“You were right,” said the dark paladin. “They’ll starve and weaken us, and still they watch the river. Whoever this…Redclaw is, his pack is growing. When will they attack? When will they swim over these waters and tear this village apart?”
“I don’t know,” Jerico said, finishing his prayer. “But they will. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Come then,” Darius said, heading toward their boat. “Let us share the bad news. Tomorrow morning, they’re leaving, all of them. We cannot defeat such a force on our own.”
“What if they catch us while we flee?”
Darius laughed and reached out his hand to help Jerico into the boat.
“Then I guess we’ll have to win anyway. What’s wrong, paladin, lost your faith in the impossible? Hopefully not yet. We’ve still got to convince a couple hundred farmers and wives to leave everything they have based on the testimony of two men.”
“They’ll listen,” Jerico insisted.
“We’ll see,” Darius said, and they let the subject die.
* * * * *
Redclaw detected the scent of his many brethren within the hills, and it warmed his heart. His two pups, still without names since they were yet to reach their first year, would be there among them. Hopefully one of his pack members had ensured them a close seat for when Bonebite challenged Goldteeth. They should witness such strength firsthand, see what it meant to face a rival and conquer him without hesitation or remorse.
The rest of his party loped behind him, and Redclaw did his best to put Yellowscar out of his mind. The fool had endangered his pack, cost him the life of a fine warrior, and revealed himself lacking in any sense of cunning or tactic. Let the humans kill him once he grew fat on the plentiful game waiting across the great river.
“Do you think Goldteeth won?” Rockeye asked.
“Goldteeth is stupid. His pack is small because even the wild dogs think better. He will expect to win on strength alone. Bonebite is smart. Bonebite is fast. I have no doubt who won. Goldteeth’s pack will swear their allegiance to me.”
They crossed the hills, and as they did, something tugged at the back of Redclaw’s mind, like a thorn that had worked its way underneath his skin. Ignoring it, he slowed his run so he might arrive standing tall and proud instead of with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. As they walked, Rockeye cocked his head and listened.
“The Gathering nears its end,” he said. “I hear them howling in celebration.”
“A new leader,” Redclaw said. “Let us meet him.”
They entered the circle, and Redclaw was pleased to see the sacred mound soaked in blood and gore. The best Gatherings were ones where not a shred of bone remained white come the rise of day. Three dead wolf-men lay atop it, with one lone survivor standing, his left eye swollen shut and the fur of his chest hanging ragged from torn skin.
“Bring him to me,” Redclaw said as Bonebite came closer.
“Of course,” said Bonebite. The dead wolf-men were placed before their pack, and they began their feast. Redclaw looked for his pups while he waited. Sure enough, they were near the front, within easy view of the bone mound. He grinned, and when they saw him, they respectfully dipped their heads. Pleased, he looked to the new pack leader, who came and knelt before Redclaw.
“I am Moonclaw,” said the wolf. “My pack swears its loyalty to you, mighty Redclaw. Bonebite fought in your stead, and his tongue tasted much blood. We will learn from that strength.”
Redclaw narrowed his eyes as he looked over the new pack leader. He had an almost lanky appearance, for while he was as tall as Redclaw, he lacked the muscle. His fur was a deep black, with a few splotches of white across his face and hands.
“I must see you fight another time,” Redclaw said. “I wish to judge your strength, but tonight, I deem you leader of your pack.”
“And I deem you leader of leaders, Wolf King.”
Moonclaw bowed even lower, and Redclaw felt his heart leap at the title. So it had begun, small perhaps, only the tiny step of a pup, but a step nonetheless. The wind shifted, swirling for a brief moment, and with it color poured over the hills south, the scent faint but inescapably human. Redclaw felt panic only a moment, swiftly replaced by anger.
“They were here!” he roared. “Humans! They watched the Gathering, and none of you saw? None of you heard their whispers, smelled their scent?”
“The noise was great,” said Moonclaw. “And what else could we smell but the blood upon the mound?”
