by The Drunken Dwarf
[ CHAPTER_1 | CHAPTER_2 | CHAPTER_3 | CHAPTER_4 | CHAPTER_5 | CHAPTER_6 ]
CHAPTER 1 – Grand Inquisitor Neolin
The north wind howled around the tent as Garan waited for the Grand Inquisitor to finish his meditation. Flickering light from two lanterns bounced shadows across Neolin's face, alternately highlighting and shadowing his stern features as he chanted in an arcane language.
Garan had worked for Neolin on two previous missions, each time at the specific request of the Grand Inquisitor. He had no idea how he had come to the man's attention, or why Neolin had chosen to use him instead of one of his own Inquisitors. But even a dread knight knew better than to refuse a summons from Grand Inquisitor Neolin Arathemin.
As Neolin continued his soft chanting, Garan wondered what task was about to be handed to him. The first time he had met the head of the inquisitors had been in the spring, nine moons past. He had just returned from a campaign against the ogres of Farathal when he received the summons. A young inquisitor had been found to be collaborating with the ogres, and Neolin had asked him to bring the rogue inquisitor to justice. Garan remembered the strange juxtaposition of the intensity in the man's eyes, and the flat cold tone of his voice as he pronounced the young inquisitor a traitor and gave Garan his orders to bring him to justice. He remembered that Neolin had called it a request, but refusal was never an option. It was an order - given by a man who had no right to give orders to a full dread knight - and Garan had never thought twice about obeying it.
Garan's reverie was interrupted by the sudden quiet that came with the end of Neolin's chanting, and the simultaneous cessation of the howling wind. He briefly wondered if the two were connected.
"I'm glad you were able to come so quickly, young knight. There is important work to be done for the Mother, and your strong hand is needed to wield the sword of justice." Neolin spoke in a quiet tone, but each word seemed to cut the air as it left his lips.
"I stand ready to deliver the Mother's justice." Garan spoke the words so easily that someone not familiar with the code of the Night Mother's dread knights would never have guessed that by uttering them Garan had just sworn to complete the mission assigned to him or give his life in the attempt.
Garan noticed a brief flicker of surprise on the Grand Inquisitor's face as he swore the oath. It was a rare occasion when Neolin showed any emotion, and even rarer for it to be surprise, but it was unheard of for a dread knight to commit to a quest without hearing the details first. Good, he thought. The surprised reaction of the Grand Inquisitor confirmed that he had not been chanting a compulsion ceremony to force Garan into accepting his task. If that had been the case, the Mother's justice that he delivered would have been Neolin's swift death for trying to control one of her knights. Garan wondered how surprised Neolin would be if he were aware of that.
“A young priestess of the Mother named Delari has been taken from the palace at San Tael. My sources have determined that the Eldanar Cultists are behind her kidnapping. She is being held in their stronghold near Verin Tai. We believe they plan to sacrifice her to Denoon at the next full moon in an effort to break him free from the Mother’s curse of exile. One of the Mother’s paladins, a knight named Morgait De’stran, has been charged with her safe return. You will travel to Verin Tai and assist Morgait in her rescue. Preventing the completion of the sacrificial ceremony is your main task. Once the ceremony is thwarted, you will punish the cultists for daring to touch a daughter of the Mother.”
“I understand, Grand Inquisitor. Do you have any further instructions?”
“None, young knight. Go with the Mother’s blessing.”
“The Mother’s justice will be served. Go with the Mother’s blessing.” The words were barely spoken when Garan turned and rushed out of the tent.
As Garan saddled his Dallarian warhorse, he thought of the mission. Only three days remained until the next full moon, and it was two day’s hard ride to Verin Tai. He would ride through the night. Despite the required haste, he was pleased with the High Inquisitor’s orders. He had not been charged with the priestess’s safety, only the prevention of the ritual and punishment of the cultists. That would simplify things. If the paladin could not rescue her, a quick turn of a dagger could still prevent the sacrificial ceremony. The Grand Inquisitor was a smart man, and he had chosen his words carefully.
Garan flew out of the encampment, his black cloak streaming behind as Nightblade’s hooves beat the ground with an increasing tempo. The guards shivered under their coats as they watched death race out of the camp in the form of a darkly armored figure on horseback.
