By Zenya
A long time ago a dwarf embarked on an adventure that changed the face of a fighting class forever.
This is his story.
Past and Present
Baruk the Brave was standing in the doorway of the Chamber of Preparation pondering the significance of the impending event. He was an elderly dwarf, bent and not as quick of body as he once had been, but his wit remained sharp and his ideas clever. Two silver clasps, the insignia of his position as Commander of the Holy Knights, were adorning his long, snow-white hair and beard as usual; one for his beard and one for his hair. His wrinkled face revealed keen, black eyes, set deep atop a nose, which was considered large even among dwarves. The mithril ceremonial armour he was wearing had been polished by his wife just before sunrise that very morning and now it was gleaming proudly in the soft candle light of the chamber. Baruk's gemmed, sheathed sword was clinging loyally to his waist just below the horned helm he had securely tucked under his left arm. The light blue cloak of the Protectors of the Realm, which he saved for special occasions such as this, was trailing gracefully down his back, giving him a touch of majesty.
The usually friendly and tranquil eyes of Baruk had gone through a rare change just as he entered the Chamber of Preparation. They were now conveying a clear nervousness, bordering on fear, as he watched his apprentice solemnly getting ready for his third and final trial of knighthood. This young dwarf was the best, but also the most reckless student Baruk had ever had. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, remembering his own rite of passage, which had taken place so long ago.
Baruk had been a young lad of only 35 summers, barely old enough to have learned the proper way of braiding a beard, when it had been his turn to try to claim the title of Paladin, Protector of the Realm. He was the youngest dwarf ever to have attempted it and he was the youngest dwarf ever to have succeeded. Suddenly, the memories of that fateful day flooded his mind and became as clear as boar meat broth. He could hear the sharp clang of his sword and the crackle of the shattering bones of the foe. The smell of his own blood mixed with dry dirt assaulted Baruk's nostrils as strongly as it had on the day of his final trial. He could feel the hits he had sustained and almost cried out in pain. Even the angry, red scar across the right side of his face, which bore witness of that long and terrible battle, began to ache. The scar had never completely healed, for he had been struck by a blade imbued with an unknown curse. But despite his serious wound, he had won the battle in the end. His only regret was waiting so long before springing the trap he had been carrying. Had he done it earlier in the fight, the cursed blade might never have touched him. He sighed. Oh well, forever mourning over mouldy bread doesn't fill your belly, he thought. Someday one of our healers will surely find a cure for my scar.
He knew very well what his student was about to face, but the lad was well trained and quicker than Baruk had ever been. Yet, he couldn't help but worry a little. The lad was special, no doubts there. But there was an air of disquiet about him, a care of some kind the older dwarf couldn't quite place. Was it an echo of a preordained destiny? Or was it a tremor of an uncertain future, perhaps? Or maybe it was something more terrible, like a premonition of impending doom? No, it couldn't be that. Absolutely not that! The lad would surely know when to use his wit and when to use his sword. He tried to shake off his anxieties by forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand instead, but he wasn’t entirely successful.
Darek, Baruk’s young apprentice, was kneeling in front of an altar dedicated to The Lightkeeper; a deity Darek might very well chose to follow, once he was ready to take that step. With his head bowed low, his unruly red hair and beard managed to hide most of his face from view; only his furrowed brow was visible. As tradition would have it, Darek was wearing the Armour of Trials, a silvery plate mail with golden decorations. Just like every apprentice before him, he was wearing no cloak on his back. The long sword etched with the oath of the Protectors of the Realm, which Baruk had given him during a lavish ceremony the day before, was lying quietly on the floor by his side. Next to it a tower shield was waiting, bearing an elaborate carving of an armoured knight defeating a heinous wraith, the Mark of the Lightkeeper.
'It's time', Baruk said quietly, almost whispering, as though loud words might somehow shatter the moment.
Darek, being lost in concentration, couldn’t hear the words of his mentor and friend. Up until a mere moment ago, his mind had been filled to the brim with the teachings of Baruk. He had visualized battle stances and openers, bridges and powerful finishers, carefully going over each step and swing. He had even made sure he knew all the divine Gifts of Virtue by heart, including the ones he wasn’t powerful enough to use yet. In fact, his mind had been working feverishly for quite some time.
