The Paladins

by David Dalglish

  But another ten minutes passed, and he did not stir. Lifting her daggers, she stepped into the dim light of his fire. The kill was hers.

  And then the sword flared.

  The pain overwhelmed her beyond words. She could not even scream. The blue-white light around his blade shone brighter than any torch, any sun, any star. It flooded the forest, washing over it in waves. Valessa tried to flee, but it held her prisoner. The illusion of herself burned away, until she was only darkness, only pain. Her thoughts scrambled as her form weakened with every passing moment. The Abyss awaited her, she knew, and she would go there a failure. Her punishment would be beyond reckoning. That terror gave her strength, and she stepped away, dimly aware of her frantic, jerky movements.

  And then the light diminished, became once more the faint glow that barely lit up Darius’s armor. She fell to her hands and knees. It was hard to describe, but her body felt loose, barely hanging together by threads of shadow. Every shift, every twitch, elicited pain far beyond the constant ache she had grown accustomed to. She’d felt the glare of Jerico’s shield as it pressed against her, but this was nothing compared to that. Whatever she’d witnessed, it wasn’t the same. She didn’t want to imagine the torment if she’d been beside the blade when the light erupted.

  “Damn you, Darius,” she said, struggling to stand. “You’ll bleed by my hands. Ashhur won’t protect you forever.”

  Deep down, she could feel Karak’s anger growing. Thrice a failure...how long until he revoked his gift from her completely? She didn’t want to know—to ever know—but glaring at the dimly glowing blade, she feared for the first time that she might actually fail. Looking to the sky, she hoped for comfort in the shining red star. It was there, but another star was beside it, one she had never seen before. The sight of it filled her with fear, and she swore not to look on it again, nor think on what it might mean.

  10

  Jerico woke before Sandra did, both of them covered with a fine, cold layer of dew. He shivered, then carefully pulled his arms free of her. She stirred, repositioned her head atop her hands, and continued to sleep. Jerico rubbed his eyes, glancing once at the rising sun. The clouds were thick, yet the sun burned a deep red. A bad omen, Jerico knew. Had another of his brethren died in the night? Or perhaps Karak moved again, further sealing his victory.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Jerico’s task was to worry about himself, and those with him. Glancing at Sandra, he felt hesitation building in his chest. Better to pray first, he thought, or prepare breakfast. He knew that would be stalling, though, and let out a sigh. He was hardly perfect, and the last thing he wanted was to see what he feared most: an angry red scar, the skin about it darkening purple. He’d cured disease, venom, and wounds of battle...but could he defeat Karak’s own curse?

  “Just normal skin,” he prayed while she still slept. “Normal skin. Not too much to ask, right?”

  Knowing time was short, and Sandra would wake soon, he carefully knelt beside her and grabbed the bottom of her shirt between his fingers. He didn’t want her to see his reaction if it was bad. He needed to be strong. At least, that’s what he thought she needed.

  Realizing he was stalling again, he swallowed, then slowly revealed the skin of her stomach.

  The sight hit his gut like a club. It was worse than he’d expected. The wound wasn’t even scarred. It looked like it was still trying to heal, swollen flesh leaking pus. The skin around it was a dark purple, with red veins snaking through the bruises.

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Jerico?”

  Sandra was awake, and lying very still. Her jaw trembled, but there were no tears in her eyes.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked.

  Jerico licked his lips, and begged for strength.

  “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

  She laid her head back on the grass and closed her eyes. Her hand clutched his, and it held him tight.

  “I thought so,” she said softly. “It hurts so much, Jerico. So much.”

  “Lie still,” he told her. “Let me do what I can.”

  He prayed over the wound, and watched the healing light about his hands plunge into the skin. He did this again and again, refusing to let anything of Karak’s defeat him. Not now, not when a life was at stake. The purple faded, and the wound closed back to an angry scar. Each time drained him, laid an extra layer of exhaustion across his mind. He’d endured worse, especially after the wolf-men attacked Durham, but he knew there was little more he could do for her. Standing, he let her examine the wound.

