Paladins 02 - Clash of Faiths

by David Dalglish

  “He’s keeping you in the windowless room, isn’t he?” she asked quietly.

  “He is.”

  “No fire, no blankets, and no bed?”

  Jerico looked her in the eye.

  “You seem familiar with your brother’s accommodations. I hope those who came before me all deserved the same treatment.”

  Her neck flushed red.

  “That was uncalled for,” she said. “I wished to thank you, and hear of the Citadel, the waters of the Gihon, and the peoples in the lands beyond Mordan. Yet you’d call me a jailor, instead?”

  Jerico felt petty, but he was tired, grumpy, and unable to stop himself.

  “You’re sister to one. And forgive my lack of tales, for my prison’s not as comfortable as yours, Sandra.”

  She sat erect in her bed, her jaw trembling with anger.

  “Get out,” she said.

  Jerico rolled his eyes. There were a million ways he could have handled the situation better, but of course, he’d screwed them all up.

  “Please, I’m sorry, it’s just …”

  “I said out. Kaide!”

  The door opened so fast Jerico wondered if the man had been pressing his ear against the other side. He held his dirks in hand, and seemed disappointed that he had no reason to use them.

  “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Jerico’s arm and pulling. “Back to your room.”

  Jerico bowed once more to Sandra and then allowed himself to be led back to his prison. When inside, he shivered against the wall, enveloped once more in darkness. He tried to sleep, but could not. Even with how slow time crawled, it was not long before the door burst open.

  “Yes?” Jerico asked.

  “Off your ass,” Adam said. “Come on, now, hurry!”

  With a blade pressed against his back, Jerico was pushed back into the night and toward another building. The door was opened, and they shoved him inside. Within was a bed, a fireplace, and a slender window too small for him to crawl through.

  “Courtesy of the woman,” Adam said, shutting the door. He heard the sound of locking, then whistling as Adam wandered away. Jerico checked the bed for lice or fleas, and found none. Impressive.

  “Well, Jerico,” the paladin said, finding it disturbingly easy to talk to himself given his lack of company. “It looks like you’re not that terrible at talking to women after all.”

  He knew that was false, of course, but it was nice to pretend otherwise.

  *

  The following day passed full of tedium and boredom. Jerico ate his meals when they were brought to him, and filled the rest of his hours with exercise and prayer. He wanted both his muscles and his faith sharp should any chance at escape present itself. So far his captors didn’t seem to have any intention to kill him, so he remained patient. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, not with dark priests and paladins scouring the North.

  “There’s a disturbing thought,” Jerico muttered, thinking of Kaide selling him to someone from the Stronghold for a nice sack of gold. Or would he be worth only silver? Questions he’d never get adequate answers to. His personal pride wanted Karak’s servants hurling entire treasuries at people to bring him down, but that seemed unreasonable. Maybe just a few thousand gold. That’d at least be something worth bragging about.

  Not that he had anyone to brag to. Adam and Griff alternated guard duty, broken up by the occasional third man named Barry. An impatient and ill-tempered man, Barry was actually the worst of the three. The twins, as he’d discovered, would at least joke around, however poorly, when he spoke to them through the hole in his door. Barry only shouted for him to shut up.

  “Must you always be talking in there?” the man once asked around midday.

  “I’m praying,” Jerico replied.

  “Then pray into a pillow or something. Tired of hearing it!”

  Jerico spent the next hour praying directly in front of the door, and his lamentations were loud and heartfelt. He even prayed for Barry’s soul, and only the iron will of a paladin kept him from breaking into laughter at the angry shouting that caused.

  Come nightfall, he heard only silence. He wondered if they’d left him without a guard. No one answered his occasional question. Through the window, he saw the occasional person milling about, nearly all of them male. He wondered if Kaide recruited only unmarried men, or if they kept their families somewhere else, presumably safer. Jerico added that to the list of other questions he expected to never receive an answer to. The best information he could get out of Adam and Griff was their last name: Irons.

