his belief in the false god. You treated him as one of your own, and in turn, spat in the face of Karak. Ashhur is the enemy. You cannot serve Karak and refuse that simple truth.”
“No,” Darius said, wishing he could call for the guards. “No. You’re wrong. Karak doesn’t want murder. He doesn’t want bloodshed. He wants order! He wants peace!”
Velixar stood. All trace of humor left him. When he spoke, there was no mockery, no anger. Instead, Darius heard something all the more frightening: certainty.
“My eyes are everywhere,” he said. “I watched you kill the paladin, Pallos. Answer me this one question truthfully, and I will let you be. What happened when you killed him? What happened when your blade cleaved through Pallos’s neck?”
Darius fought against the memory. He had tried to think it made no sense, that it had been a hallucination, a delusion, a deception. The weight of it crushed him, and when he looked into Velixar’s eyes, he knew he could not lie, so he said nothing, for what else could he say?
But Velixar knew. No smiles. No bragging. He spoke quietly, almost gently.
“Your blade burned with Karak’s fire, didn’t it? At that glorious moment, you felt the presence of your god.”
Darius felt tears slide down his face.
“I did,” he said, his voice cracking.
“You took the life of a paladin of Ashhur, and Karak blessed you for it. The truth could not be any simpler. Do you still deny me?”
He wanted to. He needed to. Shaking his head, Darius clung to the last vestige of his faith.
“Killing Jerico would have been wrong,” he said. “You will never convince me otherwise.”
Velixar put his back to him, and as the shadows swirled about, he spoke.
“I will not be the one to convince you, Darius. You will do that on your own. When you do, I will be waiting, and I will welcome you back to the glory of Karak with open arms.”
The shadows thickened, and then Velixar was gone. Darius jolted, as if he’d been asleep the whole while. Tears remained on his face. In the corner, the jailor snored.
“Damn you, Jerico,” Darius whispered. “I hope you live. I hope you live a thousand years for the suffering I must endure.”
He slept, not long, and not comfortably. His dreams were dark, and Karak’s contempt filled them with shadows and fire.
6
Kalgan sat beside him when Jerico came to, his consciousness swimming to the surface amid an ocean of pain.
“How long?” Jerico asked, lying very still, which kept the pain at its least.
“Just a few hours,” Kalgan said. “You’re tougher than you look.”
“Thanks, I guess. Water?”
A bony hand pressed against his back as he sat up. Every movement made his leg ache, but he was thirsty, and refused to let the pain control him. He accepted a small wooden cup and drank. It tasted strangely bitter, but he downed it anyway.
“There’s a few herbs in there to help you,” Kalgan said, taking back the cup. “Some you’ve heard of, and some I doubt you’ve ever seen before. You’ll sleep well, and it’ll dull the pain. Ignore any strange hallucinations it gives you.”
Already he felt his head turning light, and he tried to protest.
“I shouldn’t… things like that…”
“Spare me, Jerico. Even in your sleep, you moaned with pain.”
Jerico breathed in deep and tried to relax. Best he could tell, he was back in the same hut, and when he glanced left, he saw the patched up hole that had been his exit earlier. Beth was gone, and he hoped that meant her recovery was going well.
“Your ability to heal,” Kalgan said, settling into his chair and resting his hands on his lap. “Can you use it on yourself?”
“In a way,” Jerico said. His throat felt dry despite the drink, and his tongue thick. His pain was dulling, though, which was nice. “It requires concentration, and if the pain is bad…”
“Which it is. I thought so. You won’t be going anywhere for a few days. I suspect you’ll be up and about faster than any man has right to, but it won’t be today. I already told Kaide as much.”
“Kaide?” Jerico started to sit up, but his stomach lurched, and the whole room swayed as if the world had begun to shake. He lay back down, deciding such complicated actions like sitting up or talking could probably be done slowly, or later.
“Yes, he seemed quite worried for you. Not that you’d get better, but that you’d run off. I told him you had a few days to recover, and I considered that generous. Most men would have never walked again, and those that did would use a cane. Your kneecap is in pieces, paladin. As for the flesh around it, well… I wouldn’t look if I were you. Not until you’re ready to use Ashhur’s magic to remedy it.”
“Not… magic…”
Kalgan laughed, and Jerico chuckled along with him despite his sour mood.
“Call it what you want, but Kren did something to your leg when he touched you, that much I’m certain. I thought of cutting it off completely, to be honest. If I hadn’t seen what you’d done for Beth, I’d have already brought out the knife.”
“How is Beth?” Jerico asked after a moment to catch his breath. He felt a heaviness settling over him, like an invisible blanket weighted on all sides. He wanted to lie still, and do nothing, but he refused to cooperate.
“Still asleep, but in her own bed. Poor girl, to suffer such a cruel fate from a little thing like a spider. Some parts of life are lost to her, but she’s resilient, got that much from her father. She’ll find a way to thrive, and the people of this village love her. Don’t worry about her fate, just concentrate on your own.”
Ignoring Kalgan’s earlier advice, Jerico sat up again. His eyes didn’t want to open, but after a moment, he rubbed them with his fingers and then pulled aside his blanket. Seeing his leg, he turned to one side and vomited. Kalgan cursed up a storm.
“What’d I tell you?” Kalgan said. He left, then returned with a handful of dirt and sawdust to scatter atop the vomit.
“Does it smell of rot?” Jerico asked, pulling the blanket back over.
“No. For that, I guess you can be thankful.”
Jerico laughed.
“Aye. Thankful. If you don’t mind, I’m going back to sleep.”
“Do you want me to splint the leg?”
Jerico thought of the black tissue around his swollen kneecap, the blue veins streaking outward in all directions.
“No,” he said. “Don’t touch it. Ashhur help me, I don’t want to think of the pain.”
Jerico slept, and when he awoke again, night had fallen. Several new blankets lay over him, and despite their cover, he felt cold all over. Kalgan’s chair was empty beside him.
“Kalgan?” he asked anyway. His jaw trembled, but at least his head felt somewhat clear from whatever concoction of herbs the old man had given him. No one responded, and that was fine. He’d need silence for what would follow.
“Please be with me, Ashhur,” he whispered as he shoved blanket after blanket aside. Shivers assaulted him, and he knew without a doubt he was with fever. No matter. He’d manage. Swallowing down his fear, he pulled away the last blanket, revealing his leg. This time he refused to look away from the swelling, bruises, and puss. His leg shook along with the rest of his body, and the movement awoke spikes of pain that nearly made him pass out. Gritting his teeth, he gently touched his knee with his fingertips.
Closing his eyes, he began his prayers to his deity. The broken bones would have to wait, for the curse of