CHAPTER 2 – Cloaks of Two Colors
Morgait watched the guards change shifts again at high moon. The Eldanar Cultist’s tower was surrounded by a small courtyard enclosed in a 20’ high stone wall. A single gate provided entry. First, the six mounted patrolmen were relieved by fresh men. Once the replacements were back to patrolling the perimeter, the two guards in front of the gate were relieved. After the other eight new guards were on station, the lone guardsman in the watchtower was relieved. The same as last night… the transition was orderly and well executed. The gate was open only for a period of about 5 minutes, and the two footmen at the gate were alert while the mounted patrols changed shifts.
“Curse the moon that holds the Mother’s caress from the land, “Morgait said softly under his breath. If only it were darker, they could gain access by either slipping through undetected, or by overpowering two of the mounted patrolmen and taking their places when they returned to the tower. The strong light from the moon prevented both tactics, as stealth would never work and the light allowed the footmen at the gate to identify the mounted guard’s faces as they returned.
He slipped back to where he had told Nightrunner to wait, mounted and rode back to his camp. As he started a fire he wondered how they were going to gain access to the tower. With a dread knight at his side, he was confident they could force their way through the gate if they struck while it was open, but a fight in the courtyard would alert the tower and it would be sealed before they could reach it.
A dread knight by his side… Morgait disliked working with the black cloaks, but he respected their ability and dedication to the Mother, even if he did not agree with their focus on achieving their goals without showing any compassion for the Mother’s children and other innocent bystanders. He chuckled as he thought about it. “Lack of compassion. Hah! By the mother, if they only lacked compassion, they would be fine.” He thought of his black cloaked partner as he prepared his armor and weapons for the upcoming battle.
The black cloaks didn’t simply lack compassion… they drew it out of the air around them and turned it to fear and dread. The very sight of a black cloak had been known to cause seasoned warriors to bolt, and few men could stand in combat with one without becoming overpowered by fear. Fear. One of the Mother’s strongest influences. Those who did not embrace the Night Mother feared the dark. And her black cloaked knights channeled that fear and changed it from something lurking in the corners of a man’s mind to a physical presence that overwhelmed their foes.
But fear wasn’t the Mother’s only influence. The night also brought comfort and rest. It was these qualities that the gray cloaked knights channeled and enhanced. If the black cloaks are the Mother’s fury, then the gray cloaks are her embrace... defenders of the faithful and guardians of her children. The gray cloaks used the Mother’s strength for healing and restoration. They used their steel to protect and defend.
“I will defend her” he said softly. “I will find her and I will return her to you, Mother.”
“I’m sure you will, brother in her service.”
Morgait instinctively started to channel holy fire as the figure stepped into the soft glow of the campfire’s light. He held the Mother’s power ready as he appraised the man. It took only a fraction of a second to recognize him as a black cloak, and he matched the description given by the Grand Inquisitor. Still, he held the holy flames ready as he challenged the man. “The Mother bless you, friend. What brings you to my camp?” And how did you materialize at my fireside without my noticing your approach, he thought silently.
“My name is Garan, and I come at the request of a dear friend who is missing a child.”
Morgait queried, “The child Amerie?”
“No, her sister Delari is the one I seek.”
Satisfied that he was looking at the dread knight sent by Neolin, Morgait released the power and briefly studied the man before him. The dread knight was shorter than most Alani men, but he was wide-shouldered and wore his dark hair in the traditional Alani braided cut. Garan stood casually in obsidian plate armor, but somehow still had the look of barely contained violence ready to explode into action. His black cloak had a small gray clasp with six intertwined circles raised on a rectangular background. Strapped to his back was a large claymore and an Alani dirk was sheathed at his side.
Morgait was shocked by the six circles. His own gray cloak had a matching black clasp, but his had only three circles of rank. Either the dread knight was far older than he appeared, or he was truly gifted to have achieved that rank at such a young age.
Morgait noticed Garan’s gray eyes studying him closely and felt a slight chill. They were the hardest eyes he had ever seen. He shrugged off the sudden feeling of unease and spoke. “Welcome, Knight of the Black Cloak. We have much to prepare, and very little time remains. At moonset tomorrow night we will be too late.”
