The Old Ways (6 page)

He opened the door, then glanced back at Jerico, whose face was starting to swell on one side.

“You tripped crossing the stream on the way here,” he said, then exited.

“Aren’t you the clumsy one,” Darius said, following Jerico out, but there was no humor in his voice, only unease, as the rest of the camp cheered once more for their arrival.

W
ith how many Kaide had gathered, there was no more room left in the few cabins. So they were given heavy blankets and bedrolls, which Jerico accepted gladly.

“We’ve both had plenty of experience sleeping on the ground,” he said.

“Still prefer a bed, though,” Darius said. Jerico chuckled, smacked him on the shoulder, and found a spot to make his own. It was at the outset of the camp, and he wasn’t surprised when Darius didn’t follow him. The man had been sullen since Wilhelm, and they’d been traveling together since the battle in the Green Gulch. No doubt Darius wanted to have some solitude for once, and, to be honest, Jerico felt the same. The near-worship Kaide’s followers gave him didn’t help much. By the way they acted, it was as if they thought Jerico could singlehandedly win them the war.

Which he couldn’t. He’d try, of course, but even he had his limits, and he felt safe in assuming that taking on an army by himself was one of them.

As he was smoothing out the grass and weeding out any rocks or sticks that might make sleep difficult, he heard a woman call his name. He turned to see Kaide’s sister, Sandra, weaving through the trees toward him. He raised his hand in greeting, but she ignored it, instead wrapping her arms about him. Her smile was the finest thing he’d seen in weeks.

“They told me you stayed behind when everyone else fled,” she said, slipping out of his arms.

“I did. I tend to do stupid things like that.”

“I should slap you for worrying me so.”

He turned his head so she could see the light bruise on his cheek.

“Your brother beat you to it.”

She laughed, and they embraced once more.

“I’d say he is only under stress, and worried about you, but I think I spend too much time apologizing for my brother’s behavior as it is.”

Jerico found himself increasingly aware of the feel of her in his arms, the way her silver hair curled about her face before falling past her shoulders, and the scent of flowers crushed into a perfume that wafted up from her neck. It made him feel awkward, and his mind failed to think of conversation.

“It’s been rough since the battle,” Sandra said. If she noticed his sudden awkwardness, she gave no acknowledgment of it. She sat down in the space Jerico had cleared and leaned back against the nearby tree he had planned to use to prop up his pillow. He took a seat next to her, thinking of the aftermath he’d seen: Arthur’s men in flight as Sebastian’s cheered in victory.

“I can’t imagine,” he said. “Did Kaide’s men escape the fight cleanly?”

Sandra shook her head.

“Sir Gregane gave chase, and while my brother led them on a wild hunt, the rest started filtering back here.” She shuddered. “So many were wounded, and there was no one else. I kept hoping you’d return, be there with those healing hands of yours. That light...but you never came. Just me. That was all. I sewed and stitched everything I could, but we didn’t have enough herbs for the pain, not for any of them...”

She looked at him, and her eyes had tears.

“Tell me of other things, of a world so much better than this one. I want to think of anything else but the bloodshed and heartache of the North.”

Jerico took her hand in his, and she did not protest, only squeeze hard against his fingers.

“I’ve not traveled much,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips. “But I did visit Ker before heading north, and traveled to Angkar’s harbor...”

He told of men and women he’d met, a few strange creatures kept in cages as pets, of Ashhur, and even how he’d defeated a gang of thieves with nothing but a wooden spoon. They talked, and the sun swung low across the sky.

D
arius chose a place to sleep on the far outskirts of the camp. It felt as if eyes lingered too long on him, and conversations turned to whispers just by his passing. He ate around the main bonfire when they served supper, hoping that he might acclimate Kaide’s men to his presence. He expected Jerico to help, but the other paladin was nowhere to be seen.

“Thanks, Jerico,” Kaide muttered as he prepared his bedroll and blankets. “Just leave me out to dry.”

The sun was just setting, but he was tired from the travel, and the many people had worn him thin. He sat down, removed his armor, and then held his chestplate in his lap. He stared at the sigil of the Lion, and wondered what it meant to him anymore. Was it just a dead reminder of what he had been? Did it represent the enemy? Or was it nothing but paint, a useless symbol given far too much importance?

It didn’t matter. He wanted it gone. Slowly, carefully, he scraped away with the thick edge of his greatsword near the hilt. Chip by chip, the paint vanished, and the stars came out above the forest canopy. He thought Jerico might swing by at some point, but he did not. Darius knew he shouldn’t be upset, but was anyway. Yes, he’d come to help, but he didn’t know these people, and they certainly didn’t know him. Well, other than that tiny fact of a bounty. The gold glinted in their eyes when they glanced his way.

He lay down, and thought to pray to Ashhur. But what was he to pray for? Every night, it seemed he begged for forgiveness. Every night, he reopened old wounds and felt his soul bleed. The scars Velixar had inflicted ran deep. Even in his dreams, he remembered the fire and bloodshed at Durham. In his mind’s eye, he saw the innocent family praying to Ashhur, Velixar peering through a dirty window like a hunting animal, a locust, an evil beast come to consume everything pure and good. And now he was there, on his bedroll, in a dark forest, trying to pray just the same. Darius would have rather been the child, to have known nothing, for how did he go to Ashhur as anything other than a miserable wretch?

