“What happened in Durham?” Jerico asked softly. “I’ve not asked before, but now I think it best you tell me.”

Darius looked back to the village, then sighed.

“A priest found me, wandering and lost,” he said. “He offered me a chance to redeem myself in the eyes of Karak. He was a cold, cruel man, Jerico, if he was ever even a man. Very powerful, and worst of all, his words were like poison in my mind. I believed him. He was Karak’s prophet, the voice of my god. And then he brought me to Durham, to make amends for my mistakes. I was to convert the faithful, make the entire village bend its knee.”

Jerico thought of the many he knew there, and could guess their reaction.

“What happened then?” he asked.

Darius chuckled, and he wiped at his eyes.

“I couldn’t do it. I tried, but they knew me better than I knew myself. Yet it didn’t matter. The prophet…when he came back…damn it. Damn it all, I told them to run! I told them how dangerous he was. Some listened, but not enough. He came with fire and magic, and…”

He started laughing, despite his grief.

“You know what, Jerico? I’m glad there’s a bounty on my head. It means a few made it out alive. It means at least I might have done something right.”

Jerico looked back, and he saw a distant cluster of torches, about a mile away by his estimate.

“We need to continue,” he said. “It looks like they’re pursuing us farther than I thought.”

“I don’t blame them.”

They gathered their things. They had terribly few supplies, and Jerico expected a very hungry day until they could reach another village, or trap a rabbit or squirrel.

“Darius,” said Jerico. “Please, just promise me you won’t kill anyone else coming after you because of that bounty. They’re only obeying the law. I’ll help protect you from the people, but don’t make me protect the people from you.”