Paladins 02 - Clash of Faiths

by David Dalglish

  Gregane was stunned. He looked about, counting, and couldn’t believe it.

  “A hundred dead?”

  “Thirty to the fire,” Nicholls said. “The rest to the brigands. We killed as many as we lost, but know I mean it when I say that paladin cannot link up with the rest of Arthur’s men, or we will all suffer.”

  Gregane looked to the forest, suddenly fearful of a strange sorcerer and a holy warrior of Ashhur both guarding the line. If they could ward off mounted knights in open field, what could they do in such close combat?

  “You say the wizard could disturb the horses?” he asked.

  “He did. They turned and startled every which way. No rider can fight like that.”

  “Then don’t ride. All of you, dismount. If my own vanguard cannot defeat them, we are not worthy to call ourselves knights. Now go! Come back with that paladin’s head, or not at all.”

  Nicholls saluted, but Gregane could see the hesitation in his eyes. Damn fool. They would outnumber them near two to one. How could they lose? Only the fire posed a threat, a fire that continued toward them like a crawling monster. Struggling to keep his patience, he once more turned his attention to the forest. Alone, he marched toward his troops, drawing his sword. Enough of giving commands. Soon the ditch would be full, and both Ash and Rob would have their hundred men in position. It wouldn’t matter how many casualties he suffered in the long run. Once Arthur fell, the North would remain Sebastian’s, now and forever.

  Gregane could only hope that such an honor, of killing Lord Arthur, would belong to him, and him alone.

  16

  Valessa waited with Mallak in the lower portion of Deer Valley. Ever since waking that morning, and seeing nothing but distant campfires miles away, she’d had a nagging fear they’d been betrayed. The only question was by whom.

  “Velixar would never lie,” Mallak said when she voiced her fears. “Not to us. Not to anyone. If someone lied, then it was to him. Let us be patient, and see what becomes of this.”

  Valessa spent the time sharpening her daggers and imagining them plunging into Arthur Hemman’s eyes for what he’d done to Claire. Mallak cooked their morning meal, and she ate, tasting nothing of the nuts and salted pork slivers. The sun rose, and still they heard no sound of marching feet, saw no sign of approaching armies. Time crawled along, until at last Velixar and Darius appeared in the distance, walking into the valley by themselves.

  “No one is here,” Velixar said the moment they were within earshot.

  “As it seems,” said Mallak. “But this is where the armies were to meet, didn’t Sir Gregane say?”

  Valessa watched Velixar’s ever-changing face harden into a visage of smoldering anger.

  “He plays a dangerous game if he thinks to interfere with Karak’s doings.”

  “Might they be delayed somehow?” Valessa asked. Already she knew the answer, but it amused her to see the prophet flustered so. In the daylight, he was far from the intimidating specter he was at night. His skin seemed paler, his bones visible through his stretched skin. Even the fire in his eyes was but a dull red glow.

  “Be silent,” he said, closing his eyes and lifting his hands. “I will find them.”

  They waited as the prophet cast his spell. Valessa used the time to steal a glance at Darius. She noticed the mark on his hand was gone and felt her stomach tighten at that. Such a sure sign of Karak’s forgiveness was hard to dispute, crushing her hopes for a chance to take his life. It was because of him Claire had died, a direct result of his lapse in faith. Karak might welcome the return of the faithful, but Valessa was not her deity. She wanted blood. Darius himself looked tired, still drained and lifeless as he had been when she first saw him at Velixar’s side.

  Champion of Karak, she thought. Such a joke.

  “The fool,” Velixar said, suddenly opening his eyes. “They are in the Gulch, many miles away.”

  “We’ll not make it in time,” Valessa said. “We’ll have to trust Sebastian’s men to achieve victory.”

  Velixar looked at her as if she were a child.

  “The shadows are my doorways,” he said. “We will arrive, though not as fast as if at night. Come with me, all of you.”

  Velixar hurried them toward the closest copse of trees near the edge of the valley. On their way, they saw smoke rise to the west, first thin, then shockingly heavy.

