Paladins: Book 03 - The Old Ways

by David Dalglish

  Two men at the docks threw them ropes. Once they were looped about the boat’s front they pulled them in. Darius was led out first.

  “Who’s he?” asked one of the men on the dock.

  “A guest,” said the patrol leader. “Where’s Daniel?”

  The soldier jerked a thumb behind him to the tower.

  “He’s asleep in his room. Where else would he be?”

  “Then go wake him. And don’t ask me why, or how important it is. That’s an order, now go.”

  The leader turned back to Darius.

  “We have a small dungeon, fit for only a man or two. I plan on taking you there, where no one else but Daniel will know you’ve arrived. Will you come peacefully?”

  Darius chuckled.

  “Lead on. Just take care of my sword, will you?”

  At the western side of the tower, dug into the earth like a cellar, was their dungeon. Darius stepped inside as the soldier locked him in. The only light came between the bars of the slender window in the door. The walls were cold stone, and he could touch every side from where he stood in the center. Man or two? No kidding. He shuddered to think of sharing such a small space with another.

  Of course, such tight walls meant little to Valessa. Without his sword, he had nothing to fend her off, no light to burn her shadowed flesh. He could only hope and pray she did not show until after his business with Daniel was done. Time wore on, and though the night was deep, Darius had no desire to sleep. At last he heard a commotion on the other side of the door, and then it opened. Holding his hand to block the torchlight hurting his eyes, Darius smiled and stood.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, bowing. “I’m Darius, who once hailed from the Stronghold.”

  “Where do you hail from now?” asked the man. He was slender, but carried the scars of battle, and his eyes sparkled with wary intelligence.

  “If the Citadel still stood, it might be from there,” Darius said. “But for now, I guess I am without home or country.”

  The man leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

  “I’m Daniel Coldmine, lieutenant for Sir Robert Godley. Do you remember me, Darius?”

  Darius lowered his hand, his eyes finally adjusting. He better saw Daniel’s face, and then nodded.

  “You helped us fight the wolf-men at Durham.”

  “I did. Robert and I pushed our men night and day to reach you in time, to save the life of that little town. Yet all that’s left now is ruin and graves. Tell me why, Darius. Why would you turn on those you once protected?”

  Darius saw that Daniel held a knife, barely concealed between his arms. This was it, Darius realized. No court. No appearance before Robert. Looking into Daniel’s eyes, he knew the man could not care less for the bounty. Either he gave Daniel a worthy answer, or kissed his life goodbye.

  “I was a fool,” Darius said softly. “I was desperate, and afraid. I feared I had lived my entire life as a lie to Karak, and then a prophet came to me, offering proof. Offering meaning. He brought me back to Durham, and demanded they kneel in faith to Karak, or perish. I was to execute all who refused.”

  Daniel shifted his arms. The blade glinted in the torchlight.

  “Did you?”

  Darius rubbed at his eyes as the horrible memories came back.

  “No,” he said. “I could not. I don’t know who lived, who died, but ask them if you must. Ask Jeremy Hangfield. Ask Jacob Wheatley. I begged them to run. The prophet would return, and I couldn’t stop him. At the time, I thought no one could...”

  He shook his head.

  “I see the anger in your eyes, and I will not deny it. Please, before you act, tell me how many survived. Let me go to eternity, be it fire or gold, knowing at least that.”

  Daniel remained silent for a very long time.

  “Little over a hundred,” he said at last. “And they’ve told me, same as you, that you begged them to run. That doesn’t make you innocent, Darius. A boy who sets a house aflame, then yells for those inside to flee the fire, still deserves his lashes.”

  He moved to close the door, then stopped.

  “That prophet,” he asked. “Did anyone ever stop him?”

  “I did,” Darius said. He knew he should feel proud, but strangely did not. “I cut off his damn head.”

  Again Daniel fell silent. He was working something out, Darius could tell, but what?

  “Things have changed since the battle at the Green Gulch,” Daniel said, leaning against the door. “Two priests of Karak arrived at the Blood Tower, demanding that we hand you over to them. They want the North to worship their god forever. One of them, a pissant named Cyric, led a revolt against us. He sacrificed his own men to bring about strange creatures made of fire, and hurled arrows of shadow from his palms. Few of us escaped, and I don’t know the fate of those we left behind.”

  Daniel struck the door with his fist.

  “You say you killed this prophet,” he said. “The one who many of Durham said wielded killing flame with his hands, and whose eyes shone red like the Abyss. Can you kill Cyric?”

