The Old Ways (35 page)

“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, and the flames could not abide it. Drawing it free, he resumed his approach.

“Where’s the awesome power?”

Cyric clapped his hands together, summoning a thick wall of shadow. Darius cut through it like it was paper.

“I thought you were a god?”

Cyric’s eyes were full of fear. His strength was insufficient. He’d been challenged, and defeated. To Darius’s words, he had no counter. Power swelled across his hands, and Darius prepared for one last barrage, one last attempt to prove his might. Instead, a dark portal emerged behind the priest, swirling with stars. As he leapt through, Valessa grabbed onto him, shrieking for him to not abandon her. Together they vanished within. The portal closed, and with that, they were gone.

Darius fell to his knees and gasped for air. The moment passed, and his exhaustion returned. He could hardly believe what he’d done. Sounds of battle pierced his daze, and he looked to the road leading into the village. The soldiers still fought, and worse, the lion still roared. The paladin forced himself to a stand, clutching his greatsword with both hands. That abomination needed to be returned to the Abyss from whence it came. Blood pounding in his ears, he ran toward the enemy flank.

Most of Karak’s soldiers had died, overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. Their bodies lay strewn across the road, still in haphazard lines. Kayne, however, remained. The lion tore through their ranks, their chainmail nothing to his massive teeth and claws. The soldiers struck at his side and thrust for his underbelly, but to no avail. Kayne was too quick, too strong. A few pieces of rock had chipped off his side, and strangely enough, it appeared he bled liquid fire.

“To me, beast!” Darius cried as he came running, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Do not waste your time with pups when you could fight a wolf!”

Kayne heard his voice and turned. A deep snarl emitted from his throat.

“Traitor,” he rumbled.

To this, Darius laughed.

“I was loyal to Karak,” he said. “Karak turned on me, sent his followers to kill me, and now would have a priest sacrifice hundreds in his name. I dare say Karak’s the one who betrayed us.”

Kayne tensed, and his claws dug into the hard earth.

“You speak blasphemy and false truths,” he said. “I’ll tear your lying tongue from your head!”

The lion leapt, reaching his full speed in the blink of an eye. Darius fought his instincts to dodge aside, for Ashhur’s voice did not cry retreat in his ear, nor danger. It told him to stand. Trusting it, he thrust his greatsword to meet Kayne’s charge, putting every ounce of his strength into the attack. The lion filled Darius’s vision, throat full of fire, roar rolling against him like a physical force. But a light shone from his blade, and it grew, and grew. Kayne tried to bat the sword aside as he descended, to clear the way for his kill.

His paws sliced clean off instead. The sword remained unmoved. Mouth open, charge in full, Kayne fell upon Darius. The paladin’s blade went up to the hilt inside his jaws, the tip piercing out his back. Fire burned, and Darius felt its heat, but the light enveloped him, protected him. Rock cracked, turned molten and rolled in all directions as the creature howled and broke. In the center of the corpse, Darius stood, sword held in hand as the fire slowly dwindled away. He took a deep breath, then smiled. At his feet, the grass was burned black but for where he stood.

“Thank you,” he whispered, then lifted his sword high so all there might see its immaculate shine. Cyric had fled, the lion was dead; Ashhur had not abandoned them just yet.

V
alessa did not know what to expect as she exited the shadow portal. She could barely think through the pain that filled her. Stumbling out, she fell to knees that became her arms, then her hands, then back again to her knees. Her form kept fighting, twisting, and she could barely remember who she once was. Her eyes opened, and she looked about. They were in rolling hills, the grass a pale yellow. Glancing behind her, she saw a river.

“The Wedge?” she asked. Was that where he’d taken her?

“It seems appropriate,” Cyric said. His voice was behind her, and with great effort, she turned to face him. Blood dripped from his hand, and more stained his robe from where the arrow remained embedded in his shoulder. His head dipped low, as if he were humbled for the first time in his life. Most frightening were his eyes: the wild, angry loathing that grew with every word he spoke.

“Is this not where we trap the monsters and other frightening creatures no longer of use to us?”

“Cyric?” Valessa asked, struggling to stand. She felt herself coming together, and pale skin started to form across the shadow that was her. “What are you doing?”

“Ashhur has stolen away my victory, but the blame is mine. Karak does not bestow mercy on those who deserve punishment.”

He lifted his hand, and from the center of his bleeding palm she saw stars swirling together amid a black void. And then the pain hit. It was different than when the light of Darius’s sword or Jerico’s shield touched her. That burned from the outside, dissolving away at her being. This was so, so much worse. She felt the very center of her soul cracking from within, her limbs shaking, her mind breaking into pieces as the very substance holding her together was taken away.