Closing his eyes, he began his prayers to his deity. The broken bones would have to wait, for the curse of Karak was embedded in his flesh. If it’d been delivered to his chest or throat, he’d have been killed within an hour, if not instantly. At his leg, safely away from his lungs and heart, he’d survived, but it was only a matter of time. It was that curse he needed to banish. He tried to focus on it as he had done with Beth, but he felt drained, empty. Every shake of his fingers added to the pain, and his concentration repeatedly faltered. He wanted to lie down and sleep away the hours, but he knew it would only get more difficult with time.
“Please,” Jerico whispered, panic starting to creep into his heart. “I don’t know if I’m the last. I don’t know what happened at the Citadel. But you can’t have abandoned us. I just ... I can’t believe that. Send me to my death if so, but otherwise, heal this damned leg of mine. I can’t do it on my own. I can’t.”
Kren’s words echoed in his head, strangely powerful.
My faith is stronger!
Perhaps so, but it wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t let such a young whelp like him win. He wouldn’t let him claim his leg, let alone his life, even if he had to demand the healing from Ashhur. Once more Jerico prayed, unable to hear his own words through the blood pounding in his ears. He prayed until he felt no pain, heard no sound, felt no chill.
Sleep took him.
*
Four days later, Jerico limped through the streets of Stonahm. Since healing Beth, he’d been treated the hero, and his belly was full of mulberry pie and sweet autumn cider. He wasn’t completely sure it lacked any spirits, but he hoped Ashhur would be lenient.
“Good to see you about!” a man cried, and Jerico waved back politely, not having a clue as to his name. Slowly he headed toward the northern reaches of the town. The grass was much taller, and it felt uncomfortable brushing against his knee. He ignored it.
North of the town was a pond fed fresh water from a small stream, which often dried up completely until heavy rains came in the spring. The stream kept the water fairly clean, and the people of Stonahm cut the grass low about, swimming and bathing in its waters. Jerico found a log by the side and sat down, beyond relieved to take the weight off his leg. Waiting there for him was Beth, dressed in a pretty yellow dress.
“Thought you might not show,” she said, smiling at him.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re old. Old people don’t heal as fast as young people. That’s what Kalgan says.”
Jerico laughed.
“That so? Kalgan may be right, but you’re wrong about me. I’m hardly old. See any grey hairs on my head?”
She rolled her eyes, obviously not impressed with his defense. Jerico laughed again, then quieted. His eyes fell on her left arm, which was hidden by a long sleeve that, while matching in color, was clearly a new addition. Reaching over, he carefully folded the sleeve twice, revealing the stump ending at the elbow.
“You shouldn’t hide it,” he said.
“Ma says ...” She blushed and looked away. “Ma says if I don’t, the boys won’t like talking to me, and no one will want to marry me.”
He gently tucked a finger underneath her chin and forced her to look at him.
“Smile, and those boys will see nothing but how beautiful you are.”
Her blush deepened.
“Are you ready for your exercises?” she asked.
Jerico took in a deep breath, then sighed.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
Beside the log was a simple creation Jerico had asked Kalgan to make for him. It was a heavy stone with a hole in its center. Through that hole Kalgan had threaded strong rope, forming a second loop along the top. It was that loop Jerico stuck his foot through, sliding it up to his ankle. Shifting his weight on the log until he was comfortable, he nodded to let Beth know he was ready.
“Any song in particular you’d like?” she asked.
“Sing your favorite. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
The second day he’d been bedridden, though his skin had mostly healed, and only the bones needed to be knit back together. Beth had recovered from the bite, and come to him to express her thanks. While he lay there, still battling fever, she’d sung softly to him. Several times he’d drifted off to the sound of her voice, and awoken later to hear the same crystalline beauty. Because of her injury, she’d been excused from nearly all her chores, so when he’d begun preparing his recovery, she’d offered to help.
