you will make it. Too many will be watching those roads.”
“Then what?” Jerico asked. He kicked at the fire, scattering its flame. As it sputtered and died, Darius did his best to offer hope.
“The land north of here is wild, full of bandits. Perhaps there you can hide.”
He shook his head. A paladin, hiding? It didn’t seem right. It seemed opposite of everything he was.
“Please,” Darius said, seeing the hesitation on his face. “I will bear the punishment of this action for the rest of my life. Do not waste it. Do not make me doubt my decision.”
It was all too much. Defeated, Jerico nodded.
“So be it,” he said. “You are a good friend, and I will honor your wishes. Until I can assure myself of safety, I will find what succor I can in the north. When shall I go?”
“Rest now, then leave in the morning,” Darius said, standing. “You must gain as much ground as you can before they come hunting for you. You’re strong, Jerico, but those who come after you will be stronger.”
Jerico stood, hugged him, then suddenly had a thought.
“A paladin named Pallos passed by here not long ago,” he said. “He might return.”
“I will warn him if I can,” Darius said. “Consider it one last gift for you.”
Jerico turned to leave, and as he did, he heard Darius call his name.
“I am sorry for this,” he said. “For the Citadel. For my fellows. This is not Karak’s desire, and I will show them.”
“Thank you,” Jerico said, glancing back. “But I fear it is, Darius. If so…what fate awaits you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he returned to the town, where he would sleep late until the morning, gather supplies, and begin his exile in the north.
T he troops remained for a few days, making sure no more wolf-men lingered about hoping for a lapse in defenses. Sir Godley vowed to heighten patrols along the river, even if he had to box in the King’s ears to do so. Darius listened to it all and faked interest when the time called for it. Truthfully, his mind was elsewhere. He feared for Jerico, and wondered what fate awaited him. But more, he feared the arrival of his brethren, or of the priests. Worst, though, would be the Voice of the Lion, Karak’s Hand. Against that feared specter, he wondered if he would even have the courage to speak his defense.
For a while, people asked him about the other paladin’s disappearance. Darius always told them Jerico headed south, for he knew they would be questioned when the dark paladins came looking. Whatever bit of disinformation he could sow, the better. Still, when he spoke the lie, he wondered what had happened to his faith. Lies were instruments of chaos, everything he was supposed to stand against. Yet he spoke them freely now to protect a man who should have been his enemy.
Come the ninth night, while he lay in bed staring out the window, he saw the fires in the distance. There was no doubt as to what they were, and who was with them.
Going downstairs, he put a silver coin on the counter. He’d meant to wake Dolores, to thank her for her stay, but she was gone now, and he stayed for free in thanks for his valiant defense. His heart ached at the realization. She’d been a fine innkeeper. Damn the wolves, and damn himself for not being strong enough to protect her.
“Whatever fate you found in eternity, I hope it is pleasant,” he said to the quiet night air.
He dressed in his armor, taking time to polish it well in the candle light. No hurry, not for him. Not for what would most likely be his last night on Dezrel. When finished, he cleaned his sword, sharpened it with a whetstone, and then sheathed it across his back. Finished, he knelt at the door of the inn and offered Karak a prayer.
“I have done what I thought was right. I have stood against chaos in the only way I knew how. Give me the strength to show them. Give me the words to speak the truth of your will to those who should know better.”
A chill touched his shoulder, and he knew not what to think of it. Deciding enough was enough, he trudged north, to where the three of the Tribunal waited.
16
The light was actually of three torches staked into the ground, and they burned bright as he approached. Darius wished they had chosen a spot closer to the river. At least the soft sound of it flowing along would have brought him some measure of peace. As it was, he had only the wind to keep him company on the walk there, and it was an unpleasant howl through the scattered trees.
Three men waited for him, standing in the gaps between the torches, which formed a triangle. One stepped aside and gestured for Darius to enter. He did.
“I feared you would reject a chance to appear before the Tribunal,” Pheus said, his features looking grim in the torchlight.
“I have done no wrong,” Darius said. “Why would I fear such a trial?”
Pheus gave no answer.
Darius looked to the other two men. They were paladins of Karak, their black armor almost shimmering in the light of the torches. He recognized both. One was a younger warrior named Nevek, there most likely because he was in the vicinity when the Tribunal was called. He appeared calm, but his eyes belied his nervousness. Darius felt insulted to have one such as him be considered his judge. The man barely had stubble on his chin. The other was an older paladin named Lars, wise and skilled in battle. His faith, in particular, was above question.
“We have heard troubling reports of your actions here in Durham,” Lars said. His voice was a deep baritone, and it carried authority. Darius turned to him, trying to ignore the growing feeling of claustrophobia. No matter where he turned, there he would face the eyes of an accuser, so he focused on Lars, who would clearly be the one in charge of the Tribunal.
“My actions were just,” Darius replied. “I followed the will of Karak, and I trust this Tribunal to realize that before this night’s end.”
“Is that so?” Pheus asked. “You threatened my life, the life of both brother and superior. How might you justify that?”
“I too would like to hear an answer,” Lars said. “Even if you were on the side of right in your disagreement, I wonder how you could justify such actions.”
“We must ever be vigilant against the chaos within ourselves, and our own ranks,” Darius said, holding his head high. “Pheus’s actions were born of betrayal and hatred, clear enemies of Order.”
“You’d dare speak against my name?” Pheus asked.
“Quiet,” Lars said, lifting a hand. “There is some truth to this, Darius, though you should have let this matter come to a Tribunal if you felt that the case.”
Darius shrugged his shoulders.
“I drew no blood, and I did not expect to. Pheus honored my wishes, as I thought he would.”
The priest glared.
“You threatened an unarmed priest, you coward,” Nevek said. “You should be hanged!”
“Quiet, Nevek,” said Lars. “It is not your place to speak. No judgments are to be made until every last word is spoken. Darius, you were told to execute the paladin of Ashhur, the one known as Jerico. You refused. Tell me why.”
Darius took a deep breath. Why did he? The vision of Karak flowed through him, and he saw himself bleeding before the paladin. His life depended on it, yet he had spared him. Was it really friendship?
“Jerico protected the village from the wolf-men,” he said. “He stood side by side with me and saved the lives of many men, women, and children. Killing him would have cost me my own life, and theirs as well. Is our mission not to save these people from the chaos of this world? How could I strike down an ally? It makes no sense. It is not the will of Karak. Above all…” He knew he might be hanging himself here, but he had to say it. He had to speak the truth. “Above all, he was my friend. I will not slay a friend, betray his trust, just because he is part of a scattered, broken remnant of Ashhur. We will achieve victory over them through the truth of our words, and the justice of our actions. Not through murder. Not through cowardice.”
The three of the Tribunal fell silent as he spoke his last. The wind howled, and Darius thought that perhaps he had won them over. Nevek still looked petulant, but he was young and would abide by the opinions of the others. Pheus was still angry, that much he could tell. It all fell on Lars. The man stroked his neatly-trimmed beard, the two