“Forgive us,” Bonebite said, stepping back and lowering his head. “I heard and smelled nothing either. The wind was their ally, and the noise of the Gathering their friend.”
Redclaw let loose a rumble from deep within his belly. The rest of his pack gathered around him, remaining just far enough back to maintain a respectful distance. He felt his plan weaving through his head. They lacked the numbers for what he desired. They could slaughter the village, that he knew, but it was the humans that would come from afar that he feared. So far he’d kept his numbers hidden from them, but if any had seen the Gathering, had seen the force building so very near…
“Moonclaw, Bonebite, with me,” he said. “We have much work to do, even beneath the angry fire of the sky. Rockeye, go west to the packs of Bloodfang and Murdertongue. Summon them to a Gathering. We have little time.”
“Yes, Wolf King,” said Rockeye, leaving at once. Redclaw walked south, the two strong wolf-men following him. He found where the men had lain, and he inhaled their scent. There had been a pair of them, and they stayed for a long while. Shaking his head, he turned to Bonebite and Moonclaw.
“No help,” he said. “No rescue. No chance for war. Hear my plan, Moonclaw. Hear me, Bonebite. Our freedom from the Wedge begins at dawn.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Darius slept late into the morning, despite Jerico’s arguments otherwise.
“Either the wolf-men will catch us, or they won’t,” he’d said. “I don’t think me getting a few hours of sleep will matter one way or the other.”
“The people of Durham need to prepare.”
“Then you wake at dawn and tell them,” Darius had said as he set aside his armor and slipped into bed. “Meanwhile, the sky’s still dark and my head feels like two wolf-men are fighting inside. Good night.”
His head felt little better come waking, but at least it had lost some of its knife edge of pain. His legs ached from the many miles they’d walked, and his back was sore for doing it all while wearing his armor. He stayed in the sole upper room of Durham’s inn, and he came down to have breakfast with the lady of the place, a widow named Dolores.
“Bread and honey as always?” he asked her, trying for levity.
“You’ll make do with porridge,” she said, not a smile on her wrinkled face. “The whole town’s talking, and it’s got me scared. I can’t leave everything behind, Darius. Even riding in a cart will make my old bones groan, and what hope could I have to earn a living elsewhere?”
“I hear a beautiful woman such as yourself earn quite a lot in the back alleys of Mordeina.”
She slapped his head with a rag, and he grinned at her. Seemed like Jerico had already met with Jeremy, and he felt relieved. Let him deal with that enormous hassle. He began eating his meal.
“Oh, dear me, slipped my mind,” Dolores said a few minutes later. “A man came to speak with you, but I told him you’d been out at night helping us and you don’t take kindly to waking up early. He said he was one of you, at least in a way. A priest, he said. I offered him a room, but he said he wouldn’t be staying long.”
“A priest?” Darius asked. “Where is he now?”
“Said for you to meet him at the square. He seemed in quite a hurry.”
“Thank you, Dolores. I’d best be going then.”
He hurried back up the stairs, trying to make sense of things. Sometime in the next few months he knew a paladin of Karak was supposed to check in on his progress, but a priest? Had he just happene
d to pass by Durham? Or were they to change his assignment? Priests were considered superior to paladins in Karak’s hierarchy, and if the priest gave him an order, he would have no choice but to obey. Still, his arrival was certainly fortuitous in other ways. Perhaps he might help with the wolf-men, or know of a better plan than simply tucking their tails between their legs and running.
Once he was dressed in his armor, his sword sheathed on his back, he came down.
“Did he say a name?” he asked Dolores before stepping outside.
“I reckon he did,” said the woman. She tapped her teeth with a fingernail. “Slipped my mind, though. Seemed polite enough, though I wouldn’t wish him around long. Got a queer air about him. Cold, too.”
“Thanks.”
Darius pushed open the door and hurried his way to the square. Jerico found him first. A mob of seven or eight surrounded him, and he pushed his way toward the dark paladin.
“Enjoy your nap?” Jerico asked.
“Tremendously,” Darius said, forcing a grin. “Enjoy your talk with Jeremy?”
