The bandit shrugged.
“If I was to fall to my death, I’d prefer not to see the ground coming. Up to you, though.”
The paladin ground his teeth.
“You’re not helping.”
Kaide walked along the stone bridge across the chasm, eventually vanishing beyond the reach of the shield’s light. Praying to Ashhur for the steadiest footing known to man, Jerico began crossing. The bridge was several feet wide, and it felt sturdy enough when he stepped. But the stone itself was wet, for water dripped from ceiling as if it were a lazy rain. The thought of a single slip, a lost grip on a rope, all leading to a very, very long fall ...
“You still alive?” Kaide called out, his voice echoing.
“Yes,” Jerico said, unable to muster a worthy retort to such a stupid question.
Halfway across he felt something smack against his shoulder. He immediately froze, and had to choke down his cry so Kaide would not hear. It was a rope, just a rope, though what it hung from he had no clue. Deciding that just for once they could have used the front gate, he continued. When reaching the other side, Jerico hurried the last few steps, beyond relieved to be inside another, much smaller, tunnel. Kaide clapped him on the back, then pointed back toward the bridge.
“Feel that rope?” he asked. “When I first came here, I was told that if you pulled it and held, it’d collapse enough stones from the ceiling to crush the bridge into a thousand pieces. Like I said, I pity the fools trying to give chase through here.”
Jerico pushed further ahead into the tunnel, wanting nothing more to do with the chasms. He hoped Kaide didn’t notice the slight shaking of his shield as he held it aloft for light.
“How much farther?” he asked.
“Not far.”
Sure enough, the cave angled upward, then ended with an iron door. There was no handle of any kind, and when Jerico pressed against it, it lacked the slightest give.
“Locked and barred from the inside,” Kaide explained. “Just in case someone gets too clever. Bang on it a few times. The jailor will hear.”
“Jailor?”
Kaide looked at him as if he were dimwitted.
“I said we were visiting the dungeons, didn’t I?”
Jerico struck the door with his fist, hurting his ears with the loud clang of his platemail striking metal. After a wait, and an impatient gesture from Kaide, Jerico did so a second time.
A tiny slit in the door opened up, letting in a beam of light that fell upon Jerico’s breastplate.
“The man from Ashvale,” Kaide said, stepping in front of the paladin. “And a friend.”
“You know the password?”
“I know you, One-Eye, and you know me. Now open the damn door.”
“Was that the password?” Jerico asked as the slit shut, and they heard a heavy thud as the bolt on the other side was removed.
“Nah. I just like messing with One-Eye. One time he kept me waiting for an hour while he tried to convince Arthur that the king of Mordan was down here.”
“Why’d he think that?”
“Because that’s who I told him I was.”
The small, circular door opened, flooding the tunnel with light. Kaide exited first, then offered Jerico a hand. As the jailor dropped the door shut behind him, Jerico took in his surroundings. Sure enough, they were in a dungeon, albeit a small one. He saw only two cells, and both were empty. The walls were packed dirt instead of stone. The jailor himself was an ugly man with, true to his name, only one eye. The other was missing, and without an eye patch, the vacant slot made his face all the more grotesque.
“Is milord expecting you?” One-Eye asked.
“I don’t know. Should we go ask him if he is?”
One-Eye scratched his head.
“Guess that’s all right. You go find out if he is. I’d hate to bug him if he ain’t.”
“That’s a good man,” Kaide said, smacking One-Eye’s shoulder with an open palm. “Stay sharp. I heard something big following us in the tunnel. I think it’s a dagadoo.”
“You seen it, too?”
One-Eye clutched his club tightly with both hands.
“I heard it. You can, too, if you listen quietly enough. Come on, Jerico.”
Kaide led him toward the stairs out of the dungeon.
“Dagadoo?” Jerico asked.
Kaide shrugged.
“He’s been hunting it for a year now. One-Eye’s a half-orc, you know.”
Jerico glanced back at the big lug, who crouched atop the closed tunnel door with his ear pressed against the metal.
