The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (4 page)

The two stood silent, staring, for a long moment. Finally, Crystoph broke the silence.

"I should have known one your foul kind would be skulking about in my shadows."

"Indeed, Crystoph. And thank you for leading me to this arch. I've been searching for the arches for a 
very
 long time, my master will be very pleased with this turn of events."

"What do you and your wayward master want with it?"

"I know what you've been up to!" taunted the golden warrior in a singsong voice.

"Spy!" spat Crystoph in disgust.

Laughter erupted from the depths of the golden helm. "Let's get on with this, shall we Crystoph?"

Crystoph responded with a swing of his great sword, flames trailing through the air behind it.  The golden Cjii ducked low, rolling out to the side and back to his feet with supernatural speed. Crystoph was there, however, matching the enemy Cjii's speed with his own and swung again. This time the other Cjii blocked the blow with his own great sword. Sparks flew and the air crackled with the energy and power that these two immortal beings commanded.

The two traded blows, striking and parrying and blocking; each seeking an opening to exploit but finding none. Each of the Cjii knew that their own eternal existence could be lost if their fragile mortal bodies were killed in this realm. Finally, Crystoph delivered a powerful kick to the side of his enemy's knee and was rewarded with the sound of cracking bone. But his enemy was a wily and skilled warrior. As his armored foe fell to the ground, he tucked and rolled to his side, lashing out at Crystoph's shin with his sword. The blow glanced off Crystoph's leg, doing no direct harm, but caused the Cjii to retreat a step.

Crystoph knew that the longer he fought, the more precious time was being wasted. He had to end things quickly and get through the arch, but neither could he let this servant of Q'raz escape with the location of this arch. There was too much at stake. If Zuhr's Cjii lost control over the arches to Q'raz, the Golden Dragon would gain the upper hand in the coming war.

Having created an instant of distance from his enemy, Crystoph lowered his defenses. It was time for something drastic.

As the Prince of Angels dropped his sword and shield to the ground, the golden-helmed warrior suddenly found his feet. Crystoph didn't let the limping charge of his enemy distract him however, and he opened his mortal frame to the power of the Tides. He recited the commands in the language of the Sigils that would bend the Tides to his will and thrust his hand forward, a cone of flames erupted from his outstretched hand and blasted the golden armor of his foe. 

The gout of flame knocked the warrior backward a step, his injured knee gave way. Crystoph repeated the Sigilspell again, and another cone of flames erupted from his hand, this time the warrior's shield took the brunt of it. Again he blasted his enemy, and again the golden warrior faltered, but the great Cjii would not relent from his assault until he saw the golden armored warrior fall to his hands and knees. His foe sufficiently weakened, Crystoph performed another spell. The angel relented in his attack, dropped his sword and shield, and clasped his hands before him in concentration.

The golden warrior staggered up, sensing Crystoph wasn't through with him yet, and hoped to seize the opportunity to attack. Sword high, the armored warrior struggled forward on shattered knee and pushed through agonizing pain to strike the angel while he was defenseless. Crystoph had expected this and had a defensive spell ready to parry any deadly sword blow.

But he wasn't prepared for what the golden warrior did next.

Crystoph suddenly found that the Tides were inexplicably leaving him. He managed to capture some of the Tidal flows and store some energy but he wasn't sure it would be enough to finish his spell. He felt like a child trying to stop the waves from receding back into the ocean. The great Prince of Angels was severely limited by his mortal form and he was forced to use the Tides in the way that mortals did, not the way the great Cjii did. His magic was nearly depleted, his weapons were on the ground in front of him, and his enemy ambled closer. Mocking laughter drifted from the depths of the shining helm and Crystoph knew he had underestimated this foe. This was no lowly underling of Q'raz. The mocking laughter called out for Crystoph to surrender. Crystoph did not reply. While he was at a disadvantage, he was far from defeated. And now he recognized his enemy's voice. He waited for his adversary to get closer, standing stoically though he felt as if he were being battered by invisible hands. Air! While he knew whom it was he now faced, the great Cjii had not expected to be attacked with the powers of the Air Sigil. 

"Does the great Prince Crystoph feel naked, trapped in a mortal body with no magic to save him?" mocked his enemy.

"Only in your mind, filthy boot-licker!" he shouted viciously, fending off invisible blows to the cackling laughter of his opponent. "You are a toad. You cannot defeat me!" 

"You are mighty in your arrogance, Crystoph, if not in your prowess," said the warrior curiously, watching as Crystoph fell to the ground. "Do you have anything to say before I kill you?"

He watched the fallen prince intently, even as he continued to pummel him with invisible blows. "No? Pity. I would love to be there when Grymm sends your soul on to afterlife, where you will be judged and sent to commiserate with the souls of the pitiful wretches who follow Zuhr." He hobbled closer to the prince and stopped the invisible barrage of air-crafted fists from battering the prince. He held his sword poised above the prince's exposed neck.

Crystoph looked at the blade that now rested on his throat, blood was trickling from his mouth. The pain he now felt reminded him how fragile the mortal races truly were, while the chill of the steel blade seemed to bring some of his power surging back. This foe seemed to enjoy tormenting Crystoph in his last moments of life. A mocking smile played about Crystoph's lips, he would not go quietly. 

