favor.”
“What are you?” he asked. It was the only thought that he could manage. Behind her, Sandra wept in pain, her life bleeding out her stomach. Still alive, thought Jerico. Praise Ashhur, she was still alive. His hand shifted for the complicated straps of his shield.
“I’m Karak’s judgment,” she said, now in her own voice. The daggers twirled in fingers that lost all color and texture. “His executioner. His beloved.”
She lunged, and he yanked free his shield. The light flared amid the darkness, and Valessa let out a shriek. Her dagger struck the center and slid to the side. Jerico grabbed his mace and swung twice. The first missed, Valessa ducking beneath with a bend of her back that looked beyond humanly possible, but the return swing clipped the side of her face. Instead of shattering her jawbone, it passed right on through. Her face reformed, and it grinned at him despite the obvious pain the light of his shield caused her.
“Not good,” Jerico muttered, flinging himself backward. His shield blocked the next flurry of blows, but one twisted about, and Jerico had no choice but to try a parry with his mace. It connected with the dagger and batted it aside. His relief was palpable. Her flesh might defy reason, but at least her weapons still made sense. Confidence growing, he took the offensive. He swung his mace in arcs, using it not as a threat but a means to keep her daggers engaged, for as he anticipated, she fought with the finely honed instincts she’d had when still alive. Still human. He couldn’t tell what she was now, other than that her whole being was composed of Karak’s raw power and fury. The light of his shield, that was his weapon, and he wielded it accordingly. Anytime she pressed close, he saw the pain on her face, saw the way she twisted and turned to add distance and keep herself from staring into its center.
“You’ll die,” she cried as her daggers struck his shield amid a shower of sparks. “You, your whore, the bastard Darius...all of you will die, sacrificed in Karak’s name!”
Her movements grew faster, a twirling monster of smoke. But time was running out, and Jerico no longer had the patience.
“No,” he said, lifting his shield high, then slamming it to the ground. “We won’t.”
He cried out the name of his god. The light on his shield flared, brighter and brighter, until the clearing shone as if a blue sun had risen in the sky. Valessa let out a cry akin to a cat in pain. Her flesh peeled, and her daggers lost their glow. Jerico swung, his mace passing through her chest. Valessa stumbled, and it seemed to take longer for her shadowy body to put itself back together. Her legs wobbled, and Jerico flung his shield toward her as the light dimmed. She shrieked again, then was gone.
Jerico gasped in air, his shoulders heaving, as he looked about the clearing. In his mind, he felt no danger, heard no warning from Ashhur. He forgot all about the gray sister, for he heard Sandra weeping. He clipped his mace to his belt, flung his shield onto his back, and then rushed to her side. A lump in his throat, he knelt and took her hands in his. They were soaked with blood.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I must.”
He pulled her hands apart to look. The stab wound was wide, circular. Valessa had twisted the blade on the way out, he realized. He clutched Sandra’s hands tighter, and did his best to keep down his hatred. No matter what, it wasn’t right.
“I can save you,” he whispered, making sure none of his doubt crept into his voice. “Trust me, Sandra. You won’t die here. I’ve got you.”
He pressed his hands into the wound, the blood, and the exposed intestines. His fingers shook, and he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes to keep them still. Fear and doubt would ruin his ability to be a conduit of healing power.
“Please Ashhur,” he whispered. “Please, this is all I know to do.”
Light shone, and his tears fell upon her chest. When he opened
“What are you?” he asked. It was the only thought that he could manage. Behind her, Sandra wept in pain, her life bleeding out her stomach. Still alive, thought Jerico. Praise Ashhur, she was still alive. His hand shifted for the complicated straps of his shield.
“I’m Karak’s judgment,” she said, now in her own voice. The daggers twirled in fingers that lost all color and texture. “His executioner. His beloved.”
She lunged, and he yanked free his shield. The light flared amid the darkness, and Valessa let out a shriek. Her dagger struck the center and slid to the side. Jerico grabbed his mace and swung twice. The first missed, Valessa ducking beneath with a bend of her back that looked beyond humanly possible, but the return swing clipped the side of her face. Instead of shattering her jawbone, it passed right on through. Her face reformed, and it grinned at him despite the obvious pain the light of his shield caused her.
“Not good,” Jerico muttered, flinging himself backward. His shield blocked the next flurry of blows, but one twisted about, and Jerico had no choice but to try a parry with his mace. It connected with the dagger and batted it aside. His relief was palpable. Her flesh might defy reason, but at least her weapons still made sense. Confidence growing, he took the offensive. He swung his mace in arcs, using it not as a threat but a means to keep her daggers engaged, for as he anticipated, she fought with the finely honed instincts she’d had when still alive. Still human. He couldn’t tell what she was now, other than that her whole being was composed of Karak’s raw power and fury. The light of his shield, that was his weapon, and he wielded it accordingly. Anytime she pressed close, he saw the pain on her face, saw the way she twisted and turned to add distance and keep herself from staring into its center.
“You’ll die,” she cried as her daggers struck his shield amid a shower of sparks. “You, your whore, the bastard Darius...all of you will die, sacrificed in Karak’s name!”
Her movements grew faster, a twirling monster of smoke. But time was running out, and Jerico no longer had the patience.
“No,” he said, lifting his shield high, then slamming it to the ground. “We won’t.”
He cried out the name of his god. The light on his shield flared, brighter and brighter, until the clearing shone as if a blue sun had risen in the sky. Valessa let out a cry akin to a cat in pain. Her flesh peeled, and her daggers lost their glow. Jerico swung, his mace passing through her chest. Valessa stumbled, and it seemed to take longer for her shadowy body to put itself back together. Her legs wobbled, and Jerico flung his shield toward her as the light dimmed. She shrieked again, then was gone.
Jerico gasped in air, his shoulders heaving, as he looked about the clearing. In his mind, he felt no danger, heard no warning from Ashhur. He forgot all about the gray sister, for he heard Sandra weeping. He clipped his mace to his belt, flung his shield onto his back, and then rushed to her side. A lump in his throat, he knelt and took her hands in his. They were soaked with blood.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I must.”
He pulled her hands apart to look. The stab wound was wide, circular. Valessa had twisted the blade on the way out, he realized. He clutched Sandra’s hands tighter, and did his best to keep down his hatred. No matter what, it wasn’t right.
“I can save you,” he whispered, making sure none of his doubt crept into his voice. “Trust me, Sandra. You won’t die here. I’ve got you.”
He pressed his hands into the wound, the blood, and the exposed intestines. His fingers shook, and he clenched his teeth and closed his eyes to keep them still. Fear and doubt would ruin his ability to be a conduit of healing power.
“Please Ashhur,” he whispered. “Please, this is all I know to do.”
Light shone, and his tears fell upon her chest. When he opened
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