  When the stars were at their fullest, the door opened without a single knock for warning. Sandra stepped inside, then closed the door behind her. Jerico sat on his bed, feeling ragged and dirty. It’d been days since he bathed, and despite the moderately improved living conditions, he was still not the cleanest. Brushing a hand through his hair, he smiled, then remembered to bow.

  “Kaide still thinks you will run,” she said, as if struggling to think of something to say. “Will you?”

  “Not going to lie. If I thought I could, I’d already be gone.”

  “You haven’t tried breaking down the door, or digging through a wall. You’ve made no effort to escape. You speak in blusters.”

  “How do you know?”

  She smiled at him.

  “Because you’re a paladin. That’s just not what you do, is it? Or have the stories I’ve heard all been a lie?”

  Jerico shrugged. “Depends on what stories.”

  “What about the one with you and the wolf-men?”

  The paladin groaned.

  “That one made it all the way up here?”

  Sandra seemed intrigued by his annoyance. She sat in a chair beside his small fire, shifting her skirt to the side. Her dress was thick and cut high, practical for the rough terrain surrounding the area.

  “I think all of Mordan will be talking about that one for a while, though the paladin’s name has changed several times. But I still think it is you.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I’ve seen your shield.”

  Jerico shrugged. Seemed pointless to argue it.

  “I wasn’t alone,” he said. “And the men with me fought bravely, many dying to protect others. We fought a few hundred wolf-men, killed most, and chased the rest off. Meanwhile, more than half the town died. It wasn’t some epic victory, not the true version of the story, anyway.”

  Sandra shifted in her seat.

  “I liked the one I heard better. It described you as a man with hair made of fire, and a shield of pure light. You would point it at your enemies, and the light itself would strike them down. I heard not a man died, not a woman or child touched.”

  Jerico thought of the horrors he’d seen, and the many graves he’d dug.

  “I’d rather talk of something else,” he said.

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Oh, why your brother’s keeping me captive. That might be a fun story to hear.”

  Sandra rolled her eyes.

  “That’s something I’d rather not talk about, either,” she said.

  “Forgive me for pressing the issue anyway.”

  Standing, Sandra looked away for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts.

  “What do you know of Lord Sebastian Hemman?” she asked. At Jerico’s shrug, she continued. “Not many know anything about him outside our lands. By law, he rules much of the North. He draws his wealth from our fields, our mountains, and the sweat of our brow. When Kaide could take it no longer, when he was given no choice, he gathered his friends and struck back.”

  “Fascinating,” Jerico said, trying not to sound condescending. “But what does this have to do with me?”

  “You’ll see soon enough,” she said. “Kaide’s off chasing rumors of Sebastian’s knights traveling the road through the forest. You’ll be needed when they return.”

  “Why did you come to talk to me?” Jerico asked before she could exit the door. “Is
it guilt?”

  A sad smile marred her beautiful face.

  “I’m here because I wish things were different,” she said. “I’m here because I want you to know we are not butchers, thieves, and cruel people.”

  “You kidnap, rob, and attack men loyal to the king,” Jerico said. “Your brother breaks hundreds of laws. Oh, and his thugs beat me with clubs. Forgive me for not warming up to him.”

  Sandra left, refusing to argue the point. Jerico slammed a fist against the wall when she was gone.

  “Help me out, Ashhur,” he whispered. “I don’t have a damn clue what I’m doing.”

  An hour or so passed, a disturbing silence compared to the previous day and night. All commotion had died down. Sandra said Kaide had gone after some of Hemman’s knights, and he must have taken the entire camp with him. If there was ever a time to escape, it was now.

  “I want no part of this,” he said, leaning against the door. In the dark, he could see little through the slit. Still, there appeared no guard, and he heard no nearby noises. Putting his hands against the door, he tested the lock’s strength. It budged, but only a little. Stepping back, he kicked it once, twice, and then slammed his shoulder against it. The wood groaned, and the noise seemed thunderous in the quiet. Preparing another charge, he just barely stopped in time before impaling himself on the tip of a spike that pressed through the door’s slit.