“He saw reason, thank Ashhur. The whole town will be heading south. We’re fifteen miles from Wetholm, and I doubt the little village can manage to feed even a third of us, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll just have to make do.”
“Sure thing,” Darius said, his eyes looking past him. Jerico evidently noticed, and he frowned.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
“No. Yes. Just a friend.”
Jerico glanced behind, and a bit of his cheer vanished.
“He’s been here all morning. I’ve stayed away out of respect. Any help the priests and paladins of Karak can offer would be appreciated.”
The group returned, asking Jerico questions and requesting aid.
“Will you be helping everyone prepare?” Darius asked before he turned away.
“We leave after midday. Not much time, so we’ll be stretched thin. Help who you can, and I’ll do the same.”
“As you say.” Darius pushed past him, toward the lone tree growing near the square. Leaning against it, being given a wide berth by the rest of the town, was a man in the black robes of a priest. His head was shaved, and a multitude of pendants made of silver and iron hung from his neck. He stood straight, his thin shoulders pulled back. His blue eyes lacked any amusement as Darius came before him and kneeled.
“Welcome to Durham, brother,” he said, his head low. “I hope your travels have been safe.”
“Nothing in this world is safe,” said the priest. He glanced at Jerico, and his frown deepened. “Least of all here. I come with great tidings, though I wish my heart would not be so troubled when I tell you. Do you remember me, Darius? I was there when you were first assigned along the river.”
Darius remembered, two years prior at the gates of the Stronghold. He’d completed the Trials, and having come of age, they gave him his first assignment: to travel along the northern stretches of the Gihon, preaching to the many villages that had gone years without hearing Karak’s word. The ceremony had been solemn, and his heart swelled with pride. Two priests had attended, invited to the special event. One had remained quiet, but the other…his eyes had the same icy blue, and his words still stung.
You are young, full of faith, and yet in you I sense a chaos rumbling. Mind your heart, your thoughts, and your ideas. Among the simple folk you belong, for I fear your reaction should you face a true challenge of Ashhur.
“Yes,” he said. “I remember you now, though I was never given your name.”
“I am Pheus, and it seems I was correct. How long has the paladin of the false god preached in your village, Darius?”
Darius felt his face flush.
“Perhaps a year, at most.”
“You have not driven him out? You have not rallied the villagers against him? Worse, I see you speaking with him. Have you reached some agreement with this paladin, some sort of truce? I do not understand it.”
Even worse, thought Darius.
He couldn’t dare tell Pheus, not facing his cold glare. With his arms crossed, the priest lifted his chin and turned as if the very sight of Jerico angered him. Darius tried to think of an excuse, but he knew none, and he stared at the ground in shame.
“I thought so,” said Pheus. He sighed, and his anger retreated into sadness. “I pity you, Darius. You have great potential, though more than ever I fear you will waste it. But perhaps I see only the weakness I fear; it is a curse my colleagues have often berated me for. This is a joyous occasion, and I come spreading the word to all the faithful.”
“And what is that?” Darius asked, glad to have the conversation changed.
“The Citadel has fallen. The paladins of Ashhur are scattered, homeless, with many casting aside their faith. Our time of victory has come. The Stronghold has declared war upon the survivors, every last one.”
Darius’s jaw dropped. He thought of Jerico’s attempt to leave the day before, and suddenly he understood.
“How?” he asked, still struggling to believe it.
“The Voice of the Lion led the assault, and through his disciple Xelrak, brought the building crashing to the ground. I have been traveling north to inform all I can of our new orders. Ashhur’s paladins are weak now, helpless. We must descend upon them before they regroup.”
“Wait…you want to kill Jerico?”
“Kill him? No. We want him executed for his blasphemy and service to the false god. Do you not understand? After all these years, we have a chance for complete victory.” He pointed toward Jerico, and it seemed as if his eyes sparkled. “For all I know, he is the very last. Let us take him now, before he realizes the danger he is in.”
