Paladins 02 - Clash of Faiths

by David Dalglish

  Kaide put his back to him, instead tending to his horse. When he said nothing, Jerico pressed on.

  “Who is she, Kaide? Why do we ride?”

  “Beth’s my daughter,” he said. “I’ll speak no more of it.”

  Jerico opened his mouth to ask a question, thought better of it, and instead tended his own mount.

  They rode in silence, the only sound that of their horses hoofbeats and heavy breathing. In the distance, Jerico caught sight of a white line of smoke just behind a cluster of hills that broke the monotony of the fields. He glanced over and saw Kaide staring at it, and he knew Stonahm was near. The road led them there, and even if it didn't seem possible, Kaide urged his mount ever faster. Bandit and paladin, they thundered into the dirt streets of the village.

  “Where’s Beth?” Kaide shouted at no one in particular. Already a crowd gathered, and it was obvious to Jerico that Kaide was respected, if not revered. He bit his tongue and resolved himself to say nothing. He would not judge, only listen and learn.

  “Here, Kaide!” shouted an older man, his hairline receding and his blue eyes showing hints of a murky white.

  The people parted, and the two followed the old man into a thatched hut. Inside was dark, and smelled heavily of herbs and incense. Jerico fought the urge to cough.

  “She’s been bitten,” said the man, gesturing to where a young woman slept on a bed, blankets pulled up to her neck. “I’m sure Ricky told you as much. I’ve drained it best I can, but it’s beyond my healing. I’m sorry, Kaide. I tried, I really did, but sometimes it seems like the gods seek a life, and nothing can stop them from taking it.”

  “No god will steal her from me,” Kaide said, kneeling beside his daughter. “Beth? Beth, can you hear me?”

  “Hasn’t stirred for at least an hour,” the old man said, carefully settling into a chair near the bed. “Sleeping more than me, even. Oh, hrmph, where are my manners.”

  He stood and offered Jerico his hand.

  “My name’s Kalgan. Pleasure to meet you ...?”

  “Jerico,” he said. “Of the Citadel.”

  “Citadel?” Kalgan glanced back at Kaide. “Is it ... did you truly find a healer for her?”

  “I did,” Kaide said, standing. When he looked to Jerico, his face was a cracked mask, the emotion behind threatening to break loose at any moment. “Do your duty, paladin.”

  Jerico stepped close to examine the girl. She looked twelve, maybe thirteen. Her hair was dark, the same color Kaide’s must have been before the early gray took over. She had a round face, large cheeks, and a hint of a scar underneath her chin.

  “Which arm?” he asked as he pulled down the blanket.

  “The left,” said Kalgan.

  He needn’t have asked. The fingers of her left arm were black and blue, the veins a violent red as they snaked up to her shoulder. All across the arm were small black lesions.

  “Black fiddler,” he muttered. Behind him, Kaide swore.

  “I thought as much,” Kalgan said, sighing. “I feared to speak it aloud, though you may think me foolish. Didn’t want to make it true by saying it.”

  Jerico chuckled at the superstition as he tried to remember details of such a bite from his time at the Citadel. His lessons on healing magic had been sparse, and mostly focused on a single detail: if his faith was strong, and the injured still alive, then anyone could be saved. Whether she would keep her arm, however, was another matter entirely ...

  “Kaide,” he said, making sure he kept his voice calm. “I may ask you for something you will immediately refuse. I ask you to think on it instead, and to trust me. Can you do this?”

  “What are you talking about? Just tell me.”

  “I said will you do it?” He turned, and the stern look on his face was enough to make Kaide back down.

  “For her,” Kaide said. “Please, just ... save my little Beth.”

  Jerico closed his eyes, and as he whispered the first of many prayers, he touched Beth’s arm. To his sensitive mind, it was like touching fire. He gritted his teeth and endured. He’d healed broken bones and bleeding wounds the size of fists. He would not be defeated by the poison of a spider. Light shone from his touch, and it spread. Jerico dared look only once, but it was enough to make him shudder. The light faltered.

  “What’s wrong?” Kaide asked.

  “Quiet,” Jerico said through clenched teeth.