  “I must admit,” Sandra said from the other side. “I’m disappointed.”

  “Move aside, Sandra. I won’t be kept prisoner.”

  The metal tip remained.

  “I have a bow as well,” she said. “Even if you kick down the door, you won’t escape. I’ve learned plenty from my brother, Jerico. I know the vital spots to kill a man. You aren’t leaving, not until he gives you his blessing. I’m sorry.”

  Jerico sighed, and he slumped down into the chair Sandra had occupied. It seemed absurd, knowing he’d have to subdue a single woman to make his escape. But armed with a spear and a bow, she was quite capable of killing him. More importantly, he’d have to hurt her to protect himself, and that was something he wasn’t willing to do. To strike at a woman, just because he didn’t like his current sleeping accommodation? Hardly the actions of the champion of mankind he was supposed to be.

  “Very well,” he said, wondering how in the world he’d ended up in such a predicament. “I’ll behave.”

  “Good.”

  The tip vanished, and he saw her eyes peer at him through the door. He could tell she was smiling.

  “You better not tell anyone about this,” he said.

  “Everyone who will listen. Don’t worry, you’ll even make it outside in this tale, before I wrestled you to the ground and beat you unconscious with my bare hands. Should earn a few chuckles around the campfire.”

  Jerico laughed, deciding he easily liked her most of all his jailors so far.

  *

  To prepare himself for bed, Jerico knelt and began his prayers. Barely a few minutes in, he heard distant shouts. Stopping, he went to the small window and tried to see. Torchlight flickered through the trees, and a crowd of men appeared, walking along a path. A couple veered his way, and he stepped back from the window. A short while later, the door opened, and in stepped Kaide. A wicked bruise bled across his brow. Blood stained his clothes.

  “Outside,” he said. “There isn’t enough room in here. Shit, it’s bad, Jerico. I hope you can handle it.”

  Jerico gestured for Kaide to lead the way, and then followed the outlaw. Around a large, central campfire he saw ten bodies, lying in a circle to keep them near its warmth. They all had various wounds, some minor, some severe. Jerico circled them, taking in the damage. Surrounding him were the rest of the men, talking quietly to themselves and watching him intently.

  “You assaulted armored knights,” he said, turning to Kaide. “All of these are by swords. They injured themselves breaking the law, and attacking innocent men.”

  “Innocent?” one of the ruffians asked, and two others had to grab him to keep him from attacking Jerico.

  “Will you heal them?” Kaide asked.

  “Should I?”

  They exchanged a look. Jerico didn’t know what to think, or what to do. Part of him just wanted to alert Kaide to the reality of his situation. In the end, it didn’t matter. The bandit leader stared him in the eye and called his bluff.

  “If you are who I think you are, you would never sit back and watch a man die. Do not argue with me, risking my men death, just to waste my time and satisfy your pride. Do your duty, paladin.”

  Jerico’s stare hardened, but then he turned away. Kaide was right. It didn’t matter if these men were murderers or thieves. He would not watch them suffer needlessly. Circling the fire once more, he sought out the worst of the wounded, and knelt beside a bearded man with a cut across his belly. The man held his fists pressed against it, keeping his entrails from spilling out.

  “Let go,” Jerico said, putting his hands atop his fists. “Close your eyes, relax, and let go.”

  The man reluctantly obeyed. Jerico closed his own eyes and gave himself to Ashhur in prayer. Light shone from his fingers at their contact, pouring across the skin. It knitted the flesh together, healing the wound. Done, Jerico stood, took a deep breath to steady himself, and then went to the next.

  Two of the ten were already dead by the time he could go to them. Several others had mortal wounds, wounds he sealed with his faith. The rest, with minor cuts or broken bones, he treated last. Torn muscles he mended, and broken bones snapped together amid the cries of their owners. At last, Jerico collapsed to his knees and stared into the fire. Cold sweat dripped down his neck, and his head pounded. Nearby, Sandra went from man to man, wrapping what remained of their cuts with bandages, and giving slings to the men who’d broken arms or fingers so they might not strain their tender appendages.

