The Broken Pieces

by David Dalglish

  “Paladins of Ashhur?” Cyric asked as they neared. “Truly my brethren are lost if they have enlisted your aid.”

  The priest clapped his hands together, and a shockwave rolled outward. All magical attacks against him ceased to exist, and then the force slammed against Jerico. He struggled, and it wasn’t until he placed his shield before him that he felt the pressure vanish. Darius kept his sword up, arms braced, as he screamed out with every painful step he took.

  “Can’t you do better?” Jerico said.

  No more attacks by the other priests followed. The dark paladins were overwhelmed, and only their spells kept them from falling. Jerico and Darius were alone.

  “Trying,” Darius said through clenched teeth.

  A great funnel of fire burst from Cyric’s hands. Jerico took a step back, and he let his shield absorb its heat. Darius did the same, swinging his sword so the light about it banished the magic. Free of the resisting force, Darius rushed Cyric, who only grinned at his attack.

  “You beat me, once,” Cyric said. “Not again.”

  From his palm tendrils of shadow burst in all directions, growing upward and outward for several feet before turning downward and punching into the dirt. The ground rumbled, and then all around Darius the tendrils surfaced, lashing at him, curling around his ankles, wrists, and neck. Darius screamed, and he hacked at them, but each one he cut became two, and even faster he lost the mobility of his arms and legs.

  “Let him go!” Jerico cried. He flung himself forward, shield leading, mace at the ready to crush the priest’s skull. With his free hand Cyric reached out as if to greet him, but his skin was like that of a ghost. When it touched Jerico’s shield, his progress halted, and a great thunder shook the battlefield. No matter how hard he pushed with his legs, he could not close the distance.

  “The others will serve,” Cyric said, and though he smiled, Jerico could see the strain wearing at him. “You, however, will die. There will be no salvation, not for you. My order has tolerated heathens long enough.”

  “Heathens?” Jerico said, and he couldn’t but laugh. “Your words hurt, Cyric. Let me return the favor.”

  He shifted his shield to the side, and around it he swung his mace. It connected with the palm the tendrils grew from. Blood splattered as the flesh of Cyric’s hand tore, and all at once the tendrils vanished. From behind him, Jerico heard Darius let out a gasp of air. Before Jerico could feel too proud of himself, Cyric shoved his wounded hand his way, splashing blood across Jerico’s armor. With a snap of his fingers, it ignited, covering his armor with flame. Jerico screamed. Despite his urge to roll to the ground to put out the fire, he stepped closer and swung his mace. It should have connected with Cyric’s head, but instead it struck the fire of his crown and halted.

  “See how little you are to me,” Cyric said, and with a flick of his fingers Jerico flew backward through the air. When he hit ground the air blew from his lungs, and he silently screamed as he rolled along the dirt. When he came to a halt, Darius was there, reaching down to grab his arm and pull him to his feet.

  “Least that put out the fire,” Darius said to him, and Jerico grinned, despite the terror of their situation. Still laboring for breath, he looked to Cyric, who approached with his arms at his side, his crown glowing so fiercely that even in the daylight he looked like a vicious red star.

  “You are nothing!” Cyric cried to them as Darius’s eyes drifted to the sky. “Nothing to me, nothing to a god! You are mortal, human, pathetic.”

  “Perhaps we are,” Darius said. “But how do you feel about birds?”

  And then from the sky plummeted a white dove, its left wing malformed. Mere feet away from Cyric’s head the dove transformed, becoming the silver-armored, long-cloaked, furious Valessa. Her hands were white, and they shone with brilliance as they slammed against Cyric’s head. With all his power he screamed, denying her, and against that Valessa flew, her body twisting so that she landed not far behind them.

  The crown broke, and all across Cyric’s face and forehead there was blood. On his knees he crumpled, and his whole body shivered. Behind them, the undead collapsed, marked with heavy sighs as their souls found relief. It blew across them like wind.

  “If you’re a god, then I’d rather be human,” Valessa said as she struggled to her feet, fighting through the magic of Cyric’s attack.

