The response from Galadorn was instantaneous. The sword glowed brighter for just a moment, and Kaerion felt his blood quicken as holy power increased his own mortal reflexes beyond their natural speed. He rose to his feet just as the monk launched a blinding flurry of blows—and Kaerion managed to avoid every one of them. The fourth time he blocked the monk’s knife-edged hand attack, he had the satisfaction of watching his opponent’s eyes widen in surprise.
Not wishing to delay the battle any longer, Kaerion launched his own offensive, his holy sword weaving a trail of purest energy as he struck out at the monk. His first strike missed as the red-robed man danced nimbly out of the way, but his second stroke caught his opponent across the ribs. Galadorn flared in response as the monk’s blood spilled on to the floor.
Sensing victory, Kaerion closed the distance and thrust forward with his blade. The monk stumbled in his attempt to avoid the attack and, summoning the power of Heironeous once again, Kaerion brought his sword down and to the side for a swift, killing blow. Energy flared along the blade’s length in response to the white-hot power that flowed through him. The monk leapt to avoid the strike, but he could not evade Kaerion’s attack. Righteous anger and grief strengthened the paladin’s sword arm.
“For Majandra!” he shouted as his blade pierced the monk’s chest. Blinding light erupted from the weapon, as Kaerion felt the powerful release of god-energy. When the light dissipated, he could only see bits of his opponent’s body scattered across the room.
Durgoth watched in horror as the paladin’s blade disintegrated Jhagren’s body. In any other situation, he would have felt a wave of satisfaction at the monk’s demise.
But not now.
With the demi-lich’s skull destroyed and his own construct defeated by the mage’s cursed heroics, the cleric knew that the careful plans he had spent years building were falling down around him. He knew that his mistake had been in trusting in the skills of others. Even now, he could see Eltanel slinking into the shadows, and he had no doubt that the damned thief was in the process of skulking back to Rel Mord.
And Sydra, whose sorcerous powers were quite formidable, now found herself battling for her life against the very pup she had so recently controlled. The young nobleman was bloodied and bruised, but he attacked the sorceress with near-mindless intensity. A powerful bolt of lightning arced toward the man from Sydra’s outstretched hand. To Durgoth’s surprise, the fool didn’t even try to avoid it. The blast caught him full in the chest, but he simply stumbled forward and thrust his sword through Sydra’s throat, only to collapse himself a moment later.
Durgoth cursed this turn of events. He could feel the paladin advancing, the force of Heironeous’ power drawing closer to strike at him like a storm of bees. With a wave of his hand, Durgoth sent a column of flame roaring down from the ceding to strike at the damnable fighter.
“Burn, you damned lackey of a cowardly god!” he shouted.
But the paladin didn’t burn.
Instead, the holy fighter raised his god-powered sword and advanced. The flames passed harmlessly over him. Durgoth could almost hear the triumphant song of the holy sword as it deflected his spell.
He knew there was no hope of escape. Instead of filling him with fear, the realization crystallized the cleric’s resolve. He may have failed to release his Master, but there was still something he could do.
Raising the Minthexian Codex above his head, Durgoth began the words to the ancient book’s most powerful spell, a ritual that would completely annihilate a large area around the tomb. He would die, but he would take these cursed nobles with him. Power built within him like a raging river. He bent his will toward it, controlling and directing the roiling force of Nothingness as the paladin drew closer.
Durgoth was about to utter the words to release the spell and destroy his enemies when he felt a sudden shift within the Nothingness. The codex, his source of power these many years, flared once with purplish incandescence—and then disappeared. Unbelievably, he felt the raging energy he had recently summoned slough off like a riverbed whose water was diverted. No longer a conduit of a vengeful god, Durgoth was simply an empty channel, bereft of any power. As the paladin advanced, blade burning with holy fury, Durgoth Shem knew he had paid the price for his failure.
Tharizdun had abandoned him.
“Who are you?” he shrieked at the man before him.
The paladin hesitated only a moment before replying. “I am Kaerion Whitehart, servant of Heironeous,” he said. “I condemn you in the name of the Valorous One. May you spend eternity chained before His Throne.”
The man swung his holy sword.
White-hot light exploded into Durgoth’s vision. He drew back, trying to avoid the fiery incandescence. It grew brighter, knifing into his brain, laying bare the dark places of his soul. He screamed once in agony—
And then surrendered to the light.
Kaerion slumped to the ground.
He felt, in the wake of the god’s anger, a bone-deep weariness. The last of his tears spilled to the blood-spattered ground as physical and emotional exhaustion took their toll. The treasure of several kingdoms lay strewn around him, gold and platinum coins gleaming in the range of Galadorn’s ever-present light. The sight did little to cheer him. They had won, succeeded in their quest, but at what cost?
He was conscious of Gerwyth and Landra, the only other survivors of their expedition, gathering up the bodies of the dead. Memories of his companions filled his mind. Phathas, Bredeth, Majandra—all of them were gone. Silently, Kaerion lifted them up in prayer to Heironeous. He felt an answering pulse from Galadorn and knew that the Arch Paladin watched over them.
A shout from Gerwyth brought Kaerion struggling to his feet. Bruised muscles protested the action, but he managed to ignore them. “What is it, Ger?” he asked as he walked to where the elf stood, holding something in his hand.
He watched as his friend regarded him with a searching look. Kaerion felt, rather than saw, Gerwyth’s uncertainty, and realized that the ranger had never known him before he had left Heironeous’ service. He smiled gently at his friend. “It’s all right Ger,” he said. “We have much to talk about you and I.”
The elf regarded him for a moment more. “Perhaps more than you think, Kaer. Look.” Cupped in the palm of his hand was a multi-faceted diamond, one of the ones that had been set inside Acererak’s skull, Kaerion realized with a start. The heart of the stone gave off a soft red glow and, for a brief moment, Kaerion heard the whispered chord of harpstrings.
“Do you think—?” Gerwyth began, but Kaerion quickly cut him off.
“I’m not sure,” the paladin said, his voice rough with emotion. He dared not voice the thought he knew his friend was entertaining. A glowing diamond could mean anything. It could simply be a precious stone imbued with magic, or perhaps even the last refuge of Acererak’s essence. But Kaerion’s newly restored senses and his heart told him otherwise. Hope rose with him. If some part of Majandra was somehow still alive, he would move the heavens and all of the planes to bring her back to him. Gently, he took the glowing diamond from the elf and wrapped it in cloth before placing it in one of his pouches.
A groan from the corner of the vault brought both of the companions running. There, in a pile of coins and other jewelry, lay Bredeth. The young man’s body was broken, his legs twisted at an unnatural angle. Long angry burns covered most of his exposed skin, and his face was a mass of blistered and bubbling flesh. He coughed once and gazed upon Kaerion out of the wreck of one eye.
“S-sorry, Kaerion. I… tried to resist,” Bredeth gurgled, “but th-they captured me, and—” a fit of coughing brought a spray of blood to his lips.