Paladins 02 - Clash of Faiths

by David Dalglish

  “Paladin of Ashhur,” shouted the pale man who seemed a priest. “Karak has declared your life forfeit. Meet your executioner.”

  And then Darius drew his sword. At sight of the dark fire wreathed about its blade, Jerico felt his last vestige of hope die.

  17

  Darius felt the eyes of everyone upon him as he stepped into the burning forest. Even Karak seemed to watch him, and he prayed he would not disappoint. His faith was strong. He would endure. No matter that Jerico looked to him with such betrayal and sadness that it rent a hole in his heart. No matter that he felt fury at the entire circumstances thrusting them into such a battle. Only Karak’s will mattered, and Karak’s desire was plain, simple.

  “I will not ask for forgiveness,” Darius said as he lifted his sword with both hands and adopted an offensive stance. “Not for this. You are to die, Jerico. My god demands it.”

  For a brief moment, the old Jerico surfaced, a half-smile stretching at his face.

  “Then tell him no.”

  Darius grinned, though he felt no humor.

  “Not this time. I have rejected him once, and was rejected in turn. Not again. You are a plague upon this world, a false light that must be extinguished. Dezrel was not made in your image. Ashhur’s hope is a hope of fools and peasants. Karak is truth. The wretched, the broken, the selfish, the weak ... they will burn in fire. My fire.”

  He swung, and it seemed his entire world slowed to a crawl. His sword struck Jerico’s shield, two lights intertwining, the dark and light bursting together in violent sparks that showered the ground. Darius felt a spike of pain from the contact, but Jerico felt it as well. Both staggered back, breathing heavily.

  “I won’t break,” Jerico said, repositioning his shield. “You know that.”

  “I know you’re a fool.” He swung again, trying to shatter Jerico as if he were a stone. Sword and shield connected, and the shockwave of it echoed throughout the forest. “I know my faith is stronger. I will break you. I have no choice!”

  At his third swing, Jerico parried it aside with his mace and then lunged, his shield leading. Darius screamed at the painful light. Never before had it made his eyes ache so. He turned away and rolled, avoiding a swing from the mace. Spinning on his knees, he kicked to his feet, stabbing. Jerico shifted to the side, narrowly avoiding an impaling.

  “No choice?” Jerico cried, stepping back as Darius swung wildly. “Is that what you tell yourself? You are no slave, Darius, no puppet. I was your friend, damn it, remember that!”

  “Friend?” Darius asked as their weapons connected. When Jerico tried to shove forward with his shield, Darius was ready. He pulled back and struck it with his blade, the dark fire flaring. They both felt the pain, but Darius knew his blows were raining down ever harder, Karak’s strength flooding his veins. The other paladin staggered deeper into the forest. The red light of the fire shone upon them, and in the glow Darius felt himself returned to the Abyss, fulfilling his visions.

  “Friend,” Jerico gasped, stumbling onto one knee before quickly standing.

  “I gave my life for you,” Darius said. “I sacrificed everything, even my faith, for you. And what do I find? You leading a rebellion, sowing chaos throughout the North. At the side of bandits? Rebels? I have suffered every day since, cast off, abandoned, tortured ... and I see it was for nothing. You worship a lie. Too long I accepted it, treated you as an equal. But you’re not. You’re nothing, and at last I see it ... friend.”

  Jerico shook his head, at last showing despair.

  “You can’t believe that,” he said quietly.

  “By my actions, my proof.”

  Darius swung, only to have Jerico block. The metal of his mace groaned, but held. Jerico shoved it aside, then shifted so his shield shone its light directly into his eyes. Darius fell back, swinging wildly to keep the other paladin at bay.

  “Where were you when I suffered in prison?” he cried. “Where was Ashhur when Velixar took the lives of his faithful? Where were either of you as I butchered that family? He has abandoned this world, abandoned us all! Look at you, last of his kind. What lies can you offer? What hope can you possibly believe in? Tell me why ... tell me why I wasn’t stopped?”