But now, at long last, Darek was calm.
The Prayer of The Holy Knight never failed to bring him peace, just like now. The comforting words even managed to temporarily calm the dread, which had been plaguing him ever since the day he almost drowned in Battlebrine Lake at the tender age of 15 summers. Darek had always been a good swimmer, so the accident didn’t make any sense. Something evil must have been in the lake that day; he was sure of it. Something wicked had taken over his will and lured him to dive too deep. No one had believed him, of course. But that horrible day had left him with a void; a need to be something more than he was.
Darek didn't feel it now, though. At present all was as it should be. He was about to reach his goal, his dream. He would soon become a Paladin, just like Baruk, and he would be given a second name. The girls of the dwarven city loved that sort of thing.
'Darek, we must go,' Baruk tried again, laying his hand on the broad shoulder of the younger dwarf.
This time Darek stirred. Bracing himself, he opened his eyes and rose to his feet.
'Welcome back, lad,' Baruk said and smiled. 'The trial is waiting.'
'Aye, Sir,' Darek said and reached down to collect his weaponry. Then, with his green eyes twinkling mischievously, he added, 'Lead the way, oh Master Paladin, defender of midday naps and only dwarf who hasn’t won a single pie-eating contest.'
'Hey now, be careful, young one, so you don't trip over your own self-importance! You may be Champion Pie Eater, but you're no Paladin yet,' Baruk chuckled, as they were leaving the Preparation Chamber. Noisily, they clambered down the winding stair leading them to the bottom floor of the high tower.
'Besides, I prefer a good steak over pie,' Baruk declared.
'Blasphemy!' Darek's impersonation of his aunt, the pastry baker of Bordinar's Cleft, was spot on. Both dwarves laughed, and Baruk’s concerns eased a little.
When they emerged into the velvet darkness of the night, a cool breeze came to greet them. The slight wind ripped a tear in the heavy clouds and the moon, immediately taking advantage of it, showed its pale face for a moment. Dark shapes were standing on either side of the paved path, which snaked from the tower door across the immaculately cut lawn into the darkness of the woods beyond. When the two dwarves started down the path, the shapes saluted in silence and Darek came to realize they were the King's personal guard. The true meaning of what was to come suddenly dawned upon him.
Before long, the two dwarves had left the familiar grounds and were entering the stillness of the forest. Here, the paved path narrowed into a trail littered with roots and rocks, forcing the dwarves to slow their pace. A squirrel hurried across the beaten track and climbed up an old oak, looking for a safe place to spend the night. The cool breeze kept following them, while playing hide and seek among the treetops. And an owl called somewhere in the distance.
'We will be at the trial ground soon,' Baruk announced. 'Remember to mind your beard...'
'...and watch my toes. Of course, don't I always?' Darek grinned.
'Well, I do remember that one time we travelled across the water to Qalia when you actually lost a toe. The first one on your right foot, if I recall,' Baruk said with a wink.
Darek groaned, 'And you'll never let me forget it, will you? Besides it wasn't my fault! I just wanted to know what King Shark tastes like, so I pulled out my fishing rod. The shark was stronger than I thought and it managed to drag me, the fishing rod and all into the water! By pebble and stone, I will always miss what I lost that day...'
Startled by the unexpected approach of the dwarves, a couple of tiny bats emerged from the bushes near the trail and flew away into the shadows.
'Aye, that toe of yours was famous. Like everyone else, I've never seen a hairier one in my life,' Baruk said.
'Never mind my toe, I have plenty more to spare! It's the fishing rod I miss something fierce... Silly little bugger of a shark!'
The forest about them had begun to change. The trees were shorter in these parts and their barks were gnarled, as if life here was a struggle. The thorny underbrush grew low, hugging the ground, keeping all soft-skins at bay.
'Little bugger?' Baruk laughed. 'I wouldn't call a 20 foot shark small, myself... You didn't get much of a taste of it, though. But, at least King Sharks know what dwarf tastes like.'
'Good thing too! Now they know they won't want another bite! I haven't been touched by a single one since!'
'It wouldn't have anything to do with you having stayed away from all bodies of liquid larger than a tankard of ale, now would it?'
'Bah, mere technicalities that!'