  “The pain’s mostly gone,” she said.

  “Mostly? It should be gone completely. Dark magic must have been in that dagger, Sandra. It is the only way to explain why I can’t heal it.”

  “You’re keeping it under control though, right? Maybe it just needs time...”

  Jerico bit his tongue and nodded. It was getting harder every day to heal it, but he didn’t want to tell her that. He could see the way she looked at him. She was grasping at hope, and if there was anything Jerico was supposed to represent, that was it. Arguing with her about it seemed beyond childish.

  “Come on,” he said, offering his hand. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

  After they’d eaten and prepared for travel, Jerico pondered their destination. He’d originally meant to go after Lord Arthur, and do what he could to break the siege. But now?

  “We need to find a stronger healer,” Jerico said as he scattered their fire with his foot. “A priest, maybe even a wizard. Whatever has infected that wound, be it a curse or spell, might be familiar to someone with a better background in the arcane.”

  Sandra put her hands on her stomach and nodded. He’d wrapped it tight with clean bandages, but it still looked like it bothered her. He felt so helpless. How was it he could heal broken bones, but a single stab wound defeated him so?

  “I thought you were heading toward the Castle of Caves,” she said.

  “That was before.”

  “I told you, I’ll be fine. I just need some time. I promised to be no burden, and I won’t have you changing your plans now.”

  Jerico shook his head.

  “I won’t...”

  “Won’t what?” she asked, stepping face to face with him. “Watch me die? Is that what you think will happen?”

  He looked away, and that was answer enough.

  “We could go back the way we came,” he offered. “Bellok might know a way...”

  She was crying, but she let none of it affect her voice as she shook her head.

  “I’d be dead already if not for you,” she said. “I’m not going back. You may doubt, but I trust you. I’ve seen what you can do. Whatever this is, you’re stronger. We’re going on, to where you’re needed most. All right?”

  “Yes milady.”

  She smiled, stood on her toes so she could kiss his lips. Jerico smiled back, but there was little joy in it. He’d seen the grimace that flashed across her face when she stepped away. He saw how blood was already starting to seep through the bandages around her waist.

  “Let her live,” Jerico whispered as she led the way west. “Otherwise you’re going to have one pissed off paladin to deal with when I walk through your gates.”

  Jerico followed Sandra, wondering what his teachers at the Citadel would have said upon hearing him issuing threats to his own deity. He had a feeling they would have been amused.

  They walked for several hours, often stopping to rest. When they ate at midday, Sandra only nibbled on the hard bread. The lack of appetite worried Jerico, but he said nothing. They continued on, their pace growing slower with each mile. Jerico prayed over Sandra’s wound, and when it showed only marginal improvement, he said nothing, only accepted her thanks with a smile.

  The day wore on, and they passed field after field. When they saw a distant farmstead, Jerico led them there. He saw many children working the fields, and the first to see him bowed low, his eyes nearly bugging out of his
head.

  “Are you a paladin?” the boy asked. He looked like he was nine at most.

  “I am,” he said, smiling. “Is your pa about?”

  The boy nodded.

  “I’ll get him.”

  He ran off. Jerico took Sandra by the hand and led her toward the farmhouse.

  “We’re fine on food,” she said, but she sounded distant.

  “That’s not why we’re here.”

  They reached the home, but stopped when they heard a man call a greeting from the fields. Jerico turned, then bowed low to a man who looked to be on the verge of his fiftieth birthday. His skin was tanned from many hours spent in the sun, and his back was stuck in a stoop, but he moved easily enough, and when he shook Jerico’s hand, his grip was strong.

  “Welcome,” said the man. His demeanor was friendly, but Jerico sensed the apprehension hidden behind it. After all, here he was, a simple farmer greeting an armed stranger wearing platemail.

  “Forgive us for intruding,” Jerico said. He kept his tone warm and hoped the farmer would realize he meant no harm.