“Does that explain the ... you know ...”
“That and more.”
Two guards stood at the top of the stairs, each holding a spear. They appeared to have been waiting for them, and without a word, one gestured for them to follow. They walked through the castle, which appeared plain and open compared to the earthen beauty of the caverns. At last they reached the lord’s hall, which was just the throne, two benches, and many, many guards.
“Kaide,” the lord of the caves said upon their arrival, standing to greet the man.
“Arthur,” Kaide said, bowing low. Jerico did likewise.
Arthur was a tall man with a heavy beard. When he stood, it was with the perfectly straight posture of a man who had spent years among fighting men. His green eyes were youthful, though his beard betrayed a hint of gray.
“I see you have brought a guest,” Arthur said, his deep voice booming in the enclosed room. “Greetings, paladin of Ashhur. I ask the privilege of your name.”
“Jerico of the Citadel, your grace.”
“The Citadel? I’ve been hearing rumors of its collapse. Is there any truth to the matter, or are the peasant-folk spreading lies?”
“No lies,” Jerico said quietly. Arthur’s face softened.
“Accept my condolences. No man should lose his home. Perhaps some other time you may tell me the story of how it happened, if you even know it.”
“If you wish, milord.”
“Forgive me for the intrusion,” Kaide said, “but matters have pressed me beyond courtesy. Sebastian has gone too far, Arthur. His knights descended upon Stonahm, killed many, burned our crops, and raped our wives and daughters. Twice now he has brought ruin to my home, and I will stand for it no longer.”
Arthur sat down on his throne, plain wood stained a dark brown. His hand stroked a crease in the wood, a habit of thought.
“I have never denied my brother’s occasional brutality,” he said, sounding distracted.
“But this is beyond that. This was unprovoked, nothing but a vicious display to enforce his rule. Stories of it should be reaching your hall very soon, if they have not already. I’ve sown with gold and coin a hundred seeds of rebellion, and now is the time for them to sprout. The people are ready to rise against him. They just need a name, a leader to call them to action.”
“And I wonder, why is that not you?” Arthur asked, leaning back in his chair. “The common folk love you. They tell stories of such generosity that show either they are mad to believe them, or you are mad to have done them. You would have me depose my brother, and then what? Set you up as a lord of some sort? Hand the realm over to you, so I may return to my caves? Or will those same people yearning for rebellion find the stories changed, so that I am now the villain?”
“I seek vengeance against Sebastian,” Kaide said, struggling to remain calm. “That is all I desire. You know this.”
“Aye, I do. And I know that vengeance is blinding, and once it is met, a hole remains. What will you see when your sight returns?”
“I’ll see my daughter,” Kaide said softly. “The one Sebastian’s men ravaged only two weeks prior. My men will lay down their arms, and we will return to our homes. I’ll fill that hole you speak of with the love of my Beth, the only child I have left of my precious wife. My wife, whom your brother killed. Do not doubt my loyalty, my aims, or my honor. It is you who should have ruled the North, you who could have
prevented all of this. I ask that you do so now.”
Arthur pressed his knuckles against his lips as he thought. His eyes flickered between the two of them. Jerico felt the air about him thicken, and the guards seemed nervous. No doubt Kaide speaking of Arthur’s denied inheritance was a grievous breach of protocol.
“Sebastian has thrice my number of soldiers,” he said at last. “He has all the coin, all the wealth, and all the land. Can your simple villagers make up for that? Can they wield weapons on a battlefield, pay for our food, and lay siege to the Castle of the Yellow Rose?”
The slightest smile curled at Kaide’s lips.
“Just because we might not win doesn’t mean we are wrong to fight. Claim your inheritance, Arthur.”
Jerico’s mouth dropped a little. He couldn’t decide if Kaide had learned from what he’d said, or simply felt like using it because it furthered his cause. The paladin almost felt betrayed, though he knew it silly to think so.
The words had their effect on Arthur, though, far more than they had on Kaide. The lord sat up straighter in his chair, and he motioned for his guards.
