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 have 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.