blood. He slumped to his knees, remaining upright only by leaning his weight on his fists. Blood trickled down his neck and dripped to the scorched grass.
Darius held his blade high, clutching it with both hands as he towered over his defeated opponent.
“Karak’s judgment,” he whispered.
“Stand with me,” Jerico said, and he looked up without any anger, any malice, only disappointment. “Remember, Darius. Stand with me.”
The words Jerico had said during the fight against the wolf-men. Side by side, they’d fought, bled, and been ready to die. And so they had, making their stand against the chaos of the world. It didn’t matter Darius had failed to protect his charges, that his lack of strength had doomed many. Jerico had understood, and called him to fight without ever casting blame or judgment.
Side by side.
The fire of his blade, fueled by his hatred, his anguish, his certainty, could no longer be sustained. It dwindled away, still bright, but no longer the Felholad it had become. In that brief moment, Darius felt terrified to be once more alone, abandoned, a failure to the vision he’d seen. In that brief moment, Jerico lunged to his feet, his mace swinging. Darius was too slow to block, only partially deflecting the strike. The mace struck the side of his head, the flanged edges tearing into his skin. Blood spilled, and he collapsed from the blow as his sight blurred. His hands felt strange to him, and the sword slipped to the ground. Tears in his eyes, he saw the fire fade completely.
More than anything, he felt alone. On his knees, he looked up at Jerico, who stood with the mace at ready.
“Do it,” he said. “Kill me. Gods help me, you don’t know what I’ve done. I can be this no longer.”
Jerico hesitated, and for some reason that hesitation filled Darius with fury.
“I said do it!” he screamed. “Coward! I’ll not be judged!”
Instead Jerico flung his mace to the ground, shifted his shield onto his back, and offered his hand. Darius stared at it, unbelieving.
“Take it, and stand,” said Jerico.
“Why?” Darius asked.
“Because I need to believe you aren’t lost to me, otherwise I might as well throw down my shield and join you in death. Now stand.”
Darius felt Velixar’s words searing through his mind. He thought of the massacred villagers, of the horrors at Durham. He felt guilt crushing him, denied for so long by a certainty of faith he no longer held. Through it all, one thing echoed over everything: Velixar’s own words now turned against him.
Darius looked to Jerico’s offered hand, and a face containing no anger, no blame, only forgiveness.
“What this world needs,” he whispered.
He took it and stood. Jerico embraced him, and he laughed.
“Ashhur be praised,” he said, grinning. “I thought you were going to take my head off.”
“I almost did.”
Together they looked through the fire, to where Velixar waited. They could see the barest hint of the group, so deep into the forest they had gone during their fight.
“We have to run,” Jerico said, nodding the other way. “Sebastian’s army will come back to find us soon.”
“No,” Darius said, glancing at his sword. “No running. Those out there know your name. They’ll hunt you forever, and me as well. Let us end this now.”
Jerico touched the back of his head, and he winced at the pain. Darius felt guilty for it, but he laughed anyway and smacked Jerico across the shoulder. For whatever reason, even at the prospect of facing down Velixar, he felt almost giddy. He had always expected one of two fates to befall him, either torturing in the Abyss, or being tortured. Somehow he had found a third fate, and it was at Jerico’s side.
“If you say we must, then we must,” Jerico said, readying his shield and mace. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Darius said, unable to control his grin. “I have an idea.”
*
V alessa felt disappointed to see Darius emerge from the forest into daylight. She’d hoped the other paladin might kill him, and as a failure he’d go to Karak to beg for mercy, mercy he would not receive. Instead he walked with blood on his armor, and his sword sheathed across his back.
“Karak be praised,” Velixar said. “He is dead?”
Darius said nothing, only walked silently toward the prophet. Something about the look in his eyes worried Valessa, so much that she found herself itching to draw her daggers. He looked healthier, relieved. Of course, she thought. He’d defeated the burden placed upon him. With Jerico dead, his reparations with Karak were complete. Such a damn shame.
“Is he dead?” Velixar asked again, a note of worry in his voice, as if he too noticed the change. Darius kept calm, his face betraying nothing. He moved between the three, past Velixar, but the prophet reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. Mallak tensed, also sensing the strange feeling in the air.
“Darius,” Velixar said. “Draw your sword.”
Darius obeyed, a hint of a smile finally showing on his lips. He drew, and Valessa froze at the shock of what she saw.
Blue light shone across the edges of the blade. So stunned was she, she could only watch as Darius continued the smooth drawing motion into a swing right for Velixar’s neck. The sword cut cloth and struck the prophet’s pale skin. For a moment it seemed it would do nothing, but the blue light flared stronger, and then the blade passed right on through. Velixar’s body burst into dust; his eyes melted into fire. He let out a single cry before he died, a denial against failing, a refusal to accept the death befalling him. Then he was silent.
“Betrayer!” Mallak cried, drawing his sword in time to block Darius’s follow-up swing. Their blades connected, showering sparks. The dark fire wreathing Mallak’s sword was far greater, and with ease he pushed Darius back. “You will burn for eternity for such cowardice!”
Valessa could not believe her luck. The damned prophet was gone, and here was Darius deserving every bit of pain she could deliver. Karak must have smiled upon her. She watched as the two paladins exchanged swings, with Darius clearly the inferior in strength and passably equal in skill. When she saw an opening, his back completely to her, she tensed her legs to lunge. Searing pain flooded her back before she could, and then she found herself flying through the air. Tucking her shoulder, she rolled, then spun so she might dig her heels into the dirt to halt her momentum.
Chasing after her was Jerico with that damned shield of his. Worse, he was apologizing.
“Sorry,” he said, carefully approaching. “Don’t like attacking opponents unaware.”
“Consider me aware,” she said, twirling her daggers in her hands. One opening… just one opening…
He lifted his mace to strike, and she went for it, one blade jamming inward to lock his shield out of place, the other thrusting for the gap in his armor at the armpit. Numbing pain jolted into her hand as her dagger hit the shield, but she forced herself on. Her other dagger sliced into flesh, and then she whirled, avoiding the downward chop of his mace. The paladin let out a cry, and it was music to her ears. Continuing her spin, she stayed close, and her daggers stabbed for a crease just above his shoulder.
“I have no problem stabbing a man in the back,” she said through clenched teeth as Jerico’s body reacted on instinct, arching his upper half toward her. She twisted the dagger, locking his right arm from striking at her with his mace.
“How could you kill Claire?” she asked, still pressed tight against him. “You, a slow, dim-witted fool? She was worlds beyond you.”
“Because I… have… friends.”
Jerico ducked, and Darius’s elbow caught her full in the face. Her training kicked in, and Valessa rolled with it to minimize the damage, leaving one of her two daggers still embedded in Jerico’s shoulder. When she returned to her feet, the next few seconds were a jumbled blur. Her eyes watered from the hit, and the throbbing in her head seemed to make everything a haze. Jerico fell to one side, still bleeding. Instead of pressing the attack on her, Darius spun, flinging his weapon up to block Mallak’s attack, who was far from beaten. Mallak, it seemed, had tried to kill Jerico while he lay helpless. As Valessa lunged to help, Jerico rolled to his knees and lifted his shield. Its light shone upon her, and already weakened, she struggled to push onward. It felt as if her every movement was through ice water. Jerico met her ineffective attack with that damn shield of his. Her whole body pressed against it, but she could only cry out in agony. Never before had she felt such pain.
