David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

The rider who had first spotted them came back around, still calling for his allies. He rode mere feet to their left, and as he passed, Thren lashed out, thrusting a short sword beneath the man’s plate mail and into his ribs. As the man screamed, Thren pulled the blade free and then smacked the horse with the flat edge, sending it bolting away.

Two more came riding in from the other direction, and Haern timed their arrival. Their aim was off, the two clearly not yet having located them, so he knew he’d have his chance. Running while crouched, he shifted aside at the last second, both swords slicing into the legs of the nearest mount. It let out a horrible noise as it crumpled, trapping the rider beneath it as it continued to let out pained screams. Before the other paladin could stop, Haern rushed around to the other side, jammed a blade into the throat of the trapped man, and then sprinted back toward Delysia and Thren. As he did, he saw another paladin veer away, having just barely avoided an ambush by his father.

“It’s not enough,” Thren said as he joined his side.

“Look,” Delysia said, pointing. The paladins had grouped together, nine of them at least, and they circled around them on their horses. They did not close in nor attempt to find them within the vicinity. Haern frowned, none too pleased with the strategy, and then the largest of the riders curled in, riding in a circle just barely within the others. From the feet of his midnight-black mount burst flames, as if its hooves were the center of a bonfire. Around and around it looped as Haern, Thren, and Delysia pressed against each other, back-to-back. The fire grew, its center a deep purple, its outer reaches darker than the night itself.

“Stay with me!” Delysia cried as the fire roared to life, rolling toward them from all sides. The priestess’s hands lifted above her head, locked together in prayer as the wheat blackened and collapsed into ash from the fire’s passing. Just before they themselves were consumed, Delysia let out a cry, flinging down her arms and grabbing Haern and Thren by the shoulders. He felt a tingling, and then the fire passed over him. His skin was not burned, nor did he feel its heat, yet beneath his feet, ash gathered from the charred wheat.

The spell ended, and circling them were the nine dark paladins. Their cover was gone, as was any surprise, any hiding. Now in the open, Haern lifted his sabers and stood protectively before Delysia.

“Go down fighting,” he said. “You don’t want to be taken to their dungeons.”

“Speak for yourself,” Thren said. “The only ones dying this night are our enemies.”

The nine dismounted, drawing weapons wreathed in black flame. They stayed close, steadily closing the gap to prevent any hope of them punching through. Among themselves, the paladins gave quick orders, keeping their approach controlled, their eventual assault in perfect unison.

“Listen to me,” Thren said, tilting his head toward them, yet keeping his eyes on the dark paladins before him. “If we’re to live, you have to hold nothing back. Every bit of your power, every bit of your rage, it must be let free. Unleash death upon them, or we die ourselves.”

“I know how to fight,” Haern growled.

Thren’s eyes flicked to Delysia.

“My words were for her.”

Tighter and tighter the circle closed, a wall of swords, axes, and plate mail.

“Our lives or theirs, priestess,” Thren whispered. “Make your choice.”

With a unified cry, the dark paladins rushed in, and Haern took Thren’s advice to heart. Hold nothing back. He knew how to become that animal. He knew how to unleash that power. Harnessing every bit of his anger, frustration, and doubt from his imprisonment, he lunged toward the closest paladins, charging just as they themselves issued the orders to attack. With his back to her, he did not see the brilliant flash of light Delysia cast, but he saw its flare in the eyes of his foes, saw them cry out, blinded. Two at once he fought, slipping through their frantic defenses, twisting his body to avoid being chopped in half from the right shoulder down. His saber found the throat of one, then both blades crashed into the sword of another, batting it three times so quickly, it sounded like a single ring.

And then he was away, racing toward the other side of the circle, crashing right alongside his father into a group of three. Side by side they fought, blades dancing, perfect mirrors of the other. Thren slammed the sword of one out of position, screaming in pain from the fire that encased the weapon, and then Haern plunged a saber through the armpit of the man. It wasn’t deep enough to kill, but the man could press no further. Behind him, Delysia had cast another flare of light, knocking back the other half of the group, but she was exposed and Haern would not let them overwhelm her.

Back to the other side he rushed, and his father joined him. He leaped past Delysia, dropping into a roll to duck beneath the swing of an ax, then coming about to stab at the man’s back. He turned to block it, and then Thren slammed into him, smashing him to the ground with both short swords puncturing his face. Haern rushed left, Thren right, each engaging another paladin while they still had some measure of surprise. Their foes held strong, falling back while expertly positioning their blades. Each time their swords made contact with that black fire, Haern felt an ache growing in his hands and at the center of his chest, an ache that would soon leave him in agony from the unholy powers they wielded.

“Us or them!” Thren screamed, suddenly disengaging. He rolled underneath a swing, then kicked into the air so he could intercept two men rushing toward where Delysia stood. “There’s no other choice!”

Haern spun, using his cloak to disguise his movements before he too retreated, back to his father’s side. The older man was struggling to keep the two at bay, most of his attacks feints to keep the paladins on edge and prevent them from advancing. Haern had a split second to see the pattern his father used, then joined him, following up a feint with a stab of his own. The dark paladin, having also sensed the pattern and therefore ignoring the feint, was unable to position his blade in time to avoid Haern’s attack. His saber cut across the man’s face, splashing blood through the air as the steel tip scraped against teeth. A kick sent him staggering away, but as always, another stepped up to replace him. The newcomer’s thrust might have impaled Haern, but Delysia was there, unleashing an invisible wall of force that sent the man rolling away as if struck in the chest by a boulder.

Every nerve on fire, every reflex ever drilled into him over a lifetime of training pushed to its limits, Haern twisted and turned, blocking one attack, thrusting for another, only to pull away to avoid having his head cut clean off his shoulders. In the back of his mind, he heard a ringing, heard his father screaming.

“Will you let us die, Delysia? Will you let us all die? Let go, damn it, let go! ”

Too many, they were just too many, too strong, too skilled. Haern unleashed a flurry of attacks on one opponent, then spun right to block the killing thrust of another. One saber each battling a different opponent, he blocked, parried, and waited for one of their burning blades to finally make it through and end it all.

And then Delysia screamed.

It was an unearthly cry, thunderous in power, terrifying in its rage. A white mist rolled in all directions, followed by a shock wave that knocked Haern to his knees. The dark paladins staggered backward, and above Haern’s head, a golden blade shimmered into existence, then flew through the air. It cut two at once, slicing them cleanly in half so that they fell in pieces, blood and innards spilling out upon the blasted circle of ash that was their battlefield. A third moved to strike, but then he screamed as his body turned rigid. His mouth opened, and it seemed light shone from his throat and eyes, a light that burned like the sun itself. When he dropped, his eyes were blackened holes, his mouth hanging open to release a trail of white mist that floated to the sky like smoke.