The Old Ways

21

Before they came for him that morning, Jerico already knew the battle had begun. He stood before the bed Arthur had given him, wearing his armor. On the bed lay his armaments. His fingers ran along the symbol of the golden mountain painted across the front of his shield, but his god was far from his mind at that point. All he could think of was Sandra held captive by the priest, Luther, and what his promise had been.

…should I see you again, even hear rumors of your approach, I will sacrifice that whore to Karak.

He had no reason to doubt him, no reason to believe he lied. There’d been such intensity in his eyes, such loathing…

The door opened. Jerico kept his back to it, his head low.

“Jerico?” asked a soldier he did not know.

“Yes?”

“They’re…they’re rushing the gates. We need you.”

She’ll die naked, alone, and screaming in pain.

“I know,” he said, glancing back. The soldier opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Right. Arthur wished you to know, that is all.”

He closed the door as Jerico picked up his mace. The weight felt reassuring in his hands.

Think on that the next time you would play the hero.

By aiding Arthur, he was killing Sandra. He picked up his shield, slung it over his back. By fighting Sebastian, he ended the life of the first woman he’d ever loved. Closing his eyes, he thought of her face, her stubborn smile. But this was what she’d want. He knew that. She could have run, but instead she killed the two men that had threatened him. Cowering to threats, giving in to cruel demands…that wasn’t her, wasn’t something she’d ever do.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

He left his room and made his way to the courtyard. Soldiers lined the walls and formed rows before the rumbling gates. From what he’d learned, there were a hundred stationed within, and approximately six hundred outside the walls. Should they break through, they couldn’t hold. He also knew that. They’d die, without hope of victory. As the wood groaned, and the battering ram slammed again and again, he took up a position at the front of the defense, where the tired men stood, quiet, nervous, watching.

“They’ll hold,” one said to him as he stood at his side.

“If not, then we will,” Jerico said, and he smiled a smile he knew they all needed to see.

Screams filled the air. Glancing up, he saw the men on the walls pouring boiling oil on the attackers. Others shoved stones through murder holes, the sharp rocks plentiful because of the caves. Arthur’s archers were few, but they loosed arrow after arrow while ducking behind the ramparts when Sebastian’s men returned fire. More oil, and for a brief moment, the slamming against the gates stopped.

Jerico dared to hope. Perhaps something had broken the wheels of the battering ram, or Sebastian’s general had lost his taste for bloodshed facing such casualties. It was a false hope, and he knew it, but the respite from that constant hammering was still welcome. He took a step forward, and looked to the men when the battering ram resumed its work, despite the oil, the arrows, and the killing stones.

“The archway is tight,” he told them. “Two men abreast, that is all they can send. When it breaks, I’ll be there. My shield will block the way, and unlike wood, unlike stone, I will not break. Stand with me, at my side. Let our enemies see no fear, see no doubt. Let them see a wall of swords!”

Silence greeted him, but he saw the resolve hardening in their eyes. As he turned to the gate, he heard a single sarcastic clap from Jerek upon the walls.

“Good show,” he shouted. “Hope you meant it, because they’re coming through!”

Jerico felt his own terror crawl up his throat, and he choked it down.

“Play the hero,” he whispered.

The thickest of the boards snapped, one half twisting and falling free to the ground. The gates flung open violently upon the next smash, revealing the carnage on the other side. Dead men lay slumped, arrows in their bodies. Others were horribly burned by oil, flesh charred and bubbling. Some were still alive, moaning softly or shaking. So many dead, maybe fifty, maybe a hundred, but it didn’t matter. The gates had fallen.

Time to play the hero.

“With me!” he cried, rushing forward as Sebastian’s men poured into the archway. Jerico’s shield led the way, and it shone with a vicious light. He threw all his weight into the charge, his head ducked low and his legs pumping. A handful of men made it out of the archway as his charge met them, smashing aside one as if he were a child. Jerico’s mace swung, punching through chainmail to crack ribs and puncture lungs, and then he spun, striking down a third trying to rush past him.

Without thinking, he pushed his shield forward in the air, though nothing pressed against it. A sound filled the courtyard, like that of a thunderclap. The closest attackers jolted backward as if struck. Their weapons flailing, their feet out of position, Jerico rushed ahead, the flanged edges of his mace tearing flesh and splattering blood across the stone archway. He stopped just before it, so the men above could continue to hurl their stones and fire their arrows.

For a moment it seemed that time slowed, and there was a pause in the attacks as the next wave of men prepared. Behind him, the rest of Arthur’s soldiers cut down Sebastian’s men, who were scattered and few. They took up positions beside him, and they cheered at the victory. Jerico breathed in heavily, knowing it was just a start.

