Night of Wolves

Epilogue

For several days Jerico traveled along the river. Using a small knife and slender branch he formed a spear, and he ate fish some nights. He avoided the first few villages he encountered, worried they would be the first places checked when his pursuers realized he had left. Assuming he had pursuers. It would be a strange thing to lie about, but Darius might have had his reasons. Still, the image of the falling Citadel haunted him, and if Karak were truly behind it, it was no stretch to believe the dark god’s followers had declared war against his very existence. The priest’s actions certainly confirmed it.

When his provisions at last ran low, he hid his armor in a copse of trees and traveled into a small village wearing only his trousers, shirt, and the platemail’s padded undershirt.

“Heading south?” asked the shopkeep as Jerico paid him for the dried meat and nuts.

“North, actually.”

The man turned to the side and spat between his bucked teeth.

“Not a good idea. Lotta men been gathering arms against lord Hemman, calling him lawless, but they’s just as lawless as him. Not a safe time to be traveling, unless you want to be heading into the far north naked as the day you was born.”

“I will stay wary,” Jerico said, paying him.

“Hey, you hear about a man named Kaide, you get your ass far away,” the shopkeep said as he was leaving. “He’s a cannibal, they say, and he’s got a mad wizard as a pet. Uses the blood of virgins to cast his spells is what I hear! Stay safe from where his bandits are roaming!”

Jerico promised he would.

Once he was dressed in his armor, he packed up the food, filled his waterskins at the river, and continued north. Steadily the land grew wilder. Where once he might have traveled a day to reach the next town, it soon took two, then three. All the while he avoided people best he could, removing his armor when he did have to enter a village. At last he arrived in the true north, much of it winter trees growing in enormous stretches at the feet of the Kala Mountains. It was there he thought he’d have the best chance to hide.

Several weeks after the wolves’ attack, he walked along one of the few trade routes leading toward the mining villages. His pack was light, and his stomach grumbled, but he felt content. The woods were a vibrant green, despite the approaching winter. The chill air felt fine on his skin, which was slick with sweat from the many hours of walking. There was a storm approaching, though, and he felt a calm warning of Ashhur in the back of his mind.

“Not alone, am I?” he chuckled. “Well, let’s see how brave they are.”

He shifted his arm so he had a better grip on his shield. A single tug and he’d have it at the ready. It’d be a brave band of bandits that would assault a man in full platemail. What weapons could they possibly have that might punch through, or be long enough to find the gaps in his armor? He caught sight of eyes watching him from the trees, and bird-calls sounded, birds that should have already flown south. Still, another hour passed, and no one revealed themselves. He thought himself free, but still Ashhur called warning.

Up ahead he saw an elderly man walking with a cane. The top of his head was bald, the rest of his hair a pale white. His back was bent, and in his free hand he carried a satchel.

“It is a long road to walk alone,” Jerico said, calling out to him. “Care for some company?”

“I’m not alone, young man,” the man said, turning toward him. He lifted his staff, and the end shimmered. Cursing, Jerico pulled his shield free, and it burst with blue-white light. That light faded for a moment, then resumed, absorbing the invisible spell.

“An interesting trick,” the old man said. He stood with his back no longer bent, and his voice was firm, belying the age he showed. “Maybe you can explain that later.”

“I think I’ll be going on my way instead.”

The old man laughed.

“I think not.”

Nets dropped from high above his head, cast by men hiding in the trees. Jerico dodged one, but the second fell upon him, its ends heavily weighted. He pulled at it, swinging his mace in hopes of knocking himself free. The old man’s staff shimmered again, and this time his shield was not able to save him. Drowsiness flowed through his veins, making his muscles ache as if he’d just sprinted for miles. Every exertion felt like it would be his last. Whispering prayers to Ashhur, he tried to fight off the spell, but then came the clubs. At least ten bandits descended upon him, bludgeoning him with thick branches of wood stripped of their bark.

As one blow struck his head, he collapsed, his vision swirling with red and black. More blows rained down, most hitting his armor, but some still bruising his flesh. All sound came as if from a distant room.

“Enough,” someone said. Jerico looked up, the effort nearly beyond his abilities. He saw a young man in a ponytail frowning down at him.

“You’re a paladin, aren’t you?” asked this man.

“Why…does it matter…?”

His head hit the ground, lying on a bed of pine needles. Blood trickled from his ear, along his chin, and down his neck.

“What you thinking, Kaide?” asked the old man.

For a long moment, silence. Then came the voice of the second man.

“We have no choice. Take him.”

Arms grabbed him, lifting him up still wrapped in the net. As Jerico stared through the gaps, he saw a wrinkled hand wave before his eyes, and then he saw no more.