  “No intrusion,” said the farmer. “My name’s Cobb Williams. What can I do for you? If it is food you want, I have a bit to sell, though I’m not in the way of much else.”

  “This is Sandra, and my name is Jerico.” He debated a moment, then added, “Of the Citadel.”

  Cobb’s eyes widened a moment, and then he grinned.

  “Gods be good, you telling the truth? My oldest joined up with that bandit, Kaide, and came limping back from the Green Gulch with fewer fingers and a lot more sense. Mind if I see that shield of yours? He’s always talking about it.”

  Jerico obliged, pulling his shield from his back and holding it before him. Light shone across its surface. Cobb reached out to touch it.

  “It safe?” he asked, just before making contact.

  “Depends how dark your heart is.”

  Cobb laughed.

  “Perhaps I better not,” he said, pulling back his hand. “I’m a simple man working the fields, but I know when not to press my luck. Please, come inside. I can get my wife to make you all a fine meal, and perhaps you can tell me how the battle at the Gulch really went. Never know if my son’s speaking truth or telling tales, if you get my meaning.”

  Jerico glanced at Sandra. He’d planned to buy a horse, even a donkey, so long as Sandra would have something to ride. No matter how much she might deny it, he knew the lengthy walks were aggravating her wound. Yet her skin had grown pale, and he doubted they could go much further that day. Perhaps eating some fresh food and sleeping in a comfortable bed would do her good.

  “Our food has been poor, and rationed,” Jerico said, returning his shield to its spot on his back. “I hope you understand what you’re offering.”

  Cobb grinned.

  “Mister, you won’t eat more than what my Debra can cook. When you feed as many mouths as we do, two more don’t matter much.”

  They entered into a large family room, which looked to take up more than half the house. Cobb left them there to talk with Debra. Their furnishings were meager, but Sandra sat on a cushioned chair, closed her eyes, and slowly rocked.

  “Are you all right?” Jerico asked her.

  “That’s a stupid question, even for you.”

  She smiled, and even with her eyes closed, she looked so beautiful. Jerico’s hatred grew in his heart at what Valessa had done. He knew his hatred was wrong, that it went against all he believed...but damn it, sometimes it seemed so appropriate.

  Debra came to greet them, wiping her hands on her apron. She was as worn and tanned as her husband, though she looked to be a good ten years younger. Jerico took her hand, bowed on one knee, and kissed her knuckles. Debra giggled as if she were but a young girl yet to leave her father’s home.

  “You’re just like Jeb described,” she said. “Be honored if you stayed at least a night. We don’t hear much beyond our neighbors, and they’d rather talk about the harvest than what the Hemman brothers are up to.”

  She turned her attention to Sandra, and her giddiness vanished, replaced with a distinctly motherly attitude.

  “Are you feeling fine, dear?”

  “Just a little ill, that is all,” Sandra said. “Honest.”

  “This is Sandra Goldflint,” Jerico said. “Kaide Goldflint’s sister.”

  That raised some eyebrows, but the couple held their questions as to why she was there, traveling with Jerico instead of her brother. Sandra kept silent, and soon she slept.

  “It has been a long trek,” Jerico said.

  “The road is hard on everyone,” Cobb agreed, and let the matter drop.

  Come dinner, the whole family gathered. The room was cramped, but none were willing to eat outside or in a different room, not with Jerico there to entertain. Jerico counted four sons and one daughter. The oldest looked to be in his late teens, and was already married. They also lived there on the farmland, though Cobb insisted the boy would soon have land and a house of his own. Hardly a year separated him from the second oldest brother, Jeb, the one who had joined Kaide’s army when the bandit leader had gone recruiting on his way to join Arthur Hemman’s army. Truth be told, Jerico didn’t recognize him at all. He’d been just one of many amid the battle.

  “I didn’t get a chance to fight much,” Jeb explained. “Stayed near the back, but I did help hold the line when you said. You shoulda seen yourself, that shield glowing as we fought. Even when I took a hit to my hand and lost half my damn fingers, I’d still have gone on fighting. We all thought you died when you stayed back after calling for a retreat.”

