Arc 2: Chapter 13: The Paladin

Arc 2: Chapter 13: The Paladin

It got worse.

As I unhooked my axe from beneath my cloak, stepping back from Lorena’s towering gaunt form, the surrounding mist seemed to sink into the ground. I felt a shudder ripple through the earth, and a spike of dread shot through me.

The ground heaved, and dead hands began to burst from the surrounding graves. Ragged shapes crawled up from below, pale light clinging to their desiccated forms and shining in their hollow eyes. Thin, stretched limbs twitched with unholy energy.

Though they wore different bodies, I knew these dead. Lorena Starling hadn’t been the only rogue spirit to escape the clutches of the Underworld. She’d brought her castle’s garrison along with her.

Shit.

Rotten corpses animated by disquiet spirits shambled through the graves. As the ghosts tightened their grip on those stolen bodies, they began to move with more vigor. Not grace, per se, but they possessed an eerie sort of dexterity. At first they held no weapons, and wore only the threadbare remnants of whatever funeral garb the commonfolk who’d buried their loved ones here had dressed them in. However, as I watched, mist and witchlight began to form spears and axes, crested helms and breastplates, and all the accoutrements of a castle guard.

There were dozens of them. I recalled my desperate escape from Castle Strekke, and steeled myself for a hard fight. I’d been on my last legs when I’d dueled Emery Planter. Now, rested and healed, I didn’t feel like death and dismemberment were guaranteed.

Only likely.

The real threat towered above the others. Lorena Starling had become something worse than a mere ghost. I lifted my chin to her ghastly visage as it loomed over me, that serrated thing that resembled both a guillotine and a scythe clutched in her sharp claws.

I focused on the core of golden power in me, conjuring the image of a wall of gleaming shields in my mind. I felt my aura reshape itself at my will and the murmuring of ritual words. Pale light spread out from me, small and wan compared to the overbearing presence of the undead, but steady. I lifted my axe, almost as though to kiss the top of the bit. With a flash of light and a scattering of gilded petals, that same circle of ornate shields I’d imagined in my thoughts burst into life, each floating equidistant several feet from me to face in all directions, all circling me like orbiting bodies.

All Auratic Arts have names. They are writ into the very fabric of reality, along with the deeds and wills that gave birth to them. The phantasmal kite shields I summoned were part of a versatile technique named the Aureate Aegis by its creator, one of my Alder forebears, or simply the Aureshield. It makes for a strong defense, especially against purely supernatural foes, but it is short lived and draining. I could only hold it for a few seconds.

It is also very dramatic and flashy, which makes for an excellent cover.

The undead horde, including their ghastly leader, recoiled from the flash of consecrated aura I brought forth. As soon as their eyes were no longer on me, I ducked down and lunged forward through the low-clinging mist, moving through a gap I’d left within the circle of phantasmal shields. I went forward like a red wind, cloak fluttering, shimmering golden petals scattering around me. I took my axe in both hands and leapt, like a direwolf going for the kill, straight toward Lorena.

One of her guards fouled the early victory I’d hoped to claim. Valiant, or perhaps too far gone to disobey, a skeletal warrior stepped into my path with mist-formed shield raised. I clove through the shield, the gilded fire on my axe severing the ghost’s own magic, and split the corpse’s skull in the same blow.

It fell. Its lady rose. With a scream that might have stopped the small hearts of birds, she lashed out at me with her enormous weapon. I caught its edge on my own, but it had tremendous force. The blow threw me, rolling several times over graveyard dirt before managing to catch myself in a crouch. I bared my teeth at Lorena, furious at my failure.

Her own fury was far more impressive than my own, and my failed attempt at ending her had given the dead warriors time to surround me. The mob closed in, rictus grins leering large in my vision. The cold of their presence ate into my bones, and I suspected I’d be shivering to death if not for the core of holy flame burning in my aura.

I thought perhaps that might have been the end, then. I’d faced it many times. Fate, however, had other plans, and a wicked sense of irony.

“Hark, ye’ shades!”

Something passed over the graveyard. I can only describe it as a sea wind, briefly lived, which sent the mist rolling back. A white light flared beyond the horde of wights, which Lorena, her guard, and I all turned our eyes toward. At the center of that pale nimbus stood a tall figure, framed in the brightness as a shape only barely distinguishable from their own radiance. I could just make out the image of four silver wings, and...

A halo.

A voice like cathedral bells tolled across the grave field, striking the undead as a gale. “This land is not for you, restless ones. You have been offered sanctuary — you reject it at your peril.”

Lorena Starling screeched at the shining figure. “We have been offered a prison!”