Beth sang a song of a highwayman in love with a forest maiden, and the whole while, Jerico struggled to lift the stone. He pretended the pain was an enemy, but if it truly was an enemy, it was defeating him. Kren’s blow had eradicated much of his muscle, and while he’d tended it best he could, the newly healed flesh still felt withered, unreliable. Sweat dripped down his neck as he lifted again and again, sometimes pulling it an inch or two off the ground, sometimes not even budging it. Whenever he could, he focused on the lyrics instead of his pain. By the time Beth’s song ended, he slumped, leaning back on his arms.
“Enough,” he said. “I need a moment to breathe.”
Beth nodded and said nothing. As he recovered, Jerico glanced at her, and finally decided to ask about something that had been bothering him.
“That boy, Ricky, he came to us in the forest when you were bitten. I thought I heard he was your brother, yet later Kaide said you were his only child left.”
Jerico felt awkward asking, and was relieved when Beth rolled her eyes, clearly having had this conversation before.
“Ricky’s not my real brother, nor is Ma ... Beverly my real mother.”
Jerico nodded. He’d met Beverly, a plain but kind woman who was Ricky’s mother. She’d come to thank him for what he’d done, once Kalgan had allowed people to visit.
“What happened to your mother?”
Beth brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Do you want another song?” she asked.
Jerico nodded.
“Faster tempo, if you would.”
This time she sang a ditty that’d be right at home in a tavern, and he forced the stone from the ground every single repetition. His knee burned, and the muscles of his lower leg quivered, but he did not relent.
When the fifth song was done, they called it quits. With Beth’s help, Jerico limped down to the pond and splashed water across his face and neck, then dipped his leg below the cold surface. After another few minutes, he tried to stand on his own. He wobbled. Beth went to steady him, but he pushed her away.
“Should have taken Kalgan’s offer up for a cane,” he muttered. He’d made his way to the pond just fine, and by Ashhur, he was going to walk back to town as well.
“Maybe I should have sung shorter songs,” she said as Jerico took another pained step.
“Then I would have made you sing more of them. I’m not daft, girl.”
At her angry frown, he laughed.
“Sorry. You’re right. Tomorrow, I won’t push myself so hard. I promise.”
“You said that yesterday, and you had to rest three times on the way back.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
“You did, and you broke your promise again today. Some paladin you are.”
Jerico feigned a hurt look, and then he took another step, and feigning was no longer required. Step by step, they made their way back to the village. Jerico had every intention of collapsing back in his bed and sleeping for ten hours, but as they reached the edge of town, he heard a sound that made his stomach harden.
“What’s going on?” Jerico asked, his voice low.
“Knights from Yellow Castle,” Beth said. “Please, Jerico, go back. My father says ...”
He gently pushed her aside and turned the corner.
A man and a woman were there, the woman standing before the door to her home, which was shut behind her. Already parts of her dress were torn. The man towered over her, wearing chainmail and carrying a sword that swung from his
hip, still sheathed. Her kissed her on the neck as she pleaded with him to stop.
“Tithes and taxes,” the knight said. “You know you need to pay the lord his due.”
When she turned away from him, he slapped her with his hand, which still wore a gauntlet. The metal bruised her face, and blood dripped from her swollen lip. Jerico took a step closer, unnoticed by either. Stunned, he looked about. They were not in hiding. At least three people walked past, and they kept their eyes ahead, refusing to even look. Anger swelled in Jerico’s chest. He turned back around the corner, a fire in his eyes. Beth saw him and paled.
“Please, you can’t interfere. You can’t!”
“I can.” He hobbled to a pen currently empty of animals, which were still out in the fields. Resting against one side was a shovel, and he took it. Its handle was long, sturdy. Maybe not as potent a weapon as his mace, but it’d do. Beth stepped back, chewing on her fingernails. Limping around the corner, Jerico thought he must look the most pathetic savior, but it didn’t matter. He would not stand by and watch, no matter the reason, no matter what the rest of the village thought or did.
