David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

“Welcome to the seventh! Lift your voice, and let me hear your faith in our mighty god!”

The half-hearted murmurs nearly broke his heart. Only those near the front cried out, and they were so few. No, he thought. Perhaps their previous priest was a calm, quiet man. Faith in crowds was like a fire. Once it started to burn, it’d spread with incredible speed. He had to ignite it.

“In this day, we kneel to Karak and present our offerings for his protection, his strength, and his blessings. In this day, we of the faithful receive our reward for our loyalty. Are you faithful, people of the Yellow Rose?”

A bit more energy this time as they shouted yes. Darius smiled. He felt his nerves sliding away. This was no different than Durham. They needed to see his own faith, feel his own energy pouring out of him. And he would give it.

“I asked are you faithful?”

More shouts. They were waking up now, leaving their slumber to join the Lion.

“Then let us pray.”

Darius drew his sword, flipped it about, and stabbed it into the balcony. Hands on his hilt, he bowed his head, but something was wrong. The crowd murmured, and immediately he knew he’d lost them. What was it? Opening his eyes, he realized his error.

His sword bore no flame. Even the common folk knew that its strength mirrored that of his faith.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sebastian asked, standing beside him with his hands clasped behind his back.

Darius opened his mouth to lie, then stopped. No, he would not profane his soul before thousands of witnesses.

“My faith in Karak is strong as ever,” he said, just loud enough for Sebastian to hear. “But I fear I have displeased my god, and he has denied me his blessing.”

Lord Hemman stepped away. A single motion of his hand sent guards rushing in, surrounding him. Down below the crowd erupted with confusion. Darius kept his sword where it was, though his grip on the hilt was strong enough to make his hands hurt. He eyed the guards, waiting for one to make their move.

“Do not make me cut you down while they watch,” Sebastian said. “No matter if you deserve it or not. By Karak, how could I be so foolish? Now release your sword!”

Darius thought to resist, but he’d never make it out of the castle alive. More than ever, he felt revealed of his failure. Sebastian could give near exact count of the amount of men and women that had just seen the proof of Karak’s displeasure with him. He would not go to the Abyss, not as he was.

“As you wish,” he said, letting go of his sword and stepping away.

“Calmly,” Sebastian said to his guards. They took Darius by the arm and led him away, and it wasn’t until they were out of sight of the crowd that they clasped his hands behind his back and bound him. Darius repeated a litany of faith to Karak as Sebastian stepped back to the crowd, lifted his arms, and resumed the offerings as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

*

H ours later, Darius sat in the cold darkness, his hands chained to the wall. His arms ached from the uncomfortable position, but he refused to let it bother him. He would not give Sebastian the satisfaction. Even worse was the jailor. He lurked in the corner, barely visible in the smoldering light of a torch. Whenever Darius tried to move, or groaned with pain, the man would open his mouth to laugh, though he’d make no sound. Someone, perhaps even Sebastian, had removed his tongue. This jailor would tell no secrets, and make no bargains.

The door creaked, and then light pierced the darkness. Darius closed his eyes and prayed for the thousandth time to Karak for forgiveness.

“Well this is certainly interesting,” Sebastian said. When Darius opened his eyes, he saw the lord standing at the entrance to his cell, torch in hand.

“Unnecessary is a better term,” Darius said.

“Perhaps. I hope you know where you are. You’re chained in the same cell Pallos was when you executed him in the name of Karak. I’m sure there’s some irony here, though I won’t know it yet until you tell me your story.”

“I have no story to tell. I am a faithful servant of Karak.”

“Then Karak has refused your service,” Sebastian said, stepping closer to the bars. “Why is that, paladin? How did you fail?”

“I did not fail!”

Sebastian laughed as Darius blushed, ashamed of the outburst. What was happening to him, that he would lose his temper so easily?

“You humiliated me before my people,” Sebastian said, pacing before the cell. His footfalls echoed with maddening consistency. “Some now claim the offerings are extra taxes clothed in the garb of faith. Others want your head, for they decry you an imposter. I’ve spread a few rumors of my own. My favorite is that you were pretending to be a paladin to make an assassination attempt on my life. So long as no one understands what’s really going on, I can manipulate this to whatever outcome I desire.”

“And what outcome is that?” Darius asked, feeling too tired for games. “What do you want with me? I did you no wrong. You heard my words. You know I speak truthfully of my faith in Karak.”

“This isn’t about you, boy,” said Sebastian, and he grinned at Darius’s reaction at the term. “This is about the rest of your kind. I’ve sent riders in search of the nearest priest or paladin of Karak that might know who you are, and what it is you’ve done to soil your name. What will they tell me when they return? What does the Stronghold think of the paladin named Darius?”

Darius closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold stone.

“They’ll say I am a murderer,” he said. “They’ll say I have turned against Karak and betrayed my Order.”

“Did you?”

Eyes still closed, he shook his head.

“I don’t know anymore.”

Sebastian chuckled.

“Then I don’t know, either. I won’t pass judgment on you, just as I passed no judgment on Pallos. Your own kind will come for you, and do with you as they wish. Until then, you’ll stay here.”

“I’m sure the Stronghold will reward you well,” Darius said as Sebastian turned to leave. “That’s what really matters, I know.”

The lord glanced back and smiled.

“Why, that thought never crossed my mind. Sleep well, Darius.”

The door slammed shut, and the darkness returned once more. In that darkness, Karak’s prophet laughed.

“Sleep now,” Velixar said, waving an arm at the mute jailor. The burly man slumped in his chair and passed out. Stepping out from the shadows, the prophet crossed his arms and sighed. His red eyes, irises of fire, chilled Darius’s blood and sent shivers up and down his spine.

“So this is where I find you, you who I thought held such promise? Locked in a dungeon, chained to a wall so you cannot even kneel in prayer to your god? Pathetic.”

“What do you want?”

“Come now, don’t act the idiot with me, even if you did seem somewhat dimwitted to Sebastian. You know what I want. I am no deceiver, no creature of lies. I told you my desire when we first met, and I’m not one prone to change.”

Darius did everything he could to not meet that gaze.

“You want me to learn from you, to accept your word as the word of Karak. I still refuse, prophet.”

Velixar laughed, and there was nothing pleasurable in the sound.

“Yes, because the world certainly agrees with you. Tell me, why am I the one with Karak’s power, and you the fool locked in a cell? Why do the rest of the faithful refuse your wisdom? If even that egomaniacal Sebastian sees through your lies, what hope have you for the rest of Dezrel?”

“Always questions,” Darius said. “How do I learn from you when you say nothing?”

Velixar walked over and brushed a pale finger across the jailor’s forehead.