“Kaide still thinks you will run,” she said, as if struggling to think of something to say. “Will you?”

“Not going to lie. If I thought I could, I’d already be gone.”

“You haven’t tried breaking down the door, or digging through a wall. You’ve made no effort to escape. You speak in blusters.”

“How do you know?”

She smiled at him.

“Because you’re a paladin. That’s just not what you do, is it? Or have the stories I’ve heard all been a lie?”

Jerico shrugged. “Depends on what stories.”

“What about the one with you and the wolf-men?”

The paladin groaned.

“That one made it all the way up here?”

Sandra seemed intrigued by his annoyance. She sat in a chair beside his small fire, shifting her skirt to the side. Her dress was thick and cut high, practical for the rough terrain surrounding the area.

“I think all of Mordan will be talking about that one for a while, though the paladin’s name has changed several times. But I still think it is you.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’ve seen your shield.”

Jerico shrugged. Seemed pointless to argue it.

“I wasn’t alone,” he said. “And the men with me fought bravely, many dying to protect others. We fought a few hundred wolf-men, killed most, and chased the rest off. Meanwhile, more than half the town died. It wasn’t some epic victory, not the true version of the story, anyway.”

Sandra shifted in her seat.

“I liked the one I heard better. It described you as a man with hair made of fire, and a shield of pure light. You would point it at your enemies, and the light itself would strike them down. I heard not a man died, not a woman or child touched.”

Jerico thought of the horrors he’d seen, and the many graves he’d dug.