“Jerico,” he started to say.
“I see him,” Jerico said. “Let’s pray he’s a friend. Hail!”
He waved, while subtly letting his shield shift to his other arm, in case he needed its protection. The man tensed for a moment, then relaxed as he caught sight of the blue glow.
“Jerico!” cried the distant man, shimmying down the tree. He was a far bigger man than Darius expected, and his was face covered with scars.
“How have the past few weeks treated you, Adam?” Jerico asked, clasping the man’s wrist and pumping it up and down.
“Like shit,” Adam said. “Was hoping to be stomping Sebastian’s ass all the way from here to Mordeina. Instead we’re stuck waiting.”
Jerico nodded to the weapon slung across his shoulder.
“I didn’t know you could use a bow.”
“Gotta hunt to eat, don’t you?”
Darius thought of their meager meals the past few days.
“Not necessarily,” he said. This brought the big man’s attention over to him.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“Darius,” he said, offering a mock bow. “Consider me flattered to finally meet one of Kaide’s most infamous knights.”
Adam paused a moment, as if still thinking over the words, then his face spread into a giant grin.
“Funny man,” he said, punching Darius in the shoulder, despite his armor. “But if you’re half as good as Jerico, and willing to fight, we’ll treat you fine as any prince.”
Darius raised an eyebrow at Jerico, who only shrugged.
“Better than being chased out by people eager for a bounty, right?”
“If you say so.”
“Come on,” said Adam. “Follow me. Kaide’ll want to know you made it out of the Green Gulch alive and breathing.”
The paladins let him lead the way away from the stream and into Kaide’s camp. Darius was surprised by the amount of buildings, all built of wood and straw. He’d expected a few tents, maybe a single home, but not this. More surprising was how many wandered about, working at various tasks. Nearly everyone stopped what they were doing as Adam led the newcomers to the camp’s center. Darius could hardly believe the hero’s welcome they received. Even Durham had not been so thankful after they’d protected them from the wolf-men’s attack.
“Where’s Kaide?” Adam roared as the people began to crowd them.
“Out back, training,” said one of the men.
Darius could only guess where ‘out back’ meant, but Adam seemed to know. They followed, curling around one of the buildings to a large open stretch between the trees. Twenty or so men stood in a line, old metal swords in their hands. A man walked before them, barking out orders while making slow motions in the air with his dirk. He was lithe, well fit, with his prematurely gray hair bound into a ponytail. He moved with such authority, Darius knew immediately that he had to be Kaide. His eyes carried such an intensity, it left him with little wonder how the man had managed to raise an army against Lord Sebastian, however ill-equipped and meager it was.
“Jerico,” he said, sheathing his dirk. He wiped his hands on his tunic, and, unlike the others, he seemed only mildly surprised that the paladin had returned. “So you survived after all.”
“There any doubt?” Jerico asked, and he smiled as the two embraced. “It’ll take far more than a couple thousand soldiers to bring me down.”
A half-hearted cheer came from the men training. Kaide turned on them, whatever joy had been present in his composure immediately gone.
“Back to training, all of you,” he said. “Pat, you lead until I get back.”
Kaide thanked Adam for escorting them to the camp, then sent him back to his hunt.
“Takes a lot of food to feed so many,” Kaide said as he headed to his quarters with the two of them in tow. “Thankfully the deer here are plentiful, and even in winter we can usually capture a few squirrels.”
“Venison sounds wonderful,” Jerico said as they stepped inside the small log cabin, and Darius heartily agreed. Once the door shut behind them, Kaide turned and swung. His fist crunched into Jerico’s jaw, the blow knocking him a step backward so that he thudded against the door. Instead of retaliating, Jerico stood there, mouth agape, and rubbed his face.
“When you tell me to flee, you don’t stand there and keep on fighting yourself,” Kaide said, jamming a finger in Jerico’s face. “We fight together, you and I. If you’re going to hold a line until death, then I stay at your side, and if I retreat, then your ass follows. Whatever miracle allowed you to survive, I don’t want to have to rely on it again. You’re the heart of this band now, the one thing that gives them hope, and your stand at the Green Gulch only solidified that. Do we understand each other?”
“You going to hit me again if I say no?”
The tension continued for a few more seconds, and then Kaide broke out into a laugh.
“No, but Sandra might. She missed you. We all have.” He turned his attention to Darius. “I see you brought a friend.”
“My name is Darius,” he said, bowing. “Jerico saved my life, and I seek to return the favor.”
