Paladins 02 - Clash of Faiths

by David Dalglish

  Arthur nodded, and he pointed to the dead woman’s body.

  “I have lived these past years fearful of an assassin,” he said. “But never did I think Sebastian would actually do it. I always doubted. No longer. He wants my head? Then I’ll take his. He wants poison in my veins? Then I’ll bleed his out on the field of battle. Go rest, paladin, and worry no more. My decision is already made.”

  Jerico glanced once more at the woman, absently wondering of her name.

  12

  There were tears in Valessa’s eyes as she rode from the Castle of Caves. Together; she’d insisted they go together.

  I can handle a single disgraced lord, Claire had said. I’ll return by morning, and no one will be the wiser.

  But come morning, she was still inside. This might not have caused Valessa to panic. It wouldn’t be the first time her partner had had to improvise. But bells signaled a ceremony of some kind, and as the nearby farmers gathered, Valessa had walked among them, her heart in her throat.

  “Last night, an assassin tried to take the life of your lord!” Arthur had called out to the crowd from atop the walls of his castle. “She failed, and took her own life. Before she did, she gave one last request. I grant it now.”

  And with that, he flung a body over the edge, a rope tied about its neck. Valessa covered her mouth and choked down her cries. The rope snapped taut, jerking Claire’s lifeless body side to side. No hood covered her face, and her eyeballs popped loose, hanging by red threads from her skull. Valessa’s hands shook.

  “You bastards,” she’d whispered as the rest of the crowd cheered. “You bastards.”

  “This assassin was sent to me by the one I used to call my brother, but Sebastian is that no longer. He is a fool, and a coward, to send knives in the dark because he fears the slightest threat to his rule. So be it! I reclaim my birthright. I am Arthur Hemman, eldest son of my father, Arthos Hemman, and the North shall be mine!”

  But that was not the worst. Standing there beside Arthur was a man she did not recognize, but that did not matter. She recognized his armor, and his strange shield. A paladin of Ashhur. Somehow, someway, one had survived, and no doubt he’d been the one to keep Claire from completing her task. Her rage grew. Both Arthur and this paladin needed to die, but she could do nothing now. Such a simple assignment, Sebastian had made it seem. All so she could take the life of Darius.

  As she fled the city, her hatred grew. So many were to blame. Sebastian, for not cooperating. The paladin, for protecting Arthur. Darius, for his failures bringing them to the North in the first place. Arthur, for not dying like he should have, leaving her task unfulfilled. She had enough hate for everyone, and as a gray sister, she had the power to act on her hate.

  Torn between finding Sebastian and acquiring reinforcements from the Stronghold, she rode south, knowing she had plenty of time to decide before the roads forked. Come her second night slumbering beside the road, her choice was made for her.

  Valessa ...

  She startled, instantly alert. She expected a man kneeling beside her, but instead saw only a serpent coiled at her feet. Given the weather, she knew it should have been sluggish, and in hiding, but instead it slithered toward her, its red scales gleaming in the moonlight. When it reached her side, it coiled up once more, and its mouth opened. Bloodied fangs dripped poison. Valessa swallowed, tensing. She would give it no reason to strike, no reason at all ...

  The serpent struck anyway, its fangs sinking into her hand. As its poison flooded into her, her sight vanished, and all sound became the deep whispers of the man in black.

  I call you to me, he said. Your task is at an end, as I have said. Come join us at the seventh altar, near Stonefield. I await you there, with Darius at my side.

  “You’ve taken the traitor,” she said, unsure if he would hear her or not. All her senses were awry, and the sound of her voice was very far away.

  Traitor no longer, and to be punished no more. The Stronghold has sent another, and you will hear from him the wisdom of your High Enforcer.

  “They believed your lies.”

  The truth is sufficient, even for one such as I. Do not tarry, gray sister. And tell me ... where is Claire?

  The darkness before her eyes seemed to quiver, and her anger flared as she imagined it was the effect of Velixar’s laughter.

  “She died, I believe killed by a paladin of Ashhur.”

  The darkness turned to red. As if from a distant land, she felt her right hand throb with pain.