CHAPTER 3 – Inside the Walls
The moon was still rising as Garan and Morgait watched the tower guards from the low rise. The mounted patrols circled the perimeter maintaining an even distance with little break in their coverage. With the light from the full moon, it would be hard to approach the walls unseen. Morgait had to trust the dread knight’s claim that he could get them to the walls unseen. As for breaching the walls, he was skeptical of Garan’s claim that walls were not a boundary for servants of the Night Mother, but he saw no choice but to trust in the Mother’s power for that as well. He took some small comfort in knowing that Garan would not have been a member of the 6th circle unless he had proven his skill and devotion to the Mother. Still, it was hard to trust a black cloak to help him rescue Delari.
“Be ready brother, we move now” said Garan as he stood slowly. A dim blue glow surrounded him as he channeled the Mother’s power and clouds instantly formed to block out the moon’s light. “Quickly!” he whispered. “The Mother’s shadows will last a few minutes at best.”
With that, the two men set off at a brisk pace… shadows blending into shadows as they moved toward the tower walls. As they reached the wall a few hundred feet from the gate, the clouds broke and moonlight once again illuminated the field in a soft silver glow.
“Prepare yourself” Garan whispered. “I cannot know what will be on the other side when we emerge from the shadows.”
Morgait unstrapped his shield and removed it from his shoulder. As he slipped it onto his left arm, he wondered what this “shadow walk” would feel like. Garan had told him that they would use the Mother’s power to turn into shadows which would merge with shadows on the other side of the wall where they would then reappear. His shield in place, he began to draw his sword and stopped when the moonlight glinted off the polished blade. He looked at Garan who hadn’t seemed to notice. Garan’s own blade was a massive black-bladed claymore which he gripped lightly in both hands. Nodding that he was ready, he waited for Garan’s spell.
Garan shifted his sword to his right hand and made a series of quick gestures with his left. Morgait immediately felt a chill come over him and watched in amazement as Garan disappeared into a swirl of shadows. The shadows quickly slipped up the wall and disappeared. It was only then that Morgait realized that he too had become a swirling mass of shadow. Steeling his nerve, he took a step toward the wall and felt himself float over the top and back to the ground on the other side. The chill faded as the shadows solidified and he resumed his normal form.
They were in the courtyard next to a small storage building. Morgait recognized the surroundings from the drawings Neolin had provided. It was a relief to see that the intelligence was accurate. Of course, inquisitors were very rarely wrong about anything. The gate was two hundred feet to their left, just in view around the edges of the tower. The tower itself was a mere thirty feet from the wall, with well maintained grass separating the two. Morgait know that just outside his view on the other side of the tower would be the stables. They would have provided cover, but a spooked horse would have given them away. Better to trust empty ground. Beyond the stables would be the barracks for the cultist guardsmen. The entrance to the tower was a hundred feet to their left – halfway between the gate and their position. A solitary guard stood watch at the tower door, moonlight dully reflecting off the dagger he lazily twirled in his hands.
It was Morgait’s turn to take the lead as they approached the guard. He crept forward with the intensity of a lioness stalking an antelope. A single guard should pose no problem, but if he raised the alarm the rescue mission would quickly erode into a fight for survival with little chance to rescue the priestess. After closing half the distance to the guard, he was within range. He would have liked to get closer but the sound of their plate armor might give them away. He prayed that the guard would be dazed for long enough.
He signaled Garan who then sheathed the claymore and drew a large dirk. Morgait channeled the Mother’s power and sent a hammer of force at the guard’s temple. As the shimmering hammer left his hand, Garan sprinted past him toward the guard. The hammer silently smashed into the guard’s temple and he rocked backward under the blow and then staggered to his right. The dagger dropped from his hand as his arms fell to his sides.
Morgait ran after Garan but knew that it would be up to the dread knight to reach the guard before he recovered enough to cry out. The guard moaned softly and raised his hands to his head as Garan reached him. The guard only became aware of Garan’s presence as the dirk was piercing the base of his skull. The dead guard crumpled to the ground as Morgait arrived at the door.
Morgait drew his sword and nodded and Garan opened the door. Morgait burst through the opening followed by Garan who held the claymore in his hands again.
CHAPTER 4 – The Tower
The entry room was small but well-lit by a crystal chandelier. There was a curving marble staircase to the left that followed the wall up to the second level of the tower. Directly across from the entrance, double doors carved from stranglewood provided access into the tower. The small room was richly furnished. Three padded chairs lined the right wall and the entire room was covered in expensive tapestries. A faint scent of jasmine hung in the air. Morgait burst into the room, shield raised as he quickly scanned the surroundings. On his heels, Garan entered the room with his claymore raised and ready to strike. The sword’s black blade now had pale blue licks of flame dancing along the length of it and it seemed to try to draw the light out of the room.