  With his crown broken, his undead crumbling, panic flooded across every feature of Cyric’s body. Jerico raised his shield, the light shining over the mad priest, mocking him. But Cyric, god or not, bleeding or not, refused to admit defeat. He stood, and with a particular strength given only to the frightened and the fanatical, he let his power roll.

  “I am Karak!” he cried, a wellspring of rage and fury bursting. “I am your god! Now kneel!”

  It hit them all like a wave. Even Jerico felt the impulse, an irrational desire to fall to his knees and beg for mercy. He resisted, for never would he bow to Karak, not an imposter, not even the real deity if he stood before him with blade raised. He took a hesitant step forward, then glanced over his shoulder. Only two others remained on their feet: Darius and Valessa. The other paladins and priests knelt, some weeping, the rest crying out in anger or confusion.

  With his domination incomplete, Cyric turned and ran into the forest. Jerico gave chase, and each step made it feel like bricks were falling off his legs. Valessa soon caught up with him, having shaken off Cyric’s blow. Darius was not far behind.

  “Give him no respite,” Valessa said. “His power is still great.”

  As they stepped into the cover of the trees, Jerico saw many catching fire, the mad priest no doubt burning them to stall his pursuers. Weaving through the smoke and flame, they ran until stumbling upon Cyric on his knees, his back to them. Blood covered his body, and around him was a ring of fire. Most frightening of all, he was laughing.

  “Do you understand now?” Darius asked between labored breaths. “You’re no god, Cyric. You’re just a man. Now turn and die like one.”

  Cyric glanced back, and the madness in his eyes was in full control.

  “No,” he said. “I’m no man. But I bleed. I hurt. I understand now. I cannot be Karak, not in this pathetic mortal shell. The demon legions will not tremble before me, the Abyss will not worship its true ruler, until I assume the proper form.”

  His skin rippled as if boiling water bubbled in his veins. His hair burned, and the bones in his body began to shift and break.

  “Darius?” Jerico asked, taking a step back.

  “No idea,” said the other paladin. “So kill it.”

  Jerico rushed forward, but the ring of fire surged into a towering wall. Jerico staggered back, and Darius had to shift aside to avoid him. Only Valessa passed through the flame unharmed, but she came flying back out, having been struck by something great. She flew through a burning tree, then fell through the ground itself, her momentum carrying her far below the surface. Jerico held his shield before him, its glow the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely to terror.

  Cyric grew taller as words streamed off his tongue, each syllable painful to hear. Their rhyme and rhythm put a deep sense of wrongness into Jerico’s chest. Cyric’s bones twisted, his flesh darkened, and then cracks of fire burst through his molten skin. Larger and larger he became, his fingers extending into claws, his muscles molten rock, his eyes twin chasms of burning coal. Any unlit leaves about him curled black and fell. This beast that had been Cyric took a step forward, and the footfall sent a tremor through the dirt.

  Suddenly Jerico’s shield seemed rather puny compared to that.

  “Jerico…” Darius said, his sword before him as if he might ward off the demon with it.

  “Do you still doubt?” asked Cyric, his voice rumbling like deep stones knocking together. “Look upon me and know that I am God.”

  Jerico knew Darius was looking to him, needing him. Against such a thing, easily twice their height, they were but mere mortals. But the army beyon
d the forest knelt against its will. If Cyric was not stopped now, he would never be. What arrow would pierce his side? What sword would break through that rock? Who else would not bow before such power? Darius, Jerico, they were both about to break, to succumb to the fear that rolled over Cyric’s body in waves. But Jerico couldn’t give in. Darius looked to him for strength, and somehow he’d give it to him.

  “We are the light shining in the deepest pit,” Jerico said, reciting a mantra of his order. “We are the hope that lets the fearful sleep. We are the strong that kneel before the weak.”

  Cyric reared up, his fist billowing smoke and fire. Jerico lifted his shield.

  “We are the stone that will not shatter. We are the mountain all may climb. We are everything good, everything joyful, that must never die.”

  A sword formed in Cyric’s fist, its blade as long as Jerico was tall. The edge shimmered with lava, the hilt cracked with black obsidian.

