Steel Wolves of Craedia (Realm of Arkon, Book 3) (36 page)

The Untainted were the local analog of the Medieval Inquisition. Those who held the portal open for Altus and his people were, as far as I remembered, one of the Order's divisions. So you might say I was rather surprised to meet one of the leaders of this almost omnipotent organization in a temple captured by agents of the Twice Cursed god. Add to that the fact that this "knight" had supposedly inflicted a deadly plague on the innocent residents of Gilthor, and the whole story made even less sense.

At the sound of the creaking front gates, the paladin stood up and slowly turned around. Sizing up the unwanted guests with an unblinking stare, the shifted the sledgehammer on his shoulder and started toward us. His heavy step reverberated in dull echoes off the walls cracked with time; it seemed that even shadows recoiled in fright from the mighty champion of one of history's most illustrious orders. Ulrich halted around thirty yards from us, and I could finally make out his face. The man was about two feet taller than me, and looked to be in his early fifties. A broad forehead over a shattered nose and a massive jaw. His expression was calmer than a still sea, and his steel-gray eyes contained not an ounce of fanaticism, but only unwavering confidence in his own strength.

"You have come, demon," he spoke softly, looking me up and down with scorn. "I have been waiting for you and your lapdogs. The hermit didn't lie—I see almost a full century of the tainted, with a black demon in command."

"Tell me, when did the champion of a light order become a dark god's bootlicker?" I roared with no less measure of disdain, taking a step toward him. "When did paladins start killing innocent children by siccing monsters from the Gray Frontier on civilians?"

"Light, Darkness... It matters not, so long as I can stop your invasion into our realm," Ulrich said. "Innocent children? The more of those horned parasites die along the way, the better. When it comes to your kind, any means are justified. And it's not my fault those who sit on the Order's council these days have piss, not blood, coursing through their veins. So what if Myrt wouldn't approve? If your kind break through to the upper realm, the problem would be much harder to the contain. That is why I'm here. Syrat gave me the chance to obstruct your path, and you shall not pass. You shall not get what you came here for. Even if I perish, the vault cannot be opened without me. So then, demon, let us begin," the knight made an inviting gesture. "Today I slay every last one of you. And then I'll sit and wait for the next batch of victims."

"Fool," I shook my head. "Hatred has blinded you. The rift from the Netherworld happened several months ago—all I want is to build a portal between our planes. I don't care about you lot to invade you!"

"You're lying, demon!"

"Even if I am, it makes no difference. You won't live to learn the truth. And I will have what I came here for, with or without you. It's lying right over there, isn't it?" I pointed at a chest to the right of the altar, its edges radiating an olive magic glow.

"How did you..." his face suddenly warped with hatred, the paladin took a step forward, his nostrils flaring, holding his menacing sledgehammer with an iron grip.

"I am a dreamer, you moron," I said wearily. "I've already opened vaults sealed by the Nameless' blood. Enough talking now. In another ten minutes you'll be feeding worms, and I'll make sure history remembers you as Ulrich the Childkiller!"

Those last words I spoke while dodging the sledgehammer aimed right at my temple, and countering with a Tongue of Flame into the paladin's exposed side. The massive weapon smashed into one of the columns with a deafening crash, and the temple's long silence exploded with battle shouts from my officers, and the racket of my clanmates' boots on the stone floor...

"I will crush you like a pest!" Ulrich roared, throwing up his terrible weapon for another swing. An Ice Spear struck him in the back and half a dozen arrows glanced off his cuirass. I kept falling back, but the paladin kept pressing me—and no wonder, only I could get my hands on the chest's contents next to the altar. Still, I had no intention of testing the strength of my shield against that sledgehammer.

"What's wrong, oh brave champion? I know you're used to killing children, so you'll have to excuse us—we're all grown up!" stamping the paladin's chest with the visual flourish from Ice Blade, I ducked behind another column.