  The healing magic danced through the flesh of her arm, like long trails of light in his mind’s eye. Everything he touched was burdened with death, tainted black. He tried to flood it with light, to give of his strength to power the healing. As with everything, there had to be sacrifice, and it came from him. He gasped at the effort. Broken limbs were just thin mendings of bone. Cuts were malleable skin. This, though, this was giving life to the dead.

  Sweat poured down his head, and he heard ringing in his ears.

  “Kaide,” he said, his voice labored. “I cannot do it. It’s been too long. Her arm’s begun to rot. She’ll live, I swear on my life she’ll live, but I must remove it.”

  “Her arm,” Kaide said. “But ... no, she’s just ...”

  Jerico glanced back to see Kalgan putting a hand on Kaide’s shoulder. The bandit leader swore again, then looked away.

  “Do it,” he said. “But I will hold you to your oath.”

  “Give me a knife.”

  The work was fast and brutal. Jerico had no time for subtlety. The arm was like an anchor pulling her body toward death. Fever and rot, slowly crawling upward. He cut it off at the elbow, freeing her from it. Blood spilled across the bed. When the arm was removed completely, he pressed his hands against the stump and begged to Ashhur for strength. He should have cut the arm immediately, he knew, but he’d had to try to save it first. That attempt had sapped much of his energy, so that even breathing proved difficult. Now he needed just a little bit more, for some venom remained past the cut, like an embedded thorn.

  “Not for me,” Jerico prayed. “Not for me. For her.”

  He never heard it, never felt it, but Kaide gasped behind him, as did the old man. Jerico counted to ten, then opened his eyes. Beth still slept, but already color was returning to her body. What little red that had shown in her veins was gone. Taking the severed arm, Jerico wrapped it in a bloody blanket and handed it to Kalgan.

  “Burn it,” he said. His hands shook as he held it. “Burn it, and remember why it had to be done.”

  Without a word Kalgan slipped out of the room. Unsure if he could stand, Jerico shoved himself to a sit adjacent to Beth’s bed, giving Kaide room to go to her.

  “Beth,” Kaide said, taking her remaining hand and kissing her forehead. “I’m here. Daddy’s here. You can sleep, but you aren’t going anywhere on me, do you hear? Daddy couldn’t ... Daddy couldn’t take it. You’re all that’s left, all right, so you stay strong.”

  Kaide collapsed into the chair Kalgan had sat in, no doubt remaining at her side during much of her illness.

  “Was she left-handed or right?” Jerico asked, his eyes closed and his head leaning against the wall.

  “Right,” Kaide said, and he laughed mirthlessly. “Should I thank Ashhur for that small favor?”

  “How about the big one? She lives, she breathes, and she’ll love you as much now as she ever did before. An arm’s just an arm.”

  They heard commotion from outside the hut. From his time in Durham, Jerico knew that in such a small village every member would be aware of Beth’s brush with death, and no doubt word of her survival would spread like wildfire. If they had anything to spare for a feast, they’d surely prepare it now.

  “You’re right,” Kaide said after a lengthy pause. “Forgive me.”

  “Nothing to forgive.”

  Kalgan stepped back inside, and he looked much relieved to have the severed arm gone.

  “I must say, Jerico, I usually scoff at the little things others insist are miracles from the gods, but your arrival is surely one such miracle. To ha
ve one of our paladins die, only for another to come in our hour of need ...”

  “Die? Who died?” Jerico asked.

  Kalgan glanced at him, raising his bushy eyebrows.

  “He’d been with us only a few weeks. Young lad named Galahall. Did you know him?”

  Jerico shook his head.

  “Younger than me, most likely. How did he die?”

  “Troublesome, that, but I’ve always said the dealings between gods should be left to the gods themselves. He fought a paladin of Karak, over what I’m not sure. I can only assume it was important.”

  Jerico bolted to his feet, losing his balance as he did. Kaide caught him, looking bewildered.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “The dark paladin,” Jerico asked. “Is he still here?”

  “Kren? Yes, why?”

