The Paladin

The chains rang out like a symphony as I stepped into the ritual chamber. It was not music for the living but rather for those who are destined for death. Somewhere in the dark above, Iron dragged across stone, and a slow and deliberate chorus reverberated off the etched stone walls. The sound lingered long after it should have died, clinging to the ribs of the chamber as if it were incense. I stepped over the thick black sludge that filled the cracked symbols carved into the stone floor; the liquid clotted the seams and pulsed faintly under the beaming light of the mana crystal. The apprentices were told by the Enforcers that it was runoff from the lower vaults. If it were fresh, the stench of iron would fill the chamber, and it would glow red. Through the open skylight far overhead in the center of the massive cathedral, I could see the sky, which showed a starless blue. Dawn had not yet broken. The hour before first light is a generous one. Men talk more when their God isn’t watching. 

Fidas and Karnus stood guard at the circle’s edge, ash grey cloaks swaying in the thin draft. Fidas was impossible to miss; he stood taller than any man I had ever known. His frame was large enough to block a doorway whole. Gold shone when he smiled, which was seldom. He had paid for those teeth himself, or so he claimed, though the left hand to the Overlord, Lucreitus, no doubt kept tally somewhere in his ledgers. Fidas wore the sigil of Lucreitus at his throat, a thin chain of coins fused into a circle. Wealth had its own piety within our order, and Lucreitus its most devout apostle. If Lucreitus was his master, Fidas was his guard dog. Karnus, by contrast, seemed scarcely old enough to grow a beard. His brand was still raw within the flesh, an angry mark against his pale skin. The scar showed a sword piercing a flame. Ignatius had moved quickly before my order of Paladins had the chance. That scheming Ignatius always seemed to be one step ahead, perhaps due to his close relationship with the Overlord. Karnus clenched his jaw and narrowed his gaze. There was an eagerness in him, yet it was poorly hidden beneath a veil of discipline. He seemed as though he had something to prove. To whom, I could not say. To the Warlocks like Ignatius and Lucreitus, perhaps, or maybe to the one that watches us like insects.

Neither Fidas nor Karnus looked at me as I approached them. They had been taught well. I prefer their indifference to the hatred that their superior harbours against me. The prisoner knelt at the center of the stone circle, grooves cut into its surface, stained with old blood. The runes were older than the kingdom of Cordia, which lay above us and if the Warlocks spoke true, older than even the Order of Divinitas itself. The prisoner’s green cloak had been stripped from his body; it lay burned at the edge of the chamber, like shed skin. A white cloth covered his eyes and was wrapped cruelly around the back. He was a seer from The Order of Terra, a worshipper of Gaia. The shackles gnawed at his wrists. and blood crusted his knuckles. The man had fought. I glanced at Karnus, and the boy’s lip bore a split. The air in the chamber felt heavier, an oppressing force. A Warlock was present. I could not see or hear them, but I knew they were there. Their presence lay over me like an executioner’s axe at the nape, subtle, waiting and patient. Ignatius would gain nothing from this; he already had his hound at the door. Lucreitus would announce himself like the dramatic pixie he is. It must be one of the other two. The seer shifted as I stepped closer. Though blindfolded, he turned his face towards me and spoke.

“They told me you would come”.

“And who might they be?” I replied

“The roots and the soil beneath your Orders crude stone.”

There was a faint shift in the air, amusement, perhaps from wherever the Warlock stood concealed. I studied the man who knelt before me, feeling the power that the Warlocks feel when I kneel. Dirt still clung to the man’s nails, and faint white tattoos wound up his arms, half hidden by drying blood. Symbols of Earth, Gaia’s children believed in renewal; they had somehow forgotten that even soil feeds on rot.

“What is your name, son of Gaia?”

“Noctua.”

“Tell me why you crossed our border, Noctua? The pact clearly states we must remain behind our own lines.”

“A pact you Divinitas never followed.”

“Speak the truth, Noctua, or Karnus may become restless.”

Fidas let out a low and calculated breath through his nose. Karnus shifted uncomfortably in his stance. I knew the boy could not handle torture, but he must play along. His master would whip him for cowardice otherwise. The Black sludge trembled slightly at my feet. Noctua grinned and tilted his head.