The dark silhouette of a square structure dislodged itself from the shadows ahead, chasing away their dwarven merriment. It was then Darek noticed the night had become oddly silent, even the soft breeze was gone. Here the trees were twisted and dead, as if poisoned, and the ground was wet and unstable. The air around the two dwarves was heavy and stifling, like a warning. To Darek's dismay, they stopped.
'We're here,' Baruk said and turned to face his student.’ What you see over there is just the entrance. The actual structure lies buried deep under ground.'
'The Tomb of the Forgotten Hero is my trial ground!? You're pulling my leg, beard and all! No one ever enters this place, at least no one who has happened to develop an attachment to their life.'
'This is it, Darek,' Baruk said. He then took out a golden chain he had worn hidden from view around his neck. A small iron key was dangling from it. ‘This will let you inside. I'll wait here.'
Darek swallowed hard and took the key without a word. As he started towards the foreboding tomb, Baruk said, 'Lad, take this too.'
In his hand he was holding a small, smooth stone shaped like a globe. The odd object didn’t glisten in the sheen of the moon, which had decided to show its face again for a bit. Instead, it seemed to absorb all light around it, giving it an air of being steeped in shadow. 'When you need to, simply throw it against any hard surface. That will crack it wide open, revealing the divine sheen of the Lightkeeper. That light will call to the twin stone I carry, setting it aglow. When that happens, I will come and help you get out.'
'Pfft, I won't need any help,' Darek sounded insulted, but took the stone anyway. 'What makes you think I can't get out of my own accord?'
'You'll know soon enough.'
The young dwarf glowered at his mentor, turned on his heel, unlocked the door of the tomb and with an ominous clang, closed it behind him. Baruk peered up at the dark sky and shivered slightly. It was going to be a long night.
Wit
Darek found the anteroom of the Tomb of the Forgotten Hero to be an uncomfortable place. It was a small chamber with a low ceiling, barely wide enough to hold six grown dwarves. Once he had closed the door behind him the darkness became impenetrable, making him feel as trapped as a rat in a sack. Quickly he turned about and began groping around the door, in search of a torch. Before long his fingers found one sitting in a bracket to his right. After securing his shield onto his back, he set the torch alight with the tinder and flint he always carried in his belt pouch. Instantly the small room was flooded with a warm yellow brightness.
To Darek’s great surprise, the room was utterly empty.
There was no door, save the one leading out into the woods. The white marble floor, walls and ceiling were smooth and polished. Oddly enough, there was no dirt to be found anywhere, as if the chamber had been cleaned recently. Looking down, Darek saw himself standing on a rectangular, slightly raised section of the floor. Hesitantly, he stepped down onto the floor proper.
Right then and there, with a loud scraping noise, the entire opposite wall began to move. Instinctively, Darek stepped back onto the platform in the hopes of stopping the commotion, but to no avail. Down into the floor the wall slid, revealing an arched niche behind it. A huge, black marble gargoyle was crouching in the alcove, which was barely large enough to hold it. Its broad wings were folded across its chest and its clawed talons were digging deep into the white marble slab beneath it. Its face was twisted in a sneer, displaying rows of razor sharp teeth, stained by something that looked like dried blood.
With his heart pounding hard against his ribs, Darek stood frozen by the door, waiting for the abomination to attack him.
But nothing happened.
Must be just a grotesque statue, then, he thought. Feeling his confidence return, Darek decided to take a closer look. Carefully, one step at a time, he moved forward until he stood right next to it.
The statue didn’t stir.
He gave the gargoyle a light tap.
Still nothing.
Maybe pushing it will reveal something, he thought. Placing one hand against the chest of the stone monster, he leaned in little.
The gargoyle didn't budge.
He then placed both hands on it and pushed as hard as he could.
With a roar the gargoyle came to life. It spread its wings wide and floated out into the small chamber, forcing Darek back towards the door. In his fright, he had dropped the torch, which now lay behind the gargoyle out of his reach.
'Who disturbs my sleep?' the monster growled with a scratchy voice, which carried a strange echo as if coming from another plane of existence.
'D... Darek, the paladin,' the young dwarf stammered. He cursed himself for having strapped his shield to his back. He couldn't get it now, pinned as he was against the door.
