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CHAPTER III
Nights of Ebony
"The pen may be stronger then the sword. . . but I'd rather have a sword in a dark alley."
- Andrew Warnick
Before he could possibly stomach leaving Windsong, Argus borrowed a spade and dug up graves for each of the fallen townsfolk that had not been reanimated by the fiendish figure that had called himself Lord Balthazar. Righteous anger filled the paladin every time he thought of the undead demon. The coward had fled when the Light had answered Argus's summons. It would appear that beyond all his gloating and arrogance, the sinister demon still feared the awesome power of the Light, something Argus would take full advantage of later.
After finishing the burial of the townsfolk, the paladin took a final look at the scorned village and turned to depart. By now, the morning sun stood tall in the sky, blanketing the world below in a sheet of warmth and light. Argus loved this time of day, it brought with it a certain serenity and peacefulness that was rare these days. Part of working past the horrific sights a paladin came across was finding peace in any way they could. When Argus could simply bask in the sun's light and let the wind massage his head and face, he easily forgot the grisly ordeal he had just survived, if only for a short time.
A day of travel did the paladin well. Taking in the splendor that nature offered was quite therapeutic. The long route to Westmarch was one Argus was extremely familiar with. He knew every side path, shortcut and possible obstacle and was able to choose the quickest path. When he eventually did arrive at the capital city of the Western Kingdoms, he planned to speak with the High Priest of the Church. The sudden insurgence of the undead and the appearance of the Hell Knight would certainly be something worthy of the holy man's attention.
As the day wound down, Argus began searching for a place to camp. Just up the main road, the paladin knew of a small field where he could rest. The small amount of supplies he carried would only last him the night, but by midday tomorrow he speculated he would reach Westmarch. Already, in the distance, he could see the forest that surrounded the city.
The paladin hastily made a fire, rolling a log next to it to serve as a bench. It had been several days since he had last slept, and the added exhaustion from his latest battle was really wearing down on him. For only a second, the holy knight rested his head against the log. A second was enough. The visage of the fire faded from his view.
Cyndia of the Zann Esu had slain demons before throughout her journeys, but the Fallen she had just faced were by far the largest concentration she had seen so far. She knew that the forests of Westmarch were filled with all sorts of hazardous denizens, but she had expected to be able to sense them and therefore properly avoid them. For some reason, she had lost her vigilance while searching for them. She would not make that mistake again, she couldn't afford it. The battle had drained much of her power, and though it was rapidly returning, she did not want to risk another potential fight.
Instead, the sorceress spared as much of her reviving energy as she could on probing the areas around her. Twice now, she had failed to properly use her magic. For one claiming to be a master of the elements, she had surely not proven her title. Burning the wagon had shown an absolute lack of control. Only ten year olds didn't know how to squelch their magic when anger flared up. Then, she had let her guard down and not used it all, allowing a whole tribe of imps to sabotage her.
Some sorceress I am, she thought.
Night had fallen over the land, blanketing it in darkness. Cyn's vision, however, was quite unaffected by the sudden change. Long nights spent practicing her spells had given her near flawless night vision. She looked around for any sign of life, uncertain whether or not she could still trust her magic.
At the same time, her probes returned with some interesting information. At least ten entities were approaching her rapidly from behind. Sending out a much more detailed probe, the sorceress was able to put together that these were riders, half of their numbers being strong mounts. The city guards.
Cyn cursed her bad luck. She knew they would come for her.
Luckily, the guards were far back enough that it would take them several minutes to catch up to her. If they came across the corpses of the Fallen, she may even get a few extra minutes out of it. She prayed for the best and doubled her pace.
Captain Glaucus Agamemnon rode upon the back of a powerful white charger, two of his comrades on either side of him. Dressed down in a mixture of steel and iron armor with the insignia of Westmarch painted on his breastplate, the Captain represented the strength of the city well. His helm was in the shape of a falcon's head, the beak stretching down between his eyes and to the brim of his nose. At his hip, sheathed in its scabbard, was his long sword. Before the Captain had become a city guard, he had been a blacksmith of great skill. The long sword was the ultimate representation of his talents.
