Jerico stepped back. He felt helpless, overwhelmed by the man’s grief. What could he tell him? That Ashhur worked in mysterious ways? That it was her time, her fate to have her belly shredded, her flesh ripped and swallowed while she was still screaming?

“I’ll pray for you, Bobby,” he said.

“Thanks, Jerico, but I don’t think it’ll do much good.”

He stood and carried his blood-stained necklace into his house. When he shut the door, Jerico stood there staring long after. A hundred thoughts swirled through his head, but one in particular struck him with such certainty he knew he couldn’t deny it.

He couldn’t let this happen again.

His armor and shield were waiting for him in his room. There was a reason he carried them with him, a reason every paladin dressed for war. This was one of them. Come dusk, he’d join the rest. Come the night, they’d venture into the Vile Wedge, the land of orcs and monsters.

2

Gary Reed kissed his wife to cease her protesting.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he said, his hands brushing through her long hair.

He knew she wanted to believe him, but her tears fell all the same, and he wiped one away with his thumb.

“You better,” she said.

Taking his sword, he left his home and walked to the town center. Fifteen men gathered there, a third of them holding torches. The rest held knives, pitchforks, and the occasional sword. They surrounded Bobby, who lifted a torch high above his head.

“It means a lot,” Gary heard him saying as he neared. “Can’t tell you all just how much, but it does. My Susie would be damn proud, I do know that. We can’t let anyone else get hurt.”

“Damn straight,” shouted an older man named Trent, the closest thing Durham had to a blacksmith.

“We ain’t sheep for them to hunt,” said another, Gary recognizing this one as a fat farmer named Gruss.