Death's Paladin

by Christopher Donahue

  The sorcerer reached into the pouch on his saddle and tossed out several items too small to see at this distance. He threw them in a pattern, one far to his left, then one slightly ahead and to his right, until nine pieces had been dispersed around the largest pile of dead skirmishers.

  Karro grimaced. Duty forced him to understand more of sorcery than he had ever wished. The most powerful spells worked best in the midst of a blood-soaked battlefield. Freely-spent blood carried more sorcerous value than lives taken from unwilling sacrifices.

  Even so far away, Voskov’s face seemed pale as he pulled a large book from another satchel and set it on his knee. Karro couldn’t hear Voskov’s words, but the hairs on his neck stood up. To raise that kind of power, Voskov must have the Hykori Book of Sorcery. Karro wished he was wrong and that the Book was only a legend or long lost. That Book was more dangerous than the man who imagined he controlled it.

  Vision shifted under Karro and grunted. On both sides of the field, horses dances and bucked while dragons flared neck crests and slammed armored tails on the ground. When a deep groan rose from the earth, the light horse remaining on Voskov’s wings milled in chaos and then frayed around the edges.

  Mist wafted from the hot, dry grassland inside the rough circle of Voskov’s tossed objects. The gray mist coalesced into a shape of a head the size of Voskov’s dragon.

  Cries of terror came from Temple ranks, quickly followed by their officers’ curses. The Temple troops held their ground, but the Shushkachevan nobles between Karro’s and Balanar’s infantry broke and streamed past Ulneriev’s Guard. A few dragon-mounted guardsmen joined them in flight.

  Karro tilted back his helmet so Balanar could hear him. Using his best battlefield voice, Karro called out, “Balanar!” until the Macmar Knight nodded his way. “I’ll deal with whatever Voskov is raising. Advance the men and get his damned Book.”

  Not waiting for a response, Karro settled his helmet back in place. “Auros be with me. May the True God strengthen my arm and sharpen my eye.” Karro nudged Vision in the flank and couched his lance. Leaving the rest of the battle to others while he pitted himself against the worst the sorcerer could raise, Karro rushed to serve his purpose in life.

  The mist thickened. Color and details became clear as the demon continued to rise from the undisturbed ground. The corpses heaped within the circle melted, flesh first, into the earth. Hungry, keening cries rose from the circle, growing louder as Karro drew near.

  Karro’s limbs numbed in the familiar haze of communion with Auros. Only the enemy remained clear in Karro’s eyes and ears.

  The creature’s waist lifted out of the undisturbed ground, its arms straining as it levered its rapidly coalescing body upward. Already it rose as tall as Karro while mounted. Its round, hairless head sprouted a wide pair of antlers―no, fused long bones of horses and men. Its body and proportions were that of a wrestler, with strips of raw muscle showing between mottled patches of skin and horse hide. One section of hide still had dyed Death Blossoms painted on it. The summoned creature drew in the corpses for its own flesh.

  Karro aimed his lance at the demon’s chest, below its upper pectoral muscles and those tying its mid-arms to the rest of its unnatural body. Karro hoped that was where its heart lay. In his battle haze, the rest of the world faded away.

  As Vision thundered forward, Karro felt no hesitation in his blessed mount’s strides. Karro would drive his lance into the demon’s heart and hoped it pushed the demon back into the sorcerous hole. With luck, its body would block whatever stood ready to follow the creature into this world. Karro would strike down anything and everything there until he could do no more. If the True God wanted him to die with the demon, Karro trusted Balanar to finish the sorcerer and destroy the Book.

  Ahead, the demon placed a knee on the ground and climbed over the rim of its portal into the world. It raised its head and fixed huge multicolored, insect-like eyes on Karro. Its mouth, nearly as wide as its head, gave vent to a ground-shaking roar.

  Vision stumbled to the right. The demon’s lightning-fast grab with its impossibly long arm met only air.

  This close to the point of summoning, Karro saw the hole beneath the demon, a smooth gray shaft into the earth. Scores of inhuman faces with desperately hungry eyes crowded below.

  The power of Auros coursed through Karro’s veins. He poked his toes up and into Vision’s sides, prompting a leap. The warhorse sprang at the demon. Karro stabbed his lance forward, hunched against a heavy impact.