  “We will not break,” Jerico cried as the sword descended. “We will not break!”

  Sword hit shield. The shockwave rolled as the ground shattered beneath Jerico in all directions from the force of his stand. Branches blew outward, the fire on them nearly dying. Sparks flew, metal groaned, but the sword could not break the shield.

  “Now!” Jerico screamed.

  Darius lunged, the light of his blade gleaming. It cut into Cyric’s side, and from it flowed blood that burned from contact with the air. The demon swung its sword toward him, but Jerico was there, putting himself in the way of the attack. Again it hit his shield, and he screamed at the pain in his arm. When Cyric pulled back for a third strike, Darius slipped in, cutting another gash along the inside of his arm before bouncing away. The molten blade struck the earth but not flesh.

  Jerico gave him no time to recover. He flung himself forward, his shield leading. It was his weapon, his defense, and with its light he would burn away everything Cyric represented. The shield slammed into Cyric’s chest, and it hit with a heavy crack. Cyric bellowed in pain, and he twisted his sword to stab Jerico’s neck. Before he could, Valessa leapt from the very earth, her arms twin blades of light. They slashed up Cyric’s back, spilling burning blood. When the demon cried again, she looped her legs around his neck, spun, and then slashed at the arm holding the blade.

  Cyric struggled, his body assaulted from both high and low. It was amid that struggle Darius stepped forward, let out a cry to Ashhur, and then sliced through Cyric’s knee. The beast crumpled, Jerico fled back, and Valessa leapt off. Together the three faced Cyric as the demon pounded the earth attempting to stand.

  “Follow my lead,” Jerico said. He raced forward, and when Cyric lashed out, the sword struck his shield, knocking him flying. His back hit a tree, and he gasped for air, but the way was clear. Valessa danced, her speed incredible, her hands slashing across Cyric’s stomach before plunging deep into his wounded leg. Cyric roared out his pain in a bellow of breaking rock and madness personified.

  Darius cut off his head, ending Cyric’s cry forever.

  Before a single horn on the demon’s skull touched ground, the body had broken into fire and smoke.

  “I think…” Jerico winced, stumbling off the tree with bits of bark sticking to his armor. “I think we won.”

  Darius jammed his sword into the dirt and smiled at Valessa.

  “I think we did.”

  “Praise Ashhur,” Valessa said, returning his smile as the demon’s body consumed itself, leaving only a black scar upon the land where the mad priest had once been.

  24

  Darius and Jerico stood there, both exhausted, both gasping in air, as they watched Luther approach. Valessa, however, hid behind one of the burning trees just outside Darius’s line of sight. It seemed she didn’t want to be seen. After everything, Darius did not blame her. So far Luther likely didn’t know she existed.

  “He is dead?” Luther asked as he stepped through the flames.

  “He is,” Darius said, and the relief was palpable on Luther’s face.

  “You have done something all of Dezrel should thank you for,” he said to them. “Though I fear they might never know your names, nor understand the peril you saved them from.”

  “What now?” Jerico asked. “Will you leave us be?”

  Luther shook his head sadly.

  “No,” he said. “I cannot. There are too many of my order who desire your death. You’re the last of them, Jerico. You are too great a prize, and too dangerous a foe, to let live.”

  Darius laughed.

  “How else would Karak reward loyalty and aid?” he asked. “We’ve done your dirty work. Now to dispose of the corpses, correct?”

  Luther’s neck flushed.

  “It does not have to be this way,” he said. “Darius, you were once a most faithful paladin. You know the law that must be given to this world. And you, Jerico, your order is crushed. Your brethren are gone. But you can still aid this world. Have you not seen what we can accomplish together? Bring your teachings of mercy and forgiveness to the Stronghold. Help me mold our understanding of Karak into something men of all faiths might embrace. Come with me. Both of you, join me. It is not too late.”

  Darius looked to Jerico, and the answer was clear on his face.

  “Give us a moment to consider,” Darius told Luther. “I would talk with my friend.”

  Luther bowed low.

  “Of course,” he said before trudging off.

  “Talk?” asked Jerico when he was gone. “What is there to talk about?”

