“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 stupid, 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.”
Her gaze held him. There was a charm in her words, and power in her eyes. The others watched as she slipped beside him, ran a finger along his neck, and then brushed his ear with her lips. She took in a soft breath, and then unleashed the fury of Karak. It was not her voice that screamed, but that of the Lion. The others clenched their hands against their heads, but the guard stood still, his mouth open. Blood dripped down his neck, spilling from his ears. When the roar ended, he collapsed.