staring eye to eye as he thought.
“You truly believe you do the will of Karak,” he said. “Of that, I am certain. But the most dangerous to our cause are those who would disobey every tenet of our belief, all the while certain they understand the real truth. Draw your sword, Darius. Let us see Karak’s judgment in this. Let us see how strongly he rewards your faith.”
Darius grinned. He had them. His belief in Karak had never been stronger. This was his will. His desire. Drawing his greatsword, he held it before them, to let them see its dark flame.
But there was no fire.
“No,” Darius whispered. It couldn’t be. Nevek laughed. Pheus grinned. Lars shook his head, clearly saddened. But it couldn’t be. It made no sense. Darius felt his knees go weak. The eyes of his brethren were upon him, and he suddenly hated them, hated them more than anything. He wanted to escape. He wanted them gone. His head bowed, as if he could no longer bear the weight. His god, the god he had worshipped all his life, had abandoned him. Because of his disobedience. Because of his protection of the weak.
Because of Jerico.
“You understand what must be done,” Lars said. “To threaten one of our own, and be rejected by Karak, leaves only one fate.”
Slowly, Darius nodded his head. Lars drew his sword, a heavy blade he wielded with one hand. Its dark fire was great, greater than it had ever burned for Darius. He watched as Lars pulled it back, preparing the swing. Pheus looked satisfied beyond measure. Nevek was still grinning. In and out, Darius breathed. Waiting for the sword to fall.
When it did, he shifted to the side and swung. His sword slashed through Pheus’s throat, spilling blood in a wild arc. Continuing his turn, Darius focused on Lars, knowing him the greatest threat. By the time Nevek had even drawn his sword, Darius had cut down the elder paladin, blood gushing from a deep wound in his side. Nevek screamed something unintelligible but full of hate. Darius cut off his head.
The sudden silence felt like thunder. Standing in the center, Darius looked upon the three dead bodies, still in position between the triangle formation of torches.
“I refuse your judgment,” he told the corpses. “For if Karak abandons me, then I will abandon him.”
It seemed a coming storm mocked his words with a clap of thunder. His blood chilled. To his left, he heard the soft sound of laughter.
“Abandoned?” said a man, his voice deep. “Is that what you think you are?”
The man stepped into the light of the torches. A lump swelled in Darius’s throat. It couldn’t be. The man’s eyes shone red, as if behind his irises burned a constant fire. He was robed in black, his skin pale and stretched thin across his bones. The man’s face, however, was in constant, subtle movement. If he stared hard enough, Darius could see the man’s brows thicken, his nose shorten, his lips lift or lower to adapt to the new visage. Always the eyes remained the same.
“Do you know who I am?” asked the man with the ever-changing face.
“I do. Your name was spoken of in both fear and reverence in the Stronghold.”
“Tell me, what name do they know me as there?”
Darius lifted his sword.
“You are the Voice of the Lion, his word made flesh.”
The man laughed. The sound made Darius want to turn and run.
“It has been many years since I was called by that title. I am Velixar, fallen paladin. I thought to witness your execution for a bit of amusement, but instead find myself watching a far greater surprise. A paladin, lacking the strength of Karak, still takes down two of his brethren, plus a priest? How surprising. How interesting. ”
“Stay back,” Darius said, shifting his sword to aim the tip at Velixar’s throat. Velixar’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Or what? You will call down the thunder of Karak? You will pierce me with a blade of simple metal? The blood in my veins has not flowed in centuries. The air in my lungs moves to speak, and nothing else. I am Karak’s prophet to this chaotic world. Do you think you have a chance to defeat someone such as I?”
“Willing to try.”
Darius stepped close and swung. The blade felt heavier in his arms, the strength gifted to him by Karak long vanished. Still, it should have cleaved right through Velixar’s head, sent it rolling to the dirt where he could give it a well-deserved kick. Instead, the man raised a hand, whispered a word, and then grinned. The blade struck his fingers as if they were stone. The shock reverberated up his arm, made his elbows and wrists throb with pain.
“Foolish man.”
Black lightning flowed up the blade and into his arms. Darius screamed, and he felt his muscles spasm. When he hit the ground, he writhed there, unable to drop the hilt of his sword. He opened his mouth to cry out, but he could make no sound. All at once, the pain stopped, and he lay there gasping for air.
“You said you know who I am, yet you dare attack anyway? You know nothing, stupid boy.”
“Kill me,” Darius said, his voice croaking. “Just do it, damn you.”
“You are the damned, not me, Darius. But I am not here to kill you.”
“Then what?”
Velixar knelt beside him. Darius stared into his eyes, feeling lost within their fanatical fire. The pale man’s hand touched his face, and it was cold.
“You are lost,” Velixar whispered. “Your god has not abandoned you. You have abandoned your god. You fell to weakness, gave in to folly, and believed the lies of the enemy. But your faith, Darius, your faith is still incredible. Even now it cries out to be forgiven. Even now, you wish you had been right, that you could still feel Karak’s embrace.”
“All I feel is hatred.”
Velixar stood, and it seemed the very night gathered about him, worshipping his power.
“I am here, and I offer you my hand. Atone for the sins you have committed. Become my wayward son returned home. I have much I can teach you, and much for you to do.”
Darius tried to think, to listen to his heart. What did he believe? What did he want?
“I have seen Karak’s truth,” he said at last. “I have seen the murder he would have me do. You will not teach me. I refuse.”
Velixar’s lips curled into a smile.
“You damn fool,” he said. “You do not have a choice. Whether you desire it or not, your soul will be redeemed.”
Down came the black lightning. It touched his eyes, his throat, his hands, and his heart. As he lay there, his scream pierced the night, and for the first time, Darius regretted letting Jerico live. The pain went on and on. Time lost meaning. Tears ran down his face, and he felt he would do anything to make the torture stop. But it continued, and he could not beg, not plead, only scream out his agony. When it finally did stop, he collapsed once more, and amid the ringing of his ears he heard Karak’s prophet laugh.
“You will slay the paladin of Ashhur. You will kill your friend. Only then, when you have placed Karak above all things, will you finally understand. And you will understand. You will learn. You are a part of a game, a simple piece, but I will not lose you to Ashhur. This must be done on your own, though. I will not force you back to Karak. No, I have seen your fate, Darius. You will come to me, of your own free will, and beg for guidance. I will always be near, watching, listening, and come that time, I will be there for you, lost paladin.”
And then he was gone. For a long while, Darius lay there, waiting for his strength to return. When it did, he staggered back to town, gathered up his things, and fled.
Epilogue
For several days Jerico traveled along the river. Using a small knife and slender branch he formed a spear, and he ate fish some nights. He avoided the first few villages he encountered, worried they would be the first places checked when his pursuers realized he had left. Assuming he had pursuers. It would be a strange thing to lie about, but Darius might have had his reasons. Still, the image of the falling Citadel haunted him, and if Karak were truly behind it, it was no stretch to believe the dark god’s followers had declared war against his very existence. The
