The Dark Paladin

by Rex Jameson

  They were in a market. Thousands of people pushed past his horse. Jeremy’s angry face was within a few feet of his own, scowling heavily. Ashton smelled roasted chicken and lamb. Fresh herbs and carrots.

  “I’m starving,” Ashton said.

  “That’s too bad,” Jeremy said. “We don’t—”

  “Lord Jeremy,” a man in black-and-white called.

  “I’m busy,” Jeremy said, as he grabbed the reins from Ashton’s hands and began to walk the horses deeper into the city and through the market.

  “Not enough to brush by a lord without greeting him,” the man said. “Welcome back to the city.”

  Jeremy seemed to know the voice but couldn’t place it. He turned and saw the man, and realization dawned on him. Ashton turned too.

  “Master Kraytos,” Jeremy said as he wheeled about. “Well met.”

  Jeremy nodded to Kraytos and to a well-dressed lord beside the man-at-arms. “It’s I who should offer apologies. Hello, Julian.”

  “Are you really too busy to congratulate me on my High Lordship?” Julian Mallory asked.

  “High Lordsh—?” Jeremy asked, facing Julian.

  “Yes,” Julian said.

  Julian wore a fine black-and-white doublet with a long black cape that was so well-tailored that it only lightly dusted the stone ground. He wore black leather pants and fashionable shoes. Ashton had never seen a man dressed so well, not even in Fomsea where the merchants prided themselves on looking royal.

  Beside the Lord, on the other side of Kraytos, was an armored knight.

  “It’s him,” the man in polished plate said. The man looked directly at Jeremy through his visor. “That’s the man.”

  “Do I know you?” Jeremy asked.

  “Only by sight perhaps,” the knight said slowly, as if calculating his words carefully. “We have not formally met.”

  “Forgive me,” Julian Mallory said, bowing with a small smirk on his face. “Where are my manners? Lord Jeremy Vossen, it appears you and Sir Casterby have not been properly introduced. Lord Jeremy Vossen, this is Simon Casterby. Sir Simon Casterby, this is Lord Jeremy Vossen.”

  “I don’t know the name,” Jeremy said, gripping Ashton’s rope and reins tightly.

  “We met outside of Perketh,” Simon said, his hand on the pommel of his sword. “South of Perketh, actually. In the woods.”

  “This is the man you saw in the forest?” Master Kraytos asked with seeming innocence.

  “I don’t recall—” Jeremy said.

  “We both saw a hero die there,” Simon said, “during the Red Army’s assault. I’ll never forget the way you loaded the body onto the cart.”

  Jeremy grew very quiet, and Julian smiled pleasantly. Ashton had no idea what was going on.

  “Anyway,” Julian said, sighing, “you missed a very hasty ceremony. The King officially bequeathed the title of High Lord onto me yesterday. I am now the Master of Mallory Keep and all of my father’s lands. King Aethis and Queen Shea retired to mourn their son Magnus. I’ll never forget that demon tearing through that field and my castle. Killing my father… and the crown prince. One day, I’ll have my vengeance.”

  Jeremy looked at Ashton, who in turn looked at the top of his horse’s head.

  “Have they caught the Necromancer yet?” Jeremy asked.

  Ashton shot him a quizzical look. Jeremy of course knew where the Necromancer was. He was holding the reins to Ashton’s horse.

  “No,” Julian said. “Yours is the first prisoner from the front I’ve set eyes on. If the Necromancer had been caught, I’m sure I’d have heard about it by now. Who’s this?”

  “A Red Army bandit,” a loud voice answered from behind Ashton.

  Ashton recognized the war charger before he recognized the rider.

  “Lord General,” Julian greeted him, bowing deeply. Kraytos and Simon Casterby fell to a knee.

  Godfrey Ross’s armor was coated with grime and gray goo, and he smelled something awful. Despite his stench, a crowd encircled him as his horse hooves clopped closer.

  “I’m sorry I missed your lordship ceremony,” Godfrey said. “Please forgive me.”

