The Dark Paladin

by Rex Jameson

  “I do not!” Cassandra said, crying.

  “Fire seems to kill the undead,” Ashton said, and Cassandra perked up and quieted at the statement, “and I’ve seen a paladin named Cedric smash a demon to pieces. I don’t know how to conjure fire, and I’m not a holy warrior. But you… I see a fire in you…”

  He held the yellow, teardrop-shaped gem to his eye and watched the swirls inside of her.

  “I go with this devil woman,” Ashton said, “in hope that I might find a way to save your kingdom. For it is your kingdom. You are the future.”

  Cassandra did not speak. She simply continued to rock her mother and stare at the blood-stained throne.

  “I know there’s nothing I can say to make this right,” Ashton said. “Words are hollow. That’s what my friend Clayton always said. He taught me that actions speak louder than words. My only hope is that when I find a way to kill these demon lords, you will be able to hear and understand how truly sorry I am for your losses.”

  He bowed his head as he backed away and then turned to walk away. The Princess continued to hold her mother. He looked back at her briefly before he left the throne room.

  Mekadesh and Frederick waited for him on the purple carpeting in the hallway. Frederick had put his helmet back on and watched Ashton with animal-like mannerisms—tilting his head and watching Ashton through unblinking eyes. Mekadesh smiled as she crossed her arms in her white dress.

  “Stop smiling at me,” Ashton demanded.

  “I’m not,” Mekadesh said. “It’s just remarkable. The situation.”

  Ashton stomped his foot in frustration as he walked toward her. “You just killed the King and Queen of Surdel.”

  The demon in plate armor piped up in a deep resonating voice. “I honestly thought the chain would break before his neck did.”

  “You ripped his head off!” Ashton said.

  The demon whimpered and looked to Mekadesh for support. She patted him on the pauldrons, and Ashton clearly saw the possessed man smiling through his visor. Still, it hunched its shoulders as if it were a dog expecting to be smacked upside its head.

  “Let us walk,” Mekadesh said, beckoning Ashton to link arms with her.

  He grumbled but did anyway. They walked together away from the throne room, while the demon inside Frederick ambled behind.

  “That was my king and queen, Mekadesh,” Ashton said. “Don’t you understand? I agreed to your terms to save Surdel—not to destroy it.”

  “My child,” Mekadesh said, “I didn’t want their deaths any more than you did. We don’t have time for a stubborn man refusing us the very weapons that might save this world.”

  “We don’t have time?” Ashton asked. “We’re walking down a hallway. We seem to have all the time in the world.”

  “When it comes to calming a potential mutiny with my future general,” she said, “there is time enough. We make the time. But if you think this war with Orcus and Demogorgon will come at no cost, then you must be corrected in these false beliefs. You think you are going to take that small gem, march across the battlefield, brush aside hordes of undead and plunge that fistful of power into the chest of a demon lord? No, you are not.”

  “Then what am I supposed to do?” Ashton asked.

  “Listen first,” Mekadesh said, her warmth radiating throughout Ashton’s body.

  He found it hard to stay cross with her when she was so near. Her scent tickled his senses. He found himself appreciating her touch.

  “This artifact empowers you,” she said. “It gives you gifts, but it also restores a part of me. With you so close, it augments me and my creations. Here, hold it out.”

  Ashton offered it without hesitation. His open palm held the small stone—rounded like an eye.

  “When you touch this,” she said, “you gain a strength. You can feel it. A light in the darkness. Always revealing—for better or worse. Sometimes, you might want to drop it. You’ll find your friends lying to you, sometimes small things that don’t matter. If you look long enough through it, your connection to the very world might change. You’ll watch a butterfly flapping its wings, and it might reveal to you how to design a remarkable flying contraption for you to use—or a terrible weapon that will turn the tide of wars.”

  “It sounds like a lot of power,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, “for it is knowledge, and knowledge is power, and power corrupts. I’m living proof of that!”

  She laughed heartily as they made their way down the corridor.

