David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

“Paladin of Ashhur,” shouted the pale man who seemed a priest. “Karak has declared your life forfeit. Meet your executioner.”

And then Darius drew his sword. At sight of the dark fire wreathed about its blade, Jerico felt his last vestige of hope die.

Darius felt the eyes of everyone upon him as he stepped into the burning forest. Even Karak seemed to watch him, and he prayed he would not disappoint. His faith was strong. He would endure. No matter that Jerico looked to him with such betrayal and sadness that it rent a hole in his heart. No matter that he felt fury at the entire circumstances thrusting them into such a battle. Only Karak’s will mattered, and Karak’s desire was plain, simple.

“I will not ask for forgiveness,” Darius said as he lifted his sword with both hands and adopted an offensive stance. “Not for this. You are to die, Jerico. My god demands it.”

For a brief moment, the old Jerico surfaced, a half-smile stretching at his face.

“Then tell him no.”

Darius grinned, though he felt no humor.

“Not this time. I have rejected him once, and was rejected in turn. Not again. You are a plague upon this world, a false light that must be extinguished. Dezrel was not made in your image. Ashhur’s hope is a hope of fools and peasants. Karak is truth. The wretched, the broken, the selfish, the weak… they will burn in fire. My fire.”

He swung, and it seemed his entire world slowed to a crawl. His sword struck Jerico’s shield, two lights intertwining, the dark and light bursting together in violent sparks that showered the ground. Darius felt a spike of pain from the contact, but Jerico felt it as well. Both staggered back, breathing heavily.

“I won’t break,” Jerico said, repositioning his shield. “You know that.”

“I know you’re a fool.” He swung again, trying to shatter Jerico as if he were a stone. Sword and shield connected, and the shockwave of it echoed throughout the forest. “I know my faith is stronger. I will break you. I have no choice!”

At his third swing, Jerico parried it aside with his mace and then lunged, his shield leading. Darius screamed at the painful light. Never before had it made his eyes ache so. He turned away and rolled, avoiding a swing from the mace. Spinning on his knees, he kicked to his feet, stabbing. Jerico shifted to the side, narrowly avoiding an impaling.

“No choice?” Jerico cried, stepping back as Darius swung wildly. “Is that what you tell yourself? You are no slave, Darius, no puppet. I was your friend, damn it, remember that!”

“Friend?” Darius asked as their weapons connected. When Jerico tried to shove forward with his shield, Darius was ready. He pulled back and struck it with his blade, the dark fire flaring. They both felt the pain, but Darius knew his blows were raining down ever harder, Karak’s strength flooding his veins. The other paladin staggered deeper into the forest. The red light of the fire shone upon them, and in the glow Darius felt himself returned to the Abyss, fulfilling his visions.

“Friend,” Jerico gasped, stumbling onto one knee before quickly standing.

“I gave my life for you,” Darius said. “I sacrificed everything, even my faith, for you. And what do I find? You leading a rebellion, sowing chaos throughout the North. At the side of bandits? Rebels? I have suffered every day since, cast off, abandoned, tortured… and I see it was for nothing. You worship a lie. Too long I accepted it, treated you as an equal. But you’re not. You’re nothing, and at last I see it… friend.”

Jerico shook his head, at last showing despair.

“You can’t believe that,” he said quietly.

“By my actions, my proof.”

Darius swung, only to have Jerico block. The metal of his mace groaned, but held. Jerico shoved it aside, then shifted so his shield shone its light directly into his eyes. Darius fell back, swinging wildly to keep the other paladin at bay.

“Where were you when I suffered in prison?” he cried. “Where was Ashhur when Velixar took the lives of his faithful? Where were either of you as I butchered that family? He has abandoned this world, abandoned us all! Look at you, last of his kind. What lies can you offer? What hope can you possibly believe in? Tell me why… tell me why I wasn’t stopped?”

Jerico remained back, seemingly with no desire to go on the offensive. The sadness on his face only grew with every word Darius spoke, and for whatever reason, that infuriated him further. Darius stepped in and swung, crying out the name of his god. The fire on his blade consumed it fully, and a word came to his lips, its meaning unknown to him.

“Felholad!” he screamed. The very metal of his blade vanished, nothing but the burning will of his god. It struck Jerico’s shield with the sound of thunder. Bright light flared, but Darius’s fire sucked it in and defeated it. Jerico flew back several feet before hitting a tree, his head smacking against it hard enough to leave a smear of blood. He slumped to his knees, remaining upright only by leaning his weight on his fists. Blood trickled down his neck and dripped to the scorched grass.

Darius held his blade high, clutching it with both hands as he towered over his defeated opponent.

“Karak’s judgment,” he whispered.

“Stand with me,” Jerico said, and he looked up without any anger, any malice, only disappointment. “Remember, Darius. Stand with me.”

The words Jerico had said during the fight against the wolf-men. Side by side, they’d fought, bled, and been ready to die. And so they had, making their stand against the chaos of the world. It didn’t matter Darius had failed to protect his charges, that his lack of strength had doomed many. Jerico had understood, and called him to fight without ever casting blame or judgment.

Side by side.

The fire of his blade, fueled by his hatred, his anguish, his certainty, could no longer be sustained. It dwindled away, still bright, but no longer the Felholad it had become. In that brief moment, Darius felt terrified to be once more alone, abandoned, a failure to the vision he’d seen. In that brief moment, Jerico lunged to his feet, his mace swinging. Darius was too slow to block, only partially deflecting the strike. The mace struck the side of his head, the flanged edges tearing into his skin. Blood spilled, and he collapsed from the blow as his sight blurred. His hands felt strange to him, and the sword slipped to the ground. Tears in his eyes, he saw the fire fade completely.

More than anything, he felt alone. On his knees, he looked up at Jerico, who stood with the mace at ready.

“Do it,” he said. “Kill me. Gods help me, you don’t know what I’ve done. I can be this no longer.”

Jerico hesitated, and for some reason that hesitation filled Darius with fury.

“I said do it!” he screamed. “Coward! I’ll not be judged!”

Instead Jerico flung his mace to the ground, shifted his shield onto his back, and offered his hand. Darius stared at it, unbelieving.

“Take it, and stand,” said Jerico.

“Why?” Darius asked.

“Because I need to believe you aren’t lost to me, otherwise I might as well throw down my shield and join you in death. Now stand.”

Darius felt Velixar’s words searing through his mind. He thought of the massacred villagers, of the horrors at Durham. He felt guilt crushing him, denied for so long by a certainty of faith he no longer held. Through it all, one thing echoed over everything: Velixar’s own words now turned against him.

Darius looked to Jerico’s offered hand, and a face containing no anger, no blame, only forgiveness.

“What this world needs,” he whispered.

He took it and stood. Jerico embraced him, and he laughed.