'You lie, mortal, you're no paladin!' The gargoyle roared angrily, flapping its wings.
'Uh... I… I’m a paladin apprentice,' Darek managed to say, biting his lip and deeply regretting his lie. Paladin’s are devoted to the truth, you oaf!
The living statue stared down at him in silence, as if scrutinizing him. Its flapping wings were almost touching his face.
'Very well, you will do,’ the gargoyle said at last. ‘Find the answer to my riddle and you may pass. If you do not, you will die. Listen carefully, mortal, for I will say it only once.'
There was nothing for it, so Darek nodded.
'The one, who makes me, has no need for me.'
'The one, who buys me, has no use for me.'
'The one, who uses me, can neither see nor feel me.'
'What am I?' the gargoyle growled. 'You may answer only once.'
Darek had never felt so pressured in his life. Fear drove his thoughts in circles and sent his mind spinning. Bread? No, a baker needs to eat, too. Sword? No, a fighter who buys one uses one. This will be the death of me! Cloak? No. You can feel it when you’re wearing it and see it when you glance over your shoulder.
Perspiration was beading on his brow.
Poor mother, she'll have to bury an empty coffin because this thing will have me in its belly. Horseshoes. Yes! That's it! Smith doesn't need, rider doesn't use... But the horses feel them, don't they? Think, think!
Darek was sweating profusely now.
Wait. What was that other thought? Bury an empty coffin. Coffin! A coffin maker doesn't need one himself, since he’s alive, and mother won't use it herself as she’s alive! I wouldn't see it or feel it, because I'd be dead. That's the answer!
'Coffin. You're a coffin!' Darek said breathlessly.
The foul gargoyle looked at him for a moment with those unnerving emotionless eyes and said. 'Correct. You may pass.'
A low rumble sounded somewhere in the depths below and the floor began to tremble. Before long the tremor had increased into violent shaking, knocking Darek off his feet.
Darek saw a slight crack appear across the centre of the floor. The thin slit was as straight as the ruler of a sage. Quickly it grew in width and soon the floor split in two. Then the two separate halves of the floor began to slide away from one another, creating a rapidly growing gap between them.
The gargoyle, ignoring the racket, flew into its alcove, crossed its wings and turned back into stone. Darek scrambled to his feet and started skidding across one half of the receding floor, attempting to grab ahold of the gargoyle to save himself from falling.
But he was loosing ground fast.
As the last sliver of floor disappeared, he threw himself desperately at the statue, but his fingertips missed their mark by only the breadth of a hand. Helplessly, both he and the still burning torch fell into the darkness of the hole, which only a short moment ago hadn't even been there.
Not long thereafter, the wall that had hid the gargoyle returned to its proper place and the white marble floor closed shut.
Then, all was quiet once more.
Sword
For a few confusing moments, Darek had no idea where he was. But soon enough his head cleared and he noticed he was lying on his side, and a very aching side at that, feeling dented and bruised like a well used anvil. Gingerly he rolled over onto his back and sat up. Thank the Lightkeeper! No broken bones, he thought. Looking around, he found himself on a dry heap of leaves, dust and dirt, which had quite effectively broken his long fall, leaving him fairly unscathed. So this is how they clean the chamber above, he smirked. ‘And, like it or not, Baruk was right. I might need a bit of help to get out of here yet.’
Suddenly he smelled something. A thin puff of grey smoke crept over his shoulder, stinging his eyes. Something’s burning! Glancing about in search of the fire, he noticed his torch had landed right on the edge of the dry heap he was sitting on, setting it on fire. With surprising speed he jumped to his feet, kicked the torch away and began stomping on the flames. Not a moment too soon, the fire was out. Relieved, he picked up the torch, lifted it high and began exploring his new surroundings.
But almost immediately, the young dwarf came to a full stop, his jaw dropping in awe.
Never before had Darek seen such splendour. He was standing inside a wide circle of white marble pillars supporting the high ceiling of a large, round hall. The columns were shaped like armoured knights standing regally on pedestals. The floor was as smooth and shiny as the one in the anteroom, but here it was inlaid with exquisite mosaics. This was no ordinary tomb.
