Clash of Faiths

13

“You’ve really done it now,” Bellok said, the wizard looking positively annoyed.

“Is that so?” Kaide asked, grinning as the rest came up to greet them.

“You started a war without me. I’m disappointed.”

The two laughed, and then louder as Adam and Griff wrapped them in bear hugs.

“We get to fight!” they cried in unison.

Jerico slipped to the side, content to let them celebrate. He caught Beth watching him while waiting for her father to be free. He smiled at her, but she looked away. When Kaide called to her, she ran and wrapped her arm around his chest, hugging him tightly. Her stump remained at her side, as if she were afraid to touch him with it.

“We’ll need to move out soon,” Kaide said after kissing the top of her head. “There’s several places the two lords might choose to meet, and I want us there before either side can discuss matters with the other.”

“You really think they’d make a truce?” Bellok asked.

“No,” Kaide said, his grin ear to ear. “But I want to be there just in case Sebastian sends an envoy. I’ll enjoy sending him back in pieces.”

“Father!” Beth said, and he kissed her forehead once more.

“Pay no attention to what I say,” he whispered. “Now go on to your room and leave us be. You entered this dark world of adults sooner than you ever should have.”

She blushed but did as she was told. Jerico watched her exit, wishing for even the tiniest of smiles to soothe his lingering guilt. He received none.

“Jerico,” Kaide said, pulling his attention away. “You know more of this than I. We need to march, and prepare supplies. Come give us a list, will you?”

Jerico helped much as he could, detailing necessary provisions to bring with them, from the obvious to the obscure. Kaide frowned as he listened, and rebuked several things they could not get in time.

“We’ll make do without,” he said. “How many we have with us ready to go?”

“They been comin’ in from all over,” Adam said. “Burly men, thugs, farmers, rapers. The whole lot’s ready to beat some heads.”

“Wonderful,” Kaide said, his expression anything but. “How many?”

“Three hundred,” Bellok said. “And Adam’s right… they’re the sort even we might normally turn away.”

“Not today. Give them a stick if we have to. We’ll club Sebastian down from his castle walls.”

Jerico excused himself, feeling no longer needed as they continued. He stepped out into the town, where many still lingered about the home, hoping for any word. Their expressions did not match their earlier joy upon seeing Kaide, though. He felt the outsider, a necessary tool, and that was all. He thought of the flock he had taught in Durham, and longed for such a connection. Would any care to hear the word of Ashhur from him, or was the word of Kaide, a word of war, the only thing they desired?

“Will Ashhur be with Arthur’s war?” a farmer called out as he walked for the village outskirts.

“I pray he is,” Jerico said, committing to nothing further than that.

He walked until he reached the pond, and he found the log he’d sat upon when training his leg. It wasn’t so long ago, but it felt like a separate age. Sitting down, he grabbed a few nearby rocks and began skipping them across. Finally alone for the first time in weeks, he closed his eyes and listened for the words of his god. All he heard were the soft sounds of the night birds rustling, the blow of the wind through the grass, and the trickle of the small stream feeding into the pond.

“Jerico?”

The paladin looked back to see Beth standing behind him, holding her stump. She looked ashamed, but she met his eye despite the effort it clearly took.

“Yes, Beth?” he asked.

“Can we talk?”

He shifted, and gestured for her to sit beside him on the log. She did so.

“I…”

She stopped, and Jerico let her take her time. The sun had begun to set, and he watched the colors.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I shouldn’t be mad. I am, but… it was so awful, Jerico. They…”

She’d begun to cry, and he shushed her.

“You have no reason to apologize,” he said. “Not to me.”

“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 now, that rightful lord is Sebastian Hemman. All else matters not.”