“I will need time to think on this,” he said. “For you have given me much to think on. Until then, you will stay as guests in my castle, and have what little comforts I can afford. Sir Cyan, please, take them away.”
“With me,” said a dark-haired man, stepping from behind the lord’s throne. “I’ll escort you to your rooms.”
Their accommodation was simple, but acceptable, with the two to share a room. They flipped a coin to see who got the bed, Kaide winning. Jerico eyed the coin, suspecting trickery, but Kaide refused to say either way, denying the paladin the chance to know if he spoke truth or lie.
“Do you think Arthur will join us?” Jerico asked as he spread sheets across the cold floor and began taking off his armor.
“He’s easily manipulated, so long as you can tug at his sense of honor. Your earlier words did that pretty well, I think.”
“Nice to know I was needed.”
Kaide chuckled.
“Consider yourself emotional support. That, and having a paladin at my side does wonders to elevate my own status in the eyes of Arthur. Trust me on that. It makes it harder for him to see me as just a rugged, lawless bandit.”
“Even if that is what you are.”
“You’re free to leave at any time.”
Jerico fluffed his pillow, then lay down on the floor to test its comfort. It was far from comfortable.
“One day,” the paladin muttered as Kaide took out the coin and rolled it across his knuckles, mischief glinting in his eyes. “One day, I’ll take you up on that.”
11
“Why have we come here?” Darius asked as high above the stars twinkled.
“And you complain of my questions,” Velixar said, walking beside him. “Surely you can think of why we return.”
Before them stretched the town of Durham, Darius’s place of teaching for over a year. It was there he had tended his flock, and there he’d first met Jerico. A hundred memories flooded him as the two walked through the quiet streets. Time had erased the bloodstains, but not the vicious claw marks across the many buildings. Wolf-men had torn through the village, and Darius had stood against them, side by side with Jerico. They’d been heroes, he knew, and his name was retold in stories all throughout the North. He thought of that night, and of the pure calm he’d felt at Jerico’s side. There’d been such a wonderful simplicity to it all. The wolves had been his enemy, Jerico his friend, and together they fought until death.
But what would Velixar have called for? And what did he want now?
“Is it because of Jerico?” Darius dared ask.
“Everything we do, in one sense or another, is because of him,” Velixar said, frowning. “Because of your failure to kill him, to be exact. If you’re to ask questions, learn to ask better ones.”
They stopped in the center of town. Darius looked to homes, seeing a surprising number of new ones. After that night, he’d talked with Jerico of the survivors, merely a third of what they had been. Still, they had rebuilt, and now slept in peace, though he wondered how many dreamt of dark shapes crossing the river, yellow eyes glinting ...
“I wish you could sense it,” Velixar said, closing his eyes and lifting his arms to the sky. “Even in death, the power of life lingers on. Not just for mankind, either. A shame the bodies of the wolves were burned. They would make excellent servants for Karak.”
They reached the center of town, and there Velixar stopped. He seemed too pleased with himself for Darius to feel comfortable. In the distance, wild dogs began howling, as if they sensed the presence of the prophet.
“Do you know why I have brought you here?” Velixar asked.
“I can think of many reasons, therefore I cannot say. Why?”
“You let Ashhur’s paladin teach here, unchallenged, unquestioned. You let his lies spread, let his frailties be viewed as strength. Tonight, you shall rectify this error. Call the town. Bring them before you, and in the dead of night, show them truth.”
The prophet turned and began walking toward the distant forest that outlined the Gihon River.
“Will you not stay?” he asked.
“This is your test,” Velixar said, looking back. “Before the night’s end, I will return. Pray I am pleased with what I find when I do.”
Darius watched him go, and felt relieved when he was gone. For the first time since the dungeon, he was alone. Even when he prayed, he felt Velixar’s presence lingering like an intruder. At least now he could breathe.
“Rectify my error,” he muttered, looking about. “Easier said than done.”