  A paladin? Could it be ...? Hurry, Valessa. We have much to discuss.

  And then it all was gone, and she startled once more in her bedroll. Rolling up her sleeve, she looked to her hand. Two punctures still bled in her palm, but they showed no sign of venom.

  “Damn you, prophet,” she whispered as she bandaged the wound. “Surely there are better ways to send your messages.”

  Probably, but not one that would amuse him as much. She and Claire had openly defied him. For a man who had walked the land for centuries, he was certainly one to have developed a long memory.

  Her nights were lonely as she rode, the village of Stonefield many miles southwest. She crossed dying farmlands, and wondered at the madness that would drive a lord to declare war at the onset of winter. He must expect a swift victory, she thought. Sebastian would be wise to hide in his castle ... but he wasn’t that wise. If he was, he would have given her what she wanted: Darius’s head. Now it would be denied to her, if the prophet spoke true. She feared he did. Every inn she visited told the same story, which somehow traveled faster than her. Arthur Hemman had declared war on his brother, and even now gathered his forces.

  On the twelfth night, she rode into the ancient altar. In ages past, it had been a shrine to Karak. Looming over a patch of bare ground, where no grass would ever grow, was a worn statue of a lion reared onto its haunches. Below it was sacrificial ground, no doubt unused for at least a century. Stones formed a ring, and as she stepped inside, she felt cool air brush against her neck. Even now, with the runes carved into the circle long faded, power remained dormant in them, focusing the will of Karak.

  At the feet of the lion stood the prophet, Darius at one side, an elder dark paladin she didn’t recognize at the other. Valessa did her best to keep her anger in check.

  “I received your message,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand. “For a man known to haunt dreams, I expected better.”

  “I needed to ensure you came,” Velixar said, smiling. It might have been meant to disarm her, but instead she felt her hands shifting to the hilts of her daggers. No doubt spiders looked that way as they crawled toward their captured prey.

  “Welcome, gray sister,” said the unknown paladin, stepping forward and bowing on one knee. “I am honored to meet you at last. I am Mallak, third to Carden in succession of High Enforcer. Your name is well-known to me, even if your face is not.”

  Valessa bowed in return. She recognized his name, for many times she’d received orders from him. Always through proxy of course, hidden notes and trusted servants. A gray sister’s stay in the Stronghold was never long, and rarely revealed to other paladins. Should a dark paladin succumb to weakness or lies, it would be the sisters that came for them, after all. Looking at Mallak, she realized she’d always pictured him as older. Despite his gray hair, Mallak had a youthful look to him, ruined only by the many scars across his face. He looked a veteran of battle, and he stood tall and spoke firm like one of his stature should.

  Not Darius. His sunken eyes stared at her as if he were within a dream, and she just a phantom he didn’t believe in.

  “Honored as well,” she said, turning her gaze to Velixar. “And so here we are. I assume with Darius still alive that you spoke no lie, and the Stronghold forgave him?”

  “Not forgiven,” Mallak said, glancing at Darius. “Only that his Tribunal has been put on hold. We will not execute a member of the faithful. It is rare one will fall so far as we believe Darius did, and then be rece
ived once more by Karak, but it appears to be the case.”

  “My faith in Karak has never wavered,” Darius said, a bit of life flaring in his eyes.

  “Doubt comes to us all,” Valessa said. “Just like it does to me now. He killed fellow members of the faith!”

  “Members who now reign in the Abyss,” Velixar said, putting a hand on Darius’s shoulder. “As Darius will one day reign. Your arguments go beyond your station, gray sister. Any further, and you will appear to be questioning the very will of your god.”

  Valessa fumed but bit her tongue. She nodded.

  “So be it,” she said. “Then why am I here, or is it only to be reprimanded and sent away?”

  “The paladin,” Velixar said. “Did you ever learn his name?”

  “I did not.”

  “A shield,” Darius asked. “Did he hold a shield that glowed?”

  Valessa thought back to Claire’s hanging. It’d been morning, and in the sunlight any glow would have been difficult to see, but ...

