The Old Ways (27 page)

Gregory stepped closer, and his hand was a clenched fist, the hilt firmly in his grasp. He was an inch away from drawing, Darius knew. His greatsword was strapped to his back, but there was no way he could pull it free faster than Gregory’s longsword.

“What sort of welcome does a traitor deserve then, Darius? Tell me.”

“Traitor?” he asked. “Who have I betrayed? Karak?”

“The people you swore to protect! You protected them from the wolf-men. You and me, side by side, we held when all seemed lost. But then some priest or prophet of Karak arrives, and you stand by and let him kill?”

“I told you,” Darius said, feeling his temper rise. The waters of the Gihon were growing awfully tempting, as if their mumble begged for him to toss Gregory in headfirst. “I was confused, I was lost. I thought I was doing what was right by my faith, don’t you get it?”

“No!” Gregory shouted. “No, I don’t get it. Don’t you see? Every damn fool could tell that prophet had you twisted around inside and out. How could you be so blind, so stupid, as to fall for any of that nonsense? To think that killing simple farmers and their families could somehow be justified? I know you, have fought with you, and know you’re strong, and wise. It makes no sense to me. You can’t have been that foolish. You’re lying to us, hiding something, and I want to know what.”

“Or what, you’ll run me through?”

The night turned deadly silent.

“I will protect my friends, my family,” Gregory said. “But I guess you wouldn’t understand that either, would you?”

Darius felt his anger and pride rising, but he closed his eyes and shook his head to force it away. It would be too easy to get defensive, to attack Gregory for doubting him. But he was right, and Darius would give the young man an honest answer, not unearned ire.

“I’m not sure you could ever understand,” he said, looking away from the soldier and to the water. “Imagine knowing something, knowing it so well that it is burned deep into your gut. You’d question your own name before you questioned this. And then...one day...the whole world changes, and you know nothing. Every friend you’ve known since childhood has lied to you, every mentor and teacher was nothing but a monster in a mask. Think of the wolf-men you slew, and imagine pulling off their faces to find human children underneath. What would you do to put the masks back on?”

He breathed in deep, then sighed. If only Gregory could hear Velixar’s words, feel the way they burrowed into the mind, sounding so terrible, so true.

“I was a dying man in a desert, Gregory. A man offered me poison and told me it was wine, and gods help me, I drank it. He handed me a sword, and bade me to save people with its blade. And I did. If you don’t understand it, don’t see how I could have been so foolish, then I am happy for you. No one should walk in a valley so low.”

Darius looked back and his eyes met Gregory’s. The disappointment was still there, but the fury had abated. His hand no longer clutched the hilt of his sword.

“Daniel says you pray to Ashhur now. Are you so certain he is better than Karak?”

Darius shrugged, and he shifted, feeling uncomfortable.

“I did what I did to earn back the love of my god. Yet now, Jerico says I have the love of Ashhur, and will never need to earn it, nor fear losing it. I never knew my parents, but I’d like to think that is how they should be, how they would look upon one of their children. And right now, I feel I am little more than a child.”

Silence stretched between them, until at last Gregory picked up a stone and tossed it into the river.

“I watched Cyric slaughter my friends with a simple wave of his hand. While I ran like a coward, his lions tore apart armor and flesh like we were nothing. I’m scared, Darius. I look north, and my stomach twists just thinking of him waiting there for us. No matter what, we’ll have to face him. If we hide here, he’ll come for us. I see no way out, no real chance for victory. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re the one hope we have. We don’t need a child. We need a warrior. For all our sakes, I hope Ashhur’s paying attention.”

With that said, he returned to the tower, leaving Darius alone with his thoughts.

“Are you paying attention?” Darius asked, glancing up at the stars. He drew his sword, and the blue-white glow shone across the blade. He stared into it, let it cast away his fear. He’d already given himself up to death once, and Jerico had denied him. This time, he’d be doing it for others, not for selfish, cowardly reasons. Win or lose, by gods, he planned on giving it a damn good attempt.

“Good enough,” he told the cold night air. Still weak, still just a fledgling faith. But it’d been enough to kill Velixar, and it’d be enough for Cyric.

He put his sword on his back and trudged to the tower. When he entered the barracks, he found a waterskin lying on his bed. Uncorking it, he put it to his lips and drank.

Wine,
he thought, and despite the others sleeping about him, he laughed until he cried.
Wine for a man in the desert.

He drank it all, and for the first time in what felt like months, slept peacefully.

E
very step was painful, but Jerico pressed on, for he did not have much farther to go. Blisters covered his feet, everywhere that wasn’t already callused. His armor was heavy on his back, but he refused to remove it. Luther’s men had caught him unarmored, and without his shield, but he would not risk that again. After the priest had let him go, he’d found where he’d stashed his armor, dressed, and then flung his shield upon his back. He’d been tempted to go crashing back into the camp to rescue Sandra. They’d been so confident, they’d even given him his mace. But that wasn’t what she’d want. He knew that. A heroic but pointless death would not impress her.

No matter what Luther had said, he knew she would want him to go on to the Castle of Caves, to help save Arthur from Sebastian’s men. And so he ran along the path, every aching step pulling him away from where he thought Sandra remained imprisoned, and one step closer to the next battle at hand. He’d run all through the night, and then the day. His mind was in a fog, his stomach empty. It hurt at times, but he kept his legs moving, kept his lungs filled with air. He prayed Ashhur would give him the strength to continue, and, despite the pain, he never stopped.