"At the moment of your death, you find mirth? Is it pride that makes you laugh in the face of your executioner?" asked his opponent. Crystoph sensed a sliver of doubt in his voice. 

"I know who you are," he croaked. A booted foot slammed into his ribs in response and pain wracked his body. When he recovered enough to speak, he reached up and touched the helm of his foe. "You are now, and have always been, a fool!" 

The armor-clad warrior tried to back away but seemed to be stuck fast to the hand of the prince. Crystoph sent all of the power he had left, all that he had stored before the Tidal flows were sealed off from him, flowing into the enemy's helm. The metal glowed red from the power of the Flametide surging through it. The heat transferred from the helm into the Cjii's armor. Soon the warrior's golden armor glowed red and began to flow as it liquefied. Grunts and groans of pain whimpered out from the depths of the helm as feeble hands swung steel impotently at the prince. Crystoph would not, could not, relent. He had his foe subdued, and by honor the Prince of Angels should offer quarter to the enemy and accept his surrender. 

Crystoph was not a merciless warrior, and truly felt bound by honor to offer surrender to a subdued foe. For this reason it pained him greatly to finish this enemy without mercy. But the dire circumstances forced Crystoph to forgo the tradition of the Cjii. This enemy must die.  As his foe weakened, the spell he had used to lock the Tides from Crystoph failed and the prince felt warm energy coursing through him again. 

"I surrender! I surrender!" whimpered the Cjii, as he dropped his weapon and thrashed against the excruciating pain lancing through his helm. 

"I am sorry, for what that's worth," he said channeling the Tides for his next spell. "But I cannot accept your surrender."

Eyes deep within the helm widened and Crystoph had to steel himself against the agony and fear he saw in those eyes. They were the eyes of a fellow Cjii, even if that Cjii served the wayward Q'raz. Aside from the perverse and malformed demon Cjii that served Umber, most of the Cjii felt a kinship if not a friendship. There was a code of honor that dictated the way the Cjii interacted with each other and with mortals. 

But that code had been broken by the Cjii who served Q'raz and Umber.
They
had begun the stirrings of war. Now that war was under way, Crystoph could not let this enemy take control of a powerful weapon or report intelligence about it to his superiors. And he could not take the Cjii prisoner. 

"We were once good friends," said Crystoph as he removed his hands from the Cjii's head as life fled from his mortal form. In a flash a blade made of magical flames appeared in his hand. "But you have started a war and you have broken the code of honor. Goodbye, Devoricus!" 

Crystoph exhaled deeply and released his hold on the Tides as the head of Devoricus rolled to a stop at his feet. 

C H A P T E R

T W O

~

The day was warmer than it had been in a very long time, though it was far from actually warm. A chill breeze blew and the two people sitting at a sidewalk table outside the
 Shadyside Inn
 shifted uncomfortably; winter was not through with the island yet. The silence between them was profound, each lost in deep thought while eating a warm meal. Carym took a long pull from his glass and blew out a long breath. The drink was warm, perfect for the air; it was a local drink that was part whiskey, part cream and part something very sweet. The fiery brew warmed his blood and stirred his thoughts toward the urgency of the quest, weighing it against the necessity of their delay.

A good many people went about their business on the streets of Myrnwell beneath a clear blue sky, taking advantage of the first somewhat hospitable day in a long time. Carym watched as carts pulled by horses or oxen carried goods to the market district and ornate carriages took the wealthier from place to place. Seagulls dived down into the streets to peck at the scraps of food fallen from carts. Every now and then one of the city's poorer folk would get lucky with a rock and dine on roasted seagull in an alley.

He turned back to the raven-haired beauty across from him and sighed, she seemed intent on the bottom of the glass of wine before her. It was the first time the lovers had been able to share a moment alone and the weight that each carried proved to be more than words could bear. The two had had very little time for each other during their winter stay in Myrnwell. Each had endured strenuous and demanding training at the hands of their mentors. Carym spent a significant amount of time training in martial combat with members of the Training Fist, a company of knights that resided permanently at the Hand of Zuhr barracks in Myrnwell.  Several experienced knights served there as trainers for the new recruits of the Hand who would spend weeks under their tutelage. He recalled the necessary brutality of that training with an involuntary wince, and his muscles recalled well the merciless strikes from wooden swords, spears and clubs. By the time winter's harsh grip had diminished, Carym found that his old skills had been refined by new tactics and forms he had not known; his reflexes were now razor sharp. The daily exercise routines strengthened him and helped him to work out the kinks and knots that formed in his muscles during the previous months of travel and combat. He was fit, his mind was sharp and he felt like he could take on the world.

At first Carym had not been keen to take part in the rigorous training, having been an accomplished fighter in his own right, but Bishop Rohan convinced him otherwise. Soon Carym learned a very important and painful lesson, there was always more to learn. The bishop was a very wise man and Carym had tremendous respect for him. It was under Rohan's tutelage that Carym learned more of the conflict in the heavens, the conflict between Zuhr and his children, and of the faith of devotees to Zuhr. The conflict that would soon spill over onto Llars.