“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 received 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.”