  “Have they set the entire gulch aflame?” Valessa wondered, but none had an answer for her.

  At the trees, Velixar circled about, stepping into their shade.

  “Weak,” he said. “But enough.”

  Casting a spell, he tore a swirling portal into existence, then beckoned for them to enter. Darius went first, followed by Mallak. Valessa smiled at Velixar, then blew him a kiss before stepping through. Her stomach immediately twisted, and she nearly vomited upon stepping out. She felt herself having crossed a great distance, but it was something she could not fully understand, and her whole body revolted against the sensation. They were amid a heavy cluster of trees packed so dense they provided shade from the sun despite their lack of leaves.

  “How many times?” Valessa asked, all her mocking humor gone because of the unsettling method of travel.

  “Many,” Velixar said, his voice cold. “The sun will make this travel difficult, but I will do what I can. Arthur must lose, and Jerico must be slain by Darius. If I am denied this ...”

  He closed his eyes and began casting again. Taking in a breath, Valessa noticed how focused the prophet seemed, how weak he appeared in the daylight. She felt her dagger in her hand, and looked to Darius, whose lifeless eyes stared into a world far from their own.

  “Lead on,” she said, smiling at the two of them as another portal tore into existence.

  *

  Jerico marched beside Kaide and Bellok as they kept ahead of the wildfire. Behind them burned the bodies of both friend and foe, for they could not spare the energy to carry them, nor the time to bury them, so in fire they went to their gods.

  “They come without horses,” Jerico said, nodding toward the approach of Sir Gregane’s vanguard.

  “Then I am of no more use,” Bellok said.

  “You have proven yourself to have a thousand uses,” Kaide said, smacking his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t discount yourself yet.”

  “Startling horses is a simple cantrip, Kaide. We have no more firestones, and I have gone too long without rest. I doubt I could slay a rabbit if it sat still long enough for me to cast.”

  All around them marched the rest of the bandits, few of whom Jerico knew. They’d lost a third when the horses came crashing in, and would have lost far more if it hadn’t been for Bellok letting out whistle after strange whistle, confusing the mounts and sending them crashing into each other. Jerico’s mace was caked with blood, and he knew the killing was far from over.

  “What do we do?” he asked Kaide as they marched. “We cannot hold lines against them. The two of us may kill twenty, thirty before going down, but the rest?”

  “I know,” Kaide said, keeping his voice low. “I’d hoped the fire would spread much faster, but it seems the very weather turns against us. But what choice do we have?”

  Jerico eyed the forest, knowing potential safety hid within.

  “We run,” he said. “Your men lack armor, and our chasers are burdened. If we reach Arthur’s men, we stand a chance.”

  “Sounds like the pally wants to be a coward,” said Adam, who had lurked behind them without saying anything to alert them to his presence.

  “Who says we should be running?” asked Griff beside him. He grinned despite the wicked cut across his face, which had slashed off a portion of his nose.

  “We run to a better location,” Jerico said. Though his whole body ached, he smiled. “And then we fight.”

  “There,” Kaide said, pointing to a far portion of the forest. “We’ll make it, so long as Gregane doesn’t throw any soldiers our way to cut us off.”

  “He does,
we’ll crash right on through,” Jerico said. “And with my shield leading the way. Give the order, Kaide.”

  The bandit leader looked to his men, and he mustered one last bit of energy and bravado.

  “We run!” he shouted. “Ignore those bastards, and leave their clanking asses in our dust! We go to meet with Arthur. With us at his side, we can hold off soldiers from dawn to dusk, and spill their blood a thousand times more than our own!”

  They cheered. Jerico led the way, conditioned to run in his armor for long periods of time. At first the vanguard tensed, thinking them charging, but then they saw the angle was wrong. He heard them cry out, and then the chase was on.

  “Run!” Jerico shouted when he could spare the breath. He’d put his shield onto his back, but he pulled it off and stopped, lifting it high so that the stragglers might see its light. “Run, my friends, for the life of all you love, run!”