The tall walls beyond were covered by magnificent murals telling stories of epic battles taking place in a time long since gone. The victor in every scene was the same handsome human paladin, sometimes with the aid of a small band of Knights. He and his men seemed to have conquered skeletal warlords, undead kings and even something that looked like an evil god. But it wasn’t just the undead that had fallen victim to the might of these men and their leader. In one painting the paladin was impaling a formidable fire breathing dragon with an ornate lance, while his men fought its minions. In another piece of art, a multi-headed sea-monster was defeated by his cunning swordsmanship, while the men were fighting a hoard of pirates. Stunned by all the glory, Darek wondered who this remarkable man had been.
There was a high arched doorway in one of the painted walls of the chamber, which lead into a long passage. Strangely, the hallway was not engulfed by darkness. A faint blue light emanated from myriad of small globs strewn about the floor.
Cave mushrooms! He’d need to collect some of those rare fungi for his aunt, the baker.
Beyond the passage was another vast hall, the home of a stately sarcophagus. Must be the resting place of the hero, Darek thought. Opposite the doorway, just below a painting where the knight, his squire and his men were battling a demon and its skeleton army, there was a simple stone chest, just large enough to fit a grown human. Or a good sized treasure! Darek decided to take a closer look.
On the lid of the chest lay a stone tablet covered by a thick layer of dust, which hid most of the inscription. Only a few words were visible. It read, ‘…a loyal servant slain’. Removing his left gauntlet, he reached out to clean the tablet.
The moment Darek touched the stone, a blood-chilling wail rolled through the tomb, disturbing the shadows, calling to them. The shades heeded the summons and began to amass and swell in haste. From every nook and cranny they came and the splendour of the hall began to disappear into the maw of the gathering dark. Darek noticed that the strong fire of his torch was shrinking, and too soon it was nothing more than a tiny flickering flame. As the tomb plunged into darkness, Darek felt like he was being buried alive. Tightness gripped at his chest making it hard for him to breathe. No, I mustn’t panic!
Just when Darek had had enough, the darkness changed. It began to swirl and bend as if engaged in a dance of death, gaining momentum with each motion. Before long the formerly compact dark had shredded into pieces and one at a time the strips of shadow were sucked into the chest with great speed. Once the hall had returned to its proper grandeur, Darek’s torch replenished and he regained his some of his lost composure.
But the new calm was short-lived.
The stone chest began to spew plumes of darkness through cracks in it sides. Slowly they clustered above the lid, hovering there for a moment before materializing into a twisting black whirlwind. Soon, the outer layer of the twister was changing into jagged plate mail, which flew about haphazardly before settling into place. Trembling, Darek watched as a repulsive, decaying undead emerged inside it, the spitting image of the squire in the painting, with one exception.
Its deformed face.
White bones shone through rotting flesh where its cheeks should have been and the eye sockets glowed red. What was left of its mouth was smirking arrogantly at Darek.
‘Ah, another pathetic fool has come to die, I see. Do not seek mercy here, for there is none to find. Your demise will be as quick or as slow as I see fit.’ The zombie unsheathed a great sword so twisted that it looked like it had been forged out of pure torment. The undead squire stepped down from the stone chest and began to circle the young dwarf, shifting the sword from one hand to the other. A reeking green mist swirled around the evil blade.
Darek scrambled quickly to his feet, unsheathing his sword and raising his shield, quietly cursing himself for the second time that night, now for leaving his gauntlet on the chest.
Glaring at the undead creature, Darek growled, ‘Strong words from someone already defeated and slain!’
The undead squire cackled and said arrogantly, ‘We will see. I grant you first strike.’
Darek was baffled but he hid it well. He dashed forward and thrust his sword at the decaying midriff of the undead, where its armour looked weakest. As he was getting closer to his foe, he noticed a ghostly yellow, pulsating aura surrounding it. He hesitated, but swung his sword nonetheless. With a hollow chink his weapon hit the aura, sending sparks flying in all directions. The undead squire laughed wildly and said, ‘your pathetic mortal flailing cannot hurt me!’
Worried, but still determined, Darek decided to try casting a spell instead. But his blue sparkles vanished as soon as they touched the unholy aura.
Now Darek was afraid. Very afraid. The impenetrable shielding spell of the undead creature made it invincible! He had to find another tactic. Fast.