But the delay in the attack wasn’t a figment of his imagination, or a quirk of battle. He heard shouting, and from what he could see through the gate, the attackers were redirecting men away from the castle.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Jerek peered through the defenses, then spun, a grin on his face.

“It’s Kaide!”

Whatever effect the bandit leader had, it wasn’t enough. Jerico tried not to think of what he’d say if he met the man. Odds were high neither would live, and he found that comforting enough. The next wave of men gathered, shields raised to protect them from Arthur’s arrows. They were nearly a hundred in number, fresh in strength, and with many reinforcements.

But Jerico stood against them, and as they charged, he lifted his shield high and cried out the name of Ashhur.

T hey’d crept among the hills, avoiding the road as much as possible. They were only a hundred, without armor or significant training. But Sandra knew her brother would steal every bit of advantage he could find. Their scouts had alerted them to the start of a frontal assault on the castle, and within minutes they were out and ready. A hundred men, plus Sandra, traveling with an unnerving silence.

“Their leaders will be in the back, watching the siege,” Kaide had told them as they exited the camp. “If we’re lucky, we’ll smash their skulls in before they know we’re there. Might even get Greg, too, if we’re lucky. And Bellok has a fine surprise for them, as well.”

The men had cheered, the last bit of noise, really, before heading out. Bellok was their wizard, his power minor compared to those trained and belonging to the Council of Mages. But Bellok had aided them before, at the Green Gulch, and the way he grumbled, they all thought he had another trick up his long sleeves.

All of them held their weapons ready, and Sandra was no exception. Kaide, realizing she would not stay away from the combat, had given her a spear, the tip freshly sharpened.

“It isn’t an easy thing, killing,” he’d told her, handing it over.

“I’ve seen people die,” she said in return. “And with Jerico, I also killed. Don’t lecture me.”

Now she walked amid their meager army of rebels, bandits, farmers, and criminals. But they moved silently, and toward an army unaware of their approach.

“Stay with me,” Adam said, keeping his deep voice low so it was no louder than the general sound of their movement.

“Fuck that,” Griff said, sliding up beside her. “You’ll be safer with me.”

“I’ll stay with you both,” she said, smiling to hide her nervousness. “And I’ll stab anyone who tries at your backs. Sound like a plan?”

The twins grinned at her.

“The little Goldflint’s got some teeth,” Adam said, and they both laughed far, far too loud.

They crossed the final hill to see the army encampment at the bottom. Before Kaide could give the order to charge, a cry went up from a distant hill. A combination of fear and swearing went through the army as they realized they’d been spotted by a scout.

“Charge!” Kaide screamed. “Surprise is lost, so hit them now or die!”

He turned to the wizard. “Bellok!”

Bellok lifted his arms, and as the bandit army charged downhill, the wizard cast the strongest spell he could muster. He was no expert at fire, could not conjure boulders of ice or arrows of shadow, but he could manipulate time. Sandra felt a strange tingling in her skin, and then realized the whole world had come to a standstill. It did not last for long, maybe a heartbeat. Sebastian’s men turned, trying to shift aside lines and pull in troops from the castle to guard their rear flank, but they did so as if moving through molasses. With each passing moment they moved faster, closer to their original speed, but that brief delay was all that mattered.

Sandra followed Adam and Griff, both wielding enormous clubs. The spell was just starting to end when they met resistance, the soldiers moving far too slow to avoid their attacks. Two clubs smashed either side of a man’s head, and Sandra felt shock at how his face crumpled and blood shot from his mouth. Only sheer momentum kept her moving, and when Adam hit another hard enough in the stomach to double him over, Sandra thrust her spear through the exposed gap at his shoulder. The tip pierced below his neck and into his lungs. His limbs flailed as he died. Sandra pulled, trying to free it, as Kaide’s men blasted through tents and leapt against disorganized lines.

“Stay calm,” Adam said, turning to see her struggling. He yanked the spear out and kicked aside the body. He grabbed her chin, pulled her face up. “Stay focused.”

The two rushed to aid Griff, who was raging like a maniac at a group of knights. His club swung with wild abandon. One had been foolish enough to block it with his shield, and it had popped his collarbone in half. Adam bellowed like a bull, and he bowled into the group, Griff right at his heels. In the chaos, Sandra stabbed another from behind, wondering what Jerico might say to that. As she twisted it free, she looked about, saw that Sebastian’s men were finally gathering together, twice their number coming to face them.

“We can’t hold them off,” she shouted to the twins. They glanced about, saw what she saw, then pointed toward the castle archway.

“Kaide’s pulling back,” Adam shouted. “We’ve done what we can, now get your ass out!”