“Empty” Garan whispered. “The Mother smiles upon us tonight.”
As Morgait watched for movement up the staircase, Garan pulled the dead guard into the room and closed the door. “OK paladin, we’re in. Let’s find your priestess.”
Morgait knew the sacrificial chamber was located at the top of the tower, on the third level, but the cells were in the dungeon dug underneath the tower. Would she already be in the chamber? The Grand Inquisitor had not included any details about the ceremony, so he didn’t know how long it took, nor if the prisoner would be in the chamber throughout or if she would be brought in only when it was time for her to be sacrificed. He decided to go to the chamber. If she was in the chamber already, then delaying to go to the dungeon could be disastrous. If she was not yet in the chamber, then a trip to the chamber increased the risk of their discovery, but did not endanger the priestess.
“We take the stairs” he said as he began climbing the wide staircase. Garan took position on his right and they ascended together, swords at the ready. Morgait saw the curve of the staircase as a double edged sword. On one hand, he did not like having his view narrowed so much, but at the same time, it decreased their chance of being spotted. He was glad the dread knight had been thoughtful enough to wear his mukluks instead of plate boots. Even with their soft footwear, he felt like they made enough noise in their plate armor to wake the dead.
They followed the curve of the stairs up to the landing for the second floor. The landing was small, but furnished as richly as the entrance chamber. Two suits of gleaming armor stood watch over stranglewood door leading to the inner portion of the tower, their crossed halberds making an arch over the door. Several tapestries depicting Denoon’s followers at worship adorned the walls. The marble floor showcased a blue and gold mosaic in the crescent shaped symbol of the Eldanar Cult. The jasmine scent was stronger here as a small table held a tray of freshly lit incense cones. As Morgait surveyed the landing he heard muffled voices from above. He turned to warn Garan but the dread knight was already staring up the staircase and shifting his weight into a fighting stance.
The voices became louder and more distinct and Morgait realized that they were singing. It wasn’t someone coming down the stairs – the ceremony had begun! With a renewed sense of urgency, he signaled to Garan and started up the stairs to the third floor. As they climbed, the singing became louder. He did not understand the language but realized that the tempo was increasing. As the pair approached the third landing, drums started pounding and the singing grew softer and was replaced by a harsh chant. A touch at his shoulder brought Morgait to a stop. Garan was pointing up the staircase toward the landing which was just out of sight around the curve. Morgait saw what had brought the black cloak to a halt. Shadows moved along the outer wall. The landing was guarded.
CHAPTER 5 – The Assault
Garan studied the shadows on the wall and then slowly held up three fingers. He closed his eyes and channeled the Mother’s power. A dark shield formed on his left flank. Opening his eyes he glanced at Morgait and saw that the paladin’s shield had white traces of electricity dancing across its face. With a nod to the paladin, he and Morgait sprang up the steps and rounded the corner.
The landing was larger than the previous as there was no staircase continuing up the wall. The inner tower was separated from the landing by a concave wall fifteen feet from the outer wall. A large archway was carved from the center of the wall, twenty feet from the outer wall. A glowing gold crescent topped the archway and cast a golden sheen on the room. Two large tapestries of Denoon covered the inner wall, one on each side of the arch. Standing near the archway were three armored Eldanarians. Two wore the chainmail armor and uniform cloaks of the cultist guardsmen. The third wore gleaming platemail emblazoned with a golden crescent moon centered in a red triangle, the symbol of Denoon’s paladins. The three jumped in surprise as the intruders came into view, but quickly recovered and drew their weapons to meet the attack, the paladin flanked by the guardsmen.
Garan topped the stairs with his blade already swinging in a wide arc from right to left, aimed at the nearest guardsman’s shoulder. Morgait was to his left and charged at the Denoonian paladin.
Morgait’s shield crashed into the other guardsman as he brought his longsword up in a vicious arc toward the Denoonian paladin’s head. The shield bash brushed the guardsman’s mace away and thundered against his chest. There was a bright flash of light and the air instantly reeked of ozone and charred flesh as the guardsman crumpled to the ground.
