he saw that none were moving against him, he reached up and yanked the rope from his head, then spat out his gag.
“Is this the best you can do?” he asked, gasping in air. The pain in his left arm was growing, and he felt his fingers shaking. “No wonder Sebastian doesn’t give two shits about your army.”
“It ain’t that,” said Griff, returning with a horse he led by a rope. In his other hand he held a long blade, and he pointed it at Darius. “We wanted to do this with you alive, outta respect for Jerico. But looks like you ain’t giving us much choice.”
“Seems so.”
Griff suddenly crumpled to his knees as the sound of metal rang out through the forest. Behind him stood Jerico, his shield in hand. He looked about as mad as Darius felt. He lacked any armor, but his mace was clipped to his belt. So far he hadn’t drawn it. So far.
“All of you should be ashamed,” Jerico said, the light of his shield washing over them. He joined Darius’s side, and he winced at the sight of all the blood. “How could you turn on one of your own?”
“He ain’t one of us,” said Adam, sounding funny with the missing teeth and his swelling lips.
“We’re just following orders,” said another.
“Orders?” Jerico looked about, and somehow, his anger grew. “Whose orders?”
“Mine,” Kaide said, stepping through the ring of men. His hand was on the hilt of his dirk.
“I’m not going in as your little prize,” Darius told him, grinning despite the pain. “I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“I don’t understand,” Jerico said, approaching Kaide. The rest of the men tensed. “How could you do this?”
“How could I not?” said Kaide, drawing his dirk and pointing it toward Darius. “Do you know what he is? He’s months of food. He’s an arsenal of weapons. He’s a mercenary band that could break the siege at the Castle of Caves. Everything I need, right here, just by slitting his throat.”
“Do it, and I’ll kill you,” Jerico said. He looked about the gathered group, and Darius found himself stunned by the sheer fury in his eyes. It felt as if the air about them thickened, and no fool, Darius moved to his bedroll and lifted his greatsword into one hand. He might have trouble swinging it, but it’d be better than fighting unarmed. Jerico freed his mace.
“Don’t make this worse, Jerico.” Kaide took a step back, among his men. “I tried to take him alive, for your sake. We still need you, but we owe this stranger nothing. He helped burn Durham to the ground, and if he is innocent, then let him plead his case to Robert, not me. I’ll take the gold. It doesn’t mean a damn thing to me if I have to buy my revenge with blood money.”
“Move aside, Jerico,” said Adam.
“Yeah, get on out,” added Griff.
The two paladins shifted so they stood back to back. Jerico tilted his head, and spoke to Darius.
“I’m sorry. I thought them my friends.”
“So am I allowed to kill them?”
Jerico shook his head.
“I’d still prefer not.”
“I think it’s up to them.”
Darius pointed his greatsword at Kaide.
“Move aside,” he said. “I’m leaving, tonight, and you will not stop me.”
“Kaide,” Jerico said, and he met the brigand leader’s gaze. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me do this, not after all we’ve suffered through. You’re better than this. You know I will defend him. I don’t need my armor to bring you all down, not when I have my shield.”
Kaide jammed his dirk back into its sheath and shook his head.
“I told you, Jerico,” he said. “There’s no honor in our war, only justice. But for your sake...so be it.” He turned to Darius. “Leave here, tonight, as you said. I will send no man after you, so long as Jerico stays with me.”
“You’re too kind,” Darius said.
Kaide left, and at his absence, the rest of the men dispersed, leaving the two paladins alone at the dark edge of the camp. Darius kicked, scattering his armor, then collapsed to his knees. Jerico knelt beside him, setting aside his shield to examine Darius’s many wounds.
“Some friends,” he said as Jerico’s hands began to glow with blue-white light.
“Quiet.”
Darius relaxed as the healing light shone across his arms, then plunged into his muscle. He felt a sharp snap of pain in his bones, and then it faded. He stretched the arm, the limb tight and sore, but otherwise healthy. He wished the same could be done for his mood.
“We can’t go on like this,” Darius said.
“Of course. We’ll both go, and find...”
“No.” Darius shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. This bounty is absurd. No matter where we go, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
“We can repaint your armor, maybe stash it on a horse or donkey.”