  “And I have brought you to this knowledge,” she said, “so that you might possess it—the boy who cares for his people but who leaps before he looks. You are too trusting. This artifact will change that, in time. But do not grow too complacent in its gift. It can be fooled. Such was the case with Maddox, and with his fall, I fell hard too.”

  Ashton nodded in understanding. He forgot about the bodies in the throne room, and he listened.

  “Why don’t you wield it?” Ashton asked. “If it was a part of you, wouldn’t you be better served by it? Why give it to me?”

  She looked at the golden eye in his hand. For a moment, a look of longing crossed her face, but it was gone seconds later.

  “Long ago,” she said, “it was a part of me. Now, I’m different. If I were to take this back into myself, it would change me. I would lose part of what makes me who I am today. The world is more mysterious. People can lie to me. I prefer this ignorance. I prefer to not see my own faults and failures.”

  “But it’s a weapon!” Ashton said.

  She let loose a full-throated laugh. She pointed at Frederick and then at a nearby wall. The demon appeared to understand the command and ran its plated fist through the solid stone, ripping out huge blocks of the wall as it pulled its fist free.

  Mekadesh then pointed toward her hand, and Ashton noticed a thin black sword that must have been five-feet long. He didn’t know how he had missed it before. She dragged it along the ground for a time as they continued to stroll arm-in-arm. The grating sound of metal on stone had a chilling effect.

  “I have weapons,” she said. “Weapons are easy to come by. People I can trust to wield those weapons, those are much harder to find. And so, I bequeath a part of myself, my infinite sight, to you. Do you accept my gift?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Ashton asked.

  “Always,” she said. “Such is life.”

  “And if I reject?” Ashton asked.

  “Perhaps I leave you alone,” Mekadesh said. “Perhaps Frederick kills you. Who knows? It would depend on my mood at the time.”

  “And how are you feeling right now?” Ashton asked. He smiled, despite himself—despite where he was and what had just happened in the throne room.

  She chuckled lightly. “Say yes. It is a gift unlike any other.”

  “And when I say yes,” he said, “what happens?”

  “You and I lift this gem together,” she said, “and the world of Nirendia gains a new Light. The demon lords will see you for what you are—a great and powerful weapon. Champions of Light and Dark will flock to you. Death will be all around you, as it always has been. But a path will also be in front of you—a winding road that leads you and your allies toward more knowledge and more power. Until one day, you turn to face Orcus and Demogorgon, and they will quake at your coming. And if they don’t, if they are foolish enough to stand before you, then they will fall and be sent back to the Abyss—back to their planes of safety. But if you decide to pursue them, when you have the right weapons, there will be no safe place—not on any world. Not in any place—not even the Abyss.”

  He raised the eye to his own and looked at her. Half-golden. Half-dark. Her two-faced grin came back to him, but the dark-side had a tinge of fear in it. He smiled, knowing that the eye revealed the truth. Mekadesh was taking a risk giving him this item, and they both knew it. She wasn’t lying—not about the power he might have.

  He cupped the Eye so it would not fall, and then he extended it to
ward her with his hand, as she had told him to do. She reached up with the half of her body that had been golden through the Eye. When her skin touched it, a bell sounded in Ashton’s mind. He felt its reverberations and echoes push outward, vibrating the castle down to its foundations.

  “What just happened?” he asked.

  “You’ve announced yourself to Orcus and Demogorgon,” she said.

  He stopped breathing for a moment, and the hair on the back of his neck and forearms stood on-end.

  “And you’ve empowered me with a part of myself that was lost,” she said. “Those who serve me have felt me change. That bell was the sound of power transferring. To the East, my people stir—ready for war and empowered with new Light. You’ve done this. You’ve given Nirendia hope.”

  Ashton held the Eye firmly at his side.

  “You’ll want to find a secure place for that now,” she said. “What was mine became Maddox’s, and what was his has become yours. The Eye of Ashton.”

  “The Eye of Ashton?” he asked, taken aback. “Well… how do I secure it? How did Maddox?”

  “He had his eye removed from its socket,” she said, “and replaced it with that.”

  “Oh…,” Ashton said.