“The Gates have yet to open,” the figure intoned. I heard the distinct sound of steel sliding against leather. The angelic presence lifted a sword blazing with white fire aloft. “Return to your own lands, ye’ dead. Return!”

“By whose authority?” Lorena hissed. Her warriors chattered, as though lifting their own cries in agreement with their lady.

“By Her authority. I compel you, in Queen Aureia’s name. Return.”

At the Command, and at the uttering of that most holy of all names, the Dead withered. Lorena shrank back to her original size, the reaper’s scythe in her hands crumbling to ash. She threw up her gaunt arms against the flare of light, keening. Around her, her soldiers began to crumble as the ghosts clinging to rotten, stolen bodies ripped themselves free of bone and sinew, flitting into the mists.

When Lorena saw her battalion in route, she let out a ghastly scream. “You! I know you! I do not fear you, wretched hound.”

I canted my head to one side. “Maybe. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with. How about you? What have you learned?”

“Nothing much. I only arrived shortly before Lady Emma returned from her sojourn with you, and there have been no attacks in some weeks, so far as I’ve heard.”

“But there have been attacks.” I tapped my axe against one shoulder, thinking about my next step. I suspected I might not have seen the last of Lorena Starling, but that wasn’t a problem I could act on. I could protect my charge, ideally in a preemptive rather than reactionary way.

After a moment of silence, Ser Kross drew himself up and placed a hand on his scarred breastplate. “Allow me to make a proposition. We are both after the same creature, and both interested in protecting the people of this demesne. Why not join forces? The priests have lent me a small bit of Holy Light. Between that, and the faerie magic you possess, I believe we may be able to stand against this Thing of Darkness.”

He stretched out a gauntlet-clad hand. I blinked at it, taken aback.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to agree, not at first. My knee-jerk reaction was to work alone, to not accept his help or risk him learning more about me. I imagined he wouldn’t be so cordial if he found out exactly whose interests I served. But my mind flashed back to Caelfall, to Olliard and Lisette. Would things have gone differently if I’d joined forces with them? Could we have prevented the tragedy that ruined that place?

I don’t know. All I know is that I saw an echo of what I’d once been in Ser Renuart Kross, despite his unadorned armor and dour gray cloak.

I reached out and we gripped one another’s wrist. “I’m willing to hunt together, Ser Kross.”

The man’s angular face split into a grin. “Excellent! For now, though, what of the girl? Is she not with you?”

I pulled my hand back, folding it within my cloak. I fought down the wave of shame, like bile, that rose up in my throat. “She’s... resting.”

Ser Kross lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He’ll find out eventually, I told myself, if we’re going to be cooperating. I explained to him what had happened back at the manor.

Ser Kross folded his arms, his expression troubled. “I knew the Carreons had a reputation for being somewhat fell, but it seems that blood boils hotter than I would have guessed. How bad are her injuries?”

“I don’t think they’re permanent,” I said, not sure if it were true. “The physik her maidservant brought in didn’t stay with her long.”

“Which could either mean they didn’t think it emergent, or were too frightened to stay near the cursed scion of House Carreon.” Ser Kross scoffed. “Honestly, it’s like they all think she’s some sort of walking disaster.”

“She is cursed,” I said. “And uses her powers recklessly. I regret injuring her, but she could have killed me.”

“You shouldn’t have sparred with her,” Ser Kross agreed, becoming stern.

I nodded, accepting the admonition. “I know. Well, at least she can’t get into much trouble confined to bed.”

“I’d prefer she be able to protect herself if necessary.” Ser Kross closed his eyes, lifting his chin as though seeking some answer in the night air. “Perhaps I can do something for her. Would you take me back to the manor with you?”

I glanced at him askance. Then I realized. “You can heal?”

He held up his hand. “I do not have the healing touch — my powers are suited more for warding and banishments. I am an exorcist. My companion, on the other hand, is capable of such.”

Companion? Furrowing my brow, I reached out with my senses toward the knight. I did feel... something. An unseen presence clinging to him, almost like an invisible cloak. I would have thought it just his aura, had I not been looking for something else. Once I did notice it, I could faintly see a slight shimmer of very pale light behind the man. I could make out folded wings, and thin arms wrapped about his neck as though he were carrying someone piggy-back style.

I recalled the image of wings I’d seen when he’d revealed himself to the ghosts. A minor servant of the Onsolain, I guessed. A cherub, or perhaps even a seraph. In addition to the fae, the land had many such spirits.

Mechanics aside, he was a paladin. A real one, not just the half functional remnants of one. He could heal.

Swallowing, feeling ill at ease all the sudden, I nodded. “I would be grateful for that, Ser Knight.”

Ser Kross bowed his head, expression grave. “It is the least I can do.”