The Denoonian paladin’s greatsword barely cleared the scabbard in time to parry Morgait’s attack. His sword brushed Morgait’s blow clear to the right and then burst into flame as he channeled Denoon’s power.
Garan’s blade cut deeply into his opponent’s shoulder and the man’s counterstrike faltered as he staggered under the blow, his axe falling well short of Garan. As Garan brought the claymore up for another blow the guardsman recovered from the shock of his wound and swung his axe in a quick overhead strike with his uninjured arm. The dark shield moved to block the strike, turning the axe away and dissipating into wisps of shadow. Garan’s second blow caught the guardsman square in the chest and the man dropped quickly to the ground, life draining from his face as he fell.
The Denoonian paladin stepped back into the archway, using the walls to protect his sides and bellowed, “Intruders in the tower!”
Morgait pressed forward, blocking a blow from the flaming sword with his shield and counterattacking with a series of quick jabs and thrusts intended to back the paladin out of the archway and into the room beyond. The Denoonian deftly parried the blows and stood his ground.
Garan cursed as the paladin shouted his warning and retreated to the archway, preventing him from joining Morgait in the attack. He spoke words in an ancient tongue and shadows gathered into the form of a large python around the paladin’s chest and arms. Its coiled body constricted and drew the paladin’s arms to his sides. Morgait immediately pressed his attack, taking advantage of the paladin’s limited arm movement. A quick feint to the left followed by a wide swing from the right was too much for the Denoonian paladin’s restricted sword to follow, and Morgait’s longsword flashed as it removed his head from his body. As the paladin fell, Morgait advanced through the archway, Garan following immediately behind.
The ceremonial chamber was large, occupying the entire third level of the tower. The windowless room had five rows of raised benches surrounding a large marbled floor. In the center of the room, steps led to a large raised stone altar. Delari lay strapped to the altar, dressed in a white robe with a golden crescent on the chest. Two women stood next to the altar, both wearing white gowns with the golden crescent of the Denoonian priests. The woman on the left had a golden circle surrounding the crescent, marking her as a high priestess. She held a silver bladed dagger in her hand and was pointing to the archway. The other priestess held a long silver staff over her head and was looking up to the tower’s ceiling.
Surrounding the raised platform were fourteen kneeling men in heavy white vestment, clean shaven heads bowed as they continued chanting seemingly oblivious to the commotion around them. Four of the men beat drums as they chanted.
The benches were empty except for a lone man to their right. He was standing facing them with his arms pointed at them, palms together. As they entered the room, a small ball of fire shot from his hands, straight at them.
Garan dove between two rows of benches and Morgait ducked behind his shield. The fireball hit his shield and exploded, sending flames roaring in a great sphere centered on the point of impact. The shield protected Morgait from the blast, but he saw that when Garan got back to his feet he was unsteady and appeared to be badly burned.
Morgait began to channel the Mother’s healing power as Garan stood unsteadily. Although he swayed on his feet, his voice was clear as he shouted the words, “Druk’Thal Malaise. Druk’Thal Benedict.”
As he spoke the words, Garan seemed to grow steadier on his feet and all visible marks from the burns disappeared from his face. When Garan finished speaking, the magician who had conjured the fireball screamed as his skin blistered and melted. Morgait had heard that a dread knight could transfer their injuries to an opponent, but had never seen a demonstration of the feat before. He released the healing power and charged toward the altar.
The magician fell to his knees but began gesturing wildly with his hands as he spoke an incantation.
Garan pointed his claymore at the magician and spoke a word under his breath. The pale blue flames that had been dancing along the blade formed into a ball on the tip and then shot toward the magician. He died before he finished his spell.
Morgait was halfway to the center of the room when a streak of golden light flew from the tip of the staff held aloft by the priestess. The light hit his shield and it crumbled into ash. Morgait continued his charge as she brought the tip around and aimed it at him. The men surrounding the platform continued chanting, now at a frenzied pace.
As Morgait reached the circle of men, a stream of fire shot from the tip of the staff. He channeled a protective barrier but the heat penetrated and pain shot through his body as the flames engulfed him. Dropping to his knees, he channeled healing power into his body as the priestess waved the staff in a circle over her head.
Garan’s attention was riveted on the high priestess as he raced toward the altar. She held the dagger high but she was not tensed to strike. He knew she was waiting for the chant to complete before striking. He had to reach her first.