I wanted him running after me. The latest patch had introduced a curious new element to the way NPCs viewed the world—some of them would stick to you like a fly to dung even without you using any aggro-drawing abilities, but simply to see you dead. The battle ought to last eight-ten minutes tops, and there were plenty of columns around. Tongue of Flame, step back, duck behind a column, step forward, Ice Blade.

"Melee, get back! Only archers and mages keep on him!" I cried into the channel after the paladin swung his sledgehammer in a sweeping arc, sending the fighters hanging on him flying in all directions, like a rabid bear might brush off a pack of dogs, and taking off more than half their HP. The hell with this dude! We had plenty of time, and I wasn't going to risk my people's lives needlessly. Besides, it was easier on our mages and archers to pour on the pain without fear of hitting a friendly target. Ice Blade, step back, dodge sideways, step forward...

The battle passed the twelve minute mark, but the paladin was very much near death. None of the tricks he'd employed thus far had helped him: not the exploding patches of light that appeared randomly on the floor, not the phantom swords he'd hurled through the air which then returned like boomerangs. His attacks had reached me only seven times—and while I wouldn't call it a pleasant experience, none of the blows were anywhere near fatal, especially when mitigated with a shield. The columns had been much less fortunate—nearly a third of the temple was now filled with large debris of marble and stone.

Ulrich made for a gruesome sight: his cuirass badly dented, his helm knocked off and lost amid the debris. The strange thing was, all the arrows and offensive spells would hit him exclusively in the back and chest. The paladin knew he had lost, but kept on pressing me with the doggedness of a bulldozer, all the while muttering something I couldn't possibly hear over all the racket. Curious though I was, I had no intention of getting close enough to make out his words. Ice Blade, step back, raise shield to block a spinning phantom sword, sidestep, step forward, Tongue of Flame. Only there was something about his expression I didn't like, as if he knew something no one else did. He was calm and resolute as ever.
What is this bastard up to?!
I thought feverishly, sticking to the rhythm of my rotation. The answer came a few seconds later: down to five percent health, Ulrich leaped aside with surprising deftness, reached for his neck and pulled out a light metal disc from under the cuirass. In one fluid motion, the paladin raised it triumphantly overhead.

"You lose, demon!" he roared with ecstasy, tossing aside his now-useless sledgehammer.

"Get down!!!" I cried on top of my lungs, but my words were consumed by the darkness that had engulfed the temple...

Your Toughness skill has increased to 48%.

Attention! You've earned a unique achievement,
First in the Derelict Temple.
You and your allies have been granted a permanent 3% increase to your physical and magic damage.

Your reputation has decreased. Members of the Order of Impending Dawn relate to you with hatred.

Your reputation has increased. You are exalted among the residents of the Craedia Princedom!

Your reputation has increased. You are exalted among the residents of Gilthor Province!

You've completed the quest: Saving Gilthor!

You have gained a level! Current level: 182.

You have 1 talent point to allocate.

Class bonus: +1 to intellect; +1 to spirit.

You have 3 stat points to allocate.

Hart! My head was killing me. My whole body felt as if I'd been passed through a meat-grinder. I was lying in a pool of something sticky... Blood? A sharp piece of stone had cut into my cheek, but I couldn't raise my head... I didn't want to... Hart! I felt a surge of rage, my old friend, at my own helplessness, bringing me to my senses like a slap across the face.
Get up, you pussy!
My brain and legs still felt like jelly, but I willed myself off the warm temple slabs. A few deep breaths, and I almost felt normal again. My sword and shield were lying several yards away—I must've dropped them when that damned suicide bomber had blown himself to bits. In the spot where Ulrich had detonated his device nothing remained but a huge bloody stain, at the center of which was a pile of loot dropped by the paladin. A few items radiated a dark purple glow—epics! But that didn't matter now, not just yet. Wait, what was this? I opened my palm in surprise—all this time I'd been holding a silver disc, scraps of a chain hanging from it. Was it the same amulet the paladin had ripped from his neck before dying? But when did I have the time to pick it up? The sword and the chalice—the accouterments of the Champion of the Order of Impending Dawn—had two scorched furrows running through them, as if crossing them out. Well, of course, Ulrich had probably quit his Order when he...

