The Tomb of the Dark Paladin

by Tom Bielawski

  Ederick gripped his foe in a powerful bear hug, squeezing as hard as he could, continuing to receive blows about his back and head, relieved as the blows were gradually weakening. He squeezed harder and harder, his grip tight as a vice around the enemy's torso, though he was weakening too. Finally, the blows became slaps and the slaps became taps as the man in the strange armor stopped struggling.

  The rider's knees gave way. The sudden shift in weight brought both men to the ground in a heap and Ederick rolled off, struggling to his feet. His shadowy chains were gone, but he did not want to be caught lying on the ground if the wasp dragon returned or enemy reinforcements arrived.

  "Damn!" he hissed. How much time had passed? Dread filled him as he realized that enemy ground troops must be nearing. Worse, the wasp dragon could be pursuing Carym and the others even now. He searched for a weapon but found nothing he could use. In frustration, he kicked the unconscious rider in the head, sending the man's helm skittering across the ground. Immediately the skin-like armor and hand swords vanished, leaving a man dressed in a white military uniform with silver and blue trim and the insignia of the Zuharim on his breast.

  "No!" shouted Ederick, viciously kicking the body again. "Damn you! What have you foolish Lupherians done?" he shouted, understanding now why the enemy spoke perfect High Cklathish. The man was a Lupherian Zuharim, a sect of the once honored order of knights dedicated to Zuhr that had fallen into disgrace and darkness. They had meddled in the dark and forbidden arts and were seduced by the dark power of Umber. His former brothers, now his enemies. The knight was distracted then as shadows passed over him and shapes dropped lightly to the ground, flashes of amber revealing the presence of a squad of Jaguar troops. He looked back at his foe, blood trickling from the man's ear. He knew, shamefully, he should not have kicked the unconscious man, it was against the knight's code of honor. He knew, too, that it was something that Zuhr, once the patron of the Zuharim and now the Hand, would not approve.

  "Enemy comes!" hissed the leader of the squad, pointing towards the trees. The knight whirled, still unarmed, to face a new threat and vowed to die if it would give Carym the time he needed to get to the tomb.

  The foursome ran as fast as they could, hoping that the Jaguar warriors and Sir Ederick would be able to buy them enough time to outdistance their enemy and reach the tomb. Carym prayed for guidance as he ran, for he truly had no idea what he was going to do when, and if, he reached the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. He fervently hoped whatever he did would be the right choice.

  Hala finally stopped running. The ground began to ascend sharply and there was no way the four could continue up the steep slope without climbing. Bart bent over at the waist, breathing heavily, then dropped to his knees in the cold snow.

  "What's wrong, Bart?" asked Carym, breathing heavily too. "Can you continue?"

  "I just need a moment," he said.

  "We can't stop," said Genn, panic in her voice. "We have to keep moving!"

  Carym looked hard at the woman and raised an eyebrow in question. They were all anxious to be gone, and certainly none of them wanted to get caught. Her dark moods and selfish tendencies were troubling him.

  "The entrance to the tomb is up there, Carym," Hala pointed to a natural outcropping halfway up the steep hill. There was a trail that wound up the hillside, but it looked treacherous and doubtless beset with ice. The princess was succinct and concise, never saying more than was absolutely necessary yet observing everything. Even now she was scanning their surroundings for signs of trouble. Carym felt a moment's guilt, knowing he would be leaving these two extraordinary women and his good friend behind to fend off whatever evil came next. He didn't think himself worthy to be honored with such devoted companions. Then he remembered something a companion had said to him long ago; this was bigger than himself.

  He shook the nonsense from his mind immediately. Each member of the company was doing what they had to do. And he had to get inside that tomb. Picking out the hand and footholds he would need to ascend to the trail, Carym mentally prepared himself for a short climb. He tucked his shirt and coat inside his trousers to avoid catching any sharp rocks. Then he secured his fighting sticks to his back and tightened the straps on his backpack.

  "Get strong soon, Bart."

  Hala pointed to the sky, another pair of wasp dragon riders were high up, no doubt searching for them. They could hear the sounds of battle reaching them from different directions. Suddenly one of the airborne creatures slipped into a steep dive and disappeared into the tree line, only to rise again with a person, likely one of Hala's people, impaled on its scorpion-like tail. He placed a hand on the princess' shoulder in sympathy, she saw what had happened. Hala turned from the sight, smiling briefly and warmly at Carym, then stepping away from him. She would show no weakness and so he forced his mind back on the matters at hand.