Morgait finished healing himself and scrambled to his feet as the priestess circled her staff. He reached the platform steps and ran into an invisible wall. She must be casting a barrier ward, he thought. He swung his sword into the wall and it rang out as it bounced off. He noticed her flinch under the attack and decided that he could break the ward. He began a flurry of attacks on the invisible wall. The priestess jerked and staggered under the onslaught but she kept the staff twirling in the circular motion and the barrier held.
Garan was so focused on the high priestess that he didn’t see Morgait’s battle with the barrier. He ran full speed into the invisible wall and fell backward in surprise, dropping his sword as he fell.
As he reached to pick up his sword, one of the chanting men suddenly reached out and grabbed it, whirling to his feet and facing Garan. The dread knight channeled and the man screamed in terror, dropping the claymore and running from the room.
Morgait’s assault on the barrier finally succeeded as the priestess stumbled under a blow and the staff’s circular motion was interrupted. As he leapt up the steps, the chanting ended with a sudden thunderous roar and he saw the high priestess tense to begin her strike. He threw himself between Delari and the high priestess, the silver dagger ripping into his right shoulder instead of Delari’s heart. He rolled to the ground next to the altar as the high priestess recovered and raised the dagger for another strike. He desperately tried to get to his feet in time to stop the attack but knew he would be too late. He was so focused on stopping the attack that he never noticed the staff swinging toward his head. The last thing he saw was the dagger descending toward Delari’s chest as the silver staff crashed into his head.
Garan picked up his claymore and turned to see Morgait climbing to his feet next to the altar as the priestess attacked him with her staff. The high priestess was poised to strike at Delari. He channeled and a large black fist erupted from his palm and struck the high priestess in the chest, knocking her backward and sending the silver dagger flying. He strode up the steps toward the priestess and she turned to face him, one end of her staff slick with Morgait’s blood.
He saw the fear in her eyes as he brought the sword crashing down at her, yet she managed to use the staff to turn his attack. Blow after blow she parried and blocked with a skill that would make most swordsmen jealous. Garan knew it was only a matter of time though. He was still channeling dreadful countenance and could see the fear growing in her eyes. The staff was an excellent defensive weapon, but when her hands began to shake…
Lightning crackled behind him and he smelled brimstone in the air. He knew the high priestess had summoned a daemon before he turned. Altering his attacks he spun around the priestess and saw the daemon materializing behind where he had been standing. There wasn’t much time. He had to finish the priestess before the daemon was able to attack.
Her hands trembled as she blocked his next swing, and he knew it was time to strike. Channeling his rage into a devastating strike he brought the claymore down. The staff barely rose to meet the blade, and it lacked the force necessary to block the blow. Staff crashing to the side, his claymore caught the priestess on the shoulder and cleaved halfway to her heart. He pulled the blade free as she fell.
The daemon roared, silvery control leash running from its collar to the high priestess’ hand. It stood eight feet tall with a man’s body and a vulture’s head. It was covered in russet scales and sharp claws extended from each hand as it lunged at Garan.
Garan brought the claymore up in a quick strike at the daemon’s leg, but the blade glanced off the scaled beast and it swiped viciously at Garan’s head. He rolled to his left and came up in an offensive fighting stance known to none outside the sixth circle, Shadowy Viper. He twisted his body and the claymore cut through the air in a sinuous attack that seemed to come from several angles at once. The blade brushed off the creature’s scaled chest as its claws dug deep furrows in Garan’s breastplate. Garan channeled and the dim blue flames once again danced along his blade.
The high priestess stood like a statue as she controlled the daemon, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead as she concentrated. The thirteen chanters had ran from the room at the sight of the daemon. Garan heard armored men running up the steps.
As he and the daemon maneuvered, the dread knight knew that time was short. If the guardsmen reached the room before he had dispatched the daemon and high priestess, he would surely fall in battle. He glanced at Delari still strapped to the altar and felt a wave of sadness. He had not wanted to kill her to prevent the ceremony, but it now seemed that it would come to that. Killing innocents for the Night Mother was never easy, but the greater good had to be considered.