  His lance pierced a raw strip in the demon’s stitchwork of hide. The jolt pushed him back into the saddle. Pure white light flared around the lance’s head. His lance bowed and then popped straight, now piercing only empty air. The demon and its entry portal were gone.

  From the ground and air, a roar of pain and abysmal frustration shook the earth. Vision’s hooves struck ground where an instant before lay the shaft into a nether world. The horse stumbled and crashed to his knees. Karro kicked free of his stirrups, preparing to hop off the reeling horse, but his struggling mount didn’t fall.

  Grunting, Karro tightened his legs against Vision’s sides to keep his balance. As Vision recovered his footing, several points in the grass around Karro sparked like lit gunpowder. The spent pieces of sorcerous summoning sputtered, tainting the air with a slaughterhouse reek beyond that of the now-missing bodies of the slain skirmishers.

  Ahead, Voskov clapped his Book closed and clutched it to his chest. He blinked furiously, while attempting to control his panicked dragon.

  Grunting, Karro tightened his grip on his lance and urged Vision into another charge. The trembling horse responded.

  Voskov tugged his dragon’s harness to regain control and leaned back at the last instant. Karro’s lance scraped across Voskov’s chest and under his Book. Split rings spun from the mail covering the sorcerer’s chest. Voskov swayed with the blow and managed to stay mounted, but his cursed Book flew from his hands.

  Vision rammed into the side of Voskov’s twisting dragon, knocking the heavier beast off balance. Karro’s charge continued over man and mount. Bones snapped and the screams of man and high-pitched howl of the dragon intermingled.

  Karro reined Vision around to finish the act.

  On the ground, Voskov’s dragon thrashed, its claws slashing at Vison while trying to use its tail to push itself upright. Broken ribs jutted through the beast’s bright blood. White-faced with pain and dragging one leg, the sorcerer crawled away from his uncontrollably writhing animal and toward his fallen Book.

  An arrow bounced off the inner face of Karro’s shield. A second arrow punched his helmet into his forehead, nearly toppling him. A score or more of Voskov’s dragon-mounted retainers were on Karro, their lances jabbing from behind. In his battle fog, Karro dodged and deflected blows without thought.

  He wheeled Vision around to meet the frantic rush. He turned one lancehead with his shield, blocked a saber blow and leaned back to let an arrow streak past him and sink into another of Voskov’s men. As Karro ducked a wild swing and punched into a rebel’s chest, the crunch of bone vibrated up his lance shaft.

  More Shushkachevans crowded in. The injured dragon’s lashing tails battered and enraged the other dragons. Two rebels tangled lances, giving Karro the opening to take one in the throat and then drive his bloody lance into the side of the second. The second rebel grabbed Karro’s lance and ripped it away. More screaming rebels pressed in for the kill.

  Karro blocked with his shield long enough to draw Redress, his forward-curved chopping sword. Against so many skilled opponents, though, even Karro’s experience and stamina would fail. If he could only finish the sorcerer, none of that would matter.

  Turning a block into a cut, Karro opened the face of the nearest Shushkachevan as the man overbalanced after a poorly timed lance thrust. Karro cut and blocked against his attackers, urging Vision toward the place where Voskov fell. Vision’s teeth and flailing hooves forced a path through the hissing and con
fused dragon mounts of the Shushkachevan lancers. Through the screeching chaos, Voskov’s retainers carried their master away. The rebel leader clutched his cursed Book to his chest.

  Ignoring his attackers, Karro raised in his stirrups to locate Balanar and the Temple troops. The press of shouting dragon riders blocked Karro’s sight, but the Temple troops’ chanting dirge cut through the rebels’ war cries.

  Karro guided Vision into a gap between two riderless rebel dragons. The press was too tight for lancers to position themselves. Close fighting gave Karro an advantage using his chopping sword while the Shushkachevans tried to maneuver their awkward lances. He leaned out to hack at men who had only a fraction of his battlefield experience. They fell in sprays of bright blood.

  A powerful rebel in gilded armor and a green tabard tossed aside his lance and drew a two-handed warhammer. His ivory dragon forced the riderless beasts out of his way. The rebel champion swung overhead blows at any exposed part of Karro’s body, not penetrating his welded-ring mail, but smashing his shield and giving Karro several bruising hits. Heat, pain and exhaustion weighted Karro’s arms Tormented by this skilled opponent, his blocks came slower.