  Carym reached into his pouch and removed the Airstone, its silvery swirling surface cool to the touch. "Here, Bart. Take this."

  Bart held out his hand as Carym placed the stone in his palm. He stared Carym in amazement. "I've sensed something powerful about you, so I have. One day you'll have to tell me how you came by it, so you will!"

  "Never mind," he said. "Use this stone as a focal point when you call the Tides, it will help." The bard did as suggested and Carym felt the surge of the Tides as it swirled past him and wrapped Bart in its healing embrace. Soon the man was rejuvenated, glowing with the power of the Tides. He stood taller and his muscles seemed to swell, bulging through his clothing.

  "The power in that is strong, Bart," Carym advised, extending his arm to his friend. "Use it well."

  "Aye."

  A thundering crashing sound came from the woods behind them. All of a sudden, branches and trees trunks were scattered in all directions as a vortex of shadows swirled like a tornado. When it stopped, the fearsome form of the ancient dread knight, Hessan the Headless Rider, stood before them. Attired in ancient plate armor that must have weighed more than a hundred pounds, the dread knight was not affected by such earthly constraints. He was seated atop an evil nightmare, the unhappy beast snorted and steam drifted from its nostrils in the cold air. Pinpoints of red light, Hessan's eyes, floated above the headless torso; the black blade of a wicked scythe gleamed in the wintry afternoon sun. As was his wont, Hessan bore a sash diagonally across his chest, a sash from which hung several heads. The telltale hissing and spitting of his orok minions drifted through the trees, announcing the presence of the fiend's henchmen.

  Carym instantly recognized one of the heads dangling from that gruesome sash. "No!" he shouted furiously. The Tides swirled about him, answering his rage with their raw power and his desire to obliterate this murderous fiend. The Shadowstone called to him with the most profundity, tempting him to unleash his rage in a blind attack. The dread knight knew that Carym was watching him, that he was being tempted by dark power.

  "Fool!" came the cold voice. "You cannot hide from the Dark One! You are a fool if you think my former master will let you into the tomb. Carym of Hyrum, come and join your true master; the one who will make your veins sing with power!"

  "I will have nothing to do with your fell master, Hessan. We will fight you to the end!"

  "Then you will die, fools!" Then the dark knight yanked one of the heads decorating his sash from its place and hurled it at the feet of the companions. The head rolled to a stop and its tortured face, locked in a grim expression of death, looked up at them with empty eye sockets. "You will soon feel his pain, and your heads will hang from my sash!"

  Carym began to advance on the hated enemy, but a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

  "Go, Carym!" hissed the bard, his face grim. Kharrihan had been Bart's very old friend, it had been Bart's fervent belief that the elf would survive his captivity. Sadness had to be pushed away until after this battle for the tomb. The power of the Tides answered Bart's rage fueled mood. Carym hoped the man could keep it all under control. Carym looked at Gennevera,
his heart longing for her to come with him. Her dark moods and selfish tendencies were still troubling his thoughts. But he knew he could not project his emotions into this fight, not now. He clenched his teeth and nodded to her, her eyes told him she wanted to come too.

  Just then Hessan spurred his devilish steed and charged towards the companions. Eyes aflame with smoke billowing from its nostrils, the nightmare left a trail of fire on the ground behind it. Carym turned away from the woman he had fallen in love with, and the friends who had sacrificed so much, and scrambled quickly up the rocky outcropping. Fury drove him and gave him the energy and speed he needed. He desperately wanted to stay and fight, to kill that dark knight and send him to the Hell he deserved. But he had to find the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. He was so close now that it didn't seem real. He ducked inside a large crack in the cliff face before he let his heart change his mind.

  Carym dared a quick peek to see what was becoming of the trio he left behind. They had wisely scrambled for cover among the boulders strewn at the foot of the mountain. Carym watched in awe as Gennevera held her wand out before her and pulses of pure white light fired from it, striking the nightmare and forcing Hessan to break his charge. Though the light bolts didn't appear to be harming the foul being, they did unbalance him and slow him down. Then she turned her attention to the oroks that charged trailing their master. These seemed to be nearly vaporized by the power of the Keneerie's weapon. In a flash, Hala disappeared into the trees and began her assault on the skulking oroks.