In the deep of night, all would be asleep. Time to wake them up. He took his sword and stabbed it into the dirt before him. Clutching the hilt, he harnessed the power of Karak in one of the few ways he knew how. His voice multiplied in volume, thundering over the town as he gave his call.
“To me!” he cried. “To the center! I am Darius, returned, and my news is grave!”
Three times he let out his cry, until certain everyone would hear and obey. No doubt they felt fearful of another attack by the wolf-men. Let them. What waited by the river was far more dangerous than any wolf.
“Darius?” asked a familiar voice. Of the first to arrive was Jeremy Hangfield, the wealthiest landowner of the village. He wore heavy robes tied with a gray sash. At his side was his daughter Jessie, clutching his hand tight.
“Jeremy,” Darius said, tilting his head in respect. “I’m glad you’ve come. I will need your help in convincing the rest.”
“Convincing them of what?”
Instead of answering, Darius shouted again, urging the villagers to hurry. He beckoned them closer with his arms. As he spun, he took in the faces, former friends, acquaintances. For a moment, he thought there were still many lagging behind, perhaps even sleeping, but then realized the extent of the damage the wolf-men had inflicted. Two-thirds of the town, Jerico had claimed after taking count that horrible night. So many faces he did not see, and his heart ached for their fate. How many had been of his own congregation? Worse, how many had died with their faith clutching a lie?
“I know you all, as you know me,” Darius began. He’d always been comfortable speaking to crowds. He’d even joked with Jerico about it. His faith had given his words a fire the other paladin could not match, but tonight ... tonight, he felt timid, quiet. Once he might have spoken, and trusted his words to be heard, but now he shouted as if he feared the sounds of the night would drown him out.
“I am Darius, paladin of our great lord Karak. I come to you with a heavy heart, and a heavier conscience. Many of you once gathered about when I lectured, and to you, I apologize for my absence. This night will be kindest to you, so do not fear what I have to say. To those who knelt with the paladin, Jerico, it is you whom I speak to with greatest urgency.”
“Come inside,” Jeremy said, his voice low. “Tell me first what danger wakes us i
n the night. Don’t do this here. You look a man feverish and ill.”
“No!” Darius screamed. “I am here because I must be. I have no choice. No choice! The darkness walks this night, and it brings a fire more dangerous than the teeth of wolves. It brings the fires of the Abyss. Forgive me, people of Durham, for my weakness. I let a liar become my friend. I let falsehoods be spoken next to my truths. In cowardice, I did not act, but I must now. Those of you who would worship Ashhur, I tell you: your god is false. What he teaches is lies and delusions, a doctrine made for a different world, not our own. Bend your knee, and swear to Karak. Judgment has come. Do not hesitate. Do not question. Bend the knee!”
Angry murmurs spread through the crowd. Few bowed, and even they seemed upset.
“Enough of this madness,” Jeremy said, grabbing Darius’s arm. “You disturb our rest for this?”
“Get back!”
Darius shoved him aside, and he pulled his greatsword free of the earth. Its fire burned across the blade, but not just the blade. His blackened hand was consumed as well, a dark flame wreathing his exposed skin, burning away the gauntlet.
“If you will not bow, you must leave tonight!” he cried. “No delay. No waiting. For the sake of your very lives, I demand this of you. Durham belongs to Karak now. If you would still live your lives in chaos, then go elsewhere.”
The crowd’s anger increased tenfold.
“This is our home!” they shouted. “Our land!”
Darius looked to them, and in their eyes he saw only fear and confusion. Symptoms of chaos.
“Do not misunderstand me,” he said. He pointed his blade at Jeremy. “I once lacked courage. No longer. I will slay all those who neither bow, nor flee. No more words. No more arguments. You all have heard, and know I speak truth.”
“What’s the matter with you?” asked a man, pushing to the front of the crowd. Darius recognized him as Jacob Wheatley, a poor farmer. He held a heavy club in hand, just one of many that had come to his gathering armed with simple weaponry. “Wasn’t so long ago you stood here and defended us. You saved us from the wolves, and now you’re telling us to leave?”
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