You've accessed the quest: The Truth About Champion Ulrich.

Quest type: unique.

Go to Vaedarr and deliver Ulrich the Zealot's tainted badge to Father Sebastian, head of the Fellowship of the Untainted and Champion of the Order of Impending Dawn.

Reward: experience, variable, increased reputation with members of the Order of Impending Dawn.

Hart! The inquisition is the last thing I want to see,
I thought to myself, putting the amulet away, but the next thought that popped in my head had me in cold sweat. My clanmates! I pulled up the raid menu... and felt an incredible, indescribable sense of relief. Alive! They were all alive!!! I was lucky again—if it weren't for our maxed-out resistance against Dark magic, not one of us would've survived. These days I didn't pass out even at thirty percent health, which meant the detonation had been devastating—no wonder that asshole was so certain he had won. But then, why wasn't anybody up and moving? I walked over briskly to Reena's body, lying motionless on the cold slabs, leaned in and gave the girl a couple of soft slaps on the cheeks.

"I don't think you want to wake them just yet, Dark One. I doubt you want your friends to slaughter each other, consumed by a mad hatred?"

The words spoken at my back startled me. I spun around sharply and froze with shock. The annoyance of not having picked up my sword and shield right away vanished the moment my eyes fell on the speaker—they wouldn't have helped me anyhow, not against him. The man perched on the altar wore a classic black waistcoat. He had fine, symmetrical features, and his neatly trimmed beard made him look like a musketeer circa the reign of Louis XIII, or maybe a Spanish grandee, at least the way I pictured them. His eyes shone with irony as he made an inviting gesture.

"Have a seat," he chuckled. "Take a load off. That's what you two-lived say, isn't it?"

"But... This is against the rules!" I exhaled.
Oh, the hell with it!
I decided to follow along. He could have killed me a hundred times already anyway—I was without recourse against a god.

"The world is changing, Krian," he sighed after a short pause. "And we're changing with it. And it's not just us—even for others like you, this world was nothing but a game until very recently."

"You know that, too?"

"Aye, not that it makes a difference. What does it matter if all this is real or just a game..."

"What does a god want with me?" 

"What did the other gods want? The ones who had left their marks on you?" Syrat asked in an even voice, locking his eyes on mine. "You mentioned rules, right? Well, just like the others, I can't just go wherever I want, not without making certain arrangements first... A detestable place, don't you agree?" he uttered after a pause, gazing pensively at one of the temple's lone intact statues depicting a bipedal giant with an elephant's trunk and tusks hiding behind massive shield that was as tall as him. "The Pangeans that built this temple were deeply steeped in their perversions." 

"Why did you need to capture it if you hate it so much?" I asked, thinking to myself that the world was indeed slowly going mad. Here I was, sitting on a desecrated altar, having a chat with one of the Twice Cursed gods—a creature feared and hated by nearly every sentient creature under the sun. And I felt not a drop of hatred toward him. My face must have betrayed my inner turmoil...

"Well, now," Syrat grinned. "You think it matters to me where to draw strength from? Whether I am the object of hatred or someone else, it makes no difference. As for the temple, I needed it for one reason—to wait here for whoever came for the case. And trust me, Dark One, I'll be more than glad to gift it to our raven-haired beauty."

"What about Ulrich?"

"I gave him what he asked for, but our valiant champion got his prophecies all mixed up. The rift that the hermit spoke of took place two months ago, just as this world was born."

"So what do you want from me?" 

"From you? You are driven by only two emotions: fear and hatred. You fear losing your friends and loved ones, and you hate our common enemy... You would have made a fine priest for me," a smile touched the edges of Syrat's mouth. "But you're still weak, demon. And your enemies' power equals that of the gods."