  Jerico looked to the thin door of the hut, imagining the commotion outside. In the minutes that had passed, surely everyone in the village had heard the same story, that of a paladin coming and healing sick little Beth. A paladin of Ashhur ...

  “We need to go, now,” Jerico said, but it was already too late.

  The door was kicked open, and there stood a man in the black armor of Karak, a roaring lion painted in yellow across his shield. His sword was still sheathed, but his hand rested upon it, ready to draw. Jerico stood to his full height, his right hand leaning against the wall to keep himself steady.

  “You’re young,” Jerico said, for he thought of nothing else to say.

  Kren sneered. He was a handsome man, his brown hair falling far beyond the reach of his helmet. Shadows of a beard grew about his chin.

  “You come without weapon, and without armor?” Kren asked, surprised. “Was this a ploy, or a disguise? Surely you have not cast aside your faith if you can heal the bandit’s girl. Such sad sport is this.”

  “I don’t need either to handle a young pup like you,” Jerico said, wishing he felt as bold as he sounded. “But this is a house of healing. Would you disgrace your hosts by spilling blood across this floor?”

  “Enough!”

  Kaide stepped between them, and he glared at Kren.

  “What is going on here?” he asked. “What madness draws you to challenge a man you have never met?”

  “This has nothing to do with you, Kaide. Step aside.”

  “Not until I hear something that makes some damn sense.”

  Kren drew his sword, a serrated blade that swarmed with dark fire. He pointed it at Jerico’s throat.

  “Their time is at an end,” he said. “Karak has called for war. What paladins of Ashhur are left are few. I will not lose such an honor as to have slain two of their kind.”

  “This man has saved the life of my sister, and my daughter. Consider the honor denied.”

  They glared at one another, the tension thick enough to cut. Jerico knew what was about to unfold, and he could not allow it. With such close quarters, and without any armor, Kaide didn’t stand a chance. He would not save Beth’s life just for her to wake to her father’s slaughter. The dark paladin was preparing for an attack. No time left to think, Jerico glanced at the walls. The hut was old, and appeared used only as a house of healing. Its walls were thin, aged boards with rusted nails. Swallowing his pride, he grabbed Kaide from behind, flung him to the side, and then dove the other way.

  His shoulder hit the wall first, followed by the rest of his body. The wood cracked, and boards tore loose. Jerico rolled along the grass, clenching his teeth against the pain of a dozen cuts across his exposed arms and legs. Pulling out of the roll, he spun to see Kren giving chase. The gathered crowd shouted their disproval, for they knew Jerico must be the stranger that had come to heal Beth. As Jerico watched, several men tried to block Kren’s way, only for one to be cut down, and two others shoved aside. Despite their anger, the villagers were unarmed men and women. What could they do against a man fully armored and wielding a blade of dark flame?

  Jerico glanced down at himself. Good question. What could he do unarmed and unarmored versus such an opponent? Still, no others would die for him.

  “Let him pass!” Jerico shouted. “I stand here on open ground. Face me, dog of Karak!”

  Reluctantly the crowd relented, and Kren burst forth, running as fast as he could in his armor. Jerico tensed. Mobility was his only defense. Even with superior faith, he had no item to project that power through, negating any other potential advantage he might have had.

  Kren tried to gut him without slowing his charge, no doubt trusting his armor to protect him should they collide. Jerico twisted, avoiding just in time. Kren’s feet skidded across the ground, and he changed directions before Jerico could dodge again. Blood splashed over them both as the blade wounded his chest. Crying out in pain, Jerico fell to one knee, avoiding a blow that would have taken off his neck. Lunging, he wrapped Kren in a grapple, attempting to lift him from his feet. Kren’s shield jammed into his shoulder, and the weight was too great. Unable to complete the tackle, Jerico shifted again, positioning his leg behind Kren’s knee. The hilt of Kren’s sword rammed down on the top of his head. Forcing through the pain, he shoved again, knocking the dark paladin to his back.

  By now the crowd had reformed, and they were hurling insults and hissing at Kren. As Jerico pinned Kren’s sword, he wished the crowd would do something useful, like tossing him a shield. He managed a few solid blows before Kren pulled his shield high enough to protect himself. The dark paladin struggled, unable to lift his sword with Jerico pinning his wrist, but armored as he was and his face now protected, Jerico knew he had little chance to do any more damage.