  As its light shone over them, they surged ahead with lifted spirits and refreshed legs. Jerico returned the shield to his back, sparing a glance backward and wishing he hadn’t. The soldiers were less than a hundred yards behind and gaining ground. Kaide’s men had fought to their last breath to survive the initial charge of the knights. Unburdened or not, they were tired, and struggled to keep pace.

  Up ahead, the forest seemed so very far away.

  “Come,” Jerico said, grabbing one man by the arm and tugging him along. “One foot after another, now move!”

  The man staggered, more pulled than running. Jerico caught up to two more, and he saw blood on them. He admired their courage, and was torn on what to do. He grabbed the arm of a second, knowing that the other he did not choose was doomed to death.

  “May Ashhur take you,” he said. The man had no anger in his eyes, only fear, and that look haunted Jerico as he rushed along. He saw one man stumble, and he let go of the first and reached down to help the second. Up ahead, Kaide shouted for them to run, but so many were tired and wounded. Jerico could do no more. Begging Ashhur for his understanding, he at last grabbed the arm of another injured man who collapsed, flung him onto his back, and ran. When those around him fell behind, or stumbled, he left them to their fate, to live or die by their own strength. Every time he saw it, though, he felt another stab in his gut.

  They were almost to the forest when a squad of men finally noticed their approach. They turned and formed a line, what few shields they had taking up the front. Kaide shifted them further away, and Gregane’s troops hurried to match. Behind them, the vanguard slowed, both to fight the stragglers as well as catch their breath, for as Jerico had hoped, they were more used to riding into battle, and their heavy armor had finally taken its toll.

  Not that he felt that much better himself, but despite that, he shoved to the front, where Kaide ran with his dirks drawn.

  “Crash through,” Kaide said, not even slowing.

  “That or death,” Jerico said, pulling his shield off his back. He held it above his head, letting friend and foe know his approach.

  “For Ashhur!” he cried, and it echoed across the gulch, louder than even the fire. The light of his shield flared, and he slammed into the line. Blades clanked off his armor, no one able to score a solid hit because of the light. Jerico twisted and swung, smashing through while knocking over everyone near. Behind him, the rest of the bandits surged, forcing through the gap. Jerico remained, like a wedge holding up a heavy stone. Even Kaide hurried through, but only after slashing open the throats of nearby soldiers to satisfy his bloodlust.

  When at last Sebastian’s troops recovered from the brutal assault, Jerico again turned to run. He felt blows striking him, and something sharp slashed against his face, but he endured. Crying out the name of his god, he slammed a man aside with his shield, parried a chop, and then reached open ground. He ran until he found the ditch, and just barely managed to slow himself so he didn’t break his legs in the sudden drop. He more rolled than climbed down, then accepted Adam’s waiting arms pulling him up.

  “How many?” Jerico asked, looking back.

  “Half,” Kaide said, looking through the trees at where his friends fought and died. Jerico whispered them a prayer, then fell to his knees to recover his breath.

  “They’ll charge soon,” Bellok said. He leaned against a tree, and he sounded winded from the run. “I say we get our asses out of here.”

  “We don’t run,” Kaide said, glaring at the remaining hundred men at his command. “Not now. Not when victory still remains.”

  “Victory,” Jerico muttered, looking toward where Arthur’s men stood in defense far down the ditch. He could only barely see them, but they still looked terribly outnumbered.

  “You held off legions of wolf-men with mere villagers,” Kaide said, turning on him. “Don’t you lose hope on me now. Lift that damn shield of yours. Let my men see you still stand!”

  Though his side ached, and his legs felt on fire, he stood and held his shield high.

  “None pass,” he shouted as loud as his tired lungs could manage. “Not here. Not while my light still shines!”

  The men took up the call, and they lifted their own weapons, daring the soldiers to cross the ditch.

  Then Gregane’s men let out a cry, and the entire army did just that. At their position, Kaide’s men were horribly outnumbered, but unlike the rest of the battlefield, the ditch before them remained empty. That quickly changed. Jerico kept his shield low and swung, smashing his mace through helmets and chestplates. The ditch was deep enough that it came up to the assaulters’ waists, and they had to abandon all pretense of attacking to climb. The rest of the bandits kicked and shoved, and they beat at hands and arms with their weapons. Body by body they filled the ditch.