  Julian looked the general up-and-down. “It’s quite obvious you’ve been working in the realm’s service, Lord General. There is no forgiveness necessary. Besides, I’m in your debt for charging the field at Mallory Keep.”

  “Our Great House is beyond appreciative of your efforts,” Master Kraytos said with sincerity. “We have no doubt that your pursuit of the Necromancer saved lives that day. Had that conjurer brought forth another demon, all of House Mallory might have fallen.”

  “It’s my greatest regret that Lord Mallory and Prince Magnus died that day,” Godfrey said loudly for the crowd, as they kept gathering, “and that I could save neither of them.”

  “The whole realm laments the losses,” Kraytos said. “Neither is easily replaced.”

  “And yet,” Godfrey said, “life goes on.”

  He looked at Julian and nodded. “Your father couldn’t have left his estate in better hands.”

  “You flatter me,” Julian said, “and it only shames me that I’m not reciprocating. I’ve shown no interest in the state of your dress and your current affairs. You’re quite soiled, Sir Godfrey. Did your horse falter and throw you from the saddle?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Godfrey said. “I’m sure you all can tell that it’s not mud that cakes my armor. I’ve cut my way through an undead army moving toward us from Xhonia. This blackness and stench is theirs.”

  A gasp went up from the nearby crowd.

  “Foxbro is besieged by foul creatures,” Godfrey said. “Hundreds when last I turned north.”

  “And you’ve come here?” Julian asked. “To rally the King’s Guard?”

  “Soon,” Godfrey said. “Lord Vossen and I have ridden hard for five days. I must debrief this prisoner and find out what he knows about the Necromancer’s capabilities and why an army of undead march toward Kingarth.”

  “The undead are coming this way?” a poor young man with a dirty face asked. He seemed surprised when Godfrey turned to him and nodded, as if the man didn’t believe it possible that Sir Godfrey Ross could have even heard a lowly man like him speak.

  “This young man knows the Necromancer?” Julian asked, looking at Ashton for the first time.

  The stare was long and hard, and there was malice there from the High Lord. Ashton felt a chill go down his spine. He stared at his horse’s head again to avoid the glare.

  “We don’t know yet,” Godfrey said, bending toward Julian as if sharing a secret but loud enough for all around to hear him. “We’re taking him somewhere… more private…”

  The crowd continued to grow.

  “I am quite versed in the art of torture,” Julian said, bowing simply. “It would be my honor to accompany you. If this man knows my father’s killer, then I would take great pleasure in extracting this information for you.”

  Godfrey looked quickly at Ashton and then back at Julian.

  “Soon, perhaps,” Godfrey said. “If he does not break under my questioning, I may call on you, High Lord. I must press him hard and fast. The fate of the Kingdom may depend on quickly finding this necromancer. As soon as that information is gained, the King’s Guard will ride south to meet this new force. Are your men camped nearby?”

  Julian gulped hard. “I have only a small force present in the capital. As you know, my lordship ceremony was but yesterday. The King invited me to bring a small guard—no more than a hundred. The rest guard the southern reaches from orcish invasion.”

  Master Kraytos bowed his head and banged his right hand across his chest. “We will make sure our men are ready to depart immediately.”

  “Lord General,” Simon Casterby hailed Godfrey, still on a knee and head bowed. “I would be honored to join you with the Mallory Knights. We are only twenty-five, but we are twenty-five strong. We will help turn back this undead menace.”

  “Lord General,�
� Kraytos said, almost apologetically. “If this undead menace has turned north toward Foxbro from Xhonia, do you know if they’ve also spread south into the Mallory lands?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” Godfrey said. “Lord Jeremy and I came across the horde by accident, on our way north. It may well have spread to the south.”

  “In that case,” Kraytos said, “the Crown may require my Lord Julian to return back to our lands around the horde via the road west through Colinsworth. I’m afraid we will need our contingent of knights should trouble befall us.”

  “My apologies,” Simon said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well met!” Godfrey said. “We all must do our part, and if the horde is indeed moving only northward, Lord Julian and your knights may come to our aid from the south, pincering them within the jaws of our combined might. Till then, I suppose. If you would excuse me, though, I must question this man and rest for a time. We’ll assemble our men and wait for the King’s decision. Perhaps we will meet again on the battlefield.”