The blade was at least the length of his arm and made out of the finest steel in the Western Kingdoms. Perfectly balanced, the weapon had just enough weight to do damage, but was also light enough to swing with great precision. Its hilt was decorated in the shape of a grand serpent, the eyes made of sapphires that glowed bright blue when the Captain held it, a sign of magical properties being bestowed upon the blade. Glaucus had named it Frostfire.
Other then the heavy breathing of their steeds, the guards moved in perfect silence. The others moved in unison with their Captain, the silent riders moving through the forest like ancient hunters. Across each of their backs, bows had been strung, along with a quiver of arrows. In one hand each guard carried a torch to light the way.
Glaucus was a serious man, especially when it came to running his assigned section of the city guard. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was cowards that fled in the face of justice. The other guards viewed him as a very strict enforcer, who rarely spoke unless he was giving an order or reprimanding an underling for poor performance. Only the best of Westmarch's city guard served under him, each as precise and efficient as him, for the man wouldn't stand for anything less than perfect.
Behind him and to the right rode his second in-command, lieutenant Phineus. Phineus was as close to an exact replica of his captain as one could get. Wherever the Captain went, his faithful lieutenant followed, always watching and learning, preparing for the day Glaucus would see him fit to become a Captain himself. Phineus was a short man, but was quite athletic and fit, often able to out-wrestle soldiers twice his size. His auburn hair and ivory skin made him stand out and hinted at the fiery rage that existed inside him. Glaucus himself had seen the lieutenant lose his temper and considered it the guard's only flaw thus far. Overall, the lieutenant was a solid officer and deserved every ounce of his respect his rank required.
As the guards broke through the nearest patch of foliage, they pulled their reigns in unison, their mounts having to skid a substantial distance because of the pace their riders had pushed them to. The sight before them would have been insignificant to most, possibly even not worth stopping for. But Glaucus dismounted and stepped forward.
The piles of ash that had once been demons, which was obvious from the charred skulls that remained, were scattered all around. From what he saw, Glaucus determined the cause of death had not been natural. The corpses had the stink of magic all over them. Turning toward his waiting soldiers, his face numb of any emotion, the Captain drew Frostfire. In an instant, the guards had drawn their weapons.
The sorceress had been here, and Glaucus had seen the evidence of her powers. He didn't intend for her to ever have the chance to use it on a free citizen. Mounting his steed, the Captain urged it forward, his silent soldiers following without hesitation.
Argus awoke suddenly, a chill creeping up his body. His acute senses told him something was amiss. His fire, along with his only possible light source, was out and utter darkness had consumed the land. Chalky smoke still rose from the embers, as if the fire had been put out instead of it dying out from lack of wood. As stealthily as he could, the paladin reached for his sword, careful not to let his armor clink together. But his hand found nothing but an empty scabbard. The paladin froze in a combination of surprise and fear.
Whoever had put out his fire had also disarmed him, meaning they had physically touched him while sleeping. Why then had they not simply cut his throat while he slept? Several other questions ran through his mind. Normally, he would've sensed someone approaching and awoken. Was his lack of sleep to blame for his slow reaction speed?
"Reveal yourself" Argus almost whispered into the darkness. Not a single noise followed.
Rising to his full height, the paladin tried to be as quiet as he could, constantly glancing in every direction.
"Show yourself coward or face the wrath of the Light!" he yelled this time.
"There isss no Light here, paladin," an ominous voice responded, "only darknessss."
"Whose there?" Argus asked. The voice had come from all around him.
"Namesss are not important" the voice hissed. "You have chosssen the wrong path. Go back, or be crussshed."
"The wrong path?" the paladin asked. Did the voice mean the wrong trail to Westmarch, or was it making a reference to his holy knighthood?
