“You’ll die,” she cried as her daggers struck his shield amid a shower of sparks. “You, your whore, the bastard Darius…all of you will die, sacrificed in Karak’s name!”
Her movements grew faster, a twirling monster of smoke. But time was running out, and Jerico no longer had the patience.
“No,” he said, lifting his shield high, then slamming it to the ground. “We won’t.”
He cried out the name of his god. The light on his shield flared, brighter and brighter, until the clearing shone as if a blue sun had risen in the sky. Valessa let out a cry akin to a cat in pain. Her flesh peeled, and her daggers lost their glow. Jerico swung, his mace passing through her chest. Valessa stumbled, and it seemed to take longer for her shadowy body to put itself back together. Her legs wobbled, and Jerico flung his shield toward her as the light dimmed. She shrieked again, then was gone.
Jerico gasped in air, his shoulders heaving, as he looked about the clearing. In his mind, he felt no danger, heard no warning from Ashhur. He forgot all about the gray sister, for he heard Sandra weeping. He clipped his mace to his belt, flung his shield onto his back, and then rushed to her side. A lump in his throat, he knelt and took her hands in his. They were soaked with blood.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I must.”
He pulled her hands apart to look. The stab wound was wide, circular. Valessa had twisted the blade on the way out, he realized. He clutched Sandra’s hands tighter, and did his best to keep down his hatred. No matter what, it wasn’t right.
“I can save you,” he whispered, making sure none of his doubt crept into his voice. “Trust me, Sandra. You won’t die here. I’ve got you.”
He pressed his hands into the wound, the blood, and the exposed intestines. His fingers shook, and he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes to keep them still. Fear and doubt would ruin his ability to be a conduit of healing power.
“Please Ashhur,” he whispered. “Please, this is all I know to do.”
Light shone, and his tears fell upon her chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw blood, and a vicious scar, but the bleeding had stopped. She’d still be weak, and he knew it would take several days before she recovered from the loss of blood. But her pulse was strong, and when he touched her face, she smiled at him.
“Do strange men and women attack you often?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
“More than I’d prefer. Can you stand?”
Sandra nodded. He stood, gently took her into his arms, and lifted. Her feet were unsteady beneath her, but he kept her still. She looked like she might vomit for a moment, but it passed. Her whole body trembled as if she were cold.
“Who was that?” Sandra asked, glancing about the forest.
“Someone with a grudge.”
“Is she dead?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
She tried to step away, but it was too much. He caught her, and looked back to Kaide’s camp, torn. Could he really take her with him, wounded as she was? A day or two of bed rest was what she needed, not rough travel.
“Sandra,” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“I’m going,” she said. Her fingers clutched his arm in a vise-like gripe, and her other hand pressed against her stomach. “If not now, I never will.”
Jerico couldn’t believe her strength. If that was what she wanted, what she was capable of, then who was he to deny her?
“So be it, but we rest whenever you cannot go on. If your brother gives chase, he will catch us, no matter how much we hurry. Are you prepared for the consequences?”
She smiled a delirious smile and pulled her hand away from the hole in her dress.
“How could he do any worse to me than what he already has done?”
Jerico chuckled, then patted his shield.
“We’ll just have to be careful. Take my hand.”
With the rest of her things tucked away on his back, she accepted his aid, leaned much of her weight against him, and followed him out of the forest.
K aide stood before the dwindling campfire, hands clasped behind his back. The stars were out, but they’d soon vanish, the morning sun only an hour or two away. He should have been asleep, but one of his scouts had woken him, fearful to say what he’d discovered. Kaide had had to badger it out of him.
“It’s Jerico,” said the scout.
Now Kaide waited as several men searched the surrounding area. He’d known Darius was leaving, but he thought Jerico would stay to ensure his friend’s safety. It seemed that was not the case. Was it a bluff, a reproof? Or perhaps Jerico’s pride was injured? It didn’t seem to matter. After twenty minutes of searching, he knew for certain Jerico was not just sleeping in the distance. He’d left for good.
“Damn you, Jerico,” he said, sadly shaking his head. The paladin had meant so much to him, but that was his fault for putting his faith in a man who valued gods above all else. Ashhur couldn’t care less for his plight, couldn’t care less for his quest of revenge. Where had the god been when the deep snows piled up around Ashvale after Sebastian’s knights had ransacked every bit of their food and livestock? Where had Ashhur been when they threw the first of the dead upon the fire? When the smoke wafted up, and their stomachs growled, and their children cried in hunger?
Adam approached, looking tired and angry for the disruption of sleep. His lips were still swollen, and he had done a poor job cleaning off the blood from his chin.
“You’re not gonna like hearing this,” Adam said.
“Out with it.”
“It’s your sister.”
He started to ask what about her, but Adam’s look was enough. A stone shifted in Kaide’s stomach, and he looked to the dying fire.
“Do we go after them?” Adam asked. “You did say…”
“I know what I said.”
Adam shifted, his arms crossed.
“Then what do we do?”
Kaide drew his dirk, and he twirled it before his eyes, staring into the multitude of reflections cast by the light of the dying embers before him.
“Let them go,” he said, jamming it back into its sheath. “Call off the search. Bellok should be back soon, and we’ll need to be rested. We’ve wasted enough time. Tomorrow we march, and we’ll bring the Abyss to Sebastian and his men.”
“You’re the boss.”
Adam left, and once more alone, Kaide cursed the paladin’s name.
“Take good care of her,” he whispered, looking up to the night sky. “Otherwise I’ll kill you myself.”
He returned to his cabin, hoping for a few more hours of sleep. After tossing and turning for an eternity, he gave up hope, and only stared at the ceiling until at last daylight streamed in through a window.
6
Daniel put on the last of his armor, then left his room. The morning was young, and he had men to train. His mood was foul, but not because of the training. He’d had a horrible time avoiding the two priests and their men. It seemed every hour they came to Robert with new demands or expectations, and it seemed every time Robert conceded. The idea of pandering to Karak’s fanatics burned his gut. He’d warned Robert of the Stronghold’s strength, yet he’d gone ahead with the bounty on Darius’s head. Now look what it’d gotten them.
He turned a corner, approaching the bottom door to the Blood Tower, when he encountered one of the priests. It was the young one, Cyric. The way he leaned against the door with his arms behind his back made it seem like he’d been waiting for him.
“Morning,” Daniel said, hoping to barge right past without conversation.
“Morning,” Cyric said, stepping in the way. “A word, if you please?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.
“Of course. What do you need?”
Cyric rubbed his knuckles against his robe and then looked at them, as if oblivious to Daniel’s impatience.