David Dalglish - The Death of Promises

“Dead, which is an impressive feat,” Krieger continued. “You’ve grown much stronger, Lathaar, last paladin of a false god. Finally worthy.”

“You have no idea,” Lathaar said. “Elholad!”

Both his weapons flared with brilliant white light, and their weight nothing in his hands. He expected surprise, or worry, from the dark paladin, but instead he laughed.

“Karak tan my hide and burn me forever, you’ve even attained the holiest of blades. Ashhur must like you…or he has no choice, with all his followers dead and rotting.”

He gestured around like a grand performer before an audience.

“This is our stage! This is our arena! I will prove the weakness of your god by slaughtering the last life that still clings to him like a frightened babe.”

Lathaar smashed his blades together, remembering his one weapon of surprise he still carried.

“You’re wrong, Krieger,” he said, tensing his legs for an attack. “I’m not the last.”

Krieger paused, his entire act halted, and that was all Lathaar needed. He lunged, his blades thrusting together in a sheer beam of white. When the black scimitars parried, they showered sparks across the grass. The contact was a test of their faith, and it was Lathaar’s that was the stronger. Krieger’s swords recoiled. Desperate, the dark paladin twisted backward, the light of the blades mere inches from his armor. The closest parts sizzled and faded gray.

The dark paladin continued his twist while lashing out with his right hand. Lathaar ducked under the attack, then slashed with his longsword. It cut through Krieger’s armor as if it were cloth. A shallow cut in his side poured blood. The man showed no pain. Instead, he laughed and laughed.

“Another!” he cried even as he retreated again and again from Lathaar’s attacks. “Karak be praised, I have another to slaughter, to test and torment. His name, paladin, tell me his name!”

“Jerico,” Lathaar said. “And you won’t live to meet him. It is my faith that is stronger. Your swords cannot withstand my own.”

Krieger halted with his back against the giant tree in the center of the clearing. His grin was maniacal, his eyes, heartless.

“The false order of Ashhur has fallen,” he said. “Chaos has filled the void, and from that chaos true order will come. Your faith is stronger, Lathaar, but your god is still a failed god. You have no idea how strong my faith is.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Lathaar said.

“Give me time,” Krieger said. “Felhelad!”

He slammed his scimitars together, and at their contact they burst into giant blades of pure shadow and fire. The fading sunlight sucked into the swords, darkening the entire clearing. The dark paladin grinned at Lathaar’s stunned look.

“Our gods are brothers!” he shouted. “Did you think one would have a toy the other would not?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lathaar said, narrowing his eyes and preparing for combat.

“But it does,” Krieger mocked. “The great and powerful Lathaar…still not as special as he wishes to be. Not as strong. This is the duel I’ve sought all my life. This is the fight. Don’t disappoint me, Lathaar.” He held up his fist and showed a glowing orange jewel encrusted into his gauntlet. “A similar jewel is inside Mira’s mouth. With a thought, I can activate its magic, splattering both of us with her brains. Kill me or I kill her.”

Lathaar readied his swords.

“So be it.”

M ira’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of battle. Her entire mouth ached. Her tongue was swollen from all the cuts, causing the sensitive flesh to press harder against the ridges of the device. Even breathing caused her pain. She did her best to ignore it, for Lathaar had arrived. He had his swords drawn, and they shone with the light of the Elholad. Krieger was there too, his own black blades pulsing with power. She tilted her head just a little so she could better watch their duel.

The two charged, and in the twilight their god-blessed blades met. Lightning crackled at their touch. Both opponents glared at the other, their hatred open and growing. Krieger took the offensive first, alternating attacks with his left and right hand. Lathaar blocked each one, not bothering to parry. They wanted to test their strength. Each time their swords made contact their faith fought. Mira knew Krieger’s bordered on fanatical. He would not falter, and he would not repent. Lathaar however…she had seen him doubt. She had seen him lose his faith.

Stay strong, she said in her mind. She wanted to project the thought to Lathaar but she dared not interrupt his concentration. Please, Lathaar, stay strong for me.

Lathaar knocked aside a dual thrust by the dark paladin, then stabbed with his short sword. Krieger leapt back, slammed his foot against the tree behind him, then kicked forward. The two collided in a flashing explosion, sparks covering both their bodies. A glowing blade tore another cut across the front of Krieger’s black armor. In return, a burning scimitar gashed the inner part of Lathaar’s arm. The blood sizzled atop their weapons.

Mira knew them evenly matched. Neither would dare turn their attention to her, or the knife-edge they fought upon would balance toward the other. If she was to escape, now was the time. Slowly she opened her mouth as wide as it could go. The spikes tore into the sides of her cheeks, but at least she could no longer feel the edges pressed into the roof of her mouth and the upper part of her jaw. She took a breath, and then another. The spell she had in mind would require no movements of her hands, just the verbal components. She doubted she could pronounce them with her swollen tongue, but she had to try.

“Kel.” The first part came easy, just a hard sound from the back of her throat. The tiny tilt of her tongue for the ‘el’ filled her mouth with pain.

“Lak.”

Again the ridges tore into her tongue, but she could manage. She took a deep breath. The next syllable…

Vral was what she meant to say, but when she closed her mouth the piece attached to the back of her tongue gagged her. The involuntary wretches reopened the many wounds in her mouth. She wanted to vomit but knew it would destroy what remained of her tongue. Blood poured down her lips and across her chest. The pain was horrible. With blurred vision, she watched the two paladins. They seemed like statues locked in battle and bathed in light and fire. The hair on her neck stood as she wondered if Ashhur and Karak were watching, channeling their power into their champions to fight their petty brothers’ feud.

Anger stirred in her breast. She would defy them. She would deny them their game, regardless of the cost.

“Kel,” she whispered.

S o how did this Jerico survive?” Krieger asked. They had fought for several minutes, and still his breathing had not turned heavy. “Did he cower in some hole as the rest of his brethren were slaughtered?”

“Cowering in holes never works,” Lathaar said. “That’s where your kind breeds.”

The dark paladin slashed twice with his main hand, then curved a thrust low with his other. Lathaar blocked the first two, then parried the third away with his short sword. Krieger snarled, closing the distance between them while jamming both his blades at Lathaar’s stomach.

“Have you forgotten where I first found you?” Krieger asked as their weapons clashed once more. “Cowering in a pathetic inn among beggars and drunkards and the lowliest of the low?”

“That just proves my point,” Lathaar said, shoving the dark paladin away.

“Your faith was nothing then,” Krieger said. “You think you can stand against me now?”

“My faith has been tested,” Lathaar said. “Has yours?”

“Trust me,” he answered, putting one foot forward while rearing back with his blades. “Seeing you alive tests me greatly.”