At hearing the name, Kaide froze, and his eyes seemed to sparkle.
“Darius,” he said. “As in Darius of the Stronghold, from Durham?”
Darius swallowed, and he tried not to show any emotion.
“Yes. Will that be a problem?”
“A problem? Depends. Who’d you piss off to get that bounty on your head?”
Darius thought it might be prudent to lie, but he immediately felt ashamed for even entertaining the notion.
“I was once of the Stronghold, but no longer,” he said, standing up straighter so his full height towered over Kaide. “Karak’s followers have never taken kindly to one who leaves the fold.”
“That’s strange,” Kaide said, rubbing his chin. “Report I heard said the bounty came from Sir Robert at the towers.”
“I was there when one of Karak’s greatest priests burned it to the ground. I’m sure the blame has been cast upon me.”
“Enough,” Jerico said, standing between them. “We’ve come back to help, in whatever way we can.”
Kaide shifted his attention to his friend, but Darius felt no comfort. It lingered in the air, that unspoken challenge, the question of his guilt, his role in Durham. No doubt Jerico saw the strong leader that Kaide was, but Darius also saw in him a greed and a hunger that set his nerves on edge. He saw a man with a cause, yet no ideals. The whole world might burn while Kaide waged his war on Lord Sebastian, and it wouldn’t matter, so long as in the end he found victory.
“We don’t have enough men, not yet,” said Kaide. “But soon, we’ll move out. We’ll starve Sebastian’s army of supplies, hit their caravans, set fires when they sleep. Anything to make their lives miserable. With each passing day, my men scour the North, telling tales of Sebastian’s depravity. We’ll build another rebellion, one that won’t be stamped out after a single battle. But we can talk about those details later, once Bellok comes back with more supplies. For now, let’s get you something to eat, and find you a room.”
He opened the door, then glanced back at Jerico, whose face was starting to swell on one side.
“You tripped crossing the stream on the way here,” he said, then exited.
“Aren’t you the clumsy one,” Darius said, following Jerico out, but there was no humor in his voice, only unease, as the rest of the camp cheered once more for their arrival.
4
With how many Kaide had gathered, there was no more room left in the few cabins. So they were given heavy blankets and bedrolls, which Jerico accepted gladly.
“We’ve both had plenty of experience sleeping on the ground,” he said.
“Still prefer a bed, though,” Darius said. Jerico chuckled, smacked him on the shoulder, and found a spot to make his own. It was at the outset of the camp, and he wasn’t surprised when Darius didn’t follow him. The man had been s
ullen since Wilhelm, and they’d been traveling together since the battle in the Green Gulch. No doubt Darius wanted to have some solitude for once, and, to be honest, Jerico felt the same. The near-worship Kaide’s followers gave him didn’t help much. By the way they acted, it was as if they thought Jerico could singlehandedly win them the war.
Which he couldn’t. He’d try, of course, but even he had his limits, and he felt safe in assuming that taking on an army by himself was one of them.
As he was smoothing out the grass and weeding out any rocks or sticks that might make sleep difficult, he heard a woman call his name. He turned to see Kaide’s sister, Sandra, weaving through the trees toward him. He raised his hand in greeting, but she ignored it, instead wrapping her arms about him. Her smile was the finest thing he’d seen in weeks.
“They told me you stayed behind when everyone else fled,” she said, slipping out of his arms.
“I did. I tend to do stupid things like that.”
“I should slap you for worrying me so.”
He turned his head so she could see the light bruise on his cheek.
“Your brother beat you to it.”
She laughed, and they embraced once more.
“I’d say he is only under stress, and worried about you, but I think I spend too much time apologizing for my brother’s behavior as it is.”
Jerico found himself increasingly aware of the feel of her in his arms, the way her silver hair curled about her face before falling past her shoulders, and the scent of flowers crushed into a perfume that wafted up from her neck. It made him feel awkward, and his mind failed to think of conversation.
“It’s been rough since the battle,” Sandra said. If she noticed his sudden awkwardness, she gave no acknowledgment of it. She sat down in the space Jerico had cleared and leaned back against the nearby tree he had planned to use to prop up his pillow. He took a seat next to her, thinking of the aftermath he’d seen: Arthur’s men in flight as Sebastian’s cheered in victory.
“I can’t imagine,” he said. “Did Kaide’s men escape the fight cleanly?”
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 ca
ught 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 man, 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.
Paladins: Book 03 - The Old Ways Page 4