David Dalglish - The Old Ways

“Jerico!” a voice cried out, and he saw Sandra rushing to him through the remnants of Sebastian’s camp. He couldn’t believe it. He laughed, and his mace hung limp in his hand. His legs went weak, and he fell to his knees. Sandra flung her arms about him, and he felt her lips kiss his forehead.

“You lived,” she said, all smiles.

“But…how? Why?”

“Just shut up,” she said, kissing him again.

Jerico forced himself to a stand. He saw Luther approaching, surrounded by four dark paladins. His insides turned. Would they still want his life, given their war against his order? But why let him go before, just to kill him now?

“I told you to stay away,” Luther said, just out of reach of their bows. “I told you to flee, and not play the hero. And you!” He looked at Kaide, who approached the entrance with his men, watching Luther’s army. “I told you the same. Did I not warn you? Did I not say you would be denied Karak’s mercy?”

Jerico did not understand. His actions, his words, they didn’t connect, didn’t make sense. And then Luther lifted his arm, pointed his finger at Sandra, and whispered. The tip flared black. Lightning shot forward, dark as midnight. Thunder roared. Sandra screamed, and Jerico screamed with her as she collapsed in his arms. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth open. Her chest did not move. Clutching her, Jerico could only look at her body in shock. He thought to heal her, but she was dead already, her heart burst by the spell. Her soul was gone. With a shaking hand, he touched her cheek, brushed her lips with his fingers. He heard shouting, cries of rage and sorrow, but they were distant, muffled in his ears.

He looked at Luther, rage in his eyes.

“You monster.”

He gently put her down, lifted his mace. It didn’t matter that he was outnumbered. Didn’t matter all that Luther had just done. Didn’t matter what was right or wrong, or if he died trying. He would kill the priest.

The dark paladins leapt in the way. He blocked their strikes with his shield, but each one sent a jolt of pain through his arm. His mace struck the armor of one, but it could not penetrate. Fury gave him strength, but he was still tired, and vastly outnumbered. Swords hit his armor, and the bruises swelled. Jerico continued on, enduring them, fighting them away. He would reach Luther, would look upon Sandra’s cruel murderer.

And then he was through, beaten and weary. Luther lifted a hand, and before Jerico could strike, a bolt of shadow struck him in the chest. He gasped, fighting for breath. A second bolt followed, this one hitting his throat. The muscles in his neck tightened, and spots swam before his eyes as his lungs threatened to burst. Unable to stand, he collapsed to his knees once more. Luther stood over him, and he leaned down so he could put a hand on Jerico’s head and whisper.

“At least you are wise enough to kneel,” he said. “Now do you understand, Jerico? You have done all that I wished, and little more. You are insignificant, just a puppet to my desires. Go off into the wilderness and die. There is no longer a place for you in this world.”

Luther pushed him onto his back. When he hit, it knocked the air from his chest. Fighting through the agonizing pain, Jerico drew a breath, then another. A heavy ringing filled his ears, and he heard the priest call for the others to prepare for their march south. Rolling onto his stomach, he tried to stand, but could not. Tears blurring his vision, he looked back to the castle, saw Kaide on his knees, his little sister’s body in his arms. The bandit leader cried out wordlessly, whatever rage that dwelt in his heart now magnified tenfold.

What little strength Jerico had left drained away. His fingers clawing the dirt, he pressed his face into the grass and sobbed, a broken man.

They pulled their boat off the Gihon so they might walk the final mile. Porter led the way, looking strangely spry and alive in the growing light of the blood moon. Daniel followed him, content to let the man lead. It was his plan, after all.

“Stay low,” Porter told them. “A single alarm, and we’ll all be dining in the Abyss before the night’s over.”

There were only five of them, a small enough force to slip in and out of the fortification without notice. Their true force marched for Willshire, where battle might be fought without towers and high walls. If they took Cyric’s head, most of their problems vanished, but just in case, they needed Robert. No matter how much the King might hate his family, he couldn’t sit idly by if the knight knelt before his throne and told of the usurpation of his tower. Treason was still treason, even when committed by priests.

The trees thinned out the closer they came to the tower. Daniel felt his nerves rise, and his heart quicken. This was it, the first major obstacle. It all depended upon how numerous the guards were, and how alert. When they saw the torches, and the handful of men upon the walls, Daniel let out a sigh of relief.

“A skeleton crew,” he said. “Cyric must be gone after all.”

“I’d be pissed to know if my tower were as lightly guarded in my absence,” Porter said. “Laziness and lack of discipline is what that is.”

“What it is, is a lucky break,” said one of the other soldiers. “We ready to swim?”

“Aye,” Daniel said. “Let’s go.”

The walls surrounding the tower went deep into the river, but once around it, the way was clear. From their inspection of the defenses, the few men guarding the walls were all stationed along the southern end. They did not watch the opposite shore, or the north. They no longer guarded against the creatures of the Wedge, as was their purpose. They watched for a human army. Daniel and his men were all smeared with mud, wore no armor, and brandished only short swords, light and small enough for them to swim without difficulty, plus a few extra supplies just in case things went terribly wrong.

Beyond the reach of the tower’s torches, the five circled around to the north, nothing but black and brown shapes in the far distance. When they reached the other side, they slipped into the Gihon, submerging all but their heads.

“Damn that’s cold,” muttered one.

“No words,” Porter said. “We’re too close now.”

Going limp, they floated, aiming for the wall within the river. Normal circumstances would have had a guard atop it, and as they neared, they saw a man sitting there, his back to them. His armor was that of Karak’s mercenaries. Watching the courtyard, Daniel realized, and he pointed to make sure the other four saw.

Boisterous sounds of cheers and song met their ears as they floated closer. Daniel clenched his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering. Carefully, he swam toward the wall, then went limp again, letting the water bump him against it. He lay flat, until all five were gathered. Glancing up, Daniel waited for the light of a torch, or even a single glance downward to show them as odd shapes in the reflected moonlight. This was it, the most vulnerable part of their plan. Porter lifted three fingers, then counted down. At one, he alone pushed off and floated around the wall.

All they could do was wait and listen. After several minutes, they heard a soft gasp, then the sound of armor hitting stone. Another minute later, Porter leaned over from atop the wall and beckoned them to come. Pushing off, Daniel led the others around and onto dry ground. They kept their backs to the wall, in the deep shadows cast by the scattered torches. He could see the men on the opposite wall, and he tried not to panic, and convince himself he could not be seen.

One of the soldiers with him, a young dark-haired man named Slint, tapped him on the shoulder.

Lion? the man mouthed, lifting his shoulders to accentuate the question. Daniel shook his head. They saw no sign of it yet. If they were blessed, the two horrible creatures would be in Willshire, or even better, back in the Abyss from whence they came. Daniel pointed to his eyes, telling them to stay alert. On the far side, many tents filled the killing field. They could all hear the ruckus. It was a time of celebration, just as Darius had insisted. They were gathered about bonfires, roasting meat and drinking themselves stupid. No wonder the few men on guard were inattentive, and kept their attention focused toward the interior. The fires would also ruin their vision, something Daniel was plenty thankful for.