  Bart was as wild and full of energy as Carym had ever seen him; he could sense the Tides surging around and through the man. Suddenly bolts of lightning accompanied by cracks of thunder struck the ground about the dark knight and his orok minions. The lightning struck with dazzling explosions of dirt, rock and trees. One of the bolts struck Hessan causing the undead knight to stumble backward off the nightmare falling to his knees. The knight quickly regained his feet and called on his dark power to protect him from the Bard's fury.

  Then Bart took to the air in an explosion of debris and dust, the force of his propulsion left a crater on the ground where his feet had been. Smoke trailed him as he flew high into the air. The powerful Storm Lord dove downward toward his target with incredible speed. Flames and smoke trailed behind him, the air crackled with the power channeled through the bard. He hurtled downward like a human spear with his swords extended and blasted into the dark knight's upraised shield. The impact was profound, a powerful explosion sent a shock wave out in all directions. The force of the blast caused Carym to his lose his footing and he fell to the ground, awed by Bart's command of the Airstone.

  Having seen enough to know his friends stood at least a fair chance in Bart's capable hands, Carym turned away and followed the path to the opening. The ground was treacherous and it seemed that ice was forming out of thin air. The sounds of the battle behind him were soon replaced by the howling of the wind through the rocks. Then he heard voices on the wind and the terrible legend of the Dark Paladin became very real.

  Slowly, deliberately, a figure in a dark military uniform approached. This officer wore curious armor consisting of circular plates and rings over black and red attire. The officer strode forward with precise military bearing but did not draw a weapon. Ederick could see that inside the tree line from where the enemy emerged two dozen or so troops, similarly armed and armored, waited.

  "Knight!" called out the enemy leader in a thick accent Ederick had heard only once before from foreign men garrisoned at the Black Keep of Baron Tyrannus. Ederick nodded in response, acknowledging that he heard the enemy. The leader advanced toward Sir Ederick with palms out, an ancient but seldom used method of indicating a parley was desired by forces about to do battle.

  Ederick advanced palms out, mirroring his counterpart, praying this wasn't a trap as before. With the numbers in the enemy's favor to begin with, he supposed a trap was unlikely. Ederick walked forward, albeit painfully so, to meet with the enemy leader.

  Then the officer removed her helm and Ederick was stunned. This was a woman, and a Keneerie woman at that. He was stunned by the discovery but it wouldn't do to offend them when they had the upper hand. Ederick held his ground and cast a glance over his shoulder, relieved to see that his friends were standing fast.

  "What are we here to discuss?" asked Ederick.

  "I am Laresse, the Vicomtess of Isel, and commander of my spear company. You have seen them, you are outnumbered. Though I do not doubt the prowess of your legendary companions..." The woman spoke with an easy confidence. A confidence which Ederick suspected came from experience on the battlefield. "And you, sir, are a knight; are you not?"

  "I am Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, of the Sword of Zuhr, My Lady." It seemed to Ederick that the woman and her troops would obey the etiquette of parley. Although he was grateful for the pause in battle, a pause which gave Carym and the others time to flee, he was anxious to settle this matter. "What is it that you desire to discuss, Lady Laresse?"

  The woman strode past him, toward her dead compatriot, the smell of jasmine wafting from her as she passed. Her black hair was pulled back tightly, revealing the cupped ears that marked her as elf-kind. She approached the body of the now dead Zuharim and bent down to pick up his helmet, a helmet which possessed potent magical powers. Then she returned to Ederick and handed it to him. "You have earned this, Sir Ederick," she said.

  "I don't understand," he said, taking the helm from her. "I am your enemy."

  "This excrement did not deserve the honor of fighting alongside the people of Ilian Nah. He was a disturber of the dead. He intentionally killed one of my men, only to make him rise again as a shambling, lifeless husk." Ederick sensed the rage within her. Ironically, Ederick felt a little sorry for her; he had felt the pain of loss before. He could not imagine what it must be like to see a friend's peace corrupted by such evil.

  "As one soldier to another, I am sorry for your loss. But, if you hate Zuharim so much, why do they fight for you?" Her head whipped up sharply, danger in her eyes, in response to his comment.