“I’m sorry,” Darius whispered to Ashhur. “Jerico insists I feel no guilt, that I am redeemed. But he wasn’t there, and sometimes I wonder if you were either...”

Enough,
he thought. He laid his sword above his head, the handle in easy reach, and closed his eyes. It took plenty of shifting and turning, but at last sleep came to him.

It didn’t last long.

His eyes opened, and his instincts fired off commands he did not understand. His hands flung above him, and only then did he realize a club swung for his face. It hit his arms hard enough to make his bones ache. His legs kicked out, but someone was on top of him. He felt rope and fists, and his eyes hurt in the light of torches. His groggy mind yearned for his armor, and reaching for his sword did nothing but expose his face to another blow of the club. Blood splashed across his lips as it connected with his nose. He gagged, and then the rope was about his neck.

“Quiet now,” one of the men said as he felt himself pulled to his feet. “Don’t want him hearing.”

Him? Him who?

He opened his mouth to ask, but one of the men shoved a thick wad of cloth between his teeth. He spat it out, but they struck his cheek with a club, then shoved it in again. Slender rope looped about his face, holding the cloth in place. Tears ran down, but he finally could see. A group of ten men surrounded him, with two of them holding his arms at either side. A heavy rope wound around his knees, waist, and arms. Several held torches, and others held clubs. Many bore splashes of his blood.

Who?
he thought again. Kaide? Or did they mean Jerico? Who was it that had sold him out? He looked to the men, and he felt anger stirring in his heart. These fools, these men he’d come to help, now sought to sell him for coin? So much for the incredible loyalty Kaide supposedly instilled. So much for a noble war against Lord Sebastian.

“Hurry,” said the same man, apparently the leader of the group. Squinting, Darius realized it was the one who had found him, the enormous, ugly man with the scars. Adam. That was his name.

And then someone who looked just like Adam grabbed the front of his shirt. At first he thought he saw double, but no, there were two, both alike but for their scars. He remembered the twins, having seen them briefly when eating around the campfire.

“Bring the horses over, Griff,” Adam said, and the other nodded.

“Don’t let him make a sound,” Griff said.

“I’m not a damn fool, now go.”

Two men restrained his arms, plus the huge Adam held him by the shirt. It didn’t matter. Darius felt his anger growing. He struggled. The knots weren’t the tightest, and they’d been hastily tied. Adam struck him across the mouth, and Darius’s chest heaved as he gagged on the cloth. But his legs were gaining strength, and he flung himself to one side, knocking the two men off balance. They fell, Adam cursing as his fingers caught in the rope. That curse turned to a cry of pain as one of the fingers dislocated.

Darius rolled as the rest of the men swung their clubs, as if to beat him into submission. When he hit a man’s legs, he curled onto his knees, then kicked. The top of his skull rammed into the man’s groin, dropping him like a log. The knot at his heels loosened even more, and he freed his right leg. His arms were still bound, and he could only breathe through his nostrils, but at least he could run.

Not that he had anywhere to go. The men still surrounded him, and more worrying, Adam had regained his composure and grabbed a club from one of the others.

“Don’t be a fool, Darius,” Adam said. “We’re hoping your bounty’s worth more with you alive than dead, but we still get paid even if we drag your corpse to Robert. Drop to your knees, before I crack your fucking skull like a walnut.”

If Darius had his armor and sword, he’d have laughed, and dared the man to try. Instead, he tensed with all his strength. With Karak, he could have called upon his deity for power, and filled his hands with fire to burn away the cords. But what did Ashhur offer? He didn’t know, but it was time to find out. His neck muscles tensed, the rope dug deep into his wrists, and he snarled into his gag like an animal. Adam shook his head, as if disappointed, but his grin was ear to ear as he stepped forward to swing.

The rope snapped, the club hit his left forearm, and even though he felt bones snap, Darius struck Adam with his right fist, throwing all his weight into the blow. The roundhouse sent the big man staggering, and blood splattered across the dark earth as several teeth flew. The sound of the punch seemed to freeze the others, as if they could hardly believe what they’d seen.

“Goddamn,” Adam sputtered, his hand against his mouth. Blood dripped through his fingers. “You hit like Jerico.”

And then he swung his club. Darius ducked underneath, falling back into a retreat. The rest moved to join, his advantage of surprise finally lost. He shifted and parried blows with his right arm, keeping his left tucked against him and using it to absorb hits only when he had to. He head-butted one man, spun, and then rammed his elbow into the neck of another. Two bandits with torches tried to burn him, but the torches made poor weapons, and Darius pushed them aside. A club struck his back, but it hit thick muscle, not even knocking the air from his lungs. Spinning, he kicked the man in the knee, hard enough that he could hear the joint crack.

Adam closed the distance, but Darius caught him with a knee to the groin, and as he bent over, Darius uppercut him in the throat. Adam’s mouth opened and closed, trying for air, but he remained eerily silent. The rest backed away, and Darius felt his rage overwhelming him. Don’t kill, Jerico had said. Protect the innocent. But what of these bandits, these pathetic cowards who would steal him away in the night? Did they deserve his protection?