before, the crowd quieted, but for the soft sobs of a few tied to the altar. “This night, this most sacred night, will be one for all of Dezrel to remember. Consider yourselves blessed to bear witness. Consider yourselves beloved. Few look upon their god while still walking this world, but you shall. All of you shall!”
He gestured to those at the altar.
“These here spoke out against Karak. They spoke out against me! They dared believe themselves wiser than gods. They dared believe they could turn the worldly law to their side, could ally with the imperfect structures of man to bring down the divine constructs of our priesthood. They will atone for this, for I am not here to destroy, but to save! The old ways will reignite true faith in Dezrel. That faith will preserve them, purify them, instead of eternal condemnation burning them away in Karak’s fire. True Order! Let it be known!”
He reached his hand to Valessa, and she gave him one of her crimson daggers. With a nod from Cyric, the dark paladin went to the first of the many tied to the altar. He was a man Darius knew well: Jeremy Hangfield, the wealthiest and most influential man in Durham. He’d lost a lot of weight, leaving him haggard and thin. He didn’t resist as they cut him free and dragged him to the wood steps. The dark paladin held him down, but Cyric would not be satisfied.
“His daughter, too,” he said.
A stabbing pain hit Darius’s gut. All around him people stood frozen, as if unwilling to believe it. Ezre turned away, and she pressed herself against Darius as if crying.
“Hurry now,” she whispered. “Take your sword, damn you.”
Darius reached his hand underneath her blanket and clutched the hilt. There would be no time to untie the twine. Their walk over had loosened the ties enough that he could lift the sword straight up. His fingers tightened, and he stared at the altar. Drawing now would risk ruining their plan, but how could he wait?
Valessa was the one to get her, slicing Jessie Hangfield free from the altar and tugging on her wrist. Jeremy struggled, but the dark paladin kept him pinned, the edge of his axe pressed against his neck.
“A glorious night!” Cyric cried. “A night to remember! Do not weep, do not know fear. Let the blood spill upon the altar, and with it, cleanse away their failures, their transgressions against the most holy and true. We abide by the highest law.”
“What are you waiting for?” Ezre asked him as Darius watched. “Are you a coward?”
“Not yet, Darius,” Gregory said beside him, no longer needing to whisper because of the crowd. “Damn it, not yet!”
“He’ll kill her, just a little girl!”
“I said not yet, that’s an order!”
Jessie lay flat against the stone, and her sobs rent Darius’s heart. He felt Ezre against him, waiting for him to take the sword, and Gregory’s hand on his shoulder, his fingers digging into him with determined strength. Sixty soldiers stood between him and Cyric, not counting Valessa and the lion. Revealing their presence now might doom them all…but why else were they there?
His indecision was enough, his inaction all that was necessary. He clenched his teeth and begged Ashhur not to condemn him for it. Cyric lifted the dagger above his head as he stood over Jeremy. The dark paladin rolled him over to expose his heart. Darius swallowed. The crowd went eerily silent as dark power swelled across the blade.
And then an arrow pierced Cyric’s hand, sending the dagger clattering across the altar and to the ground.
“Gavin, you idiot,” Gregory said.
Another arrow flew from the window of the home, catching Cyric in the shoulder. The priest roared, all his earlier joy and celebration replaced with mindless fury. Fire spread across his hands, and the next few arrows exploded before reaching him. The two men dove beneath the window as Cyric waved his hand, the arrow piercing it shattering. The building rocked side to side as dark projectiles of fire struck across it, bursting it into flame.
“Warriors of Karak!” cried Kayne, suddenly pulling their attention south. “An army comes along the road!”
“Thank Ashhur,” Darius whispered.
The sixty soldiers readied their weapons and rushed to meet the gathered might of those loyal to Sir Robert, two hundred strong. Kayne led the way, and Darius hoped the greater numbers might help them endure his unholy might. The path to the altar was clear. Darius carefully pulled his sword free, and held it high, casting its light across the altar. From high above, the blood moon shone upon him, and he defied it with all his heart.
“With me!” he cried, and together he and Gregory rushed the altar.
Cyric had not yet seen, for he was casting another spell, which exploded the remnants of the home Gavin and Kris were inside. People ran in all directions. Those from Durham not tied were suddenly left unguarded, and many of them fled for safety, but not all. Darius’s heart swelled as he saw others rushing the altar, yanking at the ropes to free their families and friends. Many died as the dark paladin swung his axe and Valessa stabbed with her dagger, but then Darius was there, his greatsword clashing against the axe and its dark fire.
“A paladin?” Salaul exclaimed, stunned.
“Damn straight.”
Darius shoved the axe aside, stepped forward, and thrust. His foe tried to block, but then Gregory lunged in. His sword could not block, but his body did. As Gregory died, Darius’s sword pierced the dark paladin through the belly. Blood spilled across the altar. Darius twisted the blade, then yanked it free. The motion sent Salaul’s body tumbling off the side, and he landed beside Gregory’s split corpse. Seeing the young man slain only increased his fury, and he turned it on the remaining two atop the altar.
“Darius?” Valessa asked, stunned to see him there. Darius laughed, and he attacked again and again, his sword with greater reach versus her lone dagger. Cyric turned to help, but then Zeke and the others slashed and stabbed with their own weapons.
“You heathens!” Cyric cried to them, falling from the altar to avoid their daggers. They leapt upon him, but he beat them back with fire and shadow. Darius saw only a little of it, for Valessa had jumped off the stone toward him and launched into a vicious series of attacks. His sword shifted side to side, parrying away her thrusts.
“What is this?” he asked her, a grin on his face despite his exhaustion and sorrow. “What good is that armor? What good is that crown? What kingdom do you rule?”
“With your death, I will be redeemed,” she said.
“You’re wrong, Valessa. You’ll be lady of the dead, a princess of graves. All hail her majesty.”
He could see the desperation in her eyes and knew she could endure no more. Her thrust came in wild, and he smacked it aside. Stepping in, he swung his sword. It passed straight through her waist, the armor nothing but an illusion, her flesh nothing but shadow. The light of his blade burned, and her form dwindled, changed, became only a beaten woman stumbling naked away from him in fear.
“Give Karak my greetings,” he said to her, thrusting for her neck.
She screamed, dropped her dagger, and fled. His thrust missed by an inch. She was nothing but a shapeless darkness as she ran to Cyric, who stood over the corpses of Gregory’s three men. All of them were dead, but they’d stopped the sacrifice. Darius lifted his sword, determined to not let it all be in vain. He pointed it at the priest, who looked down at Valessa with disgust.
“A night to remember,” Darius said, no humor in his voice. “You were right about that, Cyric.”
“I’ll rip your heart from your chest,” Cyric said. “I’ll crush it between my fingers before the altar.”
Cyric turned his blade to the side, the light across it burning brighter.
“Try it.”
The priest stretched out his hand, and a beam of pure darkness shot from his palm. Darius blocked it with his sword, bracing his legs to endure the blast. He felt his arms jar, felt the incredible strength beat against him, but he held his ground. He thought of the way Jerico had endured far greater, of how he had withstood the onslaught of wolf-men as if it were nothing. Darius would do the same. The magic would not defeat him. He would prove Cyric wrong. The night was theirs, not Karak’s.
Cyric ended the attack, instead hurling a curse. Darius felt it latch onto his limbs like invisible chains, but he shrugged it off, breaking the magic with a plea to Ashhur. Lightning followed, but it swirled into the sword and died.
“Where’s your strength?” Darius asked, slowly approaching.
Fire this time. Darius leapt to one side, then slammed his sword into the dirt. The light of his blade flared,
