The Paladins

by David Dalglish

  Jerico stopped so he could see better. The dirt path was mostly flat, with but the slightest of bumps from the gently rolling hills they traveled across. He saw groups of armed men, but their banners were of no mercenary troop he recognized.

  “Reinforcements for Sebastian’s army?” Sandra asked. “Jerico, I think we should get off the road.”

  Jerico nodded, starting to think she was right. But the banners, they almost looked like...

  Lions.

  “Oh no,” Jerico muttered. “This is bad.”

  He looked about, seeing nothing but fields of grass in all directions.

  “Very bad.”

  “What?” Sandra asked.

  “They’re pledged to Karak, which means they’ll likely have priests or paladins with them.”

  All around were the flat fields of tall grass. They could hide within them, but if Jerico could see the caravan, then the caravan could see him. What would they think of the couple who suddenly rushed off the road to hide? And what if they recognized his armor, realized he was a paladin of Ashhur? If only there was a hill, a group of trees, that they could vanish behind to hide the direction in which they fled.

  “Not good, not good, not good,” Jerico muttered as his mind raced.

  “Have you no ideas?” Sandra asked as she took his hand.

  “None.”

  “Then we’ll do mine. Walk into the field, slowly, as if nothing were the matter.”

  “What plan is this?” Jerico asked. Sandra led the way, pulling him along. Behind them, the wagons rolled closer.

  “Why else would a man and woman wander off a path for a moment alone?”

  Fifty yards out from the road, she turned so his back was to the road, and she could peer over his shoulder.

  “Almost,” she said, then grabbed his face in her hands and kissed. Jerico was too stunned to kiss back. When the kiss ended, she pulled him down into the grass, where they would not be seen.

  “Will they believe it?” Jerico asked as he huddled on his knees.

  “I don’t know. You’re a terrible troubadour.”

  “I’m no good at lying, nor playing pretend.”

  “A shame.”

  Despite their situation, she laughed, and he blushed again.

  “Are you so certain they are a danger?” Sandra asked. She also crouched on her knees, ready to run at a moment’s notice. Jerico wanted to look, but dared not for fear of revealing their farce for what it was.

  “I know of no one else who might carry such a banner,” he said.

  “What will you do if they come for us?”

  Jerico pulled free his mace.

  “I’ll do what is necessary. If they do come to inspect, you run like the wind, understand?”

  “Worry about yourself.” Sandra crept higher, peering through the slender stalks of grass. Whatever she saw startled her, and she ducked back down and spoke in a whisper.

  “Two men, they’re almost here.”

  “Are they armed?” Jerico asked.

  “Yes, but they haven’t drawn their blades yet.”

  “They might have seen my armor,” Jerico whispered. “Get ready to run.”

  Sandra looked again, then shook her head.

  “Jerico,” she said. “Don’t judge me for this.”

  His brow furrowed as he wondered what she meant, and then she began to moan. It started low at first, and quiet, but steadily grew louder. Jerico felt his neck flush, and his jaw dropped open. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked like she was in the midst of deep contemplation, but it did not match the noises coming from her mouth. Shaking away his shock, Jerico peered through the grass. Two soldiers were near, both with the symbol of a lion painted across their breastplates. Amused grins decorated their faces. They were talking, and Jerico did his best to ignore Sandra’s performance in order to listen.

  “Sounds like he’s giving her a solid go,” said the one on the right.

  “Care to give ‘em a startle?”

  “Go ahead if you want, but I won’t. Interrupting a king’s knight while he’s fucking is a good way to get yourself stabbed.”

  “I ain’t scared of any knight,” said the man on the left.

  “Then go on, if you’re so desperate to spy a tit. Or is it the man’s dick you’re after?”

  They struck one another with their fists, then returned to the road, glancing behind only once. Sandra quieted, then stopped when Jerico motioned they were gone.

  “Are we safe?” she asked.

  “Seems like it,” Jerico said, making sure one more time. When he knelt back down, Sandra caught him giving her a funny look.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, what?”

  He shrugged.

  “Some of that sounded familiar, that’s all.”