“Of course,” Nicholls said, saluting. When he was gone, Gregane scowled. His anger toward Nicholls was misplaced, and he knew it. The younger knight had only voiced a gnawing doubt that he himself had been trying to ignore. Arthur, the older brother, was the one who should have ruled, if not for forsaking his claim. Arthur, the one who ruled all aspects of his life with honor, and patience…

He slammed his fist atop the table, banishing such treasonous thoughts. Sebastian was lord. That was that. Gregane couldn’t toss a bag of coins to beggars, then demand it back the following year. It was foolish, and neither could Arthur try for similar. Such threats to the North’s stability needed to be ended, and quickly. His duty wasn’t to like it, only do it. Come battle, he would defeat Arthur, and bring him bound to the Yellow Castle for his lord to decree his fate.

A cold wind blew, and he shivered. The tent flap rustled, and he turned thinking it only the wind. Instead, a man in black robes stood before him, his pale face smiling and his eyes alive with fire. Gregane reached for his sword, but stopped when the man said a single word.

“Halt.”

Despite his struggle, Gregane could not move. It was as if a hundred invisible chains had latched to his body. He stared at the intruder, feeling anger and panic swelling in his chest. His heart pounded, the sound thunderous in his ears.

“I mean you no harm,” said the man in black. “And I stop you not out of fear or malice, but to prevent you from doing something you might regret. If you remain calm, I will release you.”

Unsure how to answer, Gregane stared at the man and did his best to show that he was under control. Apparently it worked, for the intruder waved his hand, and the chains were gone.

“Who are you?” he asked, crossing his arms to fight against the impulse to draw his blade.

“I am Velixar, voice of the Lion, prophet to our glorious god Karak. I come offering counsel, and my aid.”

“I have enough men whispering in my ears.”

“Yes, but I offer no whispers, and most important of all, my voice speaks truth.”

Gregane swallowed. Truth, he thought. He highly doubted it. Still, if this was a holy man of Karak, he had to tread carefully. Sebastian’s loyalty to their deity was well known throughout the North.

“Then tell me what you wish to say, and I will take it into consideration.”

“Consideration?” Velixar chuckled, though Gregane could not begin to guess the reason for his amusement. “When men with wisdom speak, you should listen, and obey, my dear knight. Not pretend. Not take it into consideration.”

Gregane found himself entranced by the prophet’s face. At first he’d thought he imagined it, but he realized the man’s features were slowly shifting, as if his face were a liquid in constant, miniscule motion. His blood ran cold as he wondered just what really lay behind that mask.

“As you say,” Gregane said, trying to play it safe. “Then speak, and I will listen.”

“Much better. I have seen many battles, Sir…?”

“Gregane.”

“Sir Gregane. I’ve seen many, and started more. I know the minds of men, the simple strategies they employ. Let me stay at your side, and I will help you crush Arthur’s rebellion. The North’s worship of Karak must not be disrupted in any way.”

Gregane thought of that priest standing beside him come the battle, and he knew any orders he gave would not be suggestions. Once more he felt another clawing at the prestige that was to be rightfully his. And staring into those red eyes, he knew within lurked a man who would laugh at the very notion of honorable combat.

“We go to meet Arthur’s men,” he said. “We have agreed to a place, and will arrive within a few day’s march. Would you accompany us, or wait for our arrival?”

It was a gamble, he knew, but he had a feeling such a man would not casually walk among the living. His very presence seemed counter to daylight.

“I will await you there,” the priest said, his smile growing. “Show me where.”

Gregane knelt before his chest, opened it, and pulled out his map. Carefully he unrolled it upon the lone table of his tent, placing weights on all four corners to keep it open. With every bit of his self control, he willed himself to believe with absolute certainty the lie he spoke.

“Here,” he said, pointing to a place labeled Deer Valley, several miles east of the Green Gulch.

“A valley?” Velixar asked.

“We will leave them nowhere to run, and our horsemen will run rampant through their lines.”

The prophet nodded in approval.

“My faithful and I will await you there, my good knight. Your cooperation will never be forgotten, I promise.”

The promise felt just as much threat, but Gregane kept his face composed, the rigid gaze of a commander. Velixar stepped out from the tent. Once he was gone, Gregane collapsed to his knees, tore off his armor, and called out for one of his servants to bring him a very, very full pitcher of wine.