“I killed no one,” Darius said. “But I was there, and I deserve their anger.”

Jerico struck a board, felt the whole shed vibrate. Several people outside gasped.

“Come out, Darius,” someone shouted. Jerico recognized him as the messenger from Robert. “There’s no reason to spill any more blood.”

Darius finished putting on the last of his armor, then reached for his weapon. It was an enormous two-handed sword, its edges serrated in sections. It shimmered with a faint light, far dimmer than Jerico’s shield. The glow represented the strength of their faith, and Jerico felt worry squirm in his gut at how weak Darius’s was. Whatever had happened at Durham, it still troubled him greatly.

“Darius!” cried the messenger amid an uneasy rumble of conversation.

“What do I do?” asked Darius. “They’ll be knocking down the walls any second.”

“We can’t kill them,” Jerico said. “They’re just desperate.”

“I’d say greedy. How much was the bounty?”

“Five hundred,” Jerico muttered.

“Silver?”

“Gold.”

Darius chuckled. “Damn.”

“If you are guilty, they’re just obeying the law. I won’t shed innocent blood.”

Darius shook his head.

“I won’t give myself up for a hanging. You must trust me. I killed no one; even did my best to protect them. Don’t you dare turn on me here.”

The door rattled. Jerico kicked it open, and as the people scattered away, he stepped out amid the mob, his shield shining bright on his arm. There were over two hundred gathered, men and women of all ages. Those closest bore weapons, sickles, pitchforks, and staves designed for farming, not warfare. Only Robert’s messenger wielded a blade, and he held it before him as if expecting Jerico to attack at any moment. Jerico looked into their eyes as they held their collective breaths. He saw fear, desperation, and a greedy hope for something far beyond their tired, meager lives. He could not blame them.