The Paladins (9 page)

“You wish to fight unseen?” asked Shaakat in the Tyr-lovers’ minds as he sent forth utter darkness from his own mind, plunging the entire party of humans into blindness. At the same time, he cocked his arm to hurl his javelin at another one of them. Then he paused.

Amazing! The humans were fighting completely blind and slaughtering the manes while suffering little damage themselves! They shouted to each other and moved into a defensive circle, allowing themselves plenty of room to swing, then entered into a warrior’s dance, thrashing the space around them in a graceful series of attacks that crushed and scattered the tanar’ri. One of them—a warrior completely sheathed in shining plates of finely wrought metal—spun about, holding his gleaming hammer at arm’s length while he twirled and uttered sickening words of goodness and light—and the darkness fell.

“I want to attack, too!” complained Rejik in his head.

“Just keep that warding circle intact, leatherhead! They’re still coming this way!”

Shaakat flung his deadly javelin again, aiming for the one who banished his arcane darkness, but the human anticipated his throw and swung his hammer to meet it. The flat of the paladin’s mallet squarely met the point of the spear with a resounding crack, and the fiend’s prized weapon splintered into black rubble that flew back to the pyramid and rattled against its surface like a hail storm.

The paladin with hair the color of fire and armor like the scales of a golden fish held up his hammer and cried, “In Tyr’s name, be gone!” His voice echoed through the chamber like a titan’s, and all around the warriors a dozen manes convulsed and ruptured into black smoke. The stinging residue of slaughtered manes grew dense, and the fighters choked and reeled. Shaakat leaped upon the opportunity.

“Now,” thought the vrock to the barlgura, who rippled forth from the walls of the chamber and sprang at the paladins with fore-and hindclaws extended. The humans parried their savage slashing and biting attacks, yet the one wielding a staff rolled to the ground under the crush of a leaping barlgura. The tanar’ri seized the fighter by the throat and released its Abyssal aura of terror; the prime gagged with sudden fear. He dropped his weapon and struggled frantically to get free of the fiend, which leaned over to clamp its vicelike jaws upon his face. The remaining manes in the room converged upon the fallen man, climbing atop one another to get at him.

“Trandon’s down!” shouted the warrior with a large blade, and the remaining three humans shifted smoothly to a triangle defense. Onward they pressed. The remaining manes burst into roiling puffs of toxic vapor, and their spirits fled back to the Abyss. The barlgura leapt in groups, hoping to overwhelm the paladins, only to be driven back on their heels until, one by one, they too fled for their native plane.

At last, bloody and weaving from their battles, the three warriors of Tyr reached the base of the pyramid and began to climb its steps. Side by side they ascended, grim-faced, readying their weapons for another bout. The two vrocks waited at the top.

“Paladins beware!” shouted Noph.

Shaakat wheeled and slapped the young man with the back of his emaciated hand. Noph cried out and lay still.

“Yes, beware paladins of Tyr,” sneered Shaakat in their heads, returning his gaze to them. “We have your impudent whelp here. Surrender or we’ll murder him right now!”

“Let them kill me!” mumbled Noph through bleeding, fattened lips.

“You shall be remembered with honor, Freeman Kastonoph!” cried the red-headed human.

The paladins continued their ascent without hesitation. Shaakat hissed and raised his arms as if to strike at them, but waited for them to reach the top.

As one, they stepped up to the top of the pyramid, sword and hammers raised high, but as their feet touched the warding line of blood, a bright flash erupted in front of each of them with a shrill crack, casting them back down the steps like rag dolls. They tumbled downward with a clatter of metal and groans of misery, coming to rest in a heap at the pyramid’s base. Shaakat and Rejik roared with laughter.

“Kern!” cried one. “Kern, rise in the name of Tyr!” The paladin in golden scales shook his head and weakly rolled to his knees.

“Jacob?” called the elder warrior to the swordsman, who lay still and lifeless. “Jacob!” The human looked up at the vrocks with an expression of hatred to warm a tanar’ri’s heart. “Damned fiends! Tyr, grant me the power to fight once more!”

The two paladins pulled themselves to their feet and began to climb once more. “This is it, Miltiades,” said the one called Kern. “It’s now or never!”

