The Old Ways by David Dalglish Read Free Book Online

feel of her in his arms, the way her silver hair curled about her face before falling past her shoulders, and the scent of flowers crushed into a perfume that wafted up from her neck. It made him feel awkward, and his mind failed to think of conversation.
    “It’s been rough since the battle,” Sandra said. If she noticed his sudden awkwardness, she gave no acknowledgment of it. She sat down in the space Jerico had cleared and leaned back against the nearby tree he had planned to use to prop up his pillow. He took a seat next to her, thinking of the aftermath he’d seen: Arthur’s men in flight as Sebastian’s cheered in victory.
    “I can’t imagine,” he said. “Did Kaide’s men escape the fight cleanly?”
    Sandra shook her head.
    “Sir Gregane gave chase, and while my brother led them on a wild hunt, the rest started filtering back here.” She shuddered. “So many were wounded, and there was no one else. I kept hoping you’d return, be there with those healing hands of yours. That light...but you never came. Just me. That was all. I sewed and stitched everything I could, but we didn’t have enough herbs for the pain, not for any of them...”
    She looked at him, and her eyes had tears.
    “Tell me of other things, of a world so much better than this one. I want to think of anything else but the bloodshed and heartache of the North.”
    Jerico took her hand in his, and she did not protest, only squeeze hard against his fingers.
    “I’ve not traveled much,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips. “But I did visit Ker before heading north, and traveled to Angkar’s harbor...”
    He told of men and women he’d met, a few strange creatures kept in cages as pets, of Ashhur, and even how he’d defeated a gang of thieves with nothing but a wooden spoon. They talked, and the sun swung low across the sky.

    D arius chose a place to sleep on the far outskirts of the camp. It felt as if eyes lingered too long on him, and conversations turned to whispers just by his passing. He ate around the main bonfire when they served supper, hoping that he might acclimate Kaide’s men to his presence. He expected Jerico to help, but the other paladin was nowhere to be seen.
    “Thanks, Jerico,” Kaide muttered as he prepared his bedroll and blankets. “Just leave me out to dry.”
    The sun was just setting, but he was tired from the travel, and the many people had worn him thin. He sat down, removed his armor, and then held his chestplate in his lap. He stared at the sigil of the Lion, and wondered what it meant to him anymore. Was it just a dead reminder of what he had been? Did it represent the enemy? Or was it nothing but paint, a useless symbol given far too much importance?
    It didn’t matter. He wanted it gone. Slowly, carefully, he scraped away with the thick edge of his greatsword near the hilt. Chip by chip, the paint vanished, and the stars came out above the forest canopy. He thought Jerico might swing by at some point, but he did not. Darius knew he shouldn’t be upset, but was anyway. Yes, he’d come to help, but he didn’t know these people, and they certainly didn’t know him. Well, other than that tiny fact of a bounty. The gold glinted in their eyes when they glanced his way.
    He lay down, and thought to pray to Ashhur. But what was he to pray for? Every night, it seemed he begged for forgiveness. Every night, he reopened old wounds and felt his soul bleed. The scars Velixar had inflicted ran deep. Even in his dreams, he remembered the fire and bloodshed at Durham. In his mind’s eye, he saw the innocent family praying to Ashhur, Velixar peering through a dirty window like a hunting animal, a locust, an evil beast come to consume everything pure and good. And now he was there, on his bedroll, in a dark forest, trying to pray just the same. Darius would have rather been the child, to have known nothing, for how did he go to Ashhur as anything other than a miserable wretch?
    “I’m sorry,” Darius