  “Yes,” she said. “It looked strange to me then, but that must be it. It glowed, as the enemy’s weapons glow.”

  Velixar turned to the lion statue, and he lifted his arms to the night sky.

  “Here,” he said, his voice lowering. “This is where we will bring him. At the altar of Karak, he will be sacrificed. Let his blood flow over Darius’s sins, banishing them forever. Who then would doubt my student’s faith?”

  I would, Valessa thought, glaring.

  “Then let us go to where the paladin hides,” Mallak said, grabbing his greatsword and drawing it. The fire on the blade burned strong, sucking in the starlight so that the darkness seemed to thicken. “You saw him last at Arthur’s castle, no?”

  “He will not be there, not by the time we arrive. Arthur marches for war.”

  “Will Jerico go with him?” Darius asked. His eyes remained downcast as he spoke, as if afraid to meet her eye. “If so, we must go to the battle.”

  “Sebastian has been a loyal friend to Karak,” Mallak said. “There is more at stake than one last paladin of Ashhur. We must ensure Sebastian’s victory with whatever power we have. With our swords, and the prophet’s sorcery, we can turn the tide of any battle to our desire.”

  “We will need to hurry,” Valessa said. “The ride here was long, and Arthur will surely have begun marching.”

  “It will be many weeks until he reaches the Castle of the Yellow Rose,” Velixar argued.

  “Sebastian won’t stay,” she said, shaking her head. “He’ll march out. I know it. He’s been eager to fight his brother for years. Now he’s left his cave, he’ll came riding out with his entire host.”

  “If you are right, we have little time,” Mallak said. “Let us rest this night, for I see Valessa is tired. Come morning, we will ride.”

  “I travel at night,” Velixar said. “As will Darius. Rest now, and then follow the main roads. Listen to the whispers of the common folk. They will tell you where the armies march, and where they will meet. As for us, we will always be near.”

  With that he turned, and Darius followed him away. As the man in black stepped out of the circle, Valessa felt the very air warm, as if Velixar were a fire giving off cold instead of heat.

  “I hope I show no disrespect in saying I do not trust him,” she said when certain the prophet was far enough away. Mallak tilted his head and looked as if he were examining her.

  “Your faith is strong,” he said. “And you are wise in many things, but you are wrong to doubt Karak’s hand. I have met him only rarely, but every time, he has spoken with wisdom, and cunning. It was he who brought low the Citadel, though the rest of the world hears only the name of Xelrak. He has given us a great victory, and if he assures me Karak has redeemed Darius’s soul, then I will believe him.”

  Valessa shivered as she thought of Darius.

  “It still feels wrong,” she said. “Did you not see Darius’s eyes? He looks like a dead man, or at least diseased.”

  Mallak led her from the sacrificial circle to where he had tethered his horse at the base of a tree.

  “Indeed, he does,” said the paladin as he untied his mount. “But he has much to atone for. I’m sure the guilt of his failures weighs heavy on him, and will until he executes the paladin ... what was his name?”

  “Jerico.”

  “Yes, Jerico. With his death, Darius’s atonement will be complete.”

  Valessa accepted his offered hand, and she sat behind him as he rode out to where she had tied her own horse, following her quick gestures to lead him there.

  “But what of Nevek? Pheus? Lars? I heard rumors of other dark paladins going missing, too. What of those potential murders?”

  Mallak stopped his horse so she could dismount. As she untied her horse, the strong rope wrapped around a low branch, she heard the paladin draw his blade.

  “This fire is for healing as much as cleansing,” she heard him say. She turned about, and the frightening power in his eyes sent her to one knee. “We lost good men to him, but I will not lose another if he has truly returned. Let him fight. Let him suffer, and walk Karak’s hard road. But should he stumble, or turn against all Karak holds dear ...”

  He swung the sword once, cutting the tree limb Valessa had tied her horse to. It fell to the ground with a thud, having barely slowed the blade as it cleaved through the air.

  “I follow your orders, not those of the prophet,” she said, her head bowed. “Speak the word, and I will turn on Velixar himself.”

  “I know, girl. Now hurry. I saw an inn a mile back, and I would like to sleep on a soft bed while I still can.”