“No,” Darius said, stepping away. “Do you not see the chaos about us? Wolf-men gather in great numbers beyond the Gihon, and any day they will swim across. They’ll slaughter every one of these villagers. Jerico stands at my side. For now, if any of us are to live, we need him.”
Pheus leaned back against the tree. For a long minute he did not speak, only stare, as if gazing into the depths of Darius’s soul. Whatever he saw there, he certainly did not like.
“This is your failure,” Pheus said at last. “And it is yours to correct. This…Jerico…will die by your hand. That is an order, and you will obey, paladin.”
He left the tree and wrapped an arm around Darius’s shoulder. “I must continue my travels. By the time I return, I expect the matter handled. If it is not, the Stronghold will hear of your failure. I assure you, they will be far less understanding than I.”
“Will you not stay and help us?”
“This village is your responsibility, not mine. These men are of the earth, and there will always be a thousand others like them. Our war with Ashhur has waged for hundreds of years. Do you think I would risk losing that over a handful of farmers? What you do, do quickly, Darius. I have spoken. Obey your god.”
Pheus left along the northern road, not a single man or woman saying a word in greeting as he passed by. Darius watched him go, and he stared long after he was gone.
“You all right?” Jerico asked him, having returned to the square after doing who knew what to help another family.
Darius looked at the man, tired, proud, his red hair soaked with sweat and covered with dirt. He tried to see him as an enemy, a blasphemer of a false god. Instead, he saw Jerico. I fear your reaction should you face a true challenge of Ashhur, Pheus had said two years ago, and it seemed prophetic. Was Jerico such a challenge? Had he prepared for physical strength, skill in combat, and left his heart unprepared for the lies, the facades, the tempting half-truths of Ashhur? How could he follow Karak, yet claim a paladin of Ashhur as his friend?
“I’m fine,” he said.
“If you say. The Douglas family needs help fixing their wagon for the journey. Can you help them out?”
Darius nodded, still feeling as if he walked in a troubled dream.
“Jerico,” he said, stopping the other paladin from leaving.
“I…forgive me. The Citadel. Have you heard?”
Jerico’s face paled, he swallowed, but he nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Darius said, unsure if it were truth or lie.
“Go help Jim and his wagon. And Darius…thank you.”
A cruel, chaotic world, thought Darius. What greater proof could he need?
* * * * *
Jacob Wheatley bent over beside the wheelbarrow in his garden, swearing at each passing moment. He yanked and tore at the zucchini and winter squash. The tiny hairs on their sides poked his hands, and several cuts bled along his thumbs and palm. Under the best circumstances he wasn’t a patient man, and today he had even less time to be careful. The wolf-men were coming, and the whole town was turning yellow and running.
“Can’t believe Jeremy’s such a bloody coward,” he muttered. “Would probably tuck his dick between his legs and run from a fucking rabbit if it bared its teeth.”
“They ain’t no rabbits,” said Perry, son of his neighbor, Jim Douglas. Jacob usually paid the boy a few coppers to help with his harvest, along with a bottle of shine his father knew nothing about. The two had already filled one wheelbarrow, dumped it back at his house, and come back for a second load.
“Shit, I know that, son. I was there with everyone else when we stepped into the wedge. We were in their land, at night, and we still gave as good as we got. Thank the gods those paladins were there, though. I mean, you should have seen what Gary looked like before the redheaded one could heal…hey, you listening?”
Perry stood straight, a yellow squash still in his hand. His eyes scanned the distance with an intensity that riled up the snakes in Jacob’s stomach.
“I said you listening?” he asked, louder.
“I saw something. There. I’m sure of it.”
“What could you be seeing?” Jacob asked, looking. He saw the edge of his garden, then the long stretch of hills, followed by the slender forest. “There ain’t nothing out there.”
“I was sure,” Perry insisted.
“And I was sure Tessie would marry me if I bought her a ring. Sometimes we’re so sure of something we don’t realize how stupid we are. At least that tease ended up with Noel. Don’t tell your pap, but I hear his dick’s the size of a…”
Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels Page 175
