“Who?” asked one of the crowd, as if on cue. Who indeed, thought Jerico. He found himself wishing he held his mace in hand. Who would dare defile the sacrifices they’d made?

“His name is Darius,” cried the rider. “A tall man with long blond hair. He hails from the Stronghold, and wears the cruel armor of their kind. He is extremely dangerous, and should be greatly feared. My master, Sir Robert Godley, offers this bounty so this vile criminal will be brought to justice for his terrible deeds.”

Jerico felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His blood drained from his face, and as the people began to murmur, he remembered the words he’d spoken in jest not moments ago.

Everyone has their price.

Indeed. And the villagers’ were just exceeded tenfold.

Jerico turned and ran for the shed, knowing time was not on their side. Darius waited for him, leaning beside the door with his arms crossed. Seeing Jerico’s worry, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Put your armor on,” Jerico said, ignoring him. “Now.”

The countless hours spent putting on and taking off the cumbersome plate and chainmail served him well as Jerico donned it in the darkness. Darius strapped on his greaves, then reached for his chestplate.

“What’s going on?” he asked again.

Jerico knew he should ask about Durham, but wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Still, he had to know.

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he said, not looking at his friend. “They say…they say you helped destroy Durham. Helped kill a lot of people.”

He left his question unspoken as he pulled on his gauntlets. Torchlight flickered through cracks in the walls as outside the first of many arrived. They would not rush in until the whole town was gathered, Jerico was certain. Their little shed would be surrounded, with more coming every second, all to guarantee no escape. He grabbed his mace and his shield. Soft blue light shone across them. In the light, Darius met his gaze.