before it could finish, and then taken Jacob back to town. Jerico had then saved his life, with hands that healed. A look at his own hand, and Darius saw only fire. He’d saved Jacob, and now he was ready to kill him.
Once more he looked to the crowd, and he knew not what to say. These were his charges. These were the people he’d sworn to defend. What was it he’d told Jerico? His path was hard, and he didn’t always enjoy it. But no parent wished to punish their child. No farmer wanted to cull the weak or ill that might bring down the rest of the herd. As he looked, he saw Jessie staring at him, tears in her eyes. Her father looked ready to explode. The town was uniting, and it was in hatred of him.
“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t hate me. I do what I must.”
What you must? Indeed…
Velixar’s voice floated on the wind, and its sound put a chill into his heart. No time left.
“Go,” he said, taking his sword and stabbing it once more into the dirt. “Forget my words. Forget everything. Your lives are at stake. I am not alone, you fools, now run. RUN!”
The urgency in his voice finally sent them moving. At first they only rushed, and he had little doubt that many intended to bar their homes and wait out the night, along with whatever nameless fear he warned them of. But that wouldn’t last. Already he heard the sound of deep laughter, and in it was such joy. Darius refused to turn. Refused to look. He heard the sound of an explosion, followed by wood raining down upon the ground. Another, and then another. Screams joined it. All the while, he knelt in prayer to Karak, begging for strength. Begging for understanding. Begging for their souls.
At last Darius stood, tears in his eyes.
All around him, Durham burned. People ran for their fields, ran for the forests. Soon they, too, burned, a great wildfire that blotted out the very stars with its heat and smoke. Velixar walked amid the blaze, a dark prophet come bearing judgment. With a wave of his hand, fire spread. With a few words from his lips, lightning struck, blasting apart feeble wooden structures. More screams, cries for help. Darius pulled free his sword, and as he listened to a nearby woman burn alive, he stared at the fire of his blade, the strength of his faith.
It had lessened, but only a little. His heart felt like a bleeding wound, but he clutched to Velixar’s words with whatever strength he had left.
“What this world needs,” he whispered, even as his tears fell. Darkness struck him, and he collapsed to one knee. Blinded, he heard a sudden roar, its power overwhelming. Words echoed in his head, coming from everywhere, and nowhere.
We are what this world needs. The time for choice is over. The time for mankind’s failure is done. We must save them. We must save them all. Order, my beloved paladin. Bring this world Order.
His blindness left him, and feeling coldly detached, he looked up to the smoke-filled sky. Hovering over the village, like a phantom image in the reflection of a pool, he saw the face of a lion. Karak had come to him, and spoken. The honor left him shaken. The words left him numb. Looking around, he saw the town he had once saved, now lost to fire.
“Is this your will?” he whispered. “So be it. My faith is great. The road is narrow, and harsh. Few will walk it, but I will. I will follow your prophet. Forgive my frailty, Karak. Forgive my doubt. I am one man, mortal, and weak. But I will be strong. I will remember. We do this for them. Always for them.”
Faith in Ashhur was like a plague. A single instance could spread. Only one thing would stop it, and at last he knew the prophet’s desire.
Burn the sick branches, Darius thought, fully understanding the gift bestowed upon his blade-upon blades of all paladins sworn to his mighty god.
Burn them with fire.
*
A knocking stirred Jerico from his uneasy sleep. Before he could sit up, Kaide was already at the door, weapon in hand. He put his fingers to his lips, and then motioned for Jerico to answer. The paladin did so, cracking the door enough to let in the light of a candle held by a servant.
“Milord wishes an audience with you,” he said.
“Me?” Jerico asked, still groggy. “Now?”
“Most apologies for disturbing your rest, but yes, I must insist. Dress if you’d like, but do not worry about formality.”
Jerico shut the door and gave Kaide a confused look.
“Formality?”
“It’d be a strange trap, and for little reason,” Kaide said with a shrug. “I’d go, but just in case, bring your mace.”
“I’d rather bring my shield.”
The bandit shrugged.
“Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”
Jerico flung his shield on his back, clipped his mace to his belt, and then exited the room. The servant gave him a funny look, and when he saw the mace, he frowned.
“No weapons,” he said.
“I am no threat to your lord,” Jerico said. “If you wish, you may ask him.”
This didn’t seem to appease the wiry servant much, but he gestured for the man to follow. They wound their way through the halls of the castle, which felt more like interlocking caves than hallways. After many turns, they came upon an area of the castle in the open air. Arthur sat on a bench carved of stone, staring at the moon.
“Milord,” said the servant, “the paladin wishes to keep his shield and mace. What say you?”
“Fearing assassins?” Arthur said, and he chuckled. He was in his bedrobes, and he gestured to his flimsy attire. “I assure you, I am little threat.”
“It is not you I fear,” Jerico said, “nor your men. The world is no longer safe to my kind, no matter where I go, but if you insist I will return to my room and lay down my arms.”
Arthur waved him off.
“Come. Sit with me in the moonlight.”
Jerico did, still unsure of the reason for their meeting. The bench was long, and surprisingly comfortable. The air was chill, for no torches burned nearby lest they obscured the stars. Jerico crossed his arms to keep in his heat.
“Sleep refuses to find me,” Arthur said, his head leaned back so he could gaze at the sky. “And if I cannot sleep, then the petty part of me refuses to let others. I could use a man to talk to, Jerico. Someone honest. They say that paladins of Ashhur are incapable of lies, that your god would strike you dead for even the lightest fib. What say you to that?”
“I’d say you repeat children’s stories. I speak truth by choice, Arthur, not by fear of lightning bolts from the sky.”
Arthur chuckled.
“It must be grand to have all your answers given to you. To the Abyss with politics and fiefdoms. What Ashhur says, you do. You’re not much different than any of my knights, are you?”
This time it was Jerico’s turn to chuckle.
“If Ashhur gave me orders in the same way you order your knights, perhaps it would be so easy. But even if he did, it would not truly make a difference. If you ordered your knights to abandon their families, and march to their deaths, how many would do so?”
“All of the good ones.”
“And how many is that?”
Arthur’s smile widened.
“Not nearly enough. But what of you? How much would you sacrifice?”
“All that I have,” said Jerico.
“Hrmph. Easy to say, of course. Middle of the night, everything’s calm, and every foe is a hundred miles away. But what do you do when confronted with such a terrible choice? What do you do when honor tells you one thing, and your gut tells you another?”
Jerico shifted, and he turned his attention from the stars to the troubled lord.
“What bothers you?” he asked.
Arthur sighed.