The daemon roared and lunged. Garan sidestepped and struck at the beast’s flank. With blue flames growing brighter at the point of impact, the sword cut deeply into the daemon’s side and the creature roared with anger and pain. It twisted to the side and his blade came free. Pressing his advantage, Garan kicked the beast while it was off balance and it went crashing to the floor. Moving to deliver a death blow, Garan was shocked to see the silvery cord fade and disappear. The high priestess had severed the link!
Free from the control link, the daemon’s form changed. As Garan’s blade descended, the creature grew another four feet and became almost twice as broad. Spikes sprouted from its shoulders and elbows and a long spiked tail grew almost instantly. The blade which had been aimed for the creature’s head now slammed into the spikes covering its shoulder. The spikes splintered, but the blade was turned away without causing any real damage. The daemon roared again and this time a physical force from the roar knocked Garan backwards, nearly causing him to loose his footing and fall. As he recovered his balance, the daemon rose to its feet.
Garan looked for the high priestess. An uncontrolled daemon always attacked its summoner. The high priestess was gone. She must have Traveled. As he looked desperately around, he noticed that the guardsmen had arrived, but the presence of the daemon kept them on the landing. Not that it mattered, the uncontrolled daemon would finish him. But not before he made sure that the ceremony would never be completed.
Garan watched the daemon as he assumed a defensive stance and backed toward the altar. Now standing more than twice his height, the creature advanced. It lashed out with a clawed hand and he brought the claymore up to parry. The beast grabbed his blade and howled in pain as the blue flames engulfed its hand. It drew back in pain and he quickly looked back toward the altar to see if he was in striking distance. What he saw surprised him.
Morgait grabbed the altar and pulled himself to a standing position. His vision swam as he rocked back and nearly fell back to the ground. He saw Garan battling the daemon, backing toward the altar and he knew what the dread knight was going to do. As the dread knight looked back Morgait shouted, “Hold the beast, brother. Hold it!” Morgait began channeling the Mother’s healing power.
Garan parried another claw and went on the offensive, claymore a blur as he weaved the Seven Blades attack form in desperation.
Surprised by the sudden fury of his opponent’s attack, the beast briefly gave ground, the deadly blue flames arcing and dancing inches from its face as it backed away. Studying the attack as it gave ground, the beast timed a kick right after one of Garan’s strikes and caught the dread knight on the knee as he advanced.
Garan felt his knee explode in pain as he fell. He raised his claymore just in time to catch the daemon as it leapt for him, blade ripping into the beast’s left arm as it reached for him. The daemon scrambled to the right and prepared to strike again.
A white light filled the room and the beast recoiled, howling in agony. Garan turned and saw Morgait advancing, glowing holy symbol in his left hand, gleaming longsword in his right.
“By the power of the Night Mother, be cast from this world, hellspawn!” Morgait roared.
The daemon cringed and took a faltering step backward, looking confused. Morgait advanced. “I command you hellspawn, begone. Back to the nether regions with you.”
The beast once again took a step back and seemed to shimmer and fade slightly. Morgait continued his advance. “By the power of all that is holy, I banish you from this place!” he yelled.
The daemon again faded and regained its form. It realized that the paladin did not have the strength to banish it outright, and it struck suddenly.
The daemon attacked swiftly, but the paladin was faster. He dodged underneath the sweeping claws and drove his longsword into the beast’s ribcage. The daemon howled and twisted. Morgait held his sword firmly and it ripped through the beast’s flesh as it twisted. Suddenly there was a loud crack and the sword shattered in Morgait’s hands.
Garan was on his feet now and spoke an arcane phrase. A dark bolt of energy streaked from his hands and crashed into the beast’s chest, knocking it backward and leaving a charred wound where it had struck.
Garan tried to charge the beast and fell to the ground when he put his weight on the shattered knee. He cursed and drew his dirk.
Morgait channeled and a shimmering hammer appeared in his hands. As the beast staggered back from the impact of Garan’s shadow bolt, he pressed forward, swinging the hammer in a vicious arc. The daemon raised an arm to block the blow and then the hammer struck there was a brilliant flash of silver light and thunder reverberated through the room. The creature’s arm dropped limply and it roared in pain.
The force of the roar knocked Morgait back and the beast lunged forward in attack. A look of shock appeared on its face when Garan’s dirk buried itself in its throat. The beast fell forward.
As the daemon crashed to the ground at his feet, Morgait brought the hammer down on its head and there was once again a brilliant flash of light and thunder boomed as the blow landed. The daemon twitched twice and was still.
