David Dalglish - The Old Ways

“Valessa,” he said. The woman Darius had killed. The word stuck in his throat. His arms felt like they were made of stone. Valessa’s now feminine body shimmered, and fading in and out of dark smoke he saw her gray clothes and leather armor. Her daggers shimmered with crimson power in her hands.

“You killed Claire,” she said, yet it was still Kaide’s voice that spoke. “You killed me. I’ve come to return the favor.”

“What are you?” he asked. It was the only thought that he could manage. Behind her, Sandra wept in pain, her life bleeding out her stomach. Still alive, thought Jerico. Praise Ashhur, she was still alive. His hand shifted for the complicated straps of his shield.

“I’m Karak’s judgment,” she said, now in her own voice. The daggers twirled in fingers that lost all color and texture. “His executioner. His beloved.”

She lunged, and he yanked free his shield. The light flared amid the darkness, and Valessa let out a shriek. Her dagger struck the center and slid to the side. Jerico grabbed his mace and swung twice. The first missed, Valessa ducking beneath with a bend of her back that looked beyond humanly possible, but the return swing clipped the side of her face. Instead of shattering her jawbone, it passed right on through. Her face reformed, and it grinned at him despite the obvious pain the light of his shield caused her.

“Not good,” Jerico muttered, flinging himself backward. His shield blocked the next flurry of blows, but one twisted about, and Jerico had no choice but to try a parry with his mace. It connected with the dagger and batted it aside. His relief was palpable. Her flesh might defy reason, but at least her weapons still made sense. Confidence growing, he took the offensive. He swung his mace in arcs, using it not as a threat but a means to keep her daggers engaged, for as he anticipated, she fought with the finely honed instincts she’d had when still alive. Still human. He couldn’t tell what she was now, other than that her whole being was composed of Karak’s raw power and fury. The light of his shield, that was his weapon, and he wielded it accordingly. Anytime she pressed close, he saw the pain on her face, saw the way she twisted and turned to add distance and keep herself from staring into its center.

“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.