“And accomplish what? What can we do when I must hide, and fear the very mention of my name? No, I’ll fix this, one way or another.”
“How?”
Darius leaned his sword against a tree, then began gathering his things.
“I’m going to the Blood Tower,” he said.
“What?”
“I’ll speak to Sir Robert face to face. Whatever crime he believes I’ve committed, I’ll hear it with my own ears. I’ll tell him of the horrors done by Karak’s prophet in return. Either he rescinds the bounty, or I’ll...”
“Or you’ll what?” asked Jerico.
Darius struck the tree with his fist. The bark tore into his hand, and he clenched his teeth against the pain.
“I don’t know how you do this,” he said, his voice lowering. “How do you expect me to leave them alone, to forgive these unjust accusers, thieves and murderers?”
“What did you once tell me?” Jerico asked, taking Darius’s sword and offering him the hilt. “Our path is a hard one. Nothing’s changed, not with that. Mercy over vengeance. Grace over condemnation.”
Darius drew his sword and held it before his eyes.
“A light in the darkness,” he whispered, seeing its glow.
He sheathed it once more, then held the rest of his things.
“Farewell, Jerico,” he said.
“What? I’m coming with you.”
“I won’t argue this. Sebastian is dangerous to the North, and his allegiance to Karak is only the beginning. You must stop him any way you can.”
“Even if it means helping the men who just tried to kill you?”
Darius chuckled, and he clapped Jerico across the shoulder.
“Never said it’d be easy.”
He turned to leave.
“How will we find each other again?” Jerico asked as Darius ducked his head and marched into the forest.
“I’ll listen for the stories,” Darius called back.
5
Hunger had grown a constant to her, a sensation now as meaningless as the feel of wind across her skin, or the pain that flared from every inch of her body. Valessa used it to propel her onward. She longed for the comfort of sleep, for a respite from the pain and guilt. But it would not come, so onward she followed the red star. It led her through plains, farmlands, and at last to a forest whose name she did not know. The sun and moon rose and fell, their light and
darkness just as meaningless to her as bread or water.
The thick branches and leaves proved problematic at first, for they blocked the light of the star. But she found that when she stopped to focus, to demand its crimson light, it could pierce even the forest canopy.
“Praise be, Karak,” she whispered. “Praise be.”
She ran, at first weaving through the trees on nothing more than instinct. When she realized how pointless that was, she might have laughed, but even laughter caught in her throat. Her body was meant for slaughter and pain, not humor. Not pleasure. Penance.
Her path lost its weave, and she plunged through the trees, feeling the trunks and low branches pass through her. She was smoke, shadow, an incorporeal being. Her speed increased, distant wolves howled, and the red star shone on. Its light was so bright, she knew Darius had to be close. His presence burned in her mind like a beacon. Her hands clutched her daggers, and with near ecstasy, she imagined plunging them into his throat. The sensation of pleasure overwhelmed her. She hadn’t realized something like that had been left to her, but it seemed she was wrong. She could still feel joy. She could still know Karak’s love. All by repenting for her error. All by slaughtering Darius the traitor.
In the distance, she saw a camp, and she slowed her run. It had to be Kaide’s, she realized. Who else would have a miniature village lost in the woods? It certainly explained Sebastian’s difficulty in finding him. Had Darius taken shelter with them?
Up ahead, she saw two figures, a man and a woman. Valessa slowed even more, and she let her presence fade away. Gone were her clothes, her pale flesh, replaced only with darkness. Unseen, she crept up on the couple. The way the red star flared, she’d hoped it was Darius, but it was not. Her disappointment did not last long. She recognized that red hair, that enormous shield strapped to the man’s back.
“Jerico,” she whispered, the word curling off her tongue like a purr. The paladin of Ashhur was equally as responsible for her failure as Darius, all because of his meddling, and that damn shield of his. He spoke with a silver-haired woman, who looked upset but was hiding it well. Valessa glanced to the sky, saw that the red star beckoned further, but she could not deny herself such an opportunity. How might Karak bless her for defeating such a terrible foe? How much joy would soar through her shadowy soul when her daggers tore the life from his veins?
The Paladins Page 42