“You are not the worst of them, merely a blade”, he said softly.

I knelt beside him, close enough to smell the iron.

“And what does that make you?”

“The seed.”

I looked at him inquisitively. He was not scared; there was a strange sense of calm around him as if his fate was already sealed.

“Listen closely, Paladin. I came here looking for one of our young apprentices; the roots led me here”

“Impossible, we haven’t engaged with your kind since the last tourney over twenty years ago.

“I found the apprentice with Pha-“The chains fell silent, Noctua fell silent. I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turn and see the Overlord, dressed in a black robe and purple signet ring. His bright yellow eyes pierced my soul like a spear. He was not as big as Fidas, but his presence was far larger. Karnus and Fidas had disappeared. How long had the Overlord been there? Was he the Warlock watching? For now, I knelt, my knee hitting the floor hard enough to draw blood. I felt his attention sharpen on the prisoner. His voice broke the silence like thunder.

“High Paladin?”

I immediately stood to attention, being sure not to meet his gaze.

“Yes, Overlord”

“Leave the rest of the interrogation to me.”

“But sir, I could hardly ask you to dirty your hands with this fil- “

“Go.”

The word sent shivers down my spine. It was not merely fear but rather recognition, akin to a slave and master. I had felt this weight before, but only twice and both times men had died before dawn. I turned and left the circle without another word; whatever would follow was no longer mine to command. The chamber doors dwarfed even Fidas and were wrought Iron bound in black oak, heavy enough that it took two enforcers to move them. Tonight, they stood wide open. As I crossed the doorway, the air shifted, Karnus and Fidas were there, no longer standing but on their knees. Fidas, who had once alone held a battering ram against the barred gate of Vrudard. Sweat streamed down his temples, cutting pale lines through the dust on his skin; his gold teeth were clenched, not in defiance but in pure strain. Karnus somehow fared worse. The boy had both palms flat against the ground, head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the blackened cracks between the stones. His breath came in ragged pulls. It was their first glimpse of the Overlord; they might have met his eyes instinctively and paid the price.

I did not dare look back into the chamber. It is a courtesy one learns early, if one wants to keep their thoughts intact. The mind has a way of reshaping what the eyes cannot comprehend. Instead, I stepped through the doors and pulled them shut. The hinges groaned like a wounded beast. For a moment, there was silence, then the pressure deepened even through the safety of the behemoth-like doors. Then I heard his voice.

“Where is the heart?”

His voice was not loud; it did not need to be. The command carried through the stone as if the chamber itself had spoken them. There was no age in that voice, no tremor and no breath in between. Inside the Noctua answered, I could not make out the words. There was a long pause, then suddenly a sound came. It was not a scream; I have heard many screams, but this was different. It was a sort of tearing, wet and loud. Fidas made a low, involuntary sound beside me; it was between a groan and a prayer. Karnus squeezed his eyes shut as if darkness could shield him from what unfolded beyond the door. A voice called out once more.

“Where is the heart?”

This time, there was weeping. The seer’s voice broke, words tumbling over one another. I caught fragments, grove… red…river… before they dissolved into sobbing. The black sludge in the corridor’s cracks began to creep, inching toward the seam beneath the chamber doors as if drawn by thirst. I watched as it gathered there, stunted by fear? Intrigue? All I know is that I cannot move; if I do, I might lose a foot. There was a longer pause, then a sound, a crack as if his spine was being separated from his body. Karnus gagged, and Fidas, like me, did not dare move, but I witnessed his shoulders tremble. When the Overlord spoke again, there was something almost gentle in his voice.

“And, where is he?”

The answer came so quickly that I didn’t manage to catch it. There was a sudden rush of air from beneath the doors, hot and the smell of copper. The sludge surged forward, seeping through the cracks and further into the chamber. The pressure lifted, though not entirely. Fidas exhaled first, a harsh and shuddering breath. Karnus slumped sideways, catching himself before he struck the floor. As I thought it was finished, something heavy struck the stone inside the chamber. Once. Twice. And then stillness once again. The doors did not open. I looked down at the empty cracks that were once filled with black liquid and thought of the seer’s words: You are only the blade, he said. Perhaps he was right, but blades are useless without a hand to guide them, and the hand that guided mine had just found its heart.