CHAPTER 6 - Escape
Garan was struggling to his feet, watching the guardsmen at the door. “Heal me and then rescue your priestess” he said. “I can deal with them.”
Morgait channeled the Mother’s healing power and the destroyed knee was made whole in seconds.
Garan was on his feet, sword in hand as the guardsmen entered the room and formed a battle line.
Garan watched closely as the twelve guardsmen in chainmail, armed with pole axes advanced. When they had closed half the distance, he began channeling dreadful countenance. He immediately saw the fear in their eyes as they continued to advance hesitantly. He channeled again and the blue flames on his sword turned to black. The room became dim as the blade drank the light.
The line of guardsmen wavered and broke as first one man ran, followed by several more. Only four men continued advancing.
Garan smiled as he waited for them. Another guardsman turned and fled.
As the guardsmen cleared the last row of benches, Garan spoke and the black flames leaped from his blade toward the center guardsman. The flames engulfed him and he collapsed without a sound. The two remaining guardsmen turned and ran from the room.
Morgait loosened the straps that held Delari to the altar and helped her to a sitting position. “Are you harmed priestess?” He asked. “I fear that I cannot channel more of the Mother’s power. My spirit is drained.”
“I can walk, but cannot channel. They severed my link with the Mother. I will require Cleansing before I can touch the Mother’s power again.”
“Then we will hope that the black cloak can lead us to safety. The Mother’s power is strong in him.”
After he spoke, they both looked toward Garan in time to see the last two guardsmen running from the chamber.
“Quickly” Garan said. They had no appetite for battle, but more will come. If another paladin appears, we will have a battle on our hands that we are in no condition to fight. We must clear the walls and get to the mounts.”
“Nightrunner is coming to meet us at the rear of the tower walls. Your steed is with him.”
Garan had known that paladins could communicate with their mounts over short distances, but was surprised that Morgait could reach so far. The gray cloak was strong.
“To the walls then. I have enough spirit remaining to shadowstep again, but not much more than that. The daemon drained me as we fought.”
As they left the chamber, Morgait took the pole axe from the dead guardsman, still smoldering on the floor. “A cumbersome weapon, but better than a fist.”
“And barely used” said Garan with a chuckle.
Morgait wondered how the dread knight could find humor at a time like this. He hefted the pole axe and followed the other two out the door.
Garan lead the way down the steps, claymore at the ready. They descended quickly. The tower appeared deserted. The door leaving the tower had been left open, probably by the fleeing guardsmen.
As Garan peered out into the night, he heard the sounds of men arming themselves. Good, he thought. The cultist guardsmen from the barracks were not yet ready. They must have thought the initial response would be enough and had not roused the entire company. “Go quickly to the wall wherever the horses are waiting. If there is pursuit, I will hold them. When I arrive, be ready to shadowstep.”
Garan stepped into the night as a guardsman rounded the corner and came into view. He attacked immediately and Delari and Morgait ran toward the wall.
The guardsman nearly avoided the first blow, taking a glancing cut to the forearm. He attacked as he called out, “Intruders in the courtyard!”
Garan parried his attack, reversed direction and thrust the pommel of his sword into the man’s face. The guard collapsed with a groan.
As Garan turned to run after Morgait and Delari, he heard armored men running toward him from the barracks. He channeled quickly and ran.
Four guardsmen were closing on Garan when they hit his snare. The magical trap stretched across the courtyard and the men chasing him suddenly felt like they were moving through a stream of icy water. Garan disappeared around the corner of the tower as they struggled to give chase.
Garan met the others at the wall and quickly channeled. The three became shadows and silently slipped over the wall. When they appeared on the other side, Nightblade and Nightrunner were waiting. Morgait mounted first and helped Delari onto Nightrunner, sitting in front of him. As Delari mounted, Garan leapt into Nightblade’s saddle. Within seconds, they were off.
After a ten minute gallop, they slowed the horses to a trot. Garan spoke quietly.
“I’ll ride with you for an hour. Then I must return to the tower.”
“Return to the tower?” asked Delari. “Why would you return to that place?”
“You cannot go back, brother” said Morgait. “We must get Delari back to San Tael.”
“No brother, it is you who must get her home safely. I have other business to attend to. The Denoonian high priestess must be punished for her acts against the Mother.”
The others shivered at his tone. They rode on in silence.
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