The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (34 page)

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"Go!" shouted Ederick. "We will buy you time!" With that, Ederick and the Jaguar Knights charged toward the oncoming menace. Bart stopped hurling blasts of lightning and vortexes of wind at the airborne beast and fled with Carym.

The first wasp dragon, desperately wounded, finally succumbed to its wounds dropping dead to the forest floor. The second beast, red and black, and larger than the first, dived forcefully, wings abuzz, landing hard in front of the group of knights; the ground shook with the force of the impact from its spiked feet. A barrage of arrows from the half dozen Jaguar Knights welcomed the beast, but bounced harmlessly off its steely carapace. The beast's tail flicked dangerously, showing its agitation, it made its wings buzz loudly, disorienting the gathered humans.

The helmed rider, sunlight gleaming off his silvery armor, dropped heavily to the ground, his head homing in on Sir Ederick immediately. The intimidating warrior crossed the open ground to meet the knight and left his wasp dragon in the trees, completely ignoring the arrows bouncing off his armor. Ederick knew that this man, of whatever sort he may be, was powerful. He would not be easily defeated. The dark energy reached for the knight's heart, trying to squeeze it and inject fear into his soul. Ederick knew that the enemy was trying to cow him, force him to surrender. He reminded himself that his only mission now was to delay. If he lost his life in doing that, then he would die with honor. The enemy did not return the attacks of the Jaguar archers, so Ederick waved them off. He suspected that the enemy rider might want to discuss terms. Considering that the rider already tried to intimidate him with dark magic, he would have to be on guard for trickery. He lowered his sword as he awaited the arrival of his enemy, as did the Jaguar Knights with him. 

He noticed that the enemy had unusual armor, form fitting like a second skin of shining flexible steel. The visor of the helm had no eye slits. Ederick wondered what sort of person could fight without seeing. He carried no sword, but with a muffled sound from behind the solid helm, the metal from his armor extended down over his hands transforming them into wicked blades of black steel. With no word of command from its master, the wasp dragon's tail whipped up and over its body and it lowered its head and belly to the ground. Its wings folded back and disappeared into pockets along the length of its body and its spear-like forelegs extended before it, menacingly. Then, its tail began to whip from side to side launching wicked barbs through the air, one finding its mark immediately in a warrior who had just begun shifting into the form of a great bird. The barb sank deeply into the warrior's chest, then bird became man once more and fell heavily to the ground, still.

It was an honorless ruse, the enemy had no desire to parley and wanted only to kill Ederick's Jaguar counterparts easily. The trap sprung, the remaining warriors shifted into their various magical forms of predatory cats or large raptors in flashes amber light and leaped into the air or ran to attack the great beast. Sensing the danger, the wasp dragon leaped into the air also, but not before two magnificent jaguars latched onto its back and its thrashing tail. The flock of ravens that so mangled the first wasp dragon came now to the aid of the Jaguar fighters and dramatically swarmed the larger red and black beast. The wasp dragon shook itself like a dog trying to shake off flies, desperate to reach the safety of the air. The beast's greater strength sent many of those ravens to their deaths, but the attacks of the warriors were another matter. The beast sensed that it would not gain superiority by air, it charged across the ground to meet the knights, its great tail whipping about and its razor tipped forelegs stabbing the ground. Its wings thrummed and buzzed so loudly that Ederick feared succumbing to the sound's fear-filled projections. Ederick was grateful that, at least, the wasp dragon's attention was drawn to the Jaguar warriors in the woods. For the moment he was alone with the enemy rider.

The knight knew that he must attack this opponent soon as the two warily circled each other. His body's own reaction to the danger of combat forced his mind and body into a higher state, one where instinct, training, and reflex acted and responded before thought. Without bothering to salute his enemy, he charged the evil warrior before him and steel rang loudly on steel. Sparks flew as his sword collided with the magical blades of his opponent. Each of the powerful men felt the force of that impact keenly, their arms jarred and stinging. They stepped back, each watching the other, inured to the fight going on nearby, focused solely on their own private battle; a battle that would end in the death of one or the other.

The dark rider charged in then, blades spinning yet silent as death. The knight sensed dark magic at work for he knew it wasn't his own mind that so perfectly muted the sounds of battle that were clearly audible a moment before. Again they clashed violently, blocking and striking with skill and precision. The dark rider was clearly a seasoned warrior with skills that could only come from a lifetime of training and combat. Shadows began to form around the feet of the rider, swirling about his legs, finally shrouding his body in black mist, making his form appear indistinct and elusive.

Ederick was no stranger to combat, magically enhanced or mundane. He knew the enemy would eventually give himself away and commit to a pattern that the knight could predict and exploit. He charged in and attacked, if only to determine his enemy's methods, and he saw that the black mist seemed to dissipate with each counter attack from his enemy. His sword found no opening at first as the two exchanged parries and strikes; the knight's incredible skill and combat experience helped him to calmly record what he saw.

Though no advantage was gained by either foe, the knight had been able to observe a subtle telegraphing motion that he knew he could exploit. He continued to observe this pattern as the pair exchanged parries and strikes, each testing the other. While Ederick knew enough to avoid routines, the enemy continued to display the opening which the knight felt he could exploit; a very slight habit of stepping back on one foot just before launching a thrust with his left hand blade. The next time Ederick saw the man step back he knew what was coming next; he struck hard, sinking his sword into rider's armored abdomen. But his shout of triumph died on his lips as the rider simply paused his attack, and laughed. The sound of the laughter from the eyeless visor chilled him. Experience would not allow him to hold himself so close to his enemy for more than the briefest of moments. Ederick quickly turned sideways to the enemy and threw his left elbow at the enemy's head, striking a jarring blow. As the blow struck home, Ederick pulled his blade free and continued his turn away. Quickly he spun around to face the enemy again, sword before him. The elbow strike had not harmed the enemy but had the desired effect of momentarily stunning him; it was all the time the knight needed to create some distance. As the enemy shook his head, advancing again, Ederick realized with chagrin the blade of his own sword was gone! He also noted with interest that the aura of silence which had been enveloping the duelers had dissipated; perhaps the gut strike was not without effect on his opponents magical powers.