Just as quick and unexpected as their attack had begun, they turned and fled, leaving a camp full of bodies in their wake. Halfway up the hill they stopped, for a large number had given chase. Kaide led the counterattack, his dirks moving with blinding speed. Sandra managed to link up with him as Sebastian’s men fled back down the hill.

“How did we do?” she asked. Kaide sheathed his blades and wiped a bit of blood from her cheek with his thumb.

“Killed far more than we lost,” he said. “Maybe a hundred to our thirty.”

She looked down the hill, saw over a hundred soldiers organizing into defensive lines in case they made another charge. Unarmored and outnumbered, they would shatter against that shield wall if they tried.

“Any last tricks?” Kaide asked Bellok as they met the wizard at the top of the hill.

“That is the last I have,” the wizard said. He pointed to the castle entrance. “They might hold, though only the gods know how. They have some good archers, and whoever fights at the gate must be Karak himself.”

“Or Ashhur,” Sandra said, glancing at her brother.

“If Jerico’s there, and still not dead, then Gregane’s going to need…”

He stopped, for that was when they heard the drums.

L ost in the battle, Jerico let his primal sense take over, let his body fight on instinct and training, without doubts, without fears. There would be no consequences save death should his shield falter, or his mace fail to block a sword strike in time. There was no Sandra with her life in a mad priest’s hands. There was no Citadel, no war against his kind by the order of Karak. Just him, his foes, and the glowing white of his shield. His muscles ached, and a wicked gash bled across his arm from a stab he’d noticed too late.

But he stood before the archway’s exit, and Arthur’s men stood with him. Kill by kill, they built a wall of the dead, and they gave no reprieve for it to be cleared away. Their foes had charged with renewed vigor when Kaide’s attack began, as if they knew victory needed to be soon. But Jerico would not let them have it. He flung his shield forward, again and again, slamming aside soldiers as if they were nothing but hollow toys. Others died around him, and it seemed Sebastian’s army did its best to ignore him and take down the soldiers at his side, as if they would bury him once they broke through. The thought amused him darkly. Any who slipped past, who tried to act as if his shield were his only threat, found a mace eager and ready.

Exhaustion threatened to overcome him, but he fought on, begging Ashhur for strength. Sebastian’s men pulled back several times, trying to drag away bodies so they had a clear path, but the archers continued to fire their arrows, and the stones rained down from the murder holes.

“Still breathing?” Jerico asked the rest as their foes prepared for another charge. “Still with me?”

“We’ll be here to the end,” said one.

“Damn right,” Jerek shouted from the wall.

“To the end,” said a deep voice behind him. Jerico turned to see Arthur there, wearing his armor and brandishing a finely polished sword.

“I won’t be my brother, hiding in hope of victory,” he said, nodding toward the paladin. “Give me a place to stand. I still have the strength to swing a blade.”

“At my back,” Jerico said, and he grinned. “I’ll need you to take my place when I fall.”

He turned, lifted his shield. That next wave was the worst, heavily armored men charging at full speed. They tripped and stumbled over the dead, but still they came. Jerico smashed his mace through their armor, and his shield flared, its light a physical force that struck down his opponents and left them blind. After a time, he could not swing, could not attack; he only clutched his shield and braced his legs as he held against the attackers. At either side, he saw Arthur’s men come running with their own shields. They pushed and yelled, and all the while Arthur thrust his sword over the top, taking life after life.

At last the assault broke, unable to maintain pressure with so many casualties. Frightened men fled, and Jerico fell to one knee, gasping for air.

“I hope I never have to do that again,” he said.

Throughout the castle, morale was growing. Arthur cheered his men on, and they cheered back at their lord and his bloodied blade.

And then they heard the drums.

“What is that?” Arthur asked.

Jerico’s heart sank. He knew what it was, but he looked to Jerek anyway, praying for any other news.

“I see an army,” Jerek said, looking down at them with the defeat evident in his eyes. “Their banners show the Lion.”

“Karak’s men,” Arthur said, and it was a curse on his lips. “How many?”

“Four hundred at the least.”

Whatever morale they had, died. Jerico walked toward the bloody archway and peered through. Sebastian’s men had pulled back, more than eager to wait for reinforcements before resuming the attack. Looking to the distance, he saw Kaide’s bandits were atop the far hill, watching the proceedings. Would this loss be the end of Kaide’s rebellion? Of course not. Even down to his dying days, the man would resist.

“Now is the time to flee,” Jerico said, turning to Arthur. “We will not survive, not this. Take the secret ways.”

“I’m not fleeing,” Arthur said. “I have already lost on the field of battle. To lose my home, my castle…”

“Look!”

