“Will you serve me?” the Arch Paladin said, holding a gleaming silver sword over Kaerion’s head. Without thinking, Kaerion dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face. In a voice far sturdier than he would have thought possible, he accepted the yoke of Heironeous once again.
“Then rise, Kaerion, known as the Whitehart, best and brightest of my champions,” the avatar’s voice thundered throughout the temple and, Kaerion suspected, beyond the planes, “and carry my justice to the world!”
Kaerion stood, surrounded by a nimbus of pure white light. The nimbus intensified, expanding to fill the temple.
And beyond.
The light faded. In its place Kaerion saw a calloused palm, fingers hooked like claws, heading straight for his throat. He backed away furiously, tripping over a mound of gold coins. The avatar had been correct. No time had passed at all—which meant that he was still too late to save Majandra. The ache in his heart throbbed at that realization, yet he felt something else burning within his chest—the power of Heironeous.
With a cry born of grief and triumph, Kaerion unsheathed the blade that had lain quiescent for a decade. Galadorn burst into life with an explosion of white heat. The runes running along its blue-steel length flared with coruscating energy. Raising the sword high, Kaerion called on the protection of Heironeous. The blade sang with power.
At last, we are reunited! it shouted within Kaerion’s mind, sending forth a burst of energy that knocked the monk from his feet. Already, Kaerion could feel the blade’s holy might pushing back Acererak’s dark presence.
I ask your forgiveness, Galadorn, for denying you so long, Kaerion said to the sword.
There is nothing to forgive, came the reply. It took a few moments for Kaerion to realize that the sword’s voice in his mind seemed … different somehow. He had little time to think about such oddities, however, for he felt the righteous anger of his god rising within him. Acererak’s skull had turned from the battle and now regarded the paladin with a deadly gaze. Black energy shot out from the demi-lich’s eye—only to be swept away by a single cut from his holy sword.
The skull’s presence throbbed like a cancerous blight to his god-enhanced senses. Everything inside Kaerion screamed for the abomination’s destruction. Breathing deeply, he charged the demi-lich.
“Heironeous lend me strength!” he shouted as he drew nearer.
Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, he felt the Arch Paladin’s power filling him—white and hot and potent. Every fiber of Kaerion’s being drank in the holy energy, until his bones vibrated with the strength of it.
The paladin swung his sword with a cry, barely able to contain the divine fury that swelled within him. There was a moment of resistance—and then Galadorn struck the demi-lich. Heironeous’ power rushed out of him. Fueled and magnified by the holy sword, it detonated against the skull, causing it to explode in a hail of powder and dust. The roiling darkness of Acererak’s spirit fled with an unearthly shriek.
“No, you fool!” he heard a voice shout from somewhere near the vault’s door.
There was no time to explore the source of that voice. Glancing at his companions, Kaerion could see that the golem had almost vanquished them. Landra stood before it, bruised and bleeding, barely able to hold up her sword, while Bredeth charged in and out of the creature’s reach, slicing at it like a hunting dog might worry the heels of a giant boar.
Gerwyth had retreated a few steps and was firing arrows repeatedly at the monster. Several had managed to pierce its flesh, but it was nowhere close to being hurt. Kaerion ran forward, eager to bring Galadorn to bear on the situation, and was surprised to hear a soft whispering sound coming from the elf’s bow. He recognized the familiar lilt of Elvish, but, not being fluent in that language, he could not understand what it was saying. He had heard Gerwyth speaking to the weapon in battle before, but had never dreamed it was sentient.
Galadorn’s influence must be allowing me to overhear it, he thought.
The golem reached out a meaty hand to grab at Landra just as Kaerion swung his blade at the monster. The force of his blow cut deeply into the creature’s flesh. Kaerion heard the crack of bones as Galadorn cleaved through its shoulder, nearly severing the golem’s arm from its body. Through it all, he could hear the blade’s triumphant song ringing in his head.
Another arrow struck the golem, lodging in the constructs throat, but that did not slow down its counterattack. Hastily, Kaerion slid to the creature’s left, raising his shield to block the forearm that threatened to snap the bones in his chest. The paladin grunted under the impact as his shield bent awkwardly around his arm. He was about to throw the useless instrument to the ground when Galadorn shouted, Kaerion, behind you!
Kaerion turned but was not quick enough to dodge the attack. He screamed in agony as a black-clad figure thrust a blade deep into his back. Kaerion cursed at his own stupidity. He had completely forgotten about the thief that had stolen some of Phathas’ maps during the attack on the inn.
You are badly wounded, his sword declared—somewhat unnecessarily, for Kaerion could feel that the damage was extensive. The thief’s blade had sliced through his kidney and probably punctured his stomach.
I will heal you, Kaerion’s holy sword said, and the paladin could indeed feel his wounds knitting together. Strength once more flowed into his arms. Kaerion threw himself back, unwilling to remain flanked a second longer.
But you’ve never been able to do that before, he said to Galadorn. This is new.
Indeed, was the blades only reply—and suddenly Kaerion realized what was different about the sword’s voice.
Vaxor? He asked. Is that you?
We are here, came the reply. Thank you for your gift.
A movement off to his right stopped his next question. There, rising up from a pool of blood, was Phathas. The mage’s breath came heavy and labored, but he struggled to his feet. “Kill the cleric,” he wheezed, and pointed at a balding figure who held a black object in one hand. “Let the others handle the thief.”
“What of the golem?” Kaerion asked.
“Leave… to me,” was all the mage said. Kaerion was taken aback at the fierceness of his tone. “Do it!”
Shaking his head, he moved away from the deadly construct and searched the room for signs of the thief.
“Remember me, my friend,” the mage said softly, moments before he lunged at the golem. Before the monsters muscled arms could enclose him in its deadly embrace, he took his staff and broke it in half. Eldritch energy exploded from the item with concussive force. The power from the staff’s destruction beat against Galadorn’s wards, but the sword’s protective magic held.
Kaerion ran toward the evil cleric, but before he could reach him, a red robed figure blocked his path. “This ends here,” Kaerion growled at the monk, who merely nodded in response. The paladin lashed out with a diagonal slice of his holy sword—and barely saved the blade from flying from his hand as his opponent delivered a spinning kick that struck the weapon. His effort to hold the blade securely left an opening for the monk to strike, and strike he did. Two vicious open hand blows struck Kaerion in the face, one nearly smashing the cartilage in his throat. Reeling, Kaerion could not raise his battered shield in time to block the monk’s snapping kick—which knocked him to his knees.
He strikes like the wind, Kaerion said to the presence lurking within his blade. If I don’t wound him soon, this battle will be over.