“But you just wanted to help,” she said, shaking her head. With her lone hand she wiped at her tears. “I shouldn’t be mad, not when you wanted to help. Her name was Sally, the lady you protected. I thought you should know.”
“What happened to her?” he asked. “When the knights returned, what did she do?”
Beth looked away, and she shivered as if she were cold.
“She ran. ‘Never again,’ she kept screaming. Screamed even before they reached the village. They chased her, and she… she never came back.”
Jerico felt the words knife through his heart. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, feeling a headache building in his forehead.
“All my fault,” he whispered. “Damn it, it’s all my fault.”
“No, you can’t think…”
“Not her, Beth. You. I could have said yes. I could have spared you all of this. I’ll never forgive myself. And I can see it in your eyes, that you know it, too.”
She fell silent, and already Jerico felt his frustration grow. Beth was only on the cusp of womanhood, barely able to handle her own problems, let alone his. He should have kept his mouth shut, and carried such a burden on his own. That was his purpose in the world, after all. She had enough to worry about besides his guilt.
“I don’t mean to be,” she said at last. Her arm wrapped around his waist, and she leaned against his chest. Her tears wet his shirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so angry. The whole time it happened, I kept hoping you’d save me like you saved Sally. It’s not fair, blaming you. Please don’t hate me for it, Jerico, please.”
“I could never hate you,” Jerico said. He watched the sun set as he waited for Beth to cry it all out. Every tear hardened his heart against the men who had done such a thing to her. It wasn’t right, but he didn’t care. Hopefully Ashhur would forgive him, because for once, grace and forgiveness were the furthest things from his mind. But most of all, he felt his guilt and sorrow fading away. If she could forgive him for such a mistake, then that would be enough for him to forgive himself.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything I’ve failed at, for letting you, letting everyone, suffer. I handled it horribly, and could have done something to keep that knight from leaving shamed and furious. I’ll do better. I’ll find a way. Don’t give up on me yet.”
“I won’t,” she said as she pulled back, sniffing and turning away as if embarrassed. “Will you help my dad fight?”
“I will, for as long as I believe it right to do so.”
“I was there that winter,” she said. “What we had to do, it was
… will my father go to the Abyss for it? For… you know… what he ate?”
He could see the question in her eyes, the true words she meant to say.
What we ate.
“Ashhur turns no soul away,” he said. “No matter the past. It’s forgotten. Murderer or priest, pious or thief, all are children in his eyes. I don’t think your father will be condemned forever, not for that. And neither will you.”
Her relief spread across her face, and she hugged him, this time unworried about her stump of an arm.
“Promise you’ll come back to visit?” she asked.
“I promise. And thank you, Beth.”
“Cheer up next time I do see you,” she said, forcing a smile. “You’re much more fun to be around when you’re in a good mood.”
Jerico laughed.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Go on to bed. I need some time alone to pray.”
She left, and once more, he felt the sounds of the night envelop him.
“Heed the voices of children,” Jerico said as the evening star pierced the hazy purple sky. He focused on it, as if it were Ashhur and could hear every word. “I hope this is what you want. No more doubt. No more worries. I go to war, and I ask your blessing upon it.”
He stood and grabbed his shield and mace, which he had put at his feet. The shield shone brilliant in the night, and he smacked the front of it once for reassurance before returning to Stonahm to sleep.
Come morning, he and three hundred others rode west, to where they believed Arthur would be.
*
S ir Gregane stared at the map of the North and frowned.
“I hate maps,” he muttered, pointing at a section of sharp, interconnected triangles. “Is that forest, and if so, how dense?”
His second in command, a knight named Nicholls, leaned over and scratched at his chin.
“I’ve hunted there once,” he said. “The land’s mostly flat, and the trees are thick at times. There’s many gaps, though, as if the woods and grass couldn’t make up their mind who got to grow where. I think that’s what the cartographer meant to imply.”
The flap of their tent shook in the wind, and Gregane turned and jammed his sword through the fabric, pinning it to the ground.
“The ground is flat,” he said, returning to the table. “You’re certain of this?”
“As I can be two years after being there.”
The two men were alone in the tent, by Sir Gregane’s orders. In that privacy, with a man who had once been his squire, he could finally discuss and strategize without fear. Too many were vying for favor in Sebastian’s eyes, under the assumption that once Arthur’s lands were conquered, a new lord would need appointing to rule. Some were already trying to sabotage his command, or cause greater casualties and delays than there might be otherwise when defeating the renegade brother. It seemed Gregane was the only one who understood Sebastian would appoint no one but himself to rule all of the North.
“What do you truly think?” Gregane asked.
Nicholls shrugged and pointed at the map.
“It’ll be difficult for our cavalry to maneuver, depending on where we meet. And they might have ambushes planned, hence why they’ve chosen the area.”
“At least it’s far from any town,” Gregane said, still staring at the map as if he might bore a hole through and see into Arthur’s mind. The lord had sent a rider, alerting Gregane and his commanders that Arthur sought to meet on a field of battle, in the area known to the locals as the Green Gulch. Gregane had promised an answer the following day, and then sent out scouts to check the terrain. It would be at least a day or two before he heard back from them, and the knight found his patience wearing thin as the night waned.
“I’d have preferred it if we had chosen the location,” Nicholls admitted. “But assuming Arthur holds to his word, we couldn’t have hoped for better ground to fight. It’d take months to starve him out of his caves, if at all given how many damn hidden paths and vaults he’s dug into it.”
Gregane nodded. When he’d marched out, granted command by Lord Sebastian, he’d expected to be heading toward a lengthy siege. With his five thousand men, a tenth of them mounted cavalry, he’d figured Arthur would use his castle to make up for his vastly inferior numbers. Such a plan, while sure to be an eventual victory for Gregane, posed far greater danger than open combat. The plain folk were, without a doubt, supporting and aiding Arthur. The longer the brothers’ conflict lasted, the worse it’d get for Sebastian.
“If it comes down to the Green Gulch, a potential siege, or a fight at a river crossing, I’ll take the flat ground,” said Gregane.
Nicholls rolled up the map and stored it in a chest of Gregane’s things.
“What of the scouts?” he asked.
“Learn what we can from them, but unless they discover battlements and trenches already built, we’ll not break our word.”
“Will Arthur renege? This could be a ploy.”
Gregane shook his head.
“I’ve served the Hemman family since long before Arthos’s death. I know Arthur. He’s honorable, and will do what he thinks is right. He would never renege upon an agreed battle.”
“What of his rebellion against Sebastian? I assume he thinks it is right, too?”
Gregane sighed, and he yanked his sword free and gestured for Nicholls to leave.
“Careful with your thoughts,” he said. “That road leads to danger. We serve the lord of the North, and right