  “Well done,” Kaide said after chatting with a couple of the men who had, only minutes before, been at death’s door.

  “Thanks,” Jerico said, still not opening his eyes. He felt ready to vomit, though he didn’t know if he had anything in his stomach to empty. Something slapped his shoulder, and he opened an eye to see a waterskin. He took it and drank, then turned to the side and vomited it all back up. Coughing, he prayed for the dizziness to stop. At Durham he’d handled worse, but that day felt centuries away. He was tired from the road, nursing bruises and desperate for food and drink. An empty shell, he lay on his back and stared at the stars through the naked canopy of branches.

  Kaide sat beside him, acting unbothered by the vomit nearby. He took his own drink from the waterskin, and then offered it a second time. Jerico weakly waved it away.

  “They were ready for us,” Kaide said. His voice was soft, and it lacked the hard edge it’d had before. “Only reason we lived was because we came at them from both sides. Don’t think they realized just how many have sworn to my name. Still, they wore heavy armor, like yours. Half my men have nothing but clubs, tree branches. Do you know what it takes to bring someone down with only that? Gods damn it all, the gore we left inside that armor …”

  He fell silent for a moment, took a drink.

  “Left twelve men back there, dead or too far gone to survive the trip back. Couldn’t even bury them. Didn’t have the time. Could only burn them.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jerico said. He wasn’t sure if he was, but it felt like the right thing to say.

  “You need to be there with us,” Kaide said, still not looking at him. “My sister’s told me who you are, what you’ve done. Those knights … you could have taken out half of them by yourself. And my friends, my wounded …”

  He wiped at his eyes, quick, subtle.

  “There would have been time for them.”

  Jerico rolled onto his knees, waited for his stomach to settle, and then stood. Ashhur help him, was this all he would ever be good for? Healing the wounded and presiding over the dead?

  “I don’t know what god you
worship, if any,” he said. “But I will pray over your dead, if you would allow it.”

  Kaide nodded.

  “It’ll do a lot of the men good. You have my blessing.”

  There were about sixty of them gathered around the two graves, nearly all sporting cuts and bruises. Four men had taken turns shoveling, and another had whittled down stakes to place above them, with a single letter cut into the wood to mark their names. When the bodies were in place, and the dirt ready to fall, Jerico stood before them. He felt their eyes watching him, felt their confusion, anger, and doubt.

  “Let us pray,” Jerico said, beginning the burial ritual.

  When he was done, they shoveled the dirt back into the grave, and Kaide led Jerico back to his room. When he laid down on the bed, he heard muttered talking, then nothing. Curious, Jerico forced himself back up and to the door. A slight push was enough to confirm what he thought. The door was unlocked. Stay or go, he wondered. What is right?

  In the end, he returned to his bed and slept. Ashhur had guided him there for a purpose. He had to believe that, for all other possibilities frightened him, left him alone and adrift in the land of Dezrel. As sleep came to him, he vowed to find out the reason, and attack it with all his might. But his dreams were not of duty, or vengeance, but of Sandra, smiling at him with her sad smile.

  3

  For several days Darius saw no sign of Velixar, and this heartened him greatly. He always felt his lowest in the prophet’s presence, as if he stood before a standard that he could never hope to achieve. Velixar had the faith of a man who spoke with deities, while Darius could only wander the wilderness road, glad for the moments of silence.

  On the third day, he heard the heavy sound of hoofbeats coming from the south, and he stopped to await their arrival. They might be bandits, knights, or riders from the Stronghold. No matter what, he would neither run nor hide, only face them in the open and meet any challenge issued.

  Ahead, the road curved, and around that curve came six knights in worn platemail. They were not of the Stronghold, that was obvious enough. Darius saw the symbol on their shields, that of a yellow rose, but didn’t recall its significance. He raised his hand in greeting, expecting similar in kind. Instead the horsemen encircled him, their swords drawn.