All the archers were shouting, not just Jerek. Jerico turned back, and his jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe what he saw. His eyes were lying to him, he thought. They had to be. Like in a dream, he walked through the archway and to the oil-soaked dirt beyond.

Luther’s army, upon reaching Sebastian’s, had drawn their swords, lifted their shields, and attacked. Caught unaware, they died like flies. Even those who had the presence of mind to fight dropped quickly, for they lacked both the training and numbers to resist. Worse were the dark paladins, their blades wreathed in black flame as they tore through the ranks. But nothing came close to Luther, who walked amid the battle like a dark god. Shadows and fire leapt from his hands, consuming all. At last he reached the leaders’ tents. Jerico waited, expecting more death, but it seemed those there were allowed to live.

“What’s going on?” Arthur asked, calling from inside the castle.

Jerico shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Are they friendly?”

Jerico had no answer to that either. It made no sense, none at all. Sebastian was Karak’s friend, and Luther had made his intentions clear…hadn’t he?

The battle ended as abruptly as it had begun. Sebastian’s men flung down their blades and surrendered, only a hundred in number from the original six. They fled along the streets, and even Kaide was so stunned that he did not order his men to chase. Instead, they tentatively descended the hill, as if expecting an ambush at every step. None came. Luther’s army was already putting away weapons and preparing to leave.

“Jerico!” a voice cried out, and he saw Sandra rushing to him through the remnants of Sebastian’s camp. He couldn’t believe it. He laughed, and his mace hung limp in his hand. His legs went weak, and he fell to his knees. Sandra flung her arms about him, and he felt her lips kiss his forehead.

“You lived,” she said, all smiles.

“But…how? Why?”

“Just shut up,” she said, kissing him again.

Jerico forced himself to a stand. He saw Luther approaching, surrounded by four dark paladins. His insides turned. Would they still want his life, given their war against his order? But why let him go before, just to kill him now?

“I told you to stay away,” Luther said, just out of reach of their bows. “I told you to flee, and not play the hero. And you!” He looked at Kaide, who approached the entrance with his men, watching Luther’s army. “I told you the same. Did I not warn you? Did I not say you would be denied Karak’s mercy?”

Jerico did not understand. His actions, his words, they didn’t connect, didn’t make sense. And then Luther lifted his arm, pointed his finger at Sandra, and whispered. The tip flared black. Lightning shot forward, dark as midnight. Thunder roared. Sandra screamed, and Jerico screamed with her as she collapsed in his arms. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth open. Her chest did not move. Clutching her, Jerico could only look at her body in shock. He thought to heal her, but she was dead already, her heart burst by the spell. Her soul was gone. With a shaking hand, he touched her cheek, brushed her lips with his fingers. He heard shouting, cries of rage and sorrow, but they were distant, muffled in his ears.

He looked at Luther, rage in his eyes.

“You monster.”

He gently put her down, lifted his mace. It didn’t matter that he was outnumbered. Didn’t matter all that Luther had just done. Didn’t matter what was right or wrong, or if he died trying. He would kill the priest.

The dark paladins leapt in the way. He blocked their strikes with his shield, but each one sent a jolt of pain through his arm. His mace struck the armor of one, but it could not penetrate. Fury gave him strength, but he was still tired, and vastly outnumbered. Swords hit his armor, and the bruises swelled. Jerico continued on, enduring them, fighting them away. He would reach Luther, would look upon Sandra’s cruel murderer.

And then he was through, beaten and weary. Luther lifted a hand, and before Jerico could strike, a bolt of shadow struck him in the chest. He gasped, fighting for breath. A second bolt followed, this one hitting his throat. The muscles in his neck tightened, and spots swam before his eyes as his lungs threatened to burst. Unable to stand, he collapsed to his knees once more. Luther stood over him, and he leaned down so he could put a hand on Jerico’s head and whisper.

“At least you are wise enough to kneel,” he said. “Now do you understand, Jerico? You have done all that I wished, and little more. You are insignificant, just a puppet to my desires. Go off into the wilderness and die. There is no longer a place for you in this world.”

Luther pushed him onto his back. When he hit, it knocked the air from his chest. Fighting through the agonizing pain, Jerico drew a breath, then another. A heavy ringing filled his ears, and he heard the priest call for the others to prepare for their march south. Rolling onto his stomach, he tried to stand, but could not. Tears blurring his vision, he looked back to the castle, saw Kaide on his knees, his little sister’s body in his arms. The bandit leader cried out wordlessly, whatever rage that dwelt in his heart now magnified tenfold.

What little strength Jerico had left drained away. His fingers clawing the dirt, he pressed his face into the grass and sobbed, a broken man.