Gary knew he could not run without aid. They glanced back only once, the torches looking like glowing dots in the distance.
It seemed like an eternity, but they reached the river and the waiting boat. Dirk helped him inside, then prepared to push it into the water.
“Wait,” Gary said. His head felt light, but damn did it feel good to sit down. He clutched his shoulder and wished the pain would go away. Dimly, he wondered how badly the creature had scarred his face.
“No,” Dirk said, realizing what he wanted. “Please, no, we can go…”
“We stay.”
Dirk sighed, then shook his head.
“Fine. You’re right.”
They watched and waited for the first to show. A minute later, three men appeared, two relatively unscathed, but the third limped along in their arms, his left leg mangled and missing its foot.
“Hurry,” Gary said, beckoning them to the boat.
“We thought you’d leave,” said one of them.
“Never. Push us off, and then get in, Dirk. This boat’ll float with five.”
Out on the peaceful water, it seemed the fight was a hundred miles away. If not for the pain, Gary might have convinced himself it was a horrible, horrible nightmare. When they reached the other side, one of the men helped him out, and he lay against a tree beside the other wounded man.
“The others,” Gary said, pointing back to the Wedge. He felt sleepy, and knew if he closed his eyes he’d succumb to it, but this was important. “You must…you must go back…”
Dirk was crying, his face wet with tears, but still he went to the boat and started to push.
“No,” said a larger man. Jacob Wheatley, he realized. Jacob was always quick to argue, more temper than sense. But he seemed calm here, and he eased Dirk out. “I’ll go.”
He stepped into the boat, angled it, and began rowing.
Time grew slippery. Gary remembered the first boat returning, weeping men disembarking. He heard muttering, names listed off. Counting the dead, he realized. He wondered if they counted him or not. More men appeared, though he didn’t remember their arrival. The water splashed the shore, and he wished to dip his hand in it. Suddenly he was thirsty, very thirsty.
“Gary?” someone asked. He opened his eyes, not remembering closing them. A young face hovered over him, blurry and unrecognizable.
“Get back,” he mumbled. “I’m tired.”
“Gary, it’s Dirk. You got to stay awake. Gruss says you got to…”
Darkness, filled with the sound of water. Something touched his shoulder, and the pain awakened there. He opened his eyes and saw Jerico kneeling before him. White light shone from his hands, which pressed against his shoulder. His drowsiness faded, and the pain, which had been all encompassing, shrank down to something he could endure, something he could comprehend. Carefully Jerico wiped the blood from Gary’s left eye with his bare thumb so he might see.
“Stand, Mr. Reed,” he said, taking his hand. “You have a wife and child waiting for you.”
3
When the light of morning shone through his window, Jerico winced. Every part of his body ached, and it felt like a pack of giants banged drums inside his forehead. He’d stayed up late into the night, praying over the wounded and offering them healing magic. Between him and the town’s midwife, an old woman named Zelda, they’d sewn, bandaged and kept as many alive as possible. After that, the entire village had gathered in a prayer of remembrance, for they had no bodies to bury. Under the cover of stars, they mourned those the wolves feasted upon.
“Seven men,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “We lost seven men. I hope you’re happy, Darius.”
He felt guilty saying it, but he also felt better. At least alone in his room he could grumble, mutter, and let his frustration show. Once in his armor and about the town, he had to be all forgiveness and prayers. Sometimes he enjoyed taking up his mace and smashing the head of an outlaw. At least he wasn’t pretending about anything there.
But of course he also knew he wasn’t being fair. Darius had taken them out to deal with a threat to the town. None of them could have foreseen how serious it’d be. After the battle, he’d spoken with all but Darius, who had stayed quiet and away from the others. Three wolf-men had attacked from the back, two from each side, and three more from the front. A pack of ten so close to the Gihon and the towers that guarded it? They’d killed six of the ten, and injured the remaining four. Given how unprepared they’d been, it could have been far worse.
“Jerico?” asked a voice on the other side of the door, followed by a gentle knock.
“I’m awake,” he said, sitting up in bed and stretching his sore muscles. The door opened, and in stepped his host’s pretty daughter, Jessie.
“Forgive me,” she said, turning away and blushing when she saw Jerico wore no shirt. He chuckled, tossed on his tunic, and then asked her what was the matter. Something bothered her, he could tell. It was written all over her face.
“It’s Bobby,” she said, struggling to meet his gaze. Her eyes kept flicking to the floor, and her hands clasped behind her. “He…he hung himself last night. My father wishes you to pray over his body before we bury him.”
The words knifed through Jerico, but despite the pain, he wasn’t surprised. He’d seen the lingering sorrow and death in Bobby’s eyes. Last night’s excursion hadn’t brought him the satisfaction he’d hoped for. Instead, seven of his friends had died, and many more suffered greatly. Again he thought of Darius, and wondered how the paladin was taking the news.
“I’ll be there shortly,” he said, sliding off the bed and reaching for his armor. Jessie started to close the door, then stopped. Her green eyes stared at him, and seeing the question aching to be asked, he prompted her to speak.
“Will Bobby go on to the golden land?” she asked. “Killing yourself…my father’s always said the gods hate men who die a coward. Killing yourself’s a sin, and to die sinning…”
His hand clasping his cold breastplate, Jerico stopped and frowned. He tried to decide what to say, what measure of truth would comfort her, and what he even knew himself.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I dearly hope so. He was a kind man. I’ll pray for him, and pray that he’s with his family in the hereafter. Surely Ashhur can fault no man for missing his loved ones as much as Bobby did.”
“Darius said he deserved Karak’s punishment.”
Jerico pulled his armor over his head, shifted it, and then walked over to kiss the girl on the forehead.
“He speaks out of hurt,” he said. “Pay him no mind. Now go, and tell your father I’m almost ready.”
She smiled weakly, curtseyed, and then was gone. Jerico sighed.
“Damn you, Darius,” he said, tightening the straps on his armor. “For once, couldn’t you know better?”
It seemed half the town had gathered at Bobby’s home by the time he arrived. Jerico’s host, the tall Jeremy Hangfield, stood in the center, clearly in charge. He was a distant relative of a noble in Mordeina, and owned more land than the rest of Durham combined. Thankfully, the corrupting influence of his wealth never went beyond him and the tax man. The people treated him as their leader, lord in all but name.
“There you are!” Jeremy said, spotting him near the back of the crowd. “Come, Jerico, come! Darius has refused to pray over him, but Bobby was a good man, and he deserves no worse than any one of us here.”
The way parted before him, and he stepped to the porch of Bobby’s home. Inside, he saw a rope lying on the floor, having been cut from the rafter it’d been tied to. Wrapped in a blanket was Bobby’s corpse. His parents, their backs hunched, their skin deeply tanned by the sun, sat to the side, surrounded by their friends. Not far away, he saw the parents of Bobby’s dead wife, and they looked too drained to cry. They’d lost all their tears the days before, suffering for the fate of their daughter and grandchildren.
Jerico knelt before Bobby’s parents and took their hands in his.
“Is there anything you want me to say?” he asked.
The father looked at him, his eyes puffy and red.