  Jerico remained back, seemingly with no desire to go on the offensive. The sadness on his face only grew with every word Darius spoke, and for whatever reason, that infuriated him further. Darius stepped in and swung, crying out the name of his god. The fire on his blade consumed it fully, and a word came to his lips, its meaning unknown to him.

  “Felholad!” he screamed. The very metal of his blade vanished, nothing but the burning will of his god. It struck Jerico’s shield with the sound of thunder. Bright light flared, but Darius’s fire sucked it in and defeated it. Jerico flew back several feet before hitting a tree, his head smacking against it hard enough to leave a smear of blood. He slumped to his knees, remaining upright only by leaning his weight on his fists. Blood trickled down his neck and dripped to the scorched grass.

  Darius held his blade high, clutching it with both hands as he towered over his defeated opponent.

  “Karak’s judgment,” he whispered.

  “Stand with me,” Jerico said, and he looked up without any anger, any malice, only disappointment. “Remember, Darius. Stand with me.”

  The words Jerico had said during the fight against the wolf-men. Side by side, they’d fought, bled, and been ready to die. And so they had, making their stand against the chaos of the world. It didn’t matter Darius had failed to protect his charges, that his lack of strength had doomed many. Jerico had understood, and called him to fight without ever casting blame or judgment.

  Side by side.

  The fire of his blade, fueled by his hatred, his anguish, his certainty, could no longer be sustained. It dwindled away, still bright, but no longer the Felholad it had become. In that brief moment, Darius felt terrified to be once more alone, abandoned, a failure to the vision he’d seen. In that brief moment, Jerico lunged to his feet, his mace swinging. Darius was too slow to block, only partially deflecting the strike. The mace struck the side of his head, the flanged edges tearing into his skin. Blood spilled, and he collapsed from the blow as his sight blurred. His hands felt strange to him, and the sword slipped to the ground. Tears in his eyes, he saw the fire fade completely.

  More than anything, he felt alone. On his knees, he looked up at Jerico, who stood with the mace at ready.

  “Do it,” he said. “Kill me. Gods help me, you don’t know what I’ve done. I can be this no longer.”

  Jerico hesitated, and for some reason that hesitation filled Darius with fury.

  “I said do it!” he screamed. “Coward! I’ll not be judged!”

  Instead Jerico flung his mace to the ground, shifted his shield onto his back, and offered his hand. Darius stared at it, unbelieving.

  “Take it, and stand,” said Jerico.

  “Why?” Darius asked.

  “Because I need to believe you aren’t lost to me, otherwise I might as well throw down my shield and join you in death. Now stand.”

  Darius felt Velixar’s words searing through his mind. He thought of the massacred villagers, of the horrors at Durham. He felt guilt crushing him, denied for so long by a certainty of faith he no longer held. Through it all, one thing echoed over everything: Velixar’s own words now turned against him.

  Darius looked to Jerico’s offered hand, and a face containing no anger, no blame, only forgiveness.

  “What this world needs,” he whispered.

  He took it and stood. Jerico embraced him, and he laughed.

  “Ashhur be praised,” he said, grinning. “I thought you were going to take my head off.”

  “I almost did.”

  Together they looked through the fire, to where Velixar waited. They could see the barest hint of the group, so deep into the forest they had gone during their fight.

  “We have to run,” Jerico said, nodding the other way. “Sebastian’s a
rmy will come back to find us soon.”

  “No,” Darius said, glancing at his sword. “No running. Those out there know your name. They’ll hunt you forever, and me as well. Let us end this now.”

  Jerico touched the back of his head, and he winced at the pain. Darius felt guilty for it, but he laughed anyway and smacked Jerico across the shoulder. For whatever reason, even at the prospect of facing down Velixar, he felt almost giddy. He had always expected one of two fates to befall him, either torturing in the Abyss, or being tortured. Somehow he had found a third fate, and it was at Jerico’s side.

  “If you say we must, then we must,” Jerico said, readying his shield and mace. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Darius said, unable to control his grin. “I have an idea.”

  *

  Valessa felt disappointed to see Darius emerge from the forest into daylight. She’d hoped the other paladin might kill him, and as a failure he’d go to Karak to beg for mercy, mercy he would not receive. Instead he walked with blood on his armor, and his sword sheathed across his back.

