David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

One last chance, he heard himself say. Yield to Karak, or face his judgment.

Jerico stared at him, his face full of anguish and sorrow. He said nothing, only shook his head. Darius felt himself dip into the body of the vision, becoming one with it. Sensations nearly overwhelmed him; the heat of the fire, the ache of his muscles from the fight, and the taste of blood on his tongue. Most of all, though, he felt pure, total exhilaration.

He lifted his sword, wreathed with black flame so thick it hid the blade completely. It felt light as air in his hands. His mark, which had marred his skin, was gone. Jerico looked to the blade, then closed his eyes.

Karak’s judgment, Darius heard, though he knew not who said it. It comes for all.

He swung the sword. As it connected with Jerico’s neck, the vision shattered, and he felt himself returning to his true body. He lay on his back in the grass, shivering from the cold. To his left, the fire had dwindled down to nothing. Velixar stood over the ashes, and even he looked shaken.

“Such glory,” he said, his voice soft. “Such honor. Your mark is gone, Darius, and your fate now your own. Show faith to Karak, and you will achieve all you have seen. Fail, doubt, and you will break before Jerico. Two destinies, both yours to decide. Either Jerico falls, or you fall before him. I have faith in you to make the right choice, to wield the power meant to be yours. Karak’s strength embodies you. Stand, Darius. Lift your blade.”

Darius did, and though he felt unsteady on his feet, he could not deny how much lighter his armor felt. When he lifted his sword, it was with a single hand instead of two. At his touch, fire consumed it, dark and deep. The metal of the blade was visible, but only just.

“My choice,” Darius said.

“It always has been.”

Darius looked to Velixar.

“Then I will live, and bring Order to a world that sorely needs it.”

Velixar’s smile was ear to ear.

“As it should be,” he said. “Karak be praised. You have truly returned to the fold.”

Darius sheathed his sword, closed his eyes, and gave his first ever prayer to Ashhur. He asked him to keep his champion from partaking in the battle. Otherwise, his mind was decided. His fate was chosen.

Should they meet, Jerico would die.

“You’re grumpier than normal,” Jerico said as Bellok shouted orders at every nearby person, whether they deserved it or not.

“The whole damn night,” the wizard said, rubbing his eyes. “Ever tried swinging your mace for eight hours straight? I did that with my head. Grumpy doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. The next person who yells next to my ear gets turned into a jumping toad.”

They walked amid the bustle of the camp, preparing to move out. Arthur had sent them a rider, alerting them to Gregane’s location. Come the late afternoon, the battle would begin.

“Are we ready?” Jerico asked, tightening his armor. “I still don’t know our plan.”

“Better you don’t. It’s not going to work.”

“This the grumpiness talking?”

“Common sense. Now where’s that blasted little brat, Kaide?”

Jerico pointed toward the top of a hill.

“Giving his best speech to the men.”

Bellok rubbed his temples with his fingers.

“I don’t have time for speeches. Let me just show you, then.”

The paladin followed him to the wizard’s tent. Inside was a chest, its lid closed. Before Jerico even took a step inside, Bellok whirled on him, jamming a finger against his breastplate.

“Whatever you do,” he said, “not even if Ashhur himself commanded it, not even if you thought your very life depended on it, do not bump that chest. Understood?”

Jerico stammered, his jaw working up and down as if it might somehow figure out a correct response.

“Um… understood?”

Bellok eyed him, clearly not believing, but then turned to the chest and carefully opened the lid. Jerico leaned forward, curious to see what the fuss was about.

“Rocks?” he said. “I must confess, Bellok, I expected something a little more… impressive?”

The look the wizard gave him made him feel like a child, and he started to blush.

“Rocks,” Bellok said, his voice flat. “I spent all night casting spells, turning these into our one slim hope of victory, and you come in and call them unimpressive rocks? Do you think me a loon that guards a few plain stones like they were Karak’s balls?”

“But I-”

“Did you not think for even a moment they might be hidden, or of a magical nature? A wizard’s stash of artifacts, after all, might just be magical.”

“But-”

“And did it not once ever occur to you,” Bellok said, now nearly roaring while jamming his finger an inch away from Jerico’s nose, “that just maybe, maybe, there is an inherent deception involved in the creation of certain artifacts, or that the plain might be infused with the magical, just like your miniscule little brain somehow manages to swing a giant mace to smash other miniscule little brains?”

Jerico stared at him, torn between laughing and running in terror. He started to speak, stopped, watched Bellok narrow his eyes as if anticipating another stupid comment, and then spoke.

“I just-”

“Forget it. Would you like to see what they do?”

Jerico sighed.

“Yes.”

Bellok knelt by the chest and delicately picked up one of the stones. They were about the size of his palm, and smooth on all sides. He gestured for Jerico to follow, and then left the tent with the chest lid still open. Jerico glanced within, saw about twenty more of the stones, and then hurried after.

“Wands and staves are beyond anything Kaide’s men might use,” Bellok said as he led them away from the camp. “But I think even these are within their skills.”

They stopped at the stump of a tree, cut down the night before for firewood.

“Take off your gauntlet,” Bellok said.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to die from too rough of a touch. Gods, how Ashhur puts up with you is beyond me.”

Biting his tongue, Jerico removed his gauntlets and set them aside. Accepting the stone with his bare hand, he was immediately struck by how warm it was to the touch. Bellok pointed to the stump.

“Throw it.”

Jerico wound up and hurled the stone, and only as it left his hand did he realize Bellok had retreated a significant distance. The stone struck the stump, and instead of bouncing off like it should have, it broke into pieces. With a bright flash, the pieces burst into flame. The fire spread rapidly, as if the surrounding area were bathed in oil. Jerico let out a shout at the sudden heat, and he jumped backward. Nearly stumbling, he caught himself, then glared at Bellok’s far too pleased expression.

“Rocks,” the wizard said with a smug grin. “Still unimpressed?”

“Far from it,” Jerico said, looking back. The stump was already black, the fire spreading to the dead grass nearby. The paladin feared a wildfire, but then the wizard raised his hands and whispered words of power. The fire lessened, and then died.

“These will certainly kill a man,” Jerico said, grabbing his gauntlets. “The surprise will be huge.”

Bellok scoffed.

“I would not have them used for something so brutish and simple. I show you a brilliant weapon, and all you can think of is to throw it at the enemy like a child? Think, paladin. Remember the terrain we are to fight on, and where Arthur plans to hold his defense.”

Jerico paused, and then it clicked into place.

“The forest,” he said. Bellok grinned.

“We’ll surround them with fire, leave Sebastian’s men with nowhere to run. With these stones, they’ll find themselves in the midst of an inferno before they even smell a whiff of smoke. Burning them alive may not be honorable, but Sebastian cast aside honor long ago.”