  “We’ll see you soon,” Julian said, nodding solemnly. “May Creator Cronos bless you and guide you to victory.”

  Simon stared at Jeremy hard before Julian and his knight hustled through the chattering crowd and out of the market. The Lord General pulled alongside Ashton. The smell from the undead guts on his armor was overwhelming. Ashton dry-heaved multiple times.

  “We must get to the icebox quickly,” Godfrey said to Jeremy, as they both began to trot their horses again. “There is little time. Foxbro may fall within the day.”

  9

  The Unresurrected

  The room was freezing. Ashton rubbed his hands together in front of the man on the table. Godfrey and Jeremy stood across the flat surface, looking at him. The room was small and appeared to be a simple planning room. Maps of the kingdom littered the walls. A few hundred scrolls lay on a series of sturdy-looking shelves behind his captors. For some reason, large, bluish boulders were stacked in the corners and along open floor space.

  “We had ice brought in from the North,” Godfrey said.

  Ashton looked at the layers of the dirty ice blocks in the corners. He feigned interest, anything to take his eyes away from yet another dead person being put in front of him. All Ashton knew was that his own breath was producing an icy fog, and he wanted to leave.

  “I thought it might help keep the body fresh,” Godfrey explained.

  Ashton looked at the dead man’s face. His mustache was well-manicured. His body had been meticulously cleaned. The wound to his neck had been stitched up with a practiced hand. His famous steel and gold plate armor rested on the floor beneath the table, along with some leathers. He wore simple shorts and nothing else.

  “Can you bring him back?” Godfrey asked.

  Ashton closed his eyes without thinking about it, even though he didn’t need to. He had been asked so many times at Dona to resurrect someone that he was simply going through the motions. He had promised himself that he would never do it again. The last time he had done so, a high lord, a crown prince, and hundreds of men had died. A demon had been unleashed onto the world. If it weren’t for Cedric, the damned thing might have still been out in the countryside killing people. Still, his mind reacted to the call—to the request for the return of a loved one.

  He felt around him, reaching out for a soul. Like that time outside Mallory Keep, there was no presence. A body rested here, but no spirit lingered. Frederick Ross had been dead for more than three days. The Rule of Three was proven right once again.

  “How long has he been dead?” Ashton asked.

  “A few weeks, I guess.” Godfrey said. “Why?”

  “I don’t feel his presence in the room,” Ashton said.

  “So, he’s gone?” Jeremy asked. He stroked his beard, which had mostly grown back since the abduction.

  “No!” Godfrey said, pushing Jeremy in the chest and causing the younger lord to stumble across the room.

  “You don’t know that!” Godfrey accused Jeremy and then rounded his finger on Ashton.

  “He’s not in the room,” Ashton said.

  “Maybe he went to the next room,” Godfrey said with growing panic. “Reach out further!”

  “Something else would answer,” Ashton said.

  “You’re going to have to try. I want to see you try.”

  “He’s not here,” Ashton said. “If I try to bring him back, something else is going to fill his body. Something darker. Something from the Abyss.”

  “This Kingdom needs my son!” Godfrey said. “Demons are rising. Undead are everywhere! They besiege Foxbro! If we do not ride at them with everything we have, all may be lost. They’ll sweep across our land, and they’ll keep going. The elven lands. Visanth. All will fall before them. We need Frederick.”

  Godfrey’s eyes hardened, and Ashton looked down at the fallen tournament champion. Godfrey leaned over the table and his son. His breath stank, even from this distance. The old man took a while to choose his next words carefully. A low growl built up in him, which terrified Ashton. He thought Godfrey might hit him.

  “If you do not raise my boy,” Godfrey said, “you will die.”

  “You’re going to hang me anyway,” Ashton said.

  Godfrey slowly shook his head as Jeremy rejoined him from being pushed across the room.

  “I don’t… hang… people,” he said, every word dripping with threat and menace.