  “Karak be praised,” Velixar said. “He is dead?”

  Darius said nothing, only walked silently toward the prophet. Something about the look in his eyes worried Valessa, so much that she found herself itching to draw her daggers. He looked healthier, relieved. Of course, she thought. He’d defeated the burden placed upon him. With Jerico dead, his reparations with Karak were complete. Such a damn shame.

  “Is he dead?” Velixar asked again, a note of worry in his voice, as if he too noticed the change. Darius kept calm, his face betraying nothing. He moved between the three, past Velixar, but the prophet reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder. Mallak tensed, also sensing the strange feeling in the air.

  “Darius,” Velixar said. “Draw your sword.”

  Darius obeyed, a hint of a smile finally showing on his lips. He drew, and Valessa froze at the shock of what she saw.

  Blue light shone across the edges of the blade. So stunned was she, she could only watch as Darius continued the smooth drawing motion into a swing right for Velixar’s neck. The sword cut cloth and struck the prophet’s pale skin. For a moment it seemed it would do nothing, but the blue light flared stronger, and then the blade passed right on through. Velixar’s body burst into dust; his eyes melted into fire. He let out a single cry before he died, a denial against failing, a refusal to accept the death befalling him. Then he was silent.

  “Betrayer!” Mallak cried, drawing his sword in time to block Darius’s follow-up swing. Their blades connected, showering sparks. The dark fire wreathing Mallak’s sword was far greater, and with ease he pushed Darius back. “You will burn for eternity for such cowardice!”

  Valessa could not believe her luck. The damned prophet was gone, and here was Darius deserving every bit of pain she could deliver. Karak must have smiled upon her. She watched as the two paladins exchanged swings, with Darius clearly the inferior in strength and passably equal in skill. When she saw an opening, his back completely to her, she tensed her legs to lunge. Searing pain flooded her back before she could, and then she found herself flying through the air. Tucking her shoulder, she rolled, then spun so she might dig her heels into the dirt to halt her momentum.

  Chasing after her was Jerico with that damned shield of his. Worse, he was apologizing.

  “Sorry,” he said, carefully approaching. “Don’t like attacking opponents unaware.”

  “Consider me aware,” she said, twirling her daggers in her hands. One opening ... just one opening ...

  He lifted his mace to strike, and she went for it, one blade jamming inward to lock his shield out of place, the other thrusting for the gap in his armor at the armpit. Numbing pain jolted into her hand as her dagger hit the shield, but she forced herself on. Her other dagger sliced into flesh, and then she whirled, avoiding the downward chop of his mace. The paladin let out a cry, and it was music to her ears. Continuing her spin, she stayed close, and her daggers stabbed for a crease just above his shoulder.

  “I have no problem stabbing a man in the back,” she said through clenched teeth as Jerico’s body reacted on instinct, arching his upper half toward her. She twisted the dagger, locking his right arm from striking at her with his mace.

  “How could you kill Claire?” she asked, still pressed tight against him. “You, a slow, dim-witted fool? She was worlds beyond you.”

  “Because I ... have ... friends.”

  Jerico ducked, and Darius’s elbow caught her full in the face. Her training kicked in, and Valessa rolled with it to minimize the damage, leaving one of her two daggers still embedded in Jerico’s shoulder. When she returned to her feet, the next few seconds were a jumbled blur. Her eyes watered from the hit, and the throbbing in her head seemed to make everything a haze. Jerico fell to one side, still bleeding. Instead of pressing the attack on her, Darius spun, flinging his weapon up to block Mallak’s attack, who was far from beaten. Mallak, it seemed, had tried to kill Jerico while he lay helpless. As Valessa lunged to help, Jerico rolled to his knees and lifted his shield. Its light shone upon her, and already weakened, she struggled to push onward. It felt as if her every movement was through ice water. Jerico met her ineffective attack with that damn shield of his. Her whole body pressed against it, but she could only cry out in agony. Never before had she felt such pain.

