Марк Энтони - The Cataclysm

“I have broken the law. Forgive me, my lord.”

Nikol was pale and grave, but she held her head proudly. She did not kneel from shame, but out of respect.

The lord knight’s face remained stern and cold. Reaching out, he took hold of the sword she offered him and tried to remove it from her grasp. She let it go reluctantly. Not since her brother’s death had anyone other than herself handled his blade.

“You did indeed break the Measure, Daughter, which prohibits the hand of a woman from wielding the blade of a true knight. We will take into consideration the fact that you came to us of your own free will, to surrender yourself—”

“Surrender? No, I have not, my lord!” Nikol stated. Rising to her feet, she shifted her gaze, which had been fixed wistfully on the sword, to the lord knight’s granite face. “I have come to warn you. That false cleric, of whom you speak, is rousing the citizens to violence against the great library! Tomorrow they threaten to burn it, and all the knowledge it holds, to the ground.”

Nikol looked from one to the other, expecting shock, action, expressions of outrage. No one moved, no one said a word. The knights didn’t even seem surprised. Their faces grew more grim and rigid, and dark lines deepened.

“Am I correct in understanding that you did not come here to ask forgiveness for your crime, Daughter?” the lord knight said.

Nikol stared at him.

“You … What … My crime? Didn’t you hear what I just said, my lord? The great library is in danger! Not only that, but the city of Palanthas itself could fall into the hands of this evil man and his henchmen!”

“What happens in Palanthas is none of our concern, Daughter,” said the lord knight.

“None of your concern? How can you say that?”

“Many of these men came from Palanthas, as did I myself. The people drove us out. They attacked our homes, threatened our families. My own lady died at the hands of the mob.”

“Yet,” said Michael quietly, “by the Measure, Sir Knight, you are bound in Paladine’s name to protect the innocent—”

“Innocent!” The lord knight’s eyes flashed. “If the city of Palanthas burns to the ground, it will be no more than the rabble deserve! Paladine, in his righteous wrath, has turned his face from them. Let the Dark Queen take them and be damned!”

“The wrath of the gods has fallen upon all of us,” said Michael. “How can any of us say we didn’t deserve it?”

“Blasphemy!” thundered the lord knight, and he struck Michael across the face.

He staggered beneath the blow. Putting his hand to his cut lip, he saw his fingers stained with blood.

The lord knight turned to Nikol. “The blasphemer will not be allowed within our walls. You, Daughter, since you are the child of a knight, may stay here in the fortress, safe from harm. You will remove your armor, turn it over to us, then you will spend night and day on your knees in the chapel, begging forgiveness of the father and the brother whose memories you disgrace.”

Nikol went livid, as if she’d been run through by her own sword, then hot blood flooded her cheeks.

“I’m not the one who has disgraced the knighthood. You! You’re the disgrace!” Her gaze flashed around at the knights. “You hide away from the world, whining to Paladine about the injustice of it all. He doesn’t answer you, does he? You’ve lost your powers and you’re scared!”

Moving swiftly, she reached out, grabbed hold of her sword, wrested it from the lord knight before he knew what was happening. Lifting her weapon, she fell back, on guard.

“Seize her!” the lord knight ordered.

The knights drew their swords, began to close in.

“Hold,” came a deep voice.

A blast of bitterly cold wind blew out the torches, chilled flesh and blood. Swords fell from numb hands, clattered to the ground with a hollow sound that was like a death knell. The knights’ faces went stark white beneath their helms. Their eyes widened in horror at the sight of the terrible apparition riding down upon them.

“The Knight of the Black Rose!” cried one, in panic.

“Paladine forfend!” shouted the lord knight, raising his hand in a warding gesture.

Lord Soth laughed, a sound like the grinding of rocks in a mountain slide. He reined in his nightmare steed, regarded the knights cowering before him with scorn.

“This woman is far more worthy than any of you to wield the sword and wear the armor of a knight. She stood up to me. She faced me, unafraid. What will you do, noble knights all? Will you fight me?”

The knights hesitated, cast terrified, questioning glances at their leader. The lord’s face was yellow, like old bone.

They are all in league with the Queen of Darkness!” he shouted. “Retreat, for the sake of your souls!”

The knights picked up their swords. Massing around their leader, they fell back until they had reached the massive wooden doors, which opened wide to let them in. Once inside, the doors slammed and the portcullis rang down.

The High Clerist’s Tower stood dark and silent, as if it were empty.

Nikol and Michael spent the night in a cave they found in the mountains. Huddled together for warmth, they slept only fitfully. Again they had the feeling they were being watched. Both were up with the dawn, made haste to return to Palanthas, though what they would do when they arrived was open to question.

“If we can only find the holy disks, then all will be put right,” Michael said more than once.

“We can warn Astinus about the library’s danger,” said Nikol. “And we can take the Disks of Mishakal to safety”

Take them to Lord Soth, don’t you mean?” Michael asked her quietly.

“He saved us at the tower. We are in his debt. If I can end his torment, I will. He is a true knight,” she added, casting a sad and wistful look back up into the mountains. “I know it in my heart.”

Michael said nothing. Soth had saved them, but for their sake or his own? Had he been cursed unjustly or had his dread fate been forged by his own evil passions? Michael could only repeat what had become a litany: the blessed disks would make everything dear, everything right again.

Neither wayfarer was overly concerned at the thought of reentering the city. Having seen the confusion at the main gate, they doubted if the guards would even remember they were supposed to be searching for a beardless knight and blue-robed cleric. They timed their arrival for midday, when the traffic should be at its peak.

But, when they reached Palanthas, they found the road before the city empty, its gates standing wide open.

Alarmed at the sudden and inexplicable change, they ducked into the same grove of stunted trees, waited, and watched.

“Something’s definitely wrong,” said Nikol, eyeing the city walls. “I haven’t seen one guard go past on his rounds. Come on.” She buckled on her sword, wrapped her cloak around her. “We’re going inside.”

No beggars accosted them. No guard hailed them. No one challenged them or demanded to know their business within the city. The walls were deserted, the streets empty. The only living being they saw was a mongrel dog, trotting past with a dead hen in its mouth, having taking advantage of the situation to raid an unguarded chicken coop.

They hurried through the merchandising district of New City, the streets of which should have been filled with people at this time of day. Stalls were closed. Shop windows were barred and shuttered.

“It looks like a city preparing for a holiday,” said Michael.

“Or a war,” Nikol said grimly. She walked with her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Look. Look at that.”

One of the shops was not closed. It had been destroyed, its windows smashed. The shop’s goods—gaily colored silks from the elven lands of Qualinesti—lay strewn about the streets. Ugly epitaphs had been scrawled across the walls, written in blood. Lying in front of the shop was the body of an elven woman. Her throat had been cut. A dead child lay beside her.