  A blow glanced across the face of his helmet. Karro could no longer see the sorcerer past the ring of sweating, black-bearded faces hacking at him. He turned to look for Balanar and the Temple troops. A blow to the side of Karro’s helmet nearly threw him from the saddle. The world spun inside his head.

  He reeled, desperately trying to stay upright, to keep fighting. He tasted blood and bile. His enemies blurred, becoming a horde between him and the cursed sorcerer.

  Karro crouched behind the battered remnants of his shield, trying to recover his wits enough for a final push to end Voskov and his Book. Vision stumbled with exhaustion, his breath sounding like a split bellows.

  “I’ve failed.” Karro groaned. As he tried to raise his sword again, his shoulder blazed with pain. He didn’t know if it was from fatigue or one of the many cleverly aimed hammer blows landed by the Shushkachevan noble in the green tabard.

  A hand on his back steadied Karro. He tried to raise his sword then realized the hand had to be that of a friend. All around him, Tuskaran lancers in blackened mail spun in close combat with Shushkachevan nobles.

  Warhorses lashed steel-covered hooves against scaled dragon sides while spiked dragon tails and darting fangs returned wound for wound. Lances struck and armored men fell, choking on their own blood.

  “I couldn’t leave you all the fun, cousin,” Lokhaz shouted. “Since I’ve disobeyed orders, don’t pay me this month.” His mace smashed the crest from the green-tabarded Shushkachevan’s helmet. The rebel champion reeled away, clutching his saddle horn. His dragon swung its spiked tail wildly to cover their retreat.

  It took three tries before Karro’s tongue worked enough to shout, “Lokhaz, where is that damned sorcerer?”

  Lokhaz pointed toward a knot of Voskov’s lancers pushing through the disorganized rebel line. The Marten Clan made way for Voskov’s passage, many following as rebels carried the sorcerer to safety.

  Other rebels backed away from the fight, gripping their weapons and eyeing their fellows.

  Above the din, thundered the unmistakable sound of Temple gunfire. A charging band of rebels faltered before the approaching blocks of footmen. Balanar shouted and waved the men forward, but didn’t break into a solitary rush of his own. Confused rebel cavalry melted before the steady, chanting Temple advance.

  Space opened around Karro. Rebel lancers spurred away to join their masters. A majority of the huge rebel army milled in confusion. Without Voskov to unite them, the great nobles feared the ambitions of their fellows more than they resented Ulneriev.

  The broken rebel band that had attacked the Temple companies thundered past, Marten Clan banners streaming behind. Ulneriev could never forgive his kinsmen, regardless of any clemency he might offer the rest of the rebels.

  Lokhaz slapped Karro’s shoulder. “We still have work to do, cousin.” Rising in his stirrups, Lokhaz called to his troop, “One more charge, brothers.”

  Karro tossed his wrecked helmet and gulped in fresh air. Lokhaz and his men made a short run to hit the reforming band of Ulneriev’s kinsmen. The more numerous and desperate Shuskachevans fought the Tuskaran lancers until Temple arquebusiers came into range and delivered a volley into the traitors. The Marten lancers broke and scattered.

  As Auros’s battle haze left Karro completely, he reeled in his saddle. Fallen men and the heart-rending sounds of wounded horses thrashing in pain surrounded him. Thirty paces away, rebel warbands faced each other with leveled lances. None made the attempt to finish Karro, though he clearly couldn’t defend himself. Amid the clash of steel and sporadic pistol shots farther back in the rebel force, Voskov’s army disintegrated.

  Temple infantry marched up to the cheers of Lokhaz and his thirty-odd surviving men. At the head of the company, Balanar waved his bloody axe. His racks of javelins were empty.

  “Get the sorcerer,” Karro croaked

  Balanar pointed to the churning mass of rebel dragon-riders and horsemen fleeing in a wide arc around them. “Which way?”

  Search as he might, Karro couldn’t even guess which direction Voskov’s men had taken him. His army’s dissolution had become the sorcerer’s best screen.

