EPILOGUE

In the morning light Jerico approached the grass-covered remains of the fallen Citadel. Wind blew through his hair, and it felt good. Alongside the river he saw scattered remnants of the boats that had once patrolled both the Gihon and the Rigon, keeping the lands beyond the Vile Wedge safe. It looked like many had been scavenged over the past few months. The heavy stones, though, they remained. As he neared, he saw the bulk of the tower had collapsed upon its eastern side, and the pile of stones there was enormous. Drifting through, he found bits and pieces of clothing, beds, broken hilts and templates for shields. No doubt people had scavenged their remains as they had the boats.

“We protected you,” Jerico said aloud, thinking of the people coming in from the south. “And when we fell, you came to pick our corpses clean. Did you weep for us? Did you shake your heads and mutter as you walked among the bodies?”

Now he made his way over the uneven terrain of the foundation. In its center was a great crater, and a crack in the earth as if the very world had deigned to break the building. What could have caused that? A man of Karak had led the attack, that was all Jerico knew. He’d seen the collapse many times in his dreams, and what he saw before him matched perfectly. But lately the field before it was barren. No fighting, no siege, no demons or prophets or last stands for his dead brethren. Just the Citadel shaking, crumbling, then falling on its side. What did it mean? Jerico wondered. Long they’d been told the destruction of the Citadel would herald the ending of the world, a ceasing of all things good and pure. But he knew that wasn’t true. His order was not yet done, and there were still many good and pure things left in Dezrel.

“What is it you want from me now?” Jerico asked aloud. The empty field was so quiet, so serene, he could almost imagine Ashhur standing there, listening. “I’ve done everything I thought was right, and it resulted in death. Must I watch more of my friends die? Must my very presence put them in danger?”

He felt a pain stab him in the chest.

“Is Darius with you?” he asked the rubble, and the only answer he was given was in the blowing of the wind.

Slowly Jerico put his back to the broken pieces of his order and began walking across the tall grass fields. He wondered about the children there, if they’d been destroyed with the rest. Perhaps they lived? Or maybe there were still more paladins out there, cowering in cellars and temples in the far corners of Mordan and Neldar. So much he didn’t know, and as he walked he left the one place he’d hoped would give him answers. But now he knew. He was alone, all alone.

He stepped on something hard and uneven. Glancing down, Jerico found the hilt of a weapon hidden in the grass. Reaching down, he lifted up a splendid mace. The flanged edges shimmered with power, and the balance of the weight was perfect. Inscribed along the shaft in gold was the weapon’s name, Bonebreaker. Jerico remembered the man who had wielded it, a faithful paladin named Jaegar.

“Is this a gift?” Jerico asked, and he laughed despite himself, laughed until the laughter was replaced with an impotent rage. “The lost weapon of a dead man…‌is this all you would have me do? Kill? Slaughter? Is the pain worth this, the murder, the loss, all in vain hopes of hearing your voice? Is that what I am to this world now, just a way to shed blood? What would you have me do, damn it, what? What?”

I would have you live.

The remembered words struck him with their softness, their simplicity. Jerico fell to his knees, and before the ruins of the Citadel he wept, the weapon still in his hands. A noise startled him, and he looked up to the see the landing of a dove, her feathers white and pristine. The left wing, however, was withered and uneven, yet still the creature flew, and still it was beautiful. The message was clear, and with a heavy heart Jerico stood.

“I will,” Jerico said. “I promised Darius I would. But I’m not strong enough just yet. My faith is shaken, and I would not have it break. Permit me an exile, Ashhur. I think you’ll understand.”

Casting aside his old mace, Jerico clipped the new one to his belt and then began walking north. Not far from the Citadel was a shallow crossing, one he would use to leave the mortal kingdoms of men and instead venture into the wild lands of the Vile Wedge. In there, he would hurt no one. In there, no dark paladin would come to kill him, and he would kill none in return. Perhaps it was cowardice, but he knew his time there would only be fleeting. Live, commanded his lord, and so he would live.

And just perhaps, when death came for him, he might meet it with a shred of the bravery Darius had shown.

The sky was clear and blue, and the wind through his red hair felt like an affirmation.

Still amid the ruins, the dove with a broken wing watched him travel north, his head and shoulders bent with a heavy burden, yet his step lighter than when he first arrived.

“Live,” said the dove before flying away.