‘Afraid are you?’ the rotting squire asked wickedly. ‘Go ahead, strike me again!’
I’m doomed! Darek thought desperately.
Quickly he began to rummage through his mind searching for any and every snippet of information he might find useful. What was it Baruk always kept saying? Oh yes. ‘Lad, if you ever find yourself in over your head, clear you mind; don’t think. Instead, learn to trust your instincts. Become the enemy. Feel his movements. And don’t forget, Darek, you come from a very special family tree. Once upon a time, as a reward for courage in battle, one of your ancestors was blessed by a god. Ever since then, your family has been swifter than most.’
Finally, he was grasping the practical importance of Baruk’s teachings. No longer were they just words he had to remember. Now they had begun to mean something.
‘What are you waiting for?’ the undead asked irritably. ‘I said strike me!’
Well, here goes nothing, Darek thought. He clenched his jaw and cleared his mind, concentrating on every aspect of the enemy. He felt the outline of the squire’s armour and the sharp edge of the blade all the way to its tip. He reached out with his mind towards the insidious aura, stretching his perception to the limit. Suddenly he felt the foul shielding buff become almost tangible and its hidden workings were uncovered. The pulsating aura was only impenetrable during its brightest cycle! When the aura was dark, the rotting creature would be unprotected.
Now he knew exactly what to do.
‘I can help you out of your misery, you petty mortal!’ the rotting squire taunted.
‘Brave words!’ said Darek. ‘I’ll be sure to remember them, because they are your last!’ Clearing his mind, he let his instincts take over.
The squire screamed and lunged.
Darek had only dimly seen it coming, but managed to get into a defensive stance and raise his shield nonetheless, stopping the twisted sword from skewering him like a pig. But the shield cracked clean in two and the power of the stab sent Darek stumbling backwards. Half of his shield fell to the floor and shrivelled like burning parchment. That blade is cursed! Darek thought. I’ve never seen a curse so potent. This is nothing like the one Baruk experienced. Something isn’t right here.
But Darek had no time to reflect on it, for the second attack was coming. Quickly he emptied his mind again. He espied the attack would come in the form of a strong vertical cleave. Darek smiled briefly as he felt his perception improving.
Darek heard the blade swishing through the air, cutting across, but his reflexes took him into a quick roll out of the way. As soon as his feet found the floor, he stood up and cast Protection of the Hero upon himself. Then he hurled Holy Judgement, his most powerful Gift of Virtue, at the undead squire, timing it precisely between two pulses. The rotting undead, too busy preparing another assault, missed its chance to counter it. The spell hit the squire with full force on the upper part of its chest. Immediately the armour of the undead began to melt and the unholy aura came to an end. The rotting squire staggered and screamed of rage.
The turn of the tide gave Darek a sweet sensation of power. He hurried to take advantage of the weakened foe, instinctively changing his stance into an offensive one. Then he quickly struck at the partially exposed shoulder of the undead squire. The weakened zombie tried to counter the strike, but failed, and the damaged shoulder pad peeled off and rattled across the floor. The young dwarf took his chance and continued with a smooth bridge, trying to bash the foe squarely upon its head with the hilt of his sword. Already dazed, the rotting squire tried to parry, but it missed again, and the bash came down hard on its skull. The young dwarf braced himself to deliver his powerful finisher. He slashed at the helpless zombie, easily slicing through the squire’s unprotected shoulder, dismembering the arm and sending the evil sword flying to the side. The rotting corpse fell to its knees and howled helplessly.
‘I have gone easy on you so far, but no more!’ the squire croaked. ‘You are nothing but a squirming maggot in my side! I shall cut you wide open now!’
The rotting zombie rose with effort and picked up its sword. Hunching, it advanced on the young dwarf and prepared another attack. In the back of his mind, Darek perceived it attempting a feint. And sure enough, the squire started a vertical swing, but sidestepped, turned and brought its weapon down into a horizontal swing instead, now aiming for Darek’s back. The dwarf rolled again and took the force of the swing with his broken shield, which splintered into a mass of wooden chips. Without thinking, he somersaulted past the undead squire, aimed a strike towards the back of its knees, where there was no armour, and slashed as hard as he could. Both rotting legs were cut off right at the knee and the squire was all but vanquished.