  “Did you…?” she asked, pointing helpfully to Frederick who took off his greaves to show the black-and-purple flames that emanated there. The implication being that the demon would happily remove his eye from the socket.

  “No, I think I’m good for now,” Ashton said, shaking his head and trying not to imagine a demon tearing his eyeball out. “I’ll just keep it in a pouch around my neck or something.”

  Mekadesh laughed genuinely and handed him a simple leather necklace with a perfectly-sized pouch.

  “For now,” she said, smiling widely, “until you change your mind.”

  “Right,” Ashton said, taking the pouch and placing the Eye into it. “What now? Do I fight Orcus?”

  “No,” she said. “Another piece of Maddox fell to this world. That’s why I’m here, and that’s why you must follow its trail from where it impacted the ground to the northeast of Mount Godun—at the center of a large lake at the edge of Nomintaur Forest.”

  “I’m not a good swimmer,” he admitted. “Not really.”

  She chuckled. “I’d worry more about avoiding Orcus for the moment. You can raise the dead, but I’m not sure you’re ready to raise yourself.”

  He nodded in agreement as they turned into a doorway that led to a stairwell.

  Jeremy Vossen followed his father toward the throne room. He felt refreshed and hopeful after baring his soul and not being judged for Freddie’s murder. The hot bath and beard grooming made him feel even more human.

  Due to the advancing undead, the King had summoned all lords present at Kingarth to attend a planning session. The two northern high lords had already returned back to their castles to conscript and gather their forces. The Lord General had stopped manhandling the Necromancer for long enough to supervise the main castle’s defenses and would not be present for council meetings. The new High Lord Mallory had already left along the western road to attempt to reach his estate in the southeast.

  This left House Vossen in a unique position. The way to King Aethis was open. Only Adviser Jurgen and a handful of lesser lords remained in the castle, and the King wanted immediate counsel. This meant that two of three lords being called in were Vossens.

  His father Edward kept a brisk pace, but it was nothing Jeremy couldn’t match. They turned into the main corridor that led to the throne room, and both he and his father took a deep breath. A woman in a formal, black dress walked toward them. She had stylish slits that must have taken servants days to get right with her form. This was a wealthy noble woman, but Jeremy had never seen her before.

  “We’re late,” Edward said. “Someone else has the King’s ear.”

  “Who is that?” Jeremy asked, admiring her.

  “I don’t know,” Edward said, pausing with his son, “but she has a common retainer and a knight.”

  It was then that Jeremy noticed the simple garb of the blond-haired man beside the woman. Jeremy still did not recognize her, but he knew the man. It was the Necromancer Ashton Jeraldson, his former prisoner. The clanking of the knight’s armor behind the pair became more ominous as they drew close. Despite the fact that the imprisonment and even execution of the Necromancer had been sanctioned by the King, Ashton walking free next to a noble woman made Jeremy very anxious.

  “Father,” Jeremy said. “It’s him.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Edward said. “How is this possible? He’s supposed to be dead.”

  “What?” Jeremy asked in confusion.

  “Madame,” Edward greeted her, bowing and keeping an eye on Ashton. His father bent slightly as well.

  “Good sirs,” she said, nodding her head as she approached.

  Ashton’s eyes met Jeremy’s and grew very wide. The Necromancer nudged the woman in black, and she stooped to hear him as she slowed down. He whispered something to her, and she chuckled lightly.

  “Madame,” Jeremy said, “whatever he’s told you…”

  “Frederick?” Edward asked. “I can’t believe this. Freddie, is that you?”

  “Ah, you two are acquainted,” she said. “How lovely!”

  The woman grinned mischievously, as if a new game was a foot. She beckoned her group to follow her. The Necromancer kept walking, but the knight stopped cold. He seemed to glow in the darkness—not like a light but as a deeper blackness in the dark, chilly hallway. Jeremy’s knees grew weak. He leaned against the stone wall.

  “It can’t be,” Jeremy said. “You’re dead.”