The woman’s blouse was mostly torn, exposing one of her breasts. The knight had cast aside his gauntlets, one hand holding her wrist against the house, the other feeling wherever he wished. Jerico limped closer. The woman saw him, and her eyes widened. He swung. The flat side of the shovel connected with the back of the knight’s head, which slammed forward, striking the door. His legs went weak, and he collapsed onto his rear. The woman stood shocked still, sobbing.
“Cover yourself,” Jerico said to her. “And go to friends, or family. Now.”
She pulled at her dress and rushed away, too scared to say a word. Jerico stood before the knight, holding the shovel in both hands. He kept his movements still, not wanting to reveal the weakness of his knee.
“You bastard,” the knight said, spitting blood. “I’ll gut you for that. This is Lord Sebastian’s land, his town, and his fucking taxes.”
“Were you looking for coins down her blouse?”
The knight grinned, revealing red-stained teeth.
“You really think you’re gonna walk away from this? You’re a farmer with a shovel.”
He stood and drew his sword. His stance was uneven, his balance clearly shaken, no doubt from the blows to his head. Jerico shifted, planting his weight on his good leg.
“I used the flat side as a warning,” Jerico said. “But this iron’s heavy, and the sides are sharp. The next time I hit you, it will leave more than a bruise.”
The knight’s sneer showed how worried he was. Taking a step closer, he swung, a simple overhead chop. Jerico blocked it with the handle of his shovel, wielding it much as he would a staff. The wood was thick, and though the sword cut an indent, it was far from breaking through. Twisting the shovel, Jerico pushed away, changed its angle, and then struck him on the return swing. The metal end smacked into his exposed face, this time blasting free a tooth.
“I’m warning you,” Jerico said. “That was still the flat side.”
The knight collapsed against the side of the house, holding his free hand against his mouth. He said something, but it was muffled against his wrist. Jerico twirled the shovel, hiding the pain he felt. Even the act of swinging put horrible pressure on the joint. If the man managed to tackle him, bring him to the ground, Jerico would have little chance of wrestling free. He couldn’t let him regain his confidence.
“What was that?” Jerico asked, keeping his outward image perfectly calm.
Instead of answering, the knight charged, no doubt hoping for surprise. Jerico had read him with ease, though. The knight had basic training, but was used to relying on his armor and sword to bully about simple farming people. Against someone like Jerico, his attacks were obvious, his strategies transparent. Flipping the shovel about, Jerico jammed the metal into the dirt, bracing it. The knight rammed himself against the other side of the handle, which slipped underneath the metal of his breastplate. The knight gasped, blood and spittle flying from his lips. The sword dropped from his hands, and then he rolled off to the ground.
His teeth clenched against the pain, Jerico walked without a limp to where the sword lay and took it. He tossed the shovel aside.
“Get up,” Jerico said. “Walk out of this village, and go back to wherever you belong.”
The knight rolled onto his knees and vomited. Jerico smacked his rear with the flat of his blade. Glaring, the knight staggered to his feet and headed south. Jerico watched him go, standing perfectly still until he was out of sight. When he was gone, he leaned all his weight on his good leg and let out a gasp.
“Jerico?” Beth asked, having stayed far away during the fight.
“Go find whoever that woman was,” Jerico said. “Make sure she’s all right.”
“But ...”
“Go!”
She stepped back, her mouth open. The anger in his voice left her stunned. Turning, she ran. Jerico looked at the sword, glad to see no blood anywhere on its blade. By now, others had gathered around, whether from guilt, curiosity, or anger, he didn’t know. But he knew how he felt. Seeing the people who had stood by and done nothing, he hurled the sword at them.
“Take it!” he shouted. “Let someone claim it as his own, and maybe next time, use it!”
He limped back to his hut, and on his way, not a soul dared meet his eye. Once there, he gathered what few things he had. Kalgan arrived not much later.
“You’re leaving,” he said, and it was not a question.
“I am.”
“You’re not healthy. We both know this. Where is it you’ll go?”
