“Victory,” Jerico muttered, looking toward where Arthur’s men stood in defense far down the ditch. He could only barely see them, but they still looked terribly outnumbered.
“You held off legions of wolf-men with mere villagers,” Kaide said, turning on him. “Don’t you lose hope on me now. Lift that damn shield of yours. Let my men see you still stand!”
Though his side ached, and his legs felt on fire, he stood and held his shield high.
“None pass,” he shouted as loud as his tired lungs could manage. “Not here. Not while my light still shines!”
The men took up the call, and they lifted their own weapons, daring the soldiers to cross the ditch.
Then Gregane’s men let out a cry, and the entire army did just that. At their position, Kaide’s men were horribly outnumbered, but unlike the rest of the battlefield, the ditch before them remained empty. That quickly changed. Jerico kept his shield low and swung, smashing his mace through helmets and chestplates. The ditch was deep enough that it came up to the assaulters’ waists, and they had to abandon all pretense of attacking to climb. The rest of the bandits kicked and shoved, and they beat at hands and arms with their weapons. Body by body they filled the ditch.
“Too many!” Jerico cried as he looked to the sides. Gregane’s men were spreading out, going beyond where they could defend.
“No shit,” Kaide yelled back, whirling beside him. His two blades were coated with blood. Between dodging the chaotic swings, he’d dip low and knife a man’s throat or plunge a dirk through an eye before continuing along. Jerico was far less fancy, but just as efficient. No man gained ground before him. He shoved with his shield, trusted his armor to protect his lower body, and kept his mace moving side to side. The screams of the dying grew. Jerico looked once to his left and saw enemy soldiers climbing up. In less than a minute, they’d be surrounded.
“We can’t hold!” he shouted to Kaide as he slammed his shield to the ground, the light momentarily blinding his attackers. “Give the retreat!”
Kaide gritted his teeth, and his attacks took on a new frenzy. They’d been forced to fall back, unable to hold the ditch any longer. Men climbed free, and they stayed back, defending the rest of their forces. Kaide slashed into them, his blades finding every crease, every gap in the armor. Jerico reminded himself to ask who trained him should they all survive. But despite the fury, there was no way he could turn the tide, not by himself. Already he heard cries to their left, of Arthur’s troops sounding the retreat.
The battle was lost.
“Go!” Jerico shouted, plunging into the gathered forces. Blows rained down upon him, denting his armor and slashing cuts across his face. He swung his shield in a high arc, slamming away soldiers, and then grabbed Kaide by the shirt. With all his might he flung the man away.
“I said run!” he screamed as all around him the bandits died. They needed no further orders, not from Kaide. Casting aside their weapons, the remaining few fled. Kaide looked to Jerico, and he mouthed a promise the paladin could not hear amid the din. Then he turned and ran. Jerico brought his attention back to the soldiers, who were cheering their victory. Most rushed to assault, with many giving Jerico a wide berth. They wanted the fleeing men, the ones lacking armor and weaponry.
Twenty remained behind, though, surrounding Jerico in a wide circle. They were the furious, the ones who had lost friends to his mace. Jerico braced himself, his shield tucked against his body as he met their stares.
“Victory is yours,” he said. “No one else must die.”
“Sebastian will want him prisoner,” one of the soldiers said, though the rest murmured in disapproval. None seemed ready to attack, for everyone clearly knew the first to attack would die. Jerico kept shifting, letting none see his back for long.
“To the Abyss with what Sebastian wants,” said their leader, who cast off his helmet so Jerico could see his glare. “Too many died at his feet. Drop your mace, paladin, and I will make it merciful.”
Jerico grinned
“I’ll die with my weapon in hand,” he said. “And only if you can best me.”
The rest tensed. The attack was soon to come, and would begin with the first blow. Jerico prayed that Ashhur would be kind, and take him into his arms. He braced for the cries of battle.
The cries came, not of victory, but pain. Fire burned a ring around him, keeping him safe. Another blast of flame came in from outside the forest, consuming many of the soldiers. They turned to face their attacker, as did Jerico, whose blood ran cold at what he saw. Approaching the forest was a man in the black robes of Karak, his deathly skin pale in the sunlight. Dim red eyes shone from beneath his hood, which hid all but his bemused smile. A woman was with them, dressed in gray. Two dark paladins walked at his side, one a stranger, and one painfully familiar.
“Darius,” Jerico whispered.
“He is mine,” the man in black said, pointing to the remaining soldiers. “Go seek the spoils of your war elsewhere.”
Despite their fury at his magic, the remaining men knew they could not challenge one who wielded fire with his bare hands. They hurried on, chasing after Kaide. Jerico lifted his shield, his eyes unable to leave Darius. The man had a starved look about him, all traces of his good humor long vanished. Pain was evident in his eyes as he gave Jerico a cold glare. Around Jerico, the fire spread, setting trees aflame. At his feet, though, the grass blackened and died, but did not burn. The heat was heavy, but the smoke rose on the wind, and the fire only burned outward.
“Paladin of Ashhur,” shouted the pale man who seemed a priest. “Karak has declared your life forfeit. Meet your executioner.”
And then Darius drew his sword. At sight of the dark fire wreathed about its blade, Jerico felt his last vestige of hope die.
17
Darius felt the eyes of everyone upon him as he stepped into the burning forest. Even Karak seemed to watch him, and he prayed he would not disappoint. His faith was strong. He would endure. No matter that Jerico looked to him with such betrayal and sadness that it rent a hole in his heart. No matter that he felt fury at the entire circumstances thrusting them into such a battle. Only Karak’s will mattered, and Karak’s desire was plain, simple.
“I will not ask for forgiveness,” Darius said as he lifted his sword with both hands and adopted an offensive stance. “Not for this. You are to die, Jerico. My god demands it.”
For a brief moment, the old Jerico surfaced, a half-smile stretching at his face.
“Then tell him no.”
Darius grinned, though he felt no humor.
“Not this time. I have rejected him once, and was rejected in turn. Not again. You are a plague upon this world, a false light that must be extinguished. Dezrel was not made in your image. Ashhur’s hope is a hope of fools and peasants. Karak is truth. The wretched, the broken, the selfish, the weak… they will burn in fire. My fire.”
He swung, and it seemed his entire world slowed to a crawl. His sword struck Jerico’s shield, two lights intertwining, the dark and light bursting together in violent sparks that showered the ground. Darius felt a spike of pain from the contact, but Jerico felt it as well. Both staggered back, breathing heavily.
“I won’t break,” Jerico said, repositioning his shield. “You know that.”
“I know you’re a fool.” He swung again, trying to shatter Jerico as if he were a stone. Sword and shield connected, and the shockwave of it echoed throughout the forest. “I know my faith is stronger. I will break you. I have no choice!”
At his third swing, Jerico parried it aside with his mace and then lunged, his shield leading. Darius screamed at the painful light. Never before had it made his eyes ache so. He turned away and rolled, avoiding a swing from the mace. Spinning on his knees, he kicked to his feet, stabbing. Jerico shifted to the side, narrowly avoiding an impaling.