  She mounted her horse, tightened her cloak about her, and then let him lead the way.

  *

  Kaide was surprised by Jerico’s silence as they rode back toward Stonahm. He’d expected questions, doubt, maybe even rudimentary discussion of battle tactics. But instead the paladin remained lost in thought, and this made him wonder. When required, the two traded their mounts for fresh horses at a nearby village, with every farmer eager to help out with Arthur’s war, as they called it.

  Arthur’s war. Only now did they accept it, even though he’d spent years spilling the blood of Sebastian’s men. Sure, they’d given him their support, but only when he dumped bags of stolen gold at their feet. At every village, he told them of the coming conflict, and made a quick speech rallying them to battle before moving on, trusting them to find and link up with Arthur’s vanguard.

  “We’re making good time,” Kaide said as they rode out from another village, saddled up on yet another new pair of horses. Kaide’s was a chestnut mare, and he liked the beast’s energy.

  Still Jerico said nothing.

  As they camped for the night, only a two day ride from Stonahm, he finally asked Jerico what was the matter.

  “You badgered me into talking,” he said, grinning at the paladin. “I think it’s my turn, now.”

  “Ashvale,” Jerico said, still staring into their fire. “What happens to the people there if we win?”

  “When we win, I suppose I’ll leave that up to Arthur.”

  Half a smile cracked on the paladin’s face.

  “I’m no fool, Kaide. Arthur will give you what you want as reward for helping him sway the people to his cause. What will you ask of him? Will you butcher the people who live there now? Send them away without homes? What?”

  Kaide leaned back and tossed another stick onto the fire. He watched it burn as he chewed on his words.

  “You want to know what kind of man I am,” he said at last. “That’s what this comes down to, isn’t it?”

  When Jerico nodded, he sighed.

  “I don’t know anymore, Jerico. There was a time I’d have burned down every building with the people inside to reclaim my home. But we’ve made a new home now. It’s only the fire in my gut that urges me on. I may never take back Ashvale, just as I will never bring my wife back to life. But I can hurt the man who did it. I can make him s
uffer, as I suffered. He took away my home, my lands, and my wealth. I’ll do the same to him.”

  “Revenge is never—”

  “Spare me,” Kaide said, glaring. “I know what revenge is. I live with it night and day. What will you tell me, that I’ll feel hollow inside when I’m done? You’re wrong. I’ll feel elation. I’ve lost friends, family, and spilled sweat and blood to achieve what Arthur now marches toward. I’ll feel complete, paladin. Does that answer your question?”

  Jerico nodded.

  “Sadly, I think it does.”

  He stood to leave, but Kaide stopped him with two words.

  “The Citadel.”

  Jerico glanced over his shoulder, and he stood very still.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

  “You are no different than I. You lost your friends, your home, everything you’d ever known. Would you tell me that, if given the chance, you wouldn’t hunt down and kill the man responsible? Would anything I said change your mind?”

  The paladin fell silent. Kaide knew he’d struck home. He wouldn’t lose a valuable ally, not now.

  “You feel it burning in your gut, don’t you?” he said quietly. “I know the feeling. Let me give you what you want. The people talk to me, tell me whispers of stories they might be afraid to speak in the daylight. I know the name of the man who destroyed your home. Stay with me, and I’ll tell you. Then you can decide for yourself just what type of man you are.”

  Jerico brushed his red hair away from his face, then touched his shield as if needing its strength.

  “I’ll help you,” he said. “I still think you’re in the right, and I’ll pray to Ashhur that when the battle is done, you’ll be a better man than I fear. Just promise me one thing.”

  “And what is that?”

  Jerico looked him in the eye, and there was a force there that made Kaide’s throat tighten.

  “Never, ever, tell me that name.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” Jerico smacked him upside the shoulder, and he grinned as if a heavy weight had left his chest. “A few days more until Stonahm, yes? I hope you realize that I barely had time to teach your men how to hold a blade, let alone kill anyone with it. You better have something in mind for them other than standing in the front lines when Sebastian’s knights come crashing in.”