At first Darek didn’t notice the buzzing sound, faint as it was. But when he raised his sword to strike one last time, his ears finally picked up the ever-growing crescendo. Interrupting his slash, he cast a glance over his shoulder into the hallway and beyond. Eyes widening in disbelief, he stared at a dark grey cloud of moving specks flying toward him in an unorganized formation from the depths of the sarcophagus chamber.
Presently, Darek and the undead squire were engulfed by a living cloud of small, carnivorous locusts.
Honour
The hallway between the two chambers of the Tomb of the Forgotten Hero was adorned with paintings of spectacular greenery. Lush, cool forests were sheltering deer, giant spiders and other wild life, all competing for territory. Babbling brooks and lazy rivers ballooned into frothing waterfalls with fish jumping up the stream. Tall trees stretched all the way to the vaulted ceiling where their boughs intertwined, creating a canopy of tranquillity.
But Darek saw none of this; he was too busy running for his life.
Darek was hurrying against the flow of insects, frenetically brushing at his face, hoping to evade their ruthless onslaught by escaping to the chamber of the sarcophagus. The bugs were not here before, so they must have found a way in. Their entrance will be my exit, he thought. Just as he was about to reach the hall, a bellow sounded through the tomb.
‘Enough!’
Darek froze of fright. The powerful command rang from within the chamber of the sarcophagus. He had not heard a voice like that before. It was low-pitched and surreal, bearing the primordial boom of moving mountains. A voice like that could not possibly belong to the world of Telon and yet here it was.
Then Darek realized the locusts had ceased attacking and were buzzing quietly in tight circles. They obeyed the command? What? How? His curiosity conquered his fear and he began inching towards the doorway ahead to investigate what was going on.
Then the voice bellowed again and the entire tomb reverberated to the deafening sound.
‘You, squire! I imbued you with otherworldly powers! How could you allow yourself to succumb to a mortal! You will pay dearly for this failure!’ The threat hung in the air like the looming axe of an executioner.
An enormous dark shape appeared in the doorway, right in front of Darek, startling him, as he hadn’t heard it coming. How could something so large move so silently? With his heart racing he looked up at the figure.
He gasped. It was the demon from the painting!
The body of the devil spawn was a concoction of flowing red lava and grey dead stone. Its mane was an inferno of blazing flames, growing out of its head and back, all the way down to its tail, which was a whip of swirling darkness. Its eyes were tilted, narrow slits of burning yellow and its nose was one large hole in the centre of its ugly face.
‘For a long time I have watched you, son of Bertha the Swift. Oh yes, I knew your mother. She is the reason I have taken such an interest in you. A family tree blessed by a god will spawn special saplings, will it not?’
Darek said nothing, but felt his blood drain from his face.
‘So the question is, will you honour the legacy of your unusual family?’ the demon asked, its speech dripping with evil intentions. ‘What say you? Will you add to its strength or will you weaken it? Will you chose the path of the feeble righteous or will you follow the road of the invincible?’’
Darek looked away.
‘I know you almost drowned when you were young,’ the abomination continued, ‘leaving you hungry for a power far greater than your own. A might that will keep you alive no matter what you face. Isn’t that what you want?’
‘It was you! You were in the lake that day! You did this to me!’ Darek shouted his face turning red of fury.
‘That has no bearing on this matter. I am in need of an apprentice that much is true. But let’s talk about you. The swiftness that runs in your family is extraordinary. Still, despite conquering the undead squire, you yearn for more might, do you not? You wish to become stronger than death.’
Upon hearing these words, Darek was overcome by a yearning so powerful it brought him to his knees. The demon was responsible; it had been in the lake that day. There was no longer any doubt. But here Darek was being offered a power that could keep him alive through anything! Death would no longer be a threat. But there would surely be a price for this, wouldn’t there? Then again, he would be saved!
The demon watched closely as Darek wrestled the idea. ‘Yes, death will only be a reminder of a lesser, weaker time.’
But a warning was growing in the back of Darek’s mind, calming the chaos. This beast is treacherous. He is the creator of my incessant dread. He wants an army of slaves; servants forever bound to his will. They have the power to destroy anything in their path, but they will have no freedom of their own.
‘I can give you the gift of immortality!’ the demon boomed, convinced the dwarf was about to become his.