“That’s it! Come a little closer,” thought Rejik to them. He broke his concentration upon the ward and stepped closer to his partner, at the top of the steps, watching the humans stumble toward them. “Creatures of law,” he sneered. “They never quit. It’s their greatest weakness!”

The paladins fully regained their feet about halfway up the stairs and began to gain speed. Their hammers swooped down and around, then curved upward on their backswings, coming over the top with deadly force as the warriors gained the last few steps. They opened their mouths and bellowed with holy righteousness. The fiends spread their wings in response and spewed forth a swath of stringy, greenish fluid; then they blinked themselves to the side. The paladins’ weapons caught only air, while they themselves were drenched in the tanar’ri’s deadly, viscous juices.

The spores hatched with lightning speed, nourished by the wholesome flesh of the Tyr worshipers; vines wrapped them tightly, thrusting into their bodies.

The two men rolled down the steps and came to rest atop the third, who gave no protest as he received their full weight. The elder paladin twitched in his death throes for a few moments before the last glimmer of his life faded away.

Noph’s stomach turned as he watched the vrocks caper in an obscene victory dance. They cawed in horrifying, otherworldly laughter as they circled each other. His eyes filled and spilled over, blurring the ghastly vision. Angrily he blinked away the tears and cast his gaze about the room, seeking the specter of death coming to claim his unworthy life.

His eyes went wide, then he looked up at his tormentors.

“You sickening pair of Abyssal garbage trolls!” he snarled at them. “I’ve seen some spineless, yellow-bellied, scum-sucking cowards in Faeriin, but I never knew it got that much worse in the Abyss!”

The vrocks stumbled to a standstill in the midst of their dance and stared down at the helpless human.

“You think you’re so tough; just untie me and give me one of those hammers! One-on-one or both of you together, I’ll kick you from here to Elminster’s tower and back!”

“The little berk wants us to untie him. How sweet!” jeered Rejik. “Let’s do it.”

“Bah! There’s no sport in squashing bugs,” scoffed Shaakat.

“I’ll squash your ugly pointy heads, birdbrain! If you’ve got guts, I’ll spread ‘em all over this room!”

Mow about a hunt.’ suggested Rejik. Give him thirty seconds to run.”

“Wait!” cried Shaakat. He hopped closer to Noph and glared into his eyes. “He’s not thinking of fighting or running.” The vrock leaned into the boy’s face, making him wince and shut his eyes tight. “He’s thinking… distraction!”

The vrocks spun about with a rush of feathers. Miltiades, Kern, Jacob, Trandon, and Aleena were standing inside the warding circle. They were completely unharmed and grinning ever so slightly.

In unison, Shaakat and Rejik emitted a paralyzing screech. The humans cringed in pain and leaped to the defensive, and the vrocks took advantage of the moment. They disappeared with a pop and fled for the Abyss with all the speed they could muster.

“Victory!” shouted Aleena.

“Justice!” cheered the followers of Tyr.

“You used the magical mirror, didn’t you?” said Noph.

“Smart boy!” answered Kern, kneeling down to release him. “Well done, Freeman Kastonoph!” said the younger paladin, imitating Miltiades’ rolling burr and tone of voice.

“Well done, indeed,” echoed the elder paladin, himself, taking no note of the jest. “You risked your life to draw the fiends’ attention so we could cross the warding line without delay. That took a paladin’s courage and wisdom.”

“It would’ve been worth it,” said Noph while Kern and Aleena massaged the feeling back into his extremities. “For the quest,” he declared, looking at Aleena. She smiled softly and ruffled his hair. Noph sighed in contentment.

“You were in little danger, actually,” said Trandon. “Seeing what our reflections went through allowed us to prepare for a lightning strike of our own. Those

tanar’ri would’ve been bad-smelling gas before they could lay a claw on you.”

“That’s right,” agreed Kern, and his face grew serious. “We couldn’t lose you.”

Noph stared up at the youthful paladin. “C-couldn’t lose me?” he asked, perplexed. “But—I’ve been the fifth wheel, the ‘chaos child,’ the ‘foolish youngling.’”

“You accepted the quest, in spite of your weaknesses,” replied Miltiades. “You are a member of the rescue team.” He patted Noph’s head. “You are one of us.”

