David Dalglish: Clash of Faiths

Kaide looked at it, and gestured for Bellok to do the same. The wizard ran a hand through his white hair, and then nodded in approval.

“It’ll work,” he said.

“What will?” asked Arthur.

“I think it best you not know,” Kaide said. “I have my tricks, just as you have your noble honor. Until we reach the Gulch, we’ll march with you, but continue on when you begin setting up lines.”

Arthur looked none too pleased with this, but he did not argue.

“Sir Gregane is leading Sebastian’s forces,” he said. “He’s a good man, and knows how to fight. Whatever you do, prepare for it to not work as you expect. Other than that, from where we believe them camped, we’ll have about a half-day’s preparation before he arrives. Can you do what you hope to do in such short time?”

“I could do it in less,” Bellok said, shooting the lord a grin.

“Just who are you, again?” Arthur asked.

“The card I have hidden up my sleeve,” Kaide said, bowing low. “Now by your leave, I’d like to return to my men.”

“Go.” He waved them on, but when he saw Jerico about to leave, he stopped him.

“Yes, milord?” Jerico asked.

“I heard plenty of opinions, but none from you. What say you to all this?”

“I don’t know Kaide’s plan. He’s hidden it from even me. As to where you battle, the advantages are as you say, and will be better if you can dig even a single trench beforehand. How many men do you expect to fight?”

“Four to five thousand.”

The two stood there a moment in the quiet, and then Arthur began to chuckle.

“I march men to their deaths, all for a cause I cannot win. That’s the truth of this, isn’t it?”

Jerico shrugged.

“If that is so, then why do you continue?”

Arthur sat in his chair and leaned back, eyeing the paladin.

“I looked into you, Jerico, to see what I could find. The Citadel

… there’s a story spreading, though how it fell no one seems to agree. Your paladin friends are vanishing, and some whispers even say they are gone completely. Yet here you are, still fighting. Why is that?”

Jerico shrugged.

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“Aye,” Arthur said, and for once he smiled. “It is. After hiding in caves for years, it feels good to stand tall and do just that. I dare say, it is about damn time. Will you fight at my side, or will you join Kaide’s dogs lurking at the edges?”

“I don’t even know what Kaide is doing. Until I do, I must stay with him. I think he’ll need my help more than you will. In fact, I’m certain of it. I did help train his men, after all.”

Arthur laughed.

“You did? How did that go?”

“I lasted a day before I wanted to break my vows to Ashhur involving decency and murder.”

Arthur stood, and he clasped Jerico’s hand and shook it.

“Stand tall, and fight bravely,” he said. “Consider me honored to have known you, and have you fight against my brother, wherever you may be.”

Jerico smiled, and he did his best to push away all thoughts of the coming battle.

“Ashhur be with you,” he said, leaving the tent to speak with Kaide and find out just what chaos he had in mind.

*

Darius and Velixar camped alone several miles from Deer Valley. Velixar never slept, but he often vanished for long periods of prayer. It was then Darius would sleep. Rarely did he feel rested come morning. Nightmares haunted him, always of the Abyss. He felt its heat beneath his skin. In the darkness, he saw what would be his fate, his torture and release upon accepting his rightful place in the eyes of his god. With fire and flame he would cleanse the sin from the wretched.

But in his dreams he suffered with the sufferers, despite everything Velixar insisted.

Yet those dreams were still better than having Velixar’s burning eyes upon him, or to hear his cold words whispering promises and assurances. He wanted rest, needed it badly, but this time, as the stars rose, the prophet did not leave for prayer.

“Will you need a fire?” he asked as the two sat in the center of their modest camp. Darius nodded. Winter was fast approaching, the last remnants of autumn’s warmth in retreat. A fire sprang forth between them with a wave of Velixar’s hand, and Darius leaned closer to it, his arms hunched and his head low.

“You know what must be done,” Velixar said, watching him from beneath his hood. “Come tomorrow, it will all end. The last consequence of your failure will be faced. Amid Arthur’s army lurks the paladin. I am sure of it. No mere soldier will bring him down. That honor must be yours. What will you do when you meet him in battle?”

Darius thought of the man he’d always considered his friend, however strained their friendship had been because of their opposed deities. What would he do?

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, refusing to look Velixar in the eye. “I will do what Karak asks of me.”

“Karak’s will has often proved elusive to you. I would have an answer, paladin.”

Darius looked up, and he felt a weight upon his heart as he spoke.

“I will kill him. I will cut his head from his shoulders, and hold it high for all Dezrel to see. My faith is to Karak, my god, above all others. Let him go to Ashhur, or Karak, or wherever his soul shall spend eternity.”

A smile spread across Velixar’s ever-changing face.

“You have learned much, Darius, enough that I would consider you both pupil and friend. I know your heart is still troubled. Do not think me blind to your struggles. But freedom comes soon. Bear no guilt for what must be done. Think not of him as your friend, nor as an enemy. He is an obstacle in your path, blocking the narrow road. In this, you must know what Karak has called for. You cannot doubt my words. Since your childhood, Karak has demanded this of you, that you let nothing stand in the way of your faith. Not death, not life, not love, not weakness, and not pride. Faith, Darius. You have it, stronger than most alive, and that is why I offer you a gift, if you would accept it.”

Darius felt a shiver travel up his spine, and he tried to blame it on the weather.

“What is your gift?” he asked.

“Let me see the mark on your hand.”

Darius pulled back his sleeve and held out his sword hand. The skin remained black as charcoal, and looked as if it had been recently charred. It caused him no pain, other than a constant remembrance of his doubt and weakness back in Durham. Velixar put his own hands atop it, his touch like ice.

“Karak marked you, for you went to him seeking your fate if you spared Jerico’s life,” Velixar said. “Now you have seen it, and lived it, all the while bearing Karak’s shame. You doubted his will. You tried to bring mercy to an enemy that deserves only annihilation. Tell me once more the fate you saw.”

“I would fall at his feet,” Darius said, and he felt tears building in his eyes. “I’d be beaten, bloodied, and like a dog I would beg for death.”

“I free you from that fate,” Velixar said. “I free you from Karak’s mark. Your faith has returned, and it will grow stronger than ever. Know Karak’s love has come into you. Know his presence, in his greatest way.”

Velixar’s hands shimmered violently.

Everywhere the mark touched flared with pain, as if Darius had plunged his hand into fire. His arm shook. His stomach twisted, but he had not eaten in a day, and he had nothing to expel. A vision came over him, shocking with its strength and power. He saw himself, and at first he thought it taking place in the Abyss given the fire surrounding them, but then he saw grass and trees. Bodies lay about, cut down by blades

On his knees, his mace lost, his shield broken, knelt Jerico.