  She punched him across the jaw. It bruised his lip, but he didn’t complain. He definitely deserved it.

  Once the wagons were far enough ahead, Jerico and Sandra emerged from the grass. Feeling safer, Jerico counted their numbers, and didn’t like the estimate he came up with. At least four hundred, if not more. Given where they were, and the direction they were headed, there could only be one place they traveled.

  “They’re going to the Castle of Caves,” Jerico said.

  “If they join Sebastian’s army, then Arthur will have no chance,” Sandra said. “And Kaide...he’ll still try to stop them. My brother is too stubborn to know reason. Whatever hope Arthur has is done.”

  “No,” Jerico said, shaking his head. “Don’t think like that. It isn’t hopeless, not yet. We don’t know the situation there. Perhaps a minor lord threw his lot in with Arthur. Your brother’s band might already be on its way, ruining their supply lines and poisoning their water. We might not stop them, but at least we can try to stall.”

  “How?”

  Jerico gave her a mischievous grin.

  “Wagons are such fragile things...”

  They stayed far back out of sight until nightfall, when the caravan set up camp. As the stars came out, Jerico and Sandra made up the lost distance, until at last they crouched at the far edges of the campfire light. Whoever ran the wagons showed no fear of bandits or marauders. Instead of circling them into a protective barrier, they remained set in the middle of the road, still in line. The oxen pulling them had been tethered in the fields, downwind from the camp. Sandra pointed to them, but Jerico shook his head.

  “Perhaps after,” he whispered. “They’re tired, and might not scatter, plus I fear the noise.”

  “Noise?” asked Sandra. “For men of faith, they seem to share all the same noisy vices.”

  Jerico shrugged. While there were no camp followers, it appeared every other vice was welcome in the camp. The men drank, sang, and made a bawdy ruckus. Many brawled amongst themselves using only their fists, and others gambled on the winners. Jerico saw no sign of priests or paladins, and assumed them to be in the larger tents erected near the front of the wagon train.

  “Fine. After I’m done, we’ll go for the oxen, but I want to hit the wagons first. If I do this right, they won’t notice a thing until morning.”

  Jerico removed his armor and the under-padding. He needed speed and stealth, not to rattle like a tin spatula in a kettlepot. Even his shield he left behind, bringing only his mace buckled at his waist—just to aid his sabotage, of course. He had no intention of fighting if he could help it.

  “Stay beyond the fires,” Jerico said as he placed the last of his armor in a pile, along with much of their supplies. “Follow me from wagon to wagon as best you can. If I’m spotted, you need to know immediately, and then run like Karak himself is at your heels.”

  “I’d rather you not get caught at all,” she said, kissing him on the cheek for good luck. “But I’ll keep an eye out on you just the same.”

  Swallowing his fear, Jerico approached the camp, always watchful for a patrol. The tall grass helped immensely, but the wagons were on the bare dir
t road. Getting to them would be no easy task. He chose the one on the tail end first, crawling between two campfires the soldiers had built in the grass. They joked amongst themselves as they drank, talking of the many heathens they’d kill upon reaching Arthur’s castle.

  We’ll see about that, thought Jerico as he reached the edge of the grass. To the far left and right he saw campfires, but no one patrolled the area. Too much arrogance, Jerico decided with a smile. Of course, who would rob or attack a patrol of armed men sworn to Karak? No one sane, but Darius had always insisted Jerico had a bit of madness in him. Or was it stupidity?

  Either way, the path was clear, and Jerico ran with his body crouched as low as possible while still maintaining speed. Upon reaching the wagon, he rolled underneath and then paused, holding his breath for a long ten seconds while his heart hammered in his ears. No calls, no nearby footsteps. He let out his breath, then went to work. The dirty base of the wagon was inches above him, but the tight space was no bother. At the rear of the wagon, he stopped and unclipped his mace.

  The cramped environment would limit his strength, but he prayed to Ashhur that it would be enough. Both hands grabbing the handle, he swung for the rear axle. His mace sank in with a heavy thunk, and a long crack ran along the wood. Jerico pulled it free, then waited. The wagon would muffle much of the noise, and the merriment would obscure it further. Once confident no one had heard, he struck again. The crack spread further.