"The Church will tell you nothing but liesss," the voice answered, "liesss that will lead to your downfall."
"Why are you telling me this?" Argus asked.
An otherworldly chuckle served as his response.
"We will meet again, paladin of the Light" it said in a very sinister manner. "And when we do, all will be clear. Until then, enjoy your ressst."
"But I'm not re-"
Argus shot awake in a cold sweat. His fire still burned brightly, though its original girth had diminished. He reached to his scabbard and found his sword waiting patiently.
Was it all a dream? he asked himself. Some horrid nightmare brought on by exhaustion and trauma? He had had disturbing nightmares before. But this one, it had been so vivid and so…real, like he had been there.
Whoever the voice belonged to, it had been dreadful and wicked, but still something compelled the paladin to believe it. But to trust in what it said meant to turn his back from the teachings of Zakarum, from everything he had ever believed. His faith was far too strong to abandon the Church without proper evidence of wrongdoing.
His body now fully awake and unable to return to sleep, the paladin cast a glance in the direction of Westmarch. The city's torches covered it in a dull orange aura visible from even this far away. He decided one more night of traveling wouldn't scorn him. Besides, getting what information he had to the High Priest was more important then his rest.
Packing up everything he had, the paladin smothered his fire in dirt and started toward the forest's edge. He said one last prayer to the Light before he disappeared into the shelter of the woodland.
Cyn could hear and sense the approaching guards long before she could see them. Their horses breaking through the shrubbery and snapping twigs didn't exactly go unnoticed. In the distance, the sorceress saw the faint glow of torchlight. It surprised her that they were pursuing with such vigilance in the darkness. It was quite apparent that whoever was in command was a very dedicated man. All this over an accident? Then again, the guard that had reported it had probably told a very different story. Especially after Cyn had teleported away.
Circling around her previous path, the sorceress ducked behind the trunk of a large tree. She listened as the guards charged past her, the breath of their steeds brisk with excitement. It was obvious that they had ran past her position, still following her original trail. The question was, had backtracking and sneaking off trail been enough to fool them?
That question appeared to be answered as the sound of horses coming to an abrupt stop filled her ears. The sorceress cringed. They must've found the end of her trail. Instead of silence, however, the sorceress suddenly heard voices.
"You there, paladin!" a man's voice called.
"What troubles you, officer?" a much more pronounced voice asked.
This time, a new voice broke in.
"Easy Phineus, I will handle this" the new voice was monotonous, but clear. "Hail, holy one. We are in pursuit of a fugitive."
The second voice was now much closer. "How can I help you?"
"We're looking for a woman, a magic-user" the first voice offered, more calm this time.
"I'm sorry," the second responded, "I haven't seen anyone all day. However, there is a village about a day's walk from here, it was besieged by the undead."
"I'm sorry to hear that," the monotonous man said, "I will send one of my men to ride ahead to warn the city. Lionel, please assist this man."
"Thank you very much, I'll keep my eyes out for your fugitive."
With that, Cyn listened as one horse broke from the others and began galloping back toward the city. Soon after, the remaining steeds renewed their charge. After several tense moments of waiting, the sorceress sighed in relief and walked out from behind the tree she had used as cover.
The virtual wall of steel she walked into surprised her so badly that she lost her footing and fell backward. Before her stood a rather imposing figure, one of both strength and grace. The pale paladin appeared almost ghostly in the faint moonlight that seeped through.
"Perhaps luck is with you this day, milady," the man said, his voice pronounced and familiar. "It would appear the guards of Westmarch are not as meticulous as I am in their search of the forest. I picked up your trail quite easily."
A strong hand reached down and helped Cyn to her feet.
"How did you-" she began to ask.
"The Light sees all, sorceress" the paladin said.
"What about the guards?" Cyn asked.
"I am obligated to take you in" the paladin said.
"I won't go without a fight" the sorceress warned.
"I would expect nothing less" was the response.