  The knight turned toward Jeremy. His visor was down, and Jeremy couldn’t see his eyes. The Necromancer had raised his friend. The Lord General had been right.

  “You did it,” Jeremy said. “You did it, Ashton.”

  The Necromancer stopped and turned toward him. “This isn’t my man, Lord Vossen. Nothing he’s done is my doing. This is hers.”

  The woman laughed.

  “You’re too modest,” the woman said. “Come, you two. These men have business with the King. I’m sure it will be a quick meeting.”

  She laughed at a joke that Jeremy was not in on.

  “What have you told Aethis?” Edward asked. “Surely, my son will be given a chance to explain…”

  “I assure you,” the woman said, smiling quite wickedly, “my conversation with the King had little to do with either of you. I mentioned your son, only in passing.”

  “Did Freddie speak to him?” Jeremy asked.

  “In a way,” she replied, still grinning.

  “Come, boy,” Edward said, pulling at his son’s arm. “We can still fix this.”

  “Freddie,” Jeremy said. “I’m so sorry. I wish—”

  The knight’s armor rattled. Freddie appeared to struggle with what to do next. He was not within striking distance, but that didn’t matter. Jeremy was unarmored and vulnerable. He preferred it that way. If Freddie wanted to strike him with a plate fist, he knew he deserved it. All that mattered was that he was back.

  “Come along, Freddie,” the woman said, emphasizing the name with apparent sarcasm. “These men have business with the King, and we’re needed elsewhere.”

  Freddie stepped toward Jeremy, but Edward moved between them.

  “Please,” Edward said, “let’s not do this here. Let’s meet in private, where we can make recompense.”

  Edward placed a hand on Jeremy’s best friend, and then his father hissed as he recoiled from the touch.

  “Your breastplate,” Edward said. “It’s freezing!”

  Jeremy pulled his father toward him as he realized something was very wrong. He saw the dark lines emanating from his friend’s armor, and then he noticed the glowing black hand. Freddie was not himself. He was dark magic.

  “Freddie,” Jeremy said. “What have they done to you?”

  “What have they done to me?” Fr
eddie growled.

  He viciously slammed his dark hand into and through Edward’s neck. Jeremy’s father went limp in his hands, and Freddie assaulted Edward over and over again.

  “Freddie, stop!” Jeremy begged.

  His father rolled against his shoulder. Edward’s neck was black, and Freddie wasn’t done. He kept plunging his hand into Edward’s chest, leaving marks that looked singed but with frostbite.

  “Stop!” Jeremy said. “Freddie, I did this you! Not him!”

  “Are you quite done?” the woman asked indignantly. “Do you want to be sent back to the Abyss?”

  Freddie backed away from Jeremy and his limp father. He continued to stare at Jeremy as the woman and Necromancer disappeared into a nearby stairwell. He turned after a time, as Jeremy gaped at him, crying. Jeremy watched his best friend stop at the opening to the stairs. Freddie didn’t follow the woman until the screams came from the throne room.

  “The King and Queen are dead!” a woman yelled. “Guards!”

  Jeremy slouched against the wall, holding his father and closing Edward’s eyes. He leaned his head back and cried. He had begged Frederick to stop—not because his father didn’t deserve this death, but because Jeremy felt he deserved it more.

  Sure, his father had created the Red Army, and he had sent Jeremy and the bandits on their path of destruction. But Jeremy had been the one to plunge the knife into his best friend’s neck. He had watched the light leave Freddie’s eyes. He had lived with the act for these many weeks, and he had thought, for a moment, that justice was finally going to be done. He could have accepted that.

  But now, Freddie was gone and so was his father, and there would be no correction to the injustice. His younger siblings Elliot and Sandra had lost a loving father, and Jeremy was no substitute. He felt hollow, useless and lost.

  An undead army marched on the capital. A demon and a necromancer were loose in the castle, and the King and Queen were dead. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became that he should have been the one to die in the hallway. He had killed Freddie. He had helped the Lord General kidnap the Necromancer and bring him to the capital, and both Ashton and his friend Freddie had something to do with murdering the royal monarchs in the throne room.