  “Plenty,” Darius said. He beckoned Valessa to come out of hiding. “We can’t win this, Jerico. They are too many, and even if we could cross the river, it would only be a matter of time before they hunted us down like dogs.”

  “I will not sell my soul,” Jerico insisted.

  “And I would not have you do so, either. No, you need to run. I have a plan, desperate perhaps, but I think it will save you.”

  Jerico began shaking his head, immediately protesting.

  “No,” he said. “No, I won’t. I won’t leave you, Darius, listen to me, I’m not leaving.”

  “You have to,” Darius insisted. “You’re the last, Jerico, and you’re the best of us. I owe you everything, so for this once, let me pay you back.”

  “You would have me run like a coward?”

  “I would have you live,” Darius said. “Is that so terrible a request?”

  Jerico flung his shield onto his back, and he glanced about the burning forest. His eyes settled on Valessa, who stood quietly beside him.

  “And you?” he asked her.

  “My place is with him,” she said, nodding toward Darius.

  Jerico bit his lower lip, and then at last he gave in.

  “So be it,” he said, stepping forward and embracing Darius. “May we see each other again.”

  “In this life or beyond,” Darius said, and he did his best to smile. “Now get out of here.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Jerico clipped his mace to his belt and turned to the river.

  “Promise me something,” he said before he left.

  “What is that?”

  “When you see Luther again, don’t hate him. I’ve never seen a better man so horribly lost.”

  Weaving his way through the fire, he vanished amid the smoke. Darius watched him go as he felt his stomach harden into a stone. Valessa touched his arm.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “Do you?” he asked, and when he looked into her eyes, he saw she did.

  “I do it for you,” she said. “Is he worth it?”

  Darius looked to the river.

  “I hope so,” he said.

  They turned and waited for Luther’s return as the fire around them spread. Into that growing inferno came Luther, a dozen priests and paladins with him. They halted just beyond the edge of the trees, and Luther stepped forward.

  “I would have your answer!” he cried.

  Darius drew his sword and lo
oked to the side. Valessa was there, but she wore the heavy platemail of a paladin of Ashhur. Her hair was long and red, and on her back was a tower shield. Her face, though, was still her own when she spoke to him as they stood before the ring of flames.

  “Feel no guilt,” she said. “No one will weep for my passing.”

  “One person will,” Darius said softly as her face became Jerico’s.

  “An answer!” cried Luther.

  “You would have an answer?” Darius said, jerking his attention back to Karak’s followers. His sword rose high in the air. “His life is not yours. You will not have him. You will not kill him. He is beyond you now.”

  Down came his sword, crashing through Valessa’s neck. Light flashed, and then she collapsed into the fire before her, the flames obscuring the decay of her body as it dissolved into white mist that was soon lost amid the smoke. Darius felt a sob catch in his throat, and he prayed they would not see the tears in his eyes as he turned to face them.

  “All you have is me,” he said. “I hope I’ll suffice, you sick bastards.”

  Luther’s mouth hung open, and he seemed at a loss for words. Those behind him knew what they wanted, though, and they readied their weapons and magic. Darius tensed, and he dared let a grin show. Him against them all in a desperate battle to the death. What more could he possibly have asked for?

  With a cry, he charged, the light of his sword shimmering bright. Dark paladins swarmed around Luther, bringing their weapons to his protection. Darius swung, pouring into it a reckless energy. His sword connected with a large blade akin to his own, and sparks showered across the grass from the contact. Darius was the faster to recover, and he thrust for the man’s neck only to have it blocked by another. An elbow struck his forehead. Staggering back, he swung again, hitting only air. Two priests leapt forward, hands extended. Shadows shot forth, and at their touch he screamed as his nerves ignited with pain.

  Fully surrounded now, Darius continued to swing, constantly turning in a vain attempt to prevent a sneak attack. A sword thrust pierced his side, slipping through a crease in his armor. It wasn’t deep, but it was enough to steal his balance as the blood ran free. Another man caught him, slammed his helmet into his face. To his knees Darius fell as all around he saw the blurred faces of men who hated him.