Night of Wolves by David Dalglish

said Pallos as Jerico held the shield aloft. The blue-white glow swirled over it, not as strong as it’d been on the night fighting the wolf-men, but nothing he would be ashamed of, either.
    “And your mace?” he asked.
    Jerico held it closer, so he could see it held no glow, no power. Pallos drew his sword, its blade swirling with the light of Ashhur, showing the strength of his faith.
    “When I first heard of this during your training, I didn’t believe it,” Pallos said, sheathing his sword. “Even coming here, I thought it would have faded over to your mace. Ashhur has granted you a strange gift, Jerico. Never have any of us encountered a paladin’s shield becoming his beacon of faith over his weapon. I hope you study it closely to learn its reasons, its limits.”
    Jerico set the shield down by the tree.
    “It’s a big hunk of metal that glows. I think I understand it well enough.”
    Pallos shook his head.
    “You should show more reverence to the gifts of Ashhur. The people here study the way you speak, the way you act. You are an example to them, and if you show such callousness toward the miracles of our god, then you will instill them with the same.”
    Jerico felt his neck flush.
    “Yes, sir,” he said.
    “Come now, I am no teacher, and you no wet-nosed pupil. You are a good man, and I expect greatness out of you. I would not have sent you here if I did not. There are a hundred villages, all needing to hear the word of our god. But Ashhur expects something special from you. I only pray you are prepared for it.”
    Pallos stood, and he brushed the dirt from his armor.
    “I must be going,” he said. “There are others who must learn of Mornida’s death.”
    Before he could go, Jerico stopped him.
    “Wait,” he said. “You see, I…”
    “What is it?” Pallos asked.
    “I’ve been having dreams,” he said. “The same one, really, and it comes with greater frequency.”
    The old paladin tilted his head. “Well, tell me, and perhaps I can interpret.”
    “I see the Citadel. The lower walls are cracking, and then the surrounding field bursts with fire. It’s raining, but instead of water, bones fall. I hear a sound, like the roar of a beast, and then I awake.”
    Pallos looked troubled by what he heard.
    “Perhaps you dreamt of Mornida’s death,” he said. “It is always a troublesome time when our leader falls.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Pallos gestured to the distance. On the other side of the square, Darius was gathering men and women for another sermon.
    “Perhaps it is Ashhur warning you of his presence. The Citadel is strong as ever. But to be in the company of a dark paladin…you must expect some of his shadow to fall upon you. Stay safe, Jerico. I hope to see you on my return.”
    Jerico watched him go as Darius’s speech grew louder and filled with fire. He listened for a little while, then went back to the field. More than anything, he wanted the monotony so he might think over what he’d heard, as well as calm the turmoil growing in his breast. It was only an hour later that he realized he’d not once mentioned the wolf-men that had attacked their village.

 
     
     
     
     
    5

     
     
    L eaving tower Bronze, Daniel felt an immense sense of relief. Their boat drifted along the center of the river, slow and deep enough they could relax and let the Gihon carry them. Daniel sat in the back, dipping his fingertips in the cold water to keep awake. Not that he needed the help. An argument with someone as stubborn as Sir Lars was easily enough to get him worked up and ready to hit something.
    “Unsupplied as I am, you want me to patrol twenty miles south to help protect some...simpletons stupid enough to go into the Wedge?” Lars had asked. He was shorter than Daniel, but still outweighed him by plenty. They’d bickered in his study, him wearing a family breastplate that enhanced his rotund physique.
    “At least those simpletons aren’t afraid of what they face,” Daniel had