  All night, thought Jerico. I’ve got all night, if that is what it takes.

  He waited another minute, then struck again. This time the wood split, and the entire wagon groaned above him. Jerico waited a good five minutes before moving, then slid toward the front axle to do the same. They would have spares, he knew, but how many? If he hit every single wagon, replacing all the broken axles would take a long time, longer if they ran out of spares. Without their food and supplies, the army would go nowhere. For all Jerico knew, that several day delay could make the difference at the siege further north.

  The second axle taken care of, he rolled onto his stomach and then judged the gap between him and the next wagon. It, too, appeared unguarded, though there was a campfire about ten yards to the west that might overhear his sabotage. Glancing the other way, he looked for Sandra to see if she watched. The grass was thick, so he could only hope. Praying to Ashhur for safety, he crawled out and then sprinted for the next wagon. He nearly slid underneath, then realized the scraping dirt and gravel might alert the nearby men. Calmly he dropped to his side and rolled.

  The men at the nearby camp, it turned out, were gloriously drunk. Jerico sighed with relief. There were twelve of them, and they were taking turns arm-wrestling with their elbows atop a log. From his low vantage point, Jerico watched, timing his strikes against the wagon with the start and end of every new competition, when the cheering was at its loudest. The rear axle broke with ease, appearing to have been well on its way toward doing so without his help. The front one took longer, but ten minutes later, he’d made a long enough crack that he trusted would break after a day or two of rough travel.

  Reaching the third wagon looked to be far more difficult. This one had soldiers patrolling the area, looking bored and unhappy to be saddled with such duty while the rest drank and gambled the night away. A soldier watched each side, and a third circled, peering inside the wagon every other time. Watching for thieves, of course, but Jerico had no interest in swiping supplies. The men at the sides were just beyond the road, standing amid the grass. They feared an outside threat, not one from within. Hopefully the distance would be enough.

  After the circling guard vanished around the wagon, Jerico crawled out and ran. His back ached, and a spasm struck his side halfway there because of his low crouch. Clenching his teeth, he stumbled the last few steps. No time to be graceful, he fell to his stomach and crawled. He heard rocks scatter and dirt kick out from below him, but did the guards hear it too? Holding his breath, he listened and waited.

  A pair of boots walked along, then stopped at the rear of the wagon. Jerico slowly pulled his knees to his chest, for his feet were in danger of poking out below. He needed to get further underneath, but dared not move any more than he must. The boots shifted, and he wondered what the soldier could be doing.

  Move on already, Jerico silently begged.

  And then the guard knelt on one knee and peered underneath the wagon. His eyes must not have been fully adjusted to the darkness, for it took a full two seconds before he realized Jerico was there. The look on the soldier’s face might have been amusing if not for Jerico knowing his chances of survival had just dropped to nil.

  “What the...”

  Jerico’s heel smashed the soldier in the face, crushing his nose. He fell backwards, screaming through his hands as he tried to stem the blood. Jerico rolled out the side, toward the field where Sandra hid, and lurched to his feet. The man standing guard on that side turned, and Jerico took him down with a mace blow to the head. What little surprise he had, though, was spent by then. Two groups of men stood from their campfires and reached for their weapons. Speed was all Jerico could rely on now. He knew he could run for hours if need be, and Ashhur could grant him the strength to continue. But that involved getting out.

  Men rushed into his way from all sides. Jerico ducked underneath a swing, rammed his shoulder into a guard to send him to the ground, then continued on. Another man raced along, then dove at his legs. Jerico leapt over him, wishing he could have turned around and kicked him for such stupidity. Two more soldiers had an angle on him from the right. He pumped his legs harder and shifted his direction. If he could only gain a bit more distance, get beyond the light of the campfires...