  Unless ...

  Hoping surprise would be on his side, he shifted so that his left knee pinned the blade. Fire burned into his flesh, and he screamed, but he did not relent. With both hands, he clutched Kren’s shield, pulling it aside. Kren turned his head, expecting another blow, but that wasn’t Jerico’s plan. Instead he grabbed the inner handle, attempting to wrestle away control. Kren fought, but as Jerico gained further control, he saw a blessed sight: the light of his faith burning across the outer surface of the shield, peeling away the lion and turning the black paint to gold.

  “I will break you!” Kren screamed. “You’re a blasphemy! I will burn you with fire!”

  Doing a good enough job already, Jerico thought, his entire left knee throbbing in unbearable pain. As the light swelled on his shield, Jerico lifted it higher, trying to press it against Kren’s flesh. Before he could, Kren released the shield completely, and his fist smashed against Jerico’s leg while filled with the fury of his god.

  “Heretic!”

  The dark energies swirled through his already wounded leg, bursting burnt flesh and shattering the bones of his knee. Jerico fell back, his mind white with pain. On pure instinct he clutched his shield before him, his only defense. Kren rose to his feet, blood dripping from his nose and one side of his face burned from where his cursed helmet had begun to melt from the proximity to the holy shield.

  “My faith is stronger,” Kren said, his upper body rising and falling with each labored breath. “Give Ashhur my contempt when I send you to him.”

  “Not today,” Kaide said, having hidden amid the crowd. His dirk slipped through a gap near Kren’s lower back, piercing his spine. Kaide’s other arm wrapped about Kren’s neck, holding him in place so he could not retaliate. After a moment, Kaide let him go. The paladin dropped, his eyes lifeless.

  Seeing this, Jerico let go of the shield and collapsed. Kaide was over him in a moment, examining his knee.

  “You ...” With the pain so great, Jerico struggled for every word. “You stabbed him in the back.”

  “I did,” Kaide said, cutting off Jerico’s pant leg so he could see the wound better.

  “Not ... honorable.”

  Jerico laughed, delirious amid the pain.

  “This world’s life or death,” Kaide said, frowning. “Like I give a damn about honor.”

  His vision fadin
g, Jerico closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing. Around him, he heard murmured sounds of people talking.

  “Carry him,” someone said, most likely Kalgan. “Gently, please.”

  Hands grabbed him, and he screamed.

  “I said gently! Watch for his leg. Gods, what a mess.”

  That was the last Jerico heard before he blacked out completely.

  5

  The numbers gathered for the offering stunned Darius. It seemed like the entire countryside had come to hear his words and receive Karak’s blessing. Every time he glanced out from behind the curtain, he felt his chest tighten, and panic swell in his throat. The crowd waited in the courtyard, warmed by the thick clothes they wore and the few scattered fires built among them. Meanwhile, Darius remained in the castle, thinking of excuses for delay. When the service began, he would step out onto a balcony, and overlook the crowd from above as if he were their king.

  “There’s so many,” Darius said, checking for what seemed like the tenth time.

  “Of course,” Sebastian said, adjusting his cloak. “Service is obligatory, or at least it was until our priest left, and we had no one to administer the offerings. Are you nervous, son?”

  “Do not call me son,” Darius said, harsher than he meant. “I am a warrior for Karak, and will not be insulted so.”

  “Of course, of course, I meant no offense. It’s only a term of endearment for someone younger than I.”

  Darius looked to the curtain, and he listened to the impatient murmurings of the crowd. Seemed strange to him for service to be mandatory, but he’d heard of smaller towns having such rules, so it wasn’t that unusual. Sometimes to cultivate faith, the faithless needed to be forced onto the path of righteousness.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I am nervous. I’ve taught only in small villages. Out there ... how many, a thousand? Two?”

  “Last census count? Four thousand and three hundred, at least within walking distance. Those too far away must give their tithes along with their taxes. But don’t worry, Darius. I’ll be at your side the whole time.”