Come nightfall, he could go no further. It didn’t even matter that he was in the center of the dirt road. A nighttime rider might have clomped right over him, but moving was no longer an option. Collapsing, Jerico hit the ground and passed out. His dreams were of Sandra lying in the dirt. A great hole was in her chest, where her heart had been. Black blood circled through her veins and spilled across his hands. When he woke, his eyes were red, and his stomach heaved, though he had nothing but bile to spit onto the dirt beside him.

“Not far,” he told himself. “Not far. Not far at all.”

Of course, getting to the castle was just the half of it. Getting inside would be an interesting endeavor. Much as he might like it, he doubted whoever was in charge of Sebastian’s troops would just let him walk right through their siege lines.

Jerico resumed his trek toward the castle, but this time at a walk. He kept his eyes peeled, and when he saw a small collection of bushes with overripe berries on them, he nearly burst into tears. He ate until he threw up, the red berries sickly sweet on his tongue, and then ate some more. Belly full, he resumed his walk, crossing the final few miles to the Castle of Caves. It was midday when he first saw the smoke of the enemy encampment surrounding the walls. Deciding he could no longer be so careless, he veered off the path and slowly wound through the hills, eyes open for any scouts who might be watching.

Atop the first hill, he lay flat and scanned the area. The castle was built upon a tall hill, and surrounding it on all sides were tents with the yellow rose waving from their banners. From what he could tell, only a limited amount of siege works had been built. It seemed Sebastian was confident of starving Arthur out...or that their commander was hesitant to sacrifice so many lives on such an assault.

“Soldiers, tents, and more soldiers,” Jerico muttered as he scratched his chin. “Of course things couldn’t be easy. That’d be crazy.”

The only time he’d been at the castle before was with Kaide, and they’d not entered through the main gates. Instead, they’d traveled through a tunnel built into the network of caves beneath the castle. Jerico wondered if he might use that same tunnel to bypass the army. He had only a vague idea where the entrance was, but he believed it to be outside the siege lines. Desperately praying he didn’t go from being one man’s prisoner to another’s, he hurried down the hill and farther away from the path.

Finding the entrance turned out to be easier than expected. Where it had once been carefully concealed, now he found the entire ground worked over, with dirt caved in and then covered with heavy rocks. Jerico stood before it and frowned. It seemed Sebastian’s men had discovered the tunnel, and when they couldn’t gain entrance to the castle that way, they sealed it over. Jerico thought of the traps he’d been shown, including the narrow bridge across the chasm he and Kaide had crossed. Kaide insisted it had been rigged to collapse. He wondered how many had fallen to their deaths before they gave up and just sealed it.

Jerico glanced about, and saw another worked entrance a hundred yards to his south. Kaide had said there were about twenty tunnels dug throughout the area. Was it possible Sebastian had found them all? More importantly, could he expect to find one that all the soldiers had missed?

“Oh no,” he muttered. “It just couldn’t be easy, could it?”

An idea came to him, and he sighed. It might work, but it could just as easily get him killed. But really, what else did he have to lose? At least if he died, Sandra might be spared. He’d tried not to think of her often, or of what continuing his fight might mean. Usually, he failed.

Jerico spent much of the day resting in the far hills, having moved away from the siege lines. He searched a bit for more berries, but sadly found none. He did find a stream, and drank until his stomach hurt. Crawling along, the day finally reached its end, and night came. Jerico returned to the hill overlooking the siege. He could see the faint outlines of men marching along the walls carrying torches, looking like miniscule lightning bugs. Still, tiny as they might be, he could see them. And that meant, just maybe...

He stood, took his shield in hand, and lifted it high. The front lit up, and as he prayed, it shone a strong blue-white. And then he waited to see who noticed him first. The eyes of the enemy should have been on the castle, while Arthur’s men looked out. All it would take would be one of them to realize what it was, and just one tunnel still intact.

A lot of ‘if’s. A lot of luck. Jerico tried not to think about that either.

“Come on,” he muttered, watching the men patrol the walls. “Come on, come on, see the big blue dot? Not a bug, not a fire, now turn and look!”

He held it for ten more minutes, then decided it was enough. If they hadn’t noticed his shield yet, then they might never. Holding it aloft any longer just increased the odds of the wrong party spotting him. Sitting down, he waited. And waited.

When someone tapped him on the shoulder, he nearly screamed.

“Jerico?” asked the man, caked with dirt. His hair was cut short, and his clothes were ragged.

“Damn it, man, can’t you make some noise when you walk?” Jerico asked.

The man looked about, clearly worried. If he noticed Jerico’s embarrassment, he didn’t show it.

“Follow me,” he said. “I saw a rider this way, and we have little time. Now hurry!”

The paladin thought he’d been far enough from the castle that no cave entrance might be beyond him, but he was wrong. His guide beckoned him to follow, and together they put their backs to Sebastian’s army and ran. There seemed to be nothing but hills and tall grass, but it was dark, and Jerico knew firsthand how well Arthur’s men could hide both themselves and the cave entrances. The man introduced himself as Jerek Wallace, talking in hurried, hush tones as they traveled.

“I fought alongside you at the Green Gulch,” he said, his furtive eyes always checking behind them. “Not with the bandit’s men, though. Arthur’s. It was our line you helped at the end, before the call to withdraw. Never forgot that shield of yours. A man swung at you with his sword, and it hit that light...” He slapped his hands together, then winced at the sound. “Sword shattered like it was made of glass. When Degan saw that blue light out here in the hills, I just knew it was you. Had to be.”