‘No!’ Darek didn’t know he was able to shout so loudly. ‘I will never sell my freedom! I will never sell my soul!’
The demon howled in rage, lashing at the sarcophagus with his tail, cracking it. Then it said with a sudden eerie calm, ‘you disappoint me deeply, mortal. However, there are so many more like you, waiting for me to rescue them from their meaningless existence! So one less is of no concern. Now, mortal, prepare to die!’ The beast waved his hands and called out an ancient summons.
Instantly the floor seemed to erupt. Darek ran to the sarcophagus and quickly jumped onto it. He watched in horror as one skeleton after another clawed its way out of the floor and began to advance on him.
Darek knew he wouldn’t last long against the demon and his unholy minions. He needed to find a way out and he was running out of time. Frantically he searched for a door or a hatch or even a crack he might squeeze through. But there was nothing to be found.
Now, only one thing remained unused; the globe of Baruk. As Darek fished it out of his pouch, he could feel its shape and smooth surface. Suddenly his instincts told him what he was holding. Of course! It was more than a call for help.
It was also a weapon. With one swift gesture, he threw it to the floor and the globe burst wide open.
Right away, the chamber was engulfed in a pure white light. The brightness was so strong that Darek thought he had gone blind. He could hear shuffling and gasps. Shielding his eyes from the blast of the sheen with an arm, he squinted, trying to see what was unfolding in chamber.
When his eyes had adapted a bit, he saw two shapes locked in a duel; one made of shadow, the other of light. Roars and wails replaced one another in quick succession. Yells and shouts spoken in ancient tongues not heard before on Telon, bounced back and forth off the walls. The army of skeletons was being pushed back into the ground and the dark figure was weakening. With one last bellow the demon created a dark vortex. A portal to the netherworld, Darek guessed. Strange faces and limbs swam around in the darkness of the gate and all light seemed to bend away from it. Before long, the shadow slipped inside it and vanished. Then the gate closed and was gone.
When the forces of darkness finally subsided, the light released from the broken globe decreased into a faint glow. Darek thought he saw the outlines of a benevolent face inside it. He was right.
‘Darek the Valiant, well met. Long have I waited for one as steadfast as you. The Darkbringer is not the only one who has been watching your progress. I, the Lightkeeper, have also done so. Sir Gaewair, who rests here in peace, was the first paladin of Telon. He discovered the Three Lords of the Holy Knights: Righteousness, Truth and Light.’
Darek was speechless. The Lightkeeper himself!
‘On this night, you have found there are also Three Servants: Wit, Sword and Honour. Because of this I shall do something I have not done for an age. I shall grant all paladins of Telon a new Gift of Virtue. You, Darek the Valiant, shall be its first recipient. This Gift I call Lay Hands. Use it well.’
Before Darek had a chance to think of a proper answer, the divine light went out. For a long time Darek just stood there on top of the sarcophagus, contemplating in silence the strange ways of the gods and his own place in the great scheme of things.
His thoughts were interrupted by a faint scraping sound, coming from above. Peering up, Darek saw a hole appear in the ceiling. Above the opening he saw a sky with scattered clouds painted red, yellow and orange by a rising sun. Then a white tuft of hair came into view.
‘Are you alright, my lad?’ familiar voice asked.
Darek cheered and laughed. ‘Baruk! It’s so good to see you!’
‘I’m glad you’re alright, lad! But look at that armour of yours! It’s in quite a state.’
‘A lot has happened here, tonight. Oh, do I have a tale to tell you!’
‘A tale, eh?
‘Yes. I’ve just come across a new Gift of Virtue; apparently because I’m a pioneer like Sir Gaewair.’
‘You mean the one who discovered the Path of the Paladin?
‘Exactly; and this is his resting place!’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Gromel the Poet said it best: ‘O’er some ale…’ Darek said.
‘’… I’ll tell you my tale‘. Aye, that poem is about a company of heroes who went into the world to right some wrongs. Good story that! Very well, Darek the Thirsty Adventurer,’ Baruk laughed as he dropped one end of a sturdy rope ladder down into the tomb. ‘Let’s get you out of here first. Then, as soon as we get our hands on something decent to drink, you can tell me all about your Vanguard, Saga of Heroes.’