  “Too many!” Jerico cried as he looked to the sides. Gregane’s men were spreading out, going beyond where they could defend.

  “No shit,” Kaide yelled back, whirling beside him. His two blades were coated with blood. Between dodging the chaotic swings, he’d dip low and knife a man’s throat or plunge a dirk through an eye before continuing along. Jerico was far less fancy, but just as efficient. No man gained ground before him. He shoved with his shield, trusted his armor to protect his lower body, and kept his mace moving side to side. The screams of the dying grew. Jerico looked once to his left and saw enemy soldiers climbing up. In less than a minute, they’d be surrounded.

  “We can’t hold!” he shouted to Kaide as he slammed his shield to the ground, the light momentarily blinding his attackers. “Give the retreat!”

  Kaide gritted his teeth, and his attacks took on a new frenzy. They’d been forced to fall back, unable to hold the ditch any longer. Men climbed free, and they stayed back, defending the rest of their forces. Kaide slashed into them, his blades finding every crease, every gap in the armor. Jerico reminded himself to ask who trained him should they all survive. But despite the fury, there was no way he could turn the tide, not by himself. Already he heard cries to their left, of Arthur’s troops sounding the retreat.

  The battle was lost.

  “Go!” Jerico shouted, plunging into the gathered forces. Blows rained down upon him, denting his armor and slashing cuts across his face. He swung his shield in a high arc, slamming away soldiers, and then grabbed Kaide by the shirt. With all his might he flung the man away.

  “I said run!” he screamed as all around him the bandits died. They needed no further orders, not from Kaide. Casting aside their weapons, the remaining few fled. Kaide looked to Jerico, and he mouthed a promise the paladin could not hear amid the din. Then he turned and ran. Jerico brought his attention back to the soldiers, who were cheering their victory. Most rushed to assault, with many giving Jerico a wide berth. They wanted the fleeing men, the ones lacking armor and weaponry.

  Twenty remained behind, though, surrounding Jerico in a wide circle. They were the furious, the ones who had lost friends to his mace. Jerico braced himself, his shield tucked against his body as he met their stares.

  “Victory is
yours,” he said. “No one else must die.”

  “Sebastian will want him prisoner,” one of the soldiers said, though the rest murmured in disapproval. None seemed ready to attack, for everyone clearly knew the first to attack would die. Jerico kept shifting, letting none see his back for long.

  “To the Abyss with what Sebastian wants,” said their leader, who cast off his helmet so Jerico could see his glare. “Too many died at his feet. Drop your mace, paladin, and I will make it merciful.”

  Jerico grinned

  “I’ll die with my weapon in hand,” he said. “And only if you can best me.”

  The rest tensed. The attack was soon to come, and would begin with the first blow. Jerico prayed that Ashhur would be kind, and take him into his arms. He braced for the cries of battle.

  The cries came, not of victory, but pain. Fire burned a ring around him, keeping him safe. Another blast of flame came in from outside the forest, consuming many of the soldiers. They turned to face their attacker, as did Jerico, whose blood ran cold at what he saw. Approaching the forest was a man in the black robes of Karak, his deathly skin pale in the sunlight. Dim red eyes shone from beneath his hood, which hid all but his bemused smile. A woman was with them, dressed in gray. Two dark paladins walked at his side, one a stranger, and one painfully familiar.

  “Darius,” Jerico whispered.

  “He is mine,” the man in black said, pointing to the remaining soldiers. “Go seek the spoils of your war elsewhere.”

  Despite their fury at his magic, the remaining men knew they could not challenge one who wielded fire with his bare hands. They hurried on, chasing after Kaide. Jerico lifted his shield, his eyes unable to leave Darius. The man had a starved look about him, all traces of his good humor long vanished. Pain was evident in his eyes as he gave Jerico a cold glare. Around Jerico, the fire spread, setting trees aflame. At his feet, though, the grass blackened and died, but did not burn. The heat was heavy, but the smoke rose on the wind, and the fire only burned outward.