  "They do not fight for me," she said sharply. "They fight with me. I neither need nor want their help, yet it is not for me to question the will of Ilian Nah. Nor the will of my superiors, however I may disagree with their orders."

  "As is the way of honorable warriors." Ederick remembered hearing how these people worshiped a strange god of justice and war called Ilian Nah, a god known by another name on this continent. Was it Umber? He wondered how such an apparently honorable people could be fooled by the dark god; it was an incredible deception.

  "As is the way of honorable warriors," she repeated. Ederick was relieved at that. Her statement confirmed one thing; this enemy was not comprised entirely of bloodthirsty, evil-minded fiends. Nevertheless, they were a numerous enemy that had them flanked at this very moment.

  "You have done me a service, Sir Ederick Shieldsmoore, of the Sword of Zuhr. You have saved me from ruining my career and my station by exacting my revenge for me. This is a service which I will now repay."

  Ederick was amazed at the turn of events. He had expected the woman to demand his complete and utter surrender, though he would not give it. She was now offering to reward him for killing one of her fellow soldiers.

  He nodded to the woman, saying nothing.

  "You may leave here without conflict and I shall not pursue you. However, mine is not the only patrol this day, and though this excrement was not the only rider in this area, he was one of the honored companions of the Prophet-General, Shalthazar the Great. As such, his death will invite the wrath of the Holy One.

  "Go, now. Take your honored warriors and depart. When we meet again, there shall be no truce. And, I expect, it shall be a great battle indeed!" The Keneerie woman smiled broadly, anticipating the joy of battle. The thought of the joy of battle once made Ederick giddy with anticipation as well, now he only felt resignation about it. No matter, he was free.

  "My thanks, my lady," Ederic
k said as he bowed to the woman. Ederick had indeed taken a measure of the soldiers under the command of this woman. They were stalwart, disciplined soldiers, well armed and well equipped. They did not speak to each other while they stood in their protective perimeter as unseasoned warriors would have done. They kept themselves behind cover, protected from any potential attack by archers, but ready to fire with their own bows at the slightest gesture of their commander.

  Lady Laresse gave Ederick an appraising smile and nodded to the helm that the knight was now holding. "May it bring you glory, Sir Ederick." Then she turned and stalked out of the clearing and back towards her troops. Her men, professional soldiers, did not complain for lack of a fight, they merely turned to follow their leader, warily watching their backs.

  Ederick signaled to the leader of the Jaguar warriors. With a nod, two men leaped into the air and took the shape of great birds of prey, while a third took the shape of a sleek panther. After Ederick was certain they were not being followed, they went in search of Carym.

  Bart collided with Hessan in an earth-shattering assault. The Rider was knocked to the ground. Bart returned quickly into the air, the Headless Rider blinked out of existence, only to reappear on his nightmare seconds later.

  "I have you now," came the voice as cold as the grave; fog drifting from where the creature's mouth should have been. "I will wear your flesh!" he shrieked in anger, hurling a barrage of deadly stone missiles. As the missiles hurtled across the empty space between the combatants, a space which the undead knight had thus far been denied, the bard threw a magical vortex of wind back at the headless creature. Deadly magical assaults met in that open space. The missiles faltered as they struck the swirling wall of air, then fell to the ground with impotent, muffled thuds.

  "Go back to Hell!" shouted the bard, cold fury in his voice. Hessan emitted a sound the bard took as laughter, the bard had expected no less. "Did you finally learn a spell to help you speak without your little corpse-thing?" No answer came to the bard's taunt because just then Bart surprised him, rushing forward through the air, a powerful buffer of wind surging before him like a shield; his twin blades danced with magical speed. The nightmare was not immune to fear as its master seemed to be. The bard's magical assault caused the great beast to rear up, and as it did so, Bart lunged in and stuck one of its legs with a singing blades. He quickly danced out of the way as Hessan's vicious whip flicked out striking the ground where the bard had been a second before. When the tip of the whip struck, it caused an explosion which peppered the bard with rocks and dirt but the bard leaped into the air and out of harm's way. The nightmare was severely injured and hobbling under its rider's great weight. The bard was tempted to close in and finish the evil mare but he knew the knight's whip would surely bring him down. On the periphery of the battle, the bard could hear the throaty roar of a great cat, and he knew Hala must be making short work of the oroks.