The ancient knight looked at the group around him and pointed toward the enchanted arch of mammoth tusks. “There lies the next stage of our quest. Thanks to our noble reflections, who died for us, we are fresh and ready to continue. If Freeman Kastonoph is ready, let us activate the gate and proceed!”

“Gentlemen, there’s a damsel in need of rescuing out there,” cried Kern with a wink at Aleena. “May Tyr guide us!”

“Tyr!” shouted the other warriors. Noph merely stared at the portal and gulped.

“Open in the name of the past and present lords of Waterdeep!” called Miltiades in his deep, rolling voice. The flowing veins of magic within the tusks dimmed and disappeared while a thin ripple of yellow light spread across the plane of the portal. The wall of the gate chamber no longer appeared beyond the archway; within, all was darkness.

One by one they cautiously stepped through, weapons drawn and readied—first Miltiades, then Kern, Jacob, and Trandon. Noph stood at the threshold, squinting into the void. He turned and looked back at Aleena.

“I don’t know if I should go on,” he said in a small voice. “I’m tired. I’m so, so tired—and I’m scared, Aleena. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a hero anymore.”

The wizardess put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed warmly. “I don’t blame you, but they need you.”

“They need me?”

“I’m not going on, Noph.”

Noph stared at the beautiful enchantress, open-mouthed. “But why?”

“I have several reasons, but I can’t explain them here and now. The important thing is you’re the only Waterd-havian left in the party. You’re Khelben’s eyes and ears, now. You’re my father’s sole remaining champion.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “Please, Kastonoph. I won’t force you to go, but I will beg.”

“No! Don’t beg! I can’t stand putting you in that position. Til go.”

“Thank you, Noph. Thank you from me, from the Nine Lords of Waterdeep, from all of the Western Heartlands!”

Kastonoph turned back to the portal, pulled his knife from its boot sheath, and took a deep breath. “I had no idea how quickly the gods give you what you ask for,” he mumbled as he stepped through and disappeared into the Utter East.

“Close in the name of the past and present lords of Waterdeep,” Aleena bade the gate. She moved to the corridor leading out of the chamber. Then, summoning her most potent magic, she hurled a lightning bolt at the gate and the roof of the chamber over it. The ceiling buckled and collapsed, and tons of stone thundered down into the corridor, throwing up a haze of dust and rubble. Aleena looked critically at her work for a moment. Then she murmured, “Well, that’s done,” and turned back the way the party had come.

Somewhere in Undermountain, Halaster laughed.

Kill the messenger; it doesn’t solve the problem, but you’ve got to admit it feels right.

The Abyss never looked so good.

Shaakat and Rejik reveled in the sound of the death-wind, blowing through the void. Rejik ripped huge chunks of flint from the cavern floor, for sheer joy.

“Paladins,” Shaakat sneered angrily.

“Never again,” returned Rejik.

“Report,” commanded General Raachaak, appearing out of nowhere and ringing their brains with the ferocity of his thoughts. They shrieked in surprise and trembled before the gigantic, winged tanar’ri.

“We discovered a gate within the city of the bloodforge, and learned its other side lay in another part of the world, called Undermountain,” thought Shaakat hastily.

“A slice of the Abyss, it was,” added Rejik. “A wondrous place!”

“I know of it, and Skullport as well. Continue.”

“We found the gate in Undermountain, but it was defended by paladins of Tyr!”

“Tyr! A greater power of Mount Celestia! Perhaps the upper planars are planning to acquire the bloodforge!” The general gritted his fangs in consternation. “Did you destroy the paladins?”

“Yes, indeed!” cried Shaakat. “But they destroyed the gate before they died!”

The balor reared his head and bellowed in rage, filling the vast emptiness with his terrifying cry. “Miserable failures!” he snarled, gazing upon the vrocks.

“Not failures! Not failures!” insisted Shaakat. ‘You ordered us to discover a way into the city of the bloodforge, and we did! We can find another way in!”

“The gate was a bad way in anyhow!” cried Rejik. “The side in the city of the bloodforge was surrounded by many, many powerful fighters!”

“I will find a way into that city!” declared Raachaak, freeing his whip, “but you will not!”

The sixty-fifth level of the Abyss is an empty, infinite place, but at that moment it was filled to its borders with the sound of cracking leather and piteous screaming.