Jerico sighed. “Back to the forest, with Kaide. I made a promise. I won’t break it now.”
“But the wildwoods are miles away, and on that leg ...”
“The walking will strengthen it as well as if I stayed here.”
Jerico glared at him. He felt tired, exhausted, and drained. More than anything, he felt fury at the people there, whether it was fair or not. He would stay no longer. Jerico was no fool. He knew these things happened. But at least someone could have stepped in. Someone could have summoned a crowd, provided witnesses ...
“I’ll prepare you some food,” Kalgan said. He opened the door, but his hand remained against it, as if he were reluctant to leave. “What you did, it might put us in danger.”
“Then I hope you deal with it better than you did that knight.”
Stinging words, and he regretted them immediately. Kalgan looked at him with sad eyes.
“Fair enough,” he said, shutting the door behind him before Jerico could apologize. He struck the wall with a fist, and once more wished the Citadel remained. If only he could return, be in the company and comfort of his brethren. They’d know what to do. They’d know what path was right.
Beth lingered outside when he stepped out.
“You’ll need a guide,” she said. “Kalgan says your horse is still here, and you can ride it back. Let me go with you.”
He almost said yes.
“Does your Ma know you’re here?”
Her guilty look was enough. Wanting no more reminders of Kren, the knight, or his injury, he took her by the shoulder and kissed her forehead.
“Stay here,” he said. “And be strong.”
Beth looked ready to cry, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.
“Goodbye, Jerico,” she said, hurrying away.
Jerico found his horse and followed the road for several hours, letting the agony of his knee and the wind through his hair pull him away from that last pained look she’d given him, just before turning to run.
7
The story had spread like wildfire throughout the North, and the ears of the gray sisters were always attentive.
“It might be him,” Claire had said the first time they heard it, sitting together in a crowded tavern at a cross-section of the main roads leading to the mountains.
“How could he be that stupi
d, though?” Valessa had asked. “Denouncing Karak to an entire crowd of gatherers? I don’t believe it.”
They’d headed for the Castle of the Yellow Rose just in case, for the drunk teller of the story had been adamant that the man remained there, imprisoned. On the way, they heard another telling, this one less embellished.
“A dark paladin with no flame,” Valessa said. “We’ve found him.”
“Perhaps Darius thought leading worship would restore his faith in the eyes of Karak,” Claire said as they rode.
“It doesn’t matter. No fire, no faith. Karak still wants him dead.”
“Do we go in unknown, or demand an audience with Sebastian?”
Valessa bit her lip.
“He’s in custody, and his punishment ours. We go, and reveal our nature to their lord. It’ll be his head if he tries to deny us our rightful prisoner.”
It’d been three days since the event, if the stories were to be believed. The wind was cold, the road hard and rocky, as they rode toward the castle. At the gates, two guards stopped them, demanding names and reasons for their visit.
“I’m Claire, and this is my sister Valessa,” Claire said, going with their standard cover. “As for our occupation, let’s just say you soldiers would greatly prefer ...”
“No,” Valessa said, interrupting her. She leapt off the back of their horse, not worried that the guards drew their weapons. She threw back her hood and stood at her full height.
“I am Valessa, sister and servant of Karak, come from Mordeina to speak with your lord, Sebastian Hemman. Let us through, and escort us if you must. Our business is urgent, and we will not discuss it here.”
“Have you any proof of this?” asked one of the guards, seeming less impressed than the others.
“Proof?” Valessa asked, smiling at him.
“Valessa ...” Claire warned, still astride her horse.
Valessa ignored her, and instead approached the doubting guard. Slipping her hand down her shirt, she pulled out a pendant from beneath her armor. It was the face of a lion, its mouth open, its teeth bared.
“You wonder if I serve Karak?” she asked. “If I am his powerful servant? Listen closely, dimwitted man, and I will speak to you your proof.”
Paladins 02 - Clash of Faiths Page 8