  “I’m telling you,” Ashton said, “as a person who has lost others, what would come back would not be Frederick.”

  “How do you know?” Jeremy asked.

  “The Rule of Three,” Ashton said. “I was warned by the paladin Cedric Arrington. If you raise a body after three days of death, you risk raising a dark creature. A thing like what ripped through your armies and Prince Magnus and destroyed part of a castle. Do not ask this of me! Please!”

  “My son… would never do that,” Godfrey said.

  “Your son is gone,” Ashton said sternly.

  Godfrey slowly walked around the table. His plate armor plates creaked and rattled against each other. His eyes never left Ashton’s face, and every step felt more threatening than the one before it. Ashton knew this man would hurt him.

  “These people you lost,” Godfrey said, “did you bring them back?”

  “Some,” Ashton said. “I got back to them quickly. Their spirits were—”

  A steel-clad hand came to Ashton’s throat as fast as lightning. Before he knew what was happening, Ashton was pinned against the wall. His face and Godfrey’s were inches from each other.

  “Sir,” Jeremy said from the other side of the table. “If there’s a chance that Freddie might come back as one of those creatures, is that really a chance you want to take?”

  “There is no chance I wouldn’t take,” Godfrey said through clenched teeth.

  Godfrey’s face began to blur as he continued to strangle Ashton.

  “You’re choking him out,” Jeremy warned.

  The gray of Godfrey’s beard blended with the rest of his face. His grimacing mouth became a long black line surround by pink fuzz. The room blackened as Ashton lost consciousness.

  “I told you so,” Jeremy said as Godfrey released Ashton’s neck.

  Ashton felt himself crash to the floor but without pain. The sounds of boots against the floor muffled into the bizarre. Shapes morphed in the room.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Jeremy said in the murkiness, “I’m sure my father knows I’m here. He’ll want to talk to me.”

  Godfrey grunted in the darkness of Ashton’s mind. “The King will want to talk with me too…”

  The darkness withdrew to the underworld of his nightmares. In the center of a shadowy room, Riley burned. She screamed for him and Clayton to save her, but he was powerless to move in his dream—crumpled against a wall of his own mind just like his real body against the walls of the ice box.

  10

  The Queen’s Reminder
/>   Ashton lay on the floor of a very dark room. It reminded him of his dreams of the underworld and Riley. A pillar of light filled the center of the room, and there she was again. Mekadesh.

  She was not blonde and wholesome this time. She was dark, like when he saw her for the first time in Dona. Tight-fitting, shiny black dress. Curves. Cleavage. Dangerous and mischievous.

  Ashton exhaled in a long, deep sigh. He looked down at the darkness that enveloped his body in this dream.

  “You’re wasting time,” she said, “and time is something that you and the rest of this world do not have.”

  “I’m held captive,” he said, “and rendered unconscious by a psychopath.”

  “Say the word, and you won’t be. Pledge yourself to me, and no human hand will touch you again.”

  He looked up at her from his leaning position against a wall that was not there.

  “I don’t want to kill this man,” Ashton said. “He’s grieving. Grief makes people do strange things.”

  “What he’s doing is not strange,” Mekadesh said. “I’m strange. Raising the dead is strange. He’s just a man. He’s as ordinary as they come.”

  She walked towards him. Every step like a cat. Each head movement like a snake. She ran her hands through her jet-black hair. Her lips parted, and his senses began to overwhelm him. He knew he was really in a cold room with a dead man, but in here, in this dream, he felt warm sensations moving all over his body. Like hands. They lingered on his legs, crawled over his abdomen, and then slowly moved down the other leg to his toes. It felt like two hands went back up his thighs. A sweet, musky smell filled his mind. Not deathly like Frederick’s dead body that he knew was in the room with him in the real world. Instead, very much alive and powerful with pheromones.

  Coarse hair teased his face, but his eyes were open and she was still in the pillar of light, far away. He had been with girls in Perketh. He knew what being seduced felt like, or at least, he thought he did. This was a hundred times more potent, and he felt his brain melting.