  Ulneriev’s remaining guardsmen spread out and advanced toward the rebel army. The guardsmen’s heavy dragons were the only well-organized mounted group, making them the most dangerous force on the field. They approached only now that victory fell into their laps―so much like their master.

  Individual rebel nobles paced their dragons out from the crowd, empty hands raised high as they hurried to make peace with the emperor. True to Shushkachevan politics, Ulneriev would have to take them back or rekindle the rebellion.

  “Cheer up, cousin,” Lokhaz shouted. “We survived.”

  “Yes, we survived, but so did Voskov,” Karro answered softly. He was too exhausted to curse.

  Eight nights later, Karro savored the cool evening air in the hills of Kulkas Hold. He sipped a thick and spicy ale, a sensual pleasure after months of sticky-sweet Shushkachevan wines and just the right finish to the hearty welcoming feast.

  The familiar, simple tapestries lining the main hall’s rough stone walls were faded. This rude place and its dampness reminded him of how far Tuskaran fortunes had fallen since his days as a young man, when Tuskarans made themselves masters of the Plains. Still, it was Kulkas Hold and the warmth of family pushed back the cold. His thoughts strayed back to his lovely Ystret, although he fought to remember her face. He reluctantly wrenched his mind to the present.

  At his side, Lokhaz stood away from the trestle table to finish his tale. Servants and soldiers alike fell silent.

  “Ah, what a sight―those shiny Shusk nobles stumbling over each other like so many merchants at a fair. Each claiming Voskov had captured his soul or that a stronger neighbor forced him to rebel.” Lokhaz mimicked a greasy noble bowing while eying his neighbor.

  Karro smiled at the well-practiced performance. This time Lokhaz told his tale to his own people in Kulkas Hold.

  With Damsel Undkara at the front of his audience, Lokhaz neglected to mention how Voskov’s demon had frightened him to the point of bladder failure. The Tuskaran maiden clutched at the thick auburn braid hanging over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on her intended.

  “Of course, his Imperial Tightpursehood declared that those of us following Karro were paid by the Temple and had no claim on any ransom.” He reached into the sack at his feet and unloaded golden chains, medallions and rings onto the recently cleared table. “Ulneriev’s guardsmen were duty-bound to his service. We left it for him to gather up all the treasure himself. The guards gave us no trouble as we picked up whatever loot the emperor seemed unlikely to get around to. We had expenses you understand.” As Lokhaz pulled out his greatest prize, a gold-chased wheellock pistol in a lacquered arming case, the chuckling vassals m
ade appreciative sounds. The small-bore pistol had to be Riverine work, exquisite but deadly.

  Recalling the escort Ulneriev put on them, Karro ground his teeth . Shushkachevan former-rebels had herded all Temple troops directly to the nearest crossing of the Heart River. They took their jobs seriously now that a sorcerer no longer threatened their master. When Karro tried to slip away to hunt Voskov, a whole troop of dragon-mounted lancers turned him back. At least the sorcerer wouldn’t be emperor of the Plains any time soon.

  As vassals crowded in with questions about the battle, slender Undkara moved to Lokhaz’s side, drinking in the reflected glory. The way Lokhaz kept turning to smile at Undkara dispelled some of Karro’s concerns about the family’s future. The youngster enjoyed his victory and adulation, but had priorities other than the pursuit of glory.

  Like Lokhaz, Damsel Undkara was full Tuskaran. Through her, Lokhaz could legally pass on Kulkas lands. Tuskaran women were unique among the peoples of the Plains and surrounding hill kingdoms; they made the choice of marriage. A Tuskaran noble who could find no noblewoman of pure blood to agree to be his bride could not pass his lands on to a direct descendent. Lokhaz had little to fear.

  Karro rose. With the tale-telling over, it was time to interrupt his cousin. The vassals and Temple veterans alike bowed deeply and backed away.

  Their deference made Karro uncomfortable. He wanted them to respect his words when he pursued a task for the True God, but otherwise not to think of him as anything more than them. He’d been born a slave and still thought of himself that way, only now he served a worthy master.

  Undkara grabbed a pitcher and refilled Karro’s cup.

  Karro nodded thanks and turned to Lokhaz. “Thank you for the service you’ve done the Temple. I expect you’ll have no trouble finding places for the Temple troopers who’ve asked to retire here. We passed enough empty farmhouses in need of steady men.”