“Well,” Jerico said, scratching his neck. “I think I preferred the wolf-men. Thanks, Ashhur.”
He leaned against the wall opposite the bucket, closed his eyes, and slept.
*
D arius stood in an open field, facing the west. The sky was an ugly yellow and filled with clouds. They growled with thunder, and lightning streaked pale blue across the horizon. Wind blew against his bare skin, for he was naked as the day he was born. He wished for his sword and armor, but didn’t know where they were.
Darius, cried the thunder, its rumbling forming an unearthly voice, cold and deep. He saw a face in the clouds, and it was the face of his god.
“Karak,” Darius said, falling to his knees. “Forgive me my failures, but my faith is only for you!”
The face laughed. No mirth. No amusement. Only contempt.
Strong of faith, yet without wisdom, and full of doubt. You bow to me, but then ignore my words. You swear allegiance, and then disobey. You are nothing to me, Darius. Once you were, but no longer.
“No,” Darius cried as the wind howled, stealing away his voice. “I will not be abandoned! I will not die as I am! I have served you, every day I have served you!”
Then obey!
The clouds formed a funnel, which struck the far distant plains. It grew, wider and wider, until it stretched for miles. The sound of its approach was like that of a thousand dragons roaring in fury. Before it, Darius felt small, pathetic. He begged and wept for salvation, but the swirling grey monster tore into him, shredding his skin and striking him with stones. His feet left the ground, and then he was flying, flying…
His screaming woke him in his bedroll. At some point his thrashing had knocked his blankets aside, and he shivered in the cold night air. Above him, the stars twinkled through the naked interlocking branches. No clouds. No storm. Nearby, his campfire had died down to embers. Rolling over, he meant to add kindling and wood, but then it burst to life. In the newly granted light, he saw a dark-robed man sitting beside it, his legs crossed beneath him.
“Nightmares, Darius?”
Darius startled, and he grabbed his sword despite knowing it would do no good. He’d struck this man before, only to watch the steel bounce off pale skin as if it were made of stone. Velixar, Karak’s prophet, laughed as if he were privy to his thoughts.
“Is that how you work?” Darius asked. “By interfering with my dreams?”
“At times, yes,” said Velixar. “But not tonight. Do you think I would take an interest in you without reason? Karak watches you, and he gifts you with his divine presence. You should be honored.”
The prophet poked at the fire with a stick, as if he had suddenly forgotten Darius was there. Darius watched him for a moment, trying to decide if he lied or not. The man’s face, pale, thin, and lit by red eyes that glowed with fire, changed with every passing second. By the time he turned around and smiled, he appeared a new man, his cheeks wider, his lips thinner, and his chin longer. The eyes remained the same.
“What did our Lord say?” asked the man with the ever-changing face.
“He wished me to obey.”
“As I said you would one day.”
Darius glared.
“He said to obey him, not you. You do not speak his will. You’ve led us astray, all of us. You’re a relic, a man lost in a different time.”
Velixar resumed poking the fire with his stick, talking all the while.
“Serve Karak through serving me. Even children can understand this concept. You have felt Karak’s fury, yet you still deny you failed him? Still believe that you know his true heart and will? You amuse me, Darius, as much as you disappoint me. Sit awhile with me by the fire.”
Reluctantly, Darius stabbed his sword into the dirt and did as he was asked. He swore the air grew colder around the prophet, and he felt his insides twist at their proximity. As he sat, Velixar pointed to the fire, where he’d drawn several runes with his stick. The flames swirled, deepened, and then suddenly opened onto a vision of another place, one also filled with shadows and fire. Standing amid a great chasm of men, his obsidian armor gleaming, was Temaryn. He wielded a flaming sword in one hand and a whip in the other.
“Do you see?” Velixar asked. “He rules in the Abyss, purifying the wretched given to our lord. I will not judge you for sending him to Karak, for his soul is secure, and he is in his place. You, however…”
Darius could not look away from the horrific image. This was the future awaiting his Order? Temaryn looked pleased enough, and he lashed the sinners with his whip while crying out for repentance and obedience. The vision changed, and he saw a hundred things that he could not remember the moment after they passed, only feel the lingering terror and anguish. Through it all, the dead marched, sang, and burned with clockwork precision. True to his god, the Abyss was a place of order above all things.
And then he saw himself, up to his knees in a lake of fire. He was naked, and bleeding from many open sores. A man in shining armor towered over him, his very skin wreathed in flame, his movements trailing shadow. Removing his helmet, this tormenter looked up from the vision and straight into Darius’s eyes. It was him, only stronger, more faithful. Darius cried out, and he tore his eyes away from the sight. Kicking his foot, he scattered the fire, ending its heat. In the sudden silence, a distant wolf howled.
“You must choose,” Velixar said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Only two fates await you, and you have seen them both. Pretend to wisdom, or bow to those with understanding. You will cleanse, or be the tormented. There is no other fate left.”
Velixar stood, stepped into the shadows of the forest, and then was gone. Darius sat there, feeling drained. Everything else he’d seen was already fading from his mind, all but that last image of himself-both versions. They stared up at him, one in pain, one lost in ecstasy. He could almost imagine them pleading for him to make the right choice…
Darius fell to his knees, bowed his head, and cried tears to his god. He begged for wisdom, he begged for guidance, but all he heard was the silence and the distant cry of a wolf.
2
Jerico stirred as blinding light hurt his eyes. Blocking it with a hand, he tried to decipher who stood at the door.
“To your feet, paladin,” he heard Kaide say.
Jerico stood, groaning as he did. His platemail groaned along with him. He wished to oil it down, but could not. He refused to even take it off. So far the other men hadn’t demanded it of him, and he didn’t want to risk losing it now. As he stepped out, still shielding his eyes, he realized it wasn’t daylight that hurt him, but burning torches at either side of his door.
“What is the hour?” he asked.
“The stars are out,” one of the two lugs grumbled behind him, still guarding the door. “What hour you think it is?”
Jerico turned and smiled at the yellow and red blob that his eyes showed.
“Ever so helpful, Griff.”
“It’s Adam.”
“Sorry, can’t see your scars too well.”
It seemed like Adam grinned, but then a sharp pain struck Jerico’s throat. He collapsed to one knee and coughed.
“Take his armor,” Kaide ordered as Jerico fought to regain his breath. “I don’t want it turning a blade should we need to subdue him.”
Jerico tensed, and he almost resisted. In the end, he knew it was pointless. Half-blind, hungry, and disorientated, he would prove no challenge. Lifting his arms, he let Adam tug at the straps, pulling his armor off.
“Careful,” he said. “You’ll dent it.”
“It seems dented enough by your own travels,” Kaide said as the breastplate thudded to the dirt. “You should feel better not carrying that around, anyway. Now follow me.”
Jerico’s sight was finally coming around, and he glanced about the forest dwellings. He saw the light of fires burning in several homes, and a few more outside in a ring. The sound of laughter met his ears, so he figured it couldn’t be too late into the night. The amount of people he heard and saw surprised him. At least a hundred formed this motley bunch.