  The men were fast, though, and their swords were long. Jerico parried the first swing, but when the other thrust, he had to fling himself to the left. His momentum sent him rolling to the ground, unable to keep his balance. The tall grass helped cushion the landing, but nothing cushioned the rock that cracked against his forehead. He tried to stand, but his stomach heaved, and his vision tripled and spun. The two men stood over him, and when he took a swing, they blocked it with ease.

  “Still dumb enough to fight?” asked the one on the left. Jerico closed his eyes, opened them just in time to see a boot. It connected with his cheek, jarring his head hard to the side. Spitting blood, Jerico again pushed to his feet. He would not die without a fight. One of the men grabbed his wrist, preventing a swing of his mace, and then the other held him by the throat, choking him. Jerico kneed him in the groin, and gasped in air as the man’s hand released.

  “Damn fool,” said the other, striking Jerico across the head with the hilt of his sword. Jerico dropped to his knees, and he wished more than anything to have his shield in hand. But he had no armor, no shield, and then the tip of a blade pressed against his throat.

  “Stand up, and die like a man,” said the soldier.

  Jerico had no time to obey. The soldier jerked forward, and the sword fell limply from his hand. Sandra shoved him aside, a bloody dagger in her hand. Before the other man could recover, she cut his throat as well.

  “Sandra,” Jerico murmured as warm blood ran down the side of his face.

  He wanted to go to her, but the rest of the camp was upon them. Sandra swung her dagger at one, but her target parried it aside, then returned the favor with the flat of his blade against her face. Another struck her from behind, knocking her to the ground beside Jerico.

  “You were supposed to run,” Jerico told her as his hands were bound behind him with thick rope. His voice sounded drunk in his ears.

  “You’ll forgive me,” Sandra said, her own hands bound the same.

  “Quiet, both of you,” said an older man, who appeared to be in charge of the soldiers.

  “Or you’ll what?” Jerico asked, giving him a half-cocked grin.

  In answer, the man struck him with his gauntlet hard enough to rattle his teeth.

  Fair enough, thought Jerico as his consciousness fa
ded.

  15

  Darius saw more familiar faces than he expected when he joined the meeting in Daniel Coldmine’s room. Two chairs had been pushed together to form a table, a crinkled map unfurled across it and held down with rocks. Daniel stood over it, arms crossed and looking miserable. Beside him was the young but sharp-witted soldier, Gregory. Darius and Gregory had met in Durham, guarding what few survivors remained in the ruins of a mansion. Together they’d held a doorway until Sir Robert arrived with reinforcements, chasing away the last of the wolf-men attackers. Darius had nodded in greeting, but Gregory gave him the cold shoulder. It seemed he was not yet willing to forgive him for his part in Velixar’s attack on the town.

  In the corner, making up the last of the group, was an older man, his face covered with a wispy, gray beard. His eyes were hard, and he still bore enough muscle to show how dangerous he might have been in his youth. His name was Porter Grayson, and Daniel introduced him as the man in charge of Tower Silver. Together, the four planned the assault against the Blood Tower.

  “How many does that bastard have fighting for him?” asked Porter, leaning against the wall of the cramped room.

  “Luther left him with fifty of their personal guard,” answered Daniel. “I don’t know how many we killed during our retreat, but there’s also another seventy of our own men that joined his betrayal.”

  “Surely they won’t fight against you,” Darius said. “Not after killing Robert.”

  “Robert’s not dead,” Gregory said. He pointed toward Daniel’s bed, where several letters lay in a pile. “Cyric’s been sending orders down the Gihon, claiming he’s merely advising Robert. Every letter bears Robert’s signature, and I don’t believe it a forgery, either. Cyric is keeping him alive, using him to prevent the king from interfering. If we’re to have any help from the capital, we need to rescue him.”

  Darius shook his head and looked at the parchment on the chairs. It was an excellent replica of the Blood Tower, drawn that morning by Gregory. The defenses were simple, but effective. An outer wall surrounded the tower, thrice the height of any man. Within that was the tower itself, and in between nothing but flat killing ground. On the opposite side of the river was a single entrance through the wall, its doors made of thick wood and reinforced with steel. The only other entrance was the river itself. A hundred men could easily hold the fortifications against a far larger group than what he and Daniel had.