Silently, Ederick called on Zuhr for strength, having no idea how he was going to defeat this enemy with only a sword hilt. Carym needed all the time he could get. Ederick would fight to the last breath, the last second. The rider calmly and confidently approached, sensing victory over his now unarmed foe and Ederick knew there would be no quarter. Ederick cautiously stepped away, maintaining distance, and looking for something to fight with. Although Sir Ederick was superbly skilled in unarmed combat, it was never wise to fight with fists in a sword fight. The knight hoped that if he held out long enough he might get help from the Jaguar fighters.

Ederick settled on an age-old tactic he learned as a new recruit facing far more powerful combatants. It was a good tactic, but it would only work once. He let the rider close on him, sensing overconfidence brimming in the man. He slowed his evasive movements just a little and stumbled, holding his head as though the dying wasp dragon's buzzing was disorienting him. Shadowy black tendrils snaked out along the ground from beneath the enemy and wrapped around Ederick's feet, forcing him to stand in place. He forced himself to remain calm, retreat was not an option. He slouched, showing fatigue and weakness, and hopefully defeat. Knowing he had only one chance, he steeled his resolve, and let the rider approach him. The rider stepped forward, both swords held high, savoring the fear he thought he was imparting into his defeated foe. The enemy even began to chortle and uttered a few words in High Cklathish.

"No quarter," said the enemy, surprising Ederick. The wizened man knew better than to react to the gloating of the enemy, but he filed away the fact that his foe spoke High Cklathish. He knelt down in a position of surrender. Just as the enemy's blade began its murderous descent, Ederick lunged inside the effective reach of his foe's swings, taking a fist to the head for his effort. However, the knight had anticipated such a blow, far favorable to being skewered, and fought through the pain as he struggled to hold on to the rider.

Ederick gripped his foe in a powerful bear hug, squeezing as hard as he could, continuing to receive blows about his back and head, relieved as the blows were gradually weakening. He squeezed harder and harder, his grip tight as a vice around the enemy's torso, though he was weakening too. Finally, the blows became slaps and the slaps became taps as the man in the strange armor stopped struggling.

The rider's knees gave way. The sudden shift in weight brought both men to the ground in a heap and Ederick rolled off, struggling to his feet. His shadowy chains were gone, but he did not want to be caught lying on the ground if the wasp dragon returned or enemy reinforcements arrived.

"Damn!" he hissed. How much time had passed? Dread filled him as he realized that enemy ground troops must be nearing. Worse, the wasp dragon could be pursuing Carym and the others even now. He searched for a weapon but found nothing he could use. In frustration, he kicked the unconscious rider in the head, sending the man's helm skittering across the ground. Immediately the skin-like armor and hand swords vanished, leaving a man dressed in a white military uniform with silver and blue trim and the insignia of the Zuharim on his breast.

"No!" shouted Ederick, viciously kicking the body again. "Damn you! What have you foolish Lupherians done?" he shouted, understanding now why the enemy spoke perfect High Cklathish. The man was a Lupherian Zuharim, a sect of the once honored order of knights dedicated to Zuhr that had fallen into disgrace and darkness. They had meddled in the dark and forbidden arts and were seduced by the dark power of Umber. His former brothers, now his enemies. The knight was distracted then as shadows passed over him and shapes dropped lightly to the ground, flashes of amber revealing the presence of a squad of Jaguar troops. He looked back at his foe, blood trickling from the man's ear. He knew, shamefully, he should not have kicked the unconscious man, it was against the knight's code of honor. He knew, too, that it was something that Zuhr, once the patron of the Zuharim and now the Hand, would not approve. 

"Enemy comes!" hissed the leader of the squad, pointing towards the trees. The knight whirled, still unarmed, to face a new threat and vowed to die if it would give Carym the time he needed to get to the tomb.

The foursome ran as fast as they could, hoping that the Jaguar warriors and Sir Ederick would be able to buy them enough time to outdistance their enemy and reach the tomb. Carym prayed for guidance as he ran, for he truly had no idea what he was going to do when, and if, he reached the Tomb of the Dark Paladin. He fervently hoped whatever he did would be the right choice.

Hala finally stopped running. The ground began to ascend sharply and there was no way the four could continue up the steep slope without climbing. Bart bent over at the waist, breathing heavily, then dropped to his knees in the cold snow. 

"What's wrong, Bart?" asked Carym, breathing heavily too. "Can you continue?"

"I just need a moment," he said.

"We can't stop," said Genn, panic in her voice. "We have to keep moving!"

Carym looked hard at the woman and raised an eyebrow in question. They were all anxious to be gone, and certainly none of them wanted to get caught. Her dark moods and selfish tendencies were troubling him.

"The entrance to the tomb is up there, Carym," Hala pointed to a natural outcropping halfway up the steep hill. There was a trail that wound up the hillside, but it looked treacherous and doubtless beset with ice. The princess was succinct and concise, never saying more than was absolutely necessary yet observing everything. Even now she was scanning their surroundings for signs of trouble. Carym felt a moment's guilt, knowing he would be leaving these two extraordinary women and his good friend behind to fend off whatever evil came next. He didn't think himself worthy to be honored with such devoted companions. Then he remembered something a companion had said to him long ago; this was bigger than himself.