“Tithes and taxes,” the knight said. “You know you need to pay the lord his due.”
When she turned away from him, he slapped her with his hand, which still wore a gauntlet. The metal bruised her face, and blood dripped from her swollen lip. Jerico took a step closer, unnoticed by either. Stunned, he looked about. They were not in hiding. At least three people walked past, and they kept their eyes ahead, refusing to even look. Anger swelled in Jerico’s chest. He turned back around the corner, a fire in his eyes. Beth saw him and paled.
“Please, you can’t interfere. You can’t!”
“I can.” He hobbled to a pen currently empty of animals, which were still out in the fields. Resting against one side was a shovel, and he took it. Its handle was long, sturdy. Maybe not as potent a weapon as his mace, but it’d do. Beth stepped back, chewing on her fingernails. Limping around the corner, Jerico thought he must look the most pathetic savior, but it didn’t matter. He would not stand by and watch, no matter the reason, no matter what the rest of the village thought or did.
The woman’s blouse was mostly torn, exposing one of her breasts. The knight had cast aside his gauntlets, one hand holding her wrist against the house, the other feeling wherever he wished. Jerico limped closer. The woman saw him, and her eyes widened. He swung. The flat side of the shovel connected with the back of the knight’s head, which slammed forward, striking the door. His legs went weak, and he collapsed onto his rear. The woman stood shocked still, sobbing.
“Cover yourself,” Jerico said to her. “And go to friends, or family. Now.”
She pulled at her dress and rushed away, too scared to say a word. Jerico stood before the knight, holding the shovel in both hands. He kept his movements still, not wanting to reveal the weakness of his knee.
“You bastard,” the knight said, spitting blood. “I’ll gut you for that. This is Lord Sebastian’s land, his town, and his fucking taxes.”
“Were you looking for coins down her blouse?”
The knight grinned, revealing red-stained teeth.
“You really think you’re gonna walk away from this? You’re a farmer with a shovel.”
He stood and drew his sword. His stance was uneven, his balance clearly shaken, no doubt from the blows to his head. Jerico shifted, planting his weight on his good leg.
“I used the flat side as a warning,” Jerico said. “But this iron’s heavy, and the sides are sharp. The next time I hit you, it will leave more than a bruise.”
The knight’s sneer showed how worried he was. Taking a step closer, he swung, a simple overhead chop. Jerico blocked it with the handle of his shovel, wielding it much as he would a staff. The wood was thick, and though the sword cut an indent, it was far from breaking through. Twisting the shovel, Jerico pushed away, changed its angle, and then struck him on the return swing. The metal end smacked into his exposed face, this time blasting free a tooth.
“I’m warning you,” Jerico said. “That was still the flat side.”
The knight collapsed against the side of the house, holding his free hand against his mouth. He said something, but it was muffled against his wrist. Jerico twirled the shovel, hiding the pain he felt. Even the act of swinging put horrible pressure on the joint. If the man managed to tackle him, bring him to the ground, Jerico would have little chance of wrestling free. He couldn’t let him regain his confidence.
“What was that?” Jerico asked, keeping his outward image perfectly calm.
Instead of answering, the knight charged, no doubt hoping for surprise. Jerico had read him with ease, though. The knight had basic training, but was used to relying on his armor and sword to bully about simple farming people. Against someone like Jerico, his attacks were obvious, his strategies transparent. Flipping the shovel about, Jerico jammed the metal into the dirt, bracing it. The knight rammed himself against the other side of the handle, which slipped underneath the metal of his breastplate. The knight gasped, blood and spittle flying from his lips. The sword dropped from his hands, and then he rolled off to the ground.
His teeth clenched against the pain, Jerico walked without a limp to where the sword lay and took it. He tossed the shovel aside.
“Get up,” Jerico said. “Walk out of this village, and go back to wherever you belong.”
The knight rolled onto his knees and vomited. Jerico smacked his rear with the flat of his blade. Glaring, the knight staggered to his feet and headed south. Jerico watched him go, standing perfectly still until he was out of sight. When he was gone, he leaned all his weight on his good leg and let out a gasp.
“Jerico?” Beth asked, having stayed far away during the fight.
“Go find whoever that woman was,” Jerico said. “Make sure she’s all right.”
“But…”
“Go!”
She stepped back, her mouth open. The anger in his voice left her stunned. Turning, she ran. Jerico looked at the sword, glad to see no blood anywhere on its blade. By now, others had gathered around, whether from guilt, curiosity, or anger, he didn’t know. But he knew how he felt. Seeing the people who had stood by and done nothing, he hurled the sword at them.
“Take it!” he shouted. “Let someone claim it as his own, and maybe next time, use it!”
He limped back to his hut, and on his way, not a soul dared meet his eye. Once there, he gathered what few things he had. Kalgan arrived not much later.
“You’re leaving,” he said, and it was not a question.
“I am.”
“You’re not healthy. We both know this. Where is it you’ll go?”
Jerico sighed. “Back to the forest, with Kaide. I made a promise. I won’t break it now.”
“But the wildwoods are miles away, and on that leg…”
“The walking will strengthen it as well as if I stayed here.”
Jerico glared at him. He felt tired, exhausted, and drained. More than anything, he felt fury at the people there, whether it was fair or not. He would stay no longer. Jerico was no fool. He knew these things happened. But at least someone could have stepped in. Someone could have summoned a crowd, provided witnesses…
“I’ll prepare you some food,” Kalgan said. He opened the door, but his hand remained against it, as if he were reluctant to leave. “What you did, it might put us in danger.”
“Then I hope you deal with it better than you did that knight.”
Stinging words, and he regretted them immediately. Kalgan looked at him with sad eyes.
“Fair enough,” he said, shutting the door behind him before Jerico could apologize. He struck the wall with a fist, and once more wished the Citadel remained. If only he could return, be in the company and comfort of his brethren. They’d know what to do. They’d know what path was right.
Beth lingered outside when he stepped out.
“You’ll need a guide,” she said. “Kalgan says your horse is still here, and you can ride it back. Let me go with you.”
He almost said yes.
“Does your Ma know you’re here?”
Her guilty look was enough. Wanting no more reminders of Kren, the knight, or his injury, he took her by the shoulder and kissed her forehead.
“Stay here,” he said. “And be strong.”
Beth looked ready to cry, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.
“Goodbye, Jerico,” she said, hurrying away.
Jerico found his horse and followed the road for several hours, letting the agony of his knee and the wind through his hair pull him away from that last pained look she’d given him, just before turning to run.
7
The story had spread like wildfire throughout the North, and the ears of the gray sisters were always attentive.
“It might be him,” Claire had said the first time they heard it, sitting together in a crowded tavern at a