  Valessa hit the ground, her only conscious thought that of the ringing in her ears. As if from someone else’s body, she watched the battle end. Jerico turned his shield back to Mallak, joining the traitor Darius’s side. Mallak, seemingly realizing he had to end the fight quickly now that he was outnumbered, assaulted the wounded Jerico with all his might. The fire of his blade flared, and he struck with awesome fury. Jerico’s shield weathered the blows, though he cried out in pain all the while. But Darius was there, and he took the opening before him. Valessa silently shrieked as the traitor thrust his blade through a crease in Mallak’s armor, and then twisted the handle. Blood gushed from Mallak’s side, and when he coughed, more spilled across his lips and neck. He fell.

  “Help me,” Valessa whispered, struggling to stand. It was as if her limbs had suddenly stopped taking orders. “Please, Karak, help me ...”

  Jerico fell to one knee, and he screamed when Darius yanked out the dagger she had lodged into his shoulder. Whatever satisfaction she might have felt meant nothing knowing he would survive. So many dead, and all their fault ... all their fault.

  “Karak,” she breathed. “I am your darkness. I am your shadow. Do not abandon me. Not now.”

  The two paladins turned their attention to her, and there was no misunderstanding the look in Darius’s eyes as he approached.

  “Don’t,” she heard Jerico say, and she felt fury at any false sympathy he might show. Darius refused to listen.

  “I’m sending her to her god,” said the traitor. “I know what she is, what she is capable of. The world is better this way.”

  “I will hunt you,” Valessa said to him, even as tears welled in her eyes. “Even to the Abyss.”

  The traitor knelt beside her, and he touched her face with a hand even as the other lifted his sword so the point rested against her throat.

  “I will never feel the Abyss’s flames,” he said. “Don’t you see, sister? I’m Karak’s champion no longer.”

  “Darius!” cried Jerico.

  He hesitated, and that was enough for her. With the last of her strength, she flung herself onto his blade. The metal pierced flesh, her whole body retched, and then she felt fire burning.

  *

  Jerico and Darius stood over the bodies, and they watched as Valessa’s corpse was consumed by a dark fire.

  “I’ve never seen such a thing,” Darius said, watching until she was all but ash.

  “I think we’ve seen more than few firsts today,” Jerico said, and he grinned despite the pain and blood that trickled down the inside of his armor. With his good arm, he gestured to where Gregane’s army had pushed into
the forest in chase of Lord Arthur’s men.

  “I think we should get out of here,” he said, chuckling despite the pain it caused. “At some point they’re going to come back, and I doubt they’ll be happy with us.”

  “Where do we go?” Darius asked as he came over to inspect his wounds.

  “Later,” Jerico said, pushing him back. “I’ve survived worse. And where should we go? You’re an outlaw now, as much as I.”

  Darius looked to the forest.

  “I spoke with Sebastian,” he said. “I’ve seen how his mind works. If Arthur is alive, we need to help him. It only seems right, given the mess I helped cause here in the North.”

  “Plenty my fault, too,” Jerico said, and he leaned on Darius to remain standing. “Let’s put Gregane’s army far behind us. I know a place we can hide.”

  Epilogue

  “You are certain?” Sir Robert Godley asked as he leaned back in his wooden chair, which creaked from his weight.

  “Sure as I am of anything in this world,” said Jeremy Hangfield, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the chosen spokesmen for the people of Durham.

  “And you have witnesses who will swear to this?”

  “Over a hundred,” Jeremy said. “This was something we’ll never forget. We’ll say it until our graves, or the king brings us justice.”

  “Go,” Robert said, dismissing him. “I promise you an answer by tomorrow.”

  The man bowed and left Robert to be alone with his most trusted friend, Daniel Coldmine, in his room in the Blood Tower.

  “This is bad,” Daniel said.

  “I gathered as much.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Daniel leaned on the desk with both hands, and he looked out the window to the distant wildlands of the Wedge. “A paladin of Karak? We can’t make enemies with the Stronghold. You know damn well how favored his priests are in the capital.”

  “But that many witnesses ...”