“I think your heart’s in the right place,” he said. “Though I’d prefer you pray for his vengeance to leave him, instead of misery taking its place.”
“I just want to slap some sense into him,” she said, and she laughed to force away the rest of her tears. “Truth be told, this is the first time I’ve been on my own in years. We’ve always been so close…”
“Sandra,” Jerico said, his voice still soft, but now with a barely contained urgency. “Sit up, right now. Don’t ask why.”
He was looking beyond her, into the distance. His left arm was slowly reaching for his shield beside him. Suddenly afraid, she sat up, wincing at the pain in her stomach.
“Who is out there?” she asked, ignoring his instructions otherwise.
Before he could answer, Jerico shoved her hard with his right hand. His left clutched the handles of his shield and pulled it before him. As Sandra landed on her back, she let out a cry, and she heaved from the pain splitting across her stomach. Light flooded their campsite and illuminated the surrounding grasslands. An arrow pierced that light, struck the center of Jerico’s shield, and then ricocheted harmlessly into the dirt.
“Stay down,” Jerico told her as another arrow sailed in, this one missing the mark. He moved toward the fire, where his mace lay beside their rucksack of things, but a third arrow flew in, and its aim was far better than the last. Jerico dropped to one knee, the bottom of his shield clipping the arrow just in time. Without his armor, he had only his shield to protect him, and their conversation earlier didn’t seem quite so entertaining now.
“Where is he?” Sandra called out, still lying low. The grass was tall, but there weren’t any trees or large rocks for someone to hide behind. He had to be crouched down, standing only to fire.
“Right here, girl,” a voice said, mere feet behind her. Sandra’s blood ran cold. She whirled, already kicking. A large man towered over her, his face unshaven and his left eye scarred over. He held a short sword in his left hand, raised to swing. Her kick caught him in the thigh, doing little. Down came the swing, but then Jerico was there, slamming in with his shield. The swing halted in midair. The man let out a cry, and then both continued out of the campsite and into the tall grass.
Sandra rolled to her knees and watched as Jerico crouched, his shield constantly shifting. He kept the thug with the sword occupied, but she realized others were out there, at least the one with the bow. She looked, saw a shorter man standing in the grass thirty yards out, barely visible in the flickers of their firelight.
“Jerico!” she cried as he nocked another arrow.
Jerico shoved away another thrust, then spun, his shield intercepting the arrow just in time. The other thug’s sword slashed in, and it cut across Jerico’s arm before he could turn. Furious, he struck the man’s jaw with his fist, then pressed in, punching and slamming with his shield. He was trying to take out the one opponent so he could deal with the archer, but the man with the sword knew they had numbers and remained on the defensive, always retreating.
“Shit,” muttered Sandra. She wouldn’t sit by and watch him die, nor let him protect her on his own. Kaide had raised her better than that. Near the fire was Jerico’s mace, and she ran for it. Another arrow flew, but it was for Jerico, not her. She heard a cry of pain and prayed it wasn’t the paladin. Clutching the mace, she lifted it, surprised by how light it felt. Holding the handle with both hands, she looked for the archer.
This time he had noticed her movement, and the bow swiveled toward her. She dropped to her knees, the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The arrow flew past her head, the wind of it tugging against her hair. And then she was up, sprinting as fast as her aching feet could manage. Gasping for air, she crossed the distance, feeling interminably slow despite all her efforts. The archer readied another arrow, and he pulled the string tight as she closed in for a swing. She saw his size, his long hair, and the slenderness of his body.
Not a man, Sandra realized. A woman.
The mace pushed the bow aside, the arrow releasing just above her left shoulder. Then the flanged edges struck the flesh of the archer’s face, tearing holes. The weight of its center hit bone, and the woman’s jaw cracked. Sandra saw this in the span of a single breath, such a quick moment, but the sight burned into her, a memory that hung before her eyes like a brutal painting. The body collapsed and lay still. A smell hit her. The dead archer had shit herself.
Footsteps behind her. She swung again, but a strong hand caught the hilt. She pressed harder, then saw it was Jerico, his shield slung across his back. Blood covered the front of his clothes, but it wasn’t his blood. She released the handle, glad to be rid of the weapon. Her arms shook as she stood there, feeling dazed and confused.
“It’s all right,” he said, clipping his mace to his belt and then holding her against him. This smeared the blood from his shirt against her arms, and she pushed him away. “The shakes will go away in time,” he told her. He looked down at the body and shook his head. “Are they with Kaide?”
Sandra glanced at the woman, then shook her head.
“No. I don’t recognize her, nor the man.”
Jerico sighed, and he sounded relieved.
“Good.”
He knelt down and pulled the corpse into his arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, and instead walked back to their campfire. She followed, still trembling. It was as if her pulse refused to slow despite the battle ending. Back at the fire was the body of the man who had attacked her. She saw no outer wounds, but the way his throat was bruised and misshapen told her enough of how Jerico had killed him.
“I had to,” Jerico said, putting the woman’s body down next to the man’s. “I feared you might not reach the archer in time, might be…I had no time to be careful.”
“You won’t receive any judgment from me,” she told him.
“It’s not you who I fear judgment from.” He pointed to a distant cluster of trees several hundred yards out. “Grab a branch, biggest you can find.”
She did not ask, only obeyed. The walk there helped calm her down, and the last of her shakes faded. As they did, though, she felt the pain in her stomach flare. Reaching the trees, she stopped to press her hand against her abdomen. She felt blood. Was it from Jerico’s embrace, or herself? She didn’t know. Didn’t want to know. Finding a half-broken branch, she tore it free and carried it back. Jerico took it, lit it in their fire, and handed it back.
“Go start another campfire,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because it will take all night and day to dig a grave for them, time we don’t have. I won’t leave them here for the carrion.”
She thought of the look the man had given her before he’d tried to take her life with his sword.
“They don’t deserve it,” she said, crossing her arms, feeling very cold.
“They were bandits, probably husband and wife. I don’t know what family they have, what life they’ve led. Children may starve now because we killed them. If only they’d asked, I would have given them what little coin I had. If only they’d asked…”
Jerico sighed.
“I hate this world sometimes. Now go on, before that branch burns too low and hurts your hand.”
Sandra nodded, but couldn’t go just yet.
“You really hate this world?” she asked him.
Jerico grinned despite his apparent exhaustion.
“Yeah,” he said. “I do. But I love the people in it. Now go.”
She set up camp farther away, near the cluster of trees, so she might have ready kindling. When finished, she looked back, saw Jerico tending the pyre. Her stomach heaved, and she turned to vomit. In the light of the fire, she saw it was a deep red. Blood. She felt like crying. Instead she lay down, closed her eyes, and waited for Jerico. The paladin returned long after, though she could not say just how much time had passed.
“Sandra?” she heard him ask. His shield thudded into the ground beside her, and then his palm was against her forehead. “Sandra, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t know,” she murmured. She felt very tired. Jerico carefully lifted her shirt so he might examine the wound on her stomach.
“Oh god,” he whispered.
She was scared to look, to see what frightened him so. All she knew was that it hurt like a blade driven deep