  “I’m too stubborn for that,” Jerico said, earning a laugh from around the table.

  When Jerico brought up purchasing a mount, Cobb would hear none of it.

  “Far as I’m concerned, you’re why my boy’s still alive,” he said. “I got an old ass that doesn’t care too much for plowing anymore. He’ll still let you ride him, long as the burden isn’t too much. I don’t think Sandra will upset him none.”

  The food was delicious as promised, particularly the bread. Jerico devoured slices until it was gone, though the same could not be said for Sandra. She ate little, nibbling at her food before pushing it away. Her skin had grown even more pale, and he caught her staring at the table as if amid intense concentration.

  “Sandra?” Jerico asked, hoping not to alarm his hosts. She looked up at him with a blank expression, then shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, standing from the table. “I need some air is all. Just need...”

  She fell to one knee, remaining upright only because one of Cobb’s sons grabbed her arm and held her. Jerico shot from his chair and hurried to her side.

  “What’s the matter?” Debra asked. “Can we help?”

  “It’s nothing,” Sandra said, weakly pushing Jerico away. “I’m fine.”

  Her forehead was slick with sweat when he touched her, and it burned his hand like fire.

  “Fever,” he told the couple. “I hate to ask, but...”

  “But nothing,” Cobb said. “Put her in our bed. Barely sleep as it is, and the floor suits me just fine.”

  Jerico scooped Sandra into his arms and stood. Debra scattered the rest of the children as Cobb led him into the small bedroom to the side. Laying her atop the blankets, Jerico brushed his hand against her forehead and tried to focus his thoughts for another lengthy bout of prayer.

  Cobb crossed his arms and nodded toward Sandra.

  “Sir, I don’t mean to pry, but I know you’re not telling me everything. She’s got more than a fever. My old eyes can still see those bandages.”

  “She was stabbed,” Jerico said, lifting Sandra’s shirt. “Normally I could handle it, but something’s wrong. It’s fighting me somehow.”

  “Those bandages need to be cleaned,” Cobb said, leaning closer to inspect them. “I’ll grab a knife, and then we’ll take a look.”

  He stepped out, only for Debra to replace him a
t Sandra’s side. She laid a cool cloth over Sandra’s forehead, then told her to hush when she protested.

  “I’ve got Jeb heating some water over the fire,” she told Jerico. “When it gets to boiling, I have a few herbs that should help bring down her fever.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cobb returned, knife in hand. Debra scooted over to allow her husband access to the bed. With slow, deliberate movements he sliced off the bandages. They smelled sickly sweet, and were soaked with blood and pus. Jerico winced when he saw the first patch of flesh beneath. More and more bandages fell to the floor. Cobb leaned in, examining every inch, close enough for his nose to nearly touch her skin. When done, he looked at Jerico.

  “The wound’s gone bad,” he said. “I’m not sure how she’s even alive.”

  Jerico nodded, for he’d thought the same thing. Her entire stomach was purple, and in its center, like a cat’s eye, was a weeping cut. Its edges were yellow, and the veins about it a violent red. Jerico couldn’t begin to imagine the pain it caused her.

  “Jeb said you can heal people,” Debra said, guarded optimism in her voice. “Surely she’s not too far gone for you?”

  “No,” Jerico said, taking a deep breath. “But each day she gets worse, and my prayers lessen in their effect. Something’s inside her, fighting against every bit of healing.”

  “Maybe so,” Cobb said. “But I’ve seen something like this before. Not so terrible, of course. We need to open her up, or she’ll be dead soon.”

  The farmer leaned down so he could whisper to Sandra.

  “I need you to lie still,” he said. “I’ll have Jerico hold you down if I have to. If you don’t trust yourself, just say so, and we can go ahead and have him do it now.”

  Her breathing had grown shallow, and when she spoke, it was too soft for Jerico to hear. Cobb heard, though, and closed his eyes and sighed.