  “Release me, and I will try my best to end his threat.”

  “I don’t need you to try. I need a fucking promise. Will you help me reclaim my tower, save Robert, and send that priest to the grave where he belongs?”

  Darius fell to one knee and bowed his head.

  “For what I have done, I’ve only begun to atone for. If Cyric wishes to continue what the prophet started, then I’ll deliver him the same fate. You have no reason to fear my blade, Daniel. Karak is my god no longer.”

  “That’ll do. I’ve set up a second room for you, which should be far more accommodating than this. My guard will show you the way. Sleep well. We have much to discuss come morning if we’re to retake the tower.”

  14

  They left the farm, the Williams refusing to accept any coin Jerico offered them.

  “You’ve helped enough,” Cobb said. “You worked the fields, and told my boys stories of lands they’ll never, ever see. I just hope you think on what I told you. No reason for you to get yourself killed for any man other than yourself.”

  “My life’s not worth much,” Jerico said in return. “Not much need to be protective of it now. Safe days, farmer.”

  “You too, paladin.”

  They traveled northwest, following the road. Cobb had assured him it would lead to the Castle of Caves, so long as he took every northern fork. On his back, Jerico carried an impressive collection of provisions, and Sandra had a bag of traveling bread as well. That first night, they ate until both felt ready to burst, then lay down on their bedrolls. They camped in the open, in a field not far from the road.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Sandra said as they stared up at the stars. “You don’t owe Beth, nor my brother. We all owe you, if anything.”

  “Trying to convince me to turn tail, Sandra?”

  “Trying to convince you to live. Surely you have something better to do with your life. Someone better to spend it with.”

  Jerico looked away, not wanting her to see the confusion and doubt on his face.

  “It’s what I must do,” he whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Because if I run now, if I try to save myself instead of helping those who need it, then what was the point of me surviving when all others have fallen?”

  He felt her hand brush against his arm. His entire body stiffened.

  “I can think of several reasons.”

  Jerico rolled over to face her, and he took her hands in his.

  “You won’t change my mind, Sandra. The closer you get to me, the more likely you’ll be hurt. I have no home, no place I will ever be safe. I...I don’t think...”

  “Stop thinking,” she whispered as she slipped into his bedroll. “For tonight, at least.”

  She stopped his next sentence with a kiss, and despite his greater strength, she held his arms down with little difficulty.

  “I just don’t
want you hurt,” he said as she removed her clothes.

  “Shut up, Jerico.”

  “I know, but...”

  “Shut up, Jerico.”

  His clothes were next, and he helped her even as he protested.

  “I’m just worried that...”

  She kissed him, then held her hand over his mouth.

  “Gods you’re impossible,” she said, then laughed despite herself. After her wounding, her many days of sickness, he could not resist the warmth of her body against his. She felt so vibrant, so alive. Her hair hung low across her face, lit by the moonlight as she hovered above him. Seeing her smile, her happiness, he gave in at last.

  Come the next day, they traveled with a much brighter spring in their step. For once Jerico did not dwell on the fight that awaited him, and Sandra was in her best health since leaving her brother’s camp. It seemed even the weather matched their brightness. They passed several couples, and a large family of twelve, heading toward the nearby villages to ply their trade. One couple sought a suitor for their daughter; another hoped his skills as a smith might be rewarded for a few weeks before moving on to the next town. Jerico wished them well, and prayed with those who were glad to see a man of Ashhur.

  “Weather is fine,” Jerico said on their fourth day. “Makes it almost possible to forget that every paladin and priest of Karak is trying to kill me.”

  “They’re who knows where, and we’re here,” Sandra said. “Try not to worry.”

  “Easier said than done. It’s my head they want on a pike, not yours.”

  “I’d join you on a pike, anyway. You think I’d let them take you without a fight?”

  Jerico laughed.

  “Indeed. And would you stop them?”

  “I’m Kaide Goldflint’s sister. Damn right I would.”

  The paladin looked her up and down while they walked.

  “With what?”

  She smirked at him.

  “I keep a dagger on me at all times, Jerico. Well, perhaps not at all times.”

  He blushed, and she mocked him for it. From behind, they heard a distant shouting of orders. Jerico glanced back, saw a wagon train about a quarter of a mile behind.

  “Caravan heading toward the castle?” he wondered.

  “Sebastian would never let them through the siege lines,” said Sandra. “Perhaps supplies for Sebastian’s own men, instead?”

  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.”