Oaths

"Oaths"

The morning mists rolled through the lowland hills, blanketing the landscape in a shawl of milky white obscurity. The sounds of a nearby bubbling brook mingled with the cooing of mourning doves to create a concord of nature’s hymns. The radiance of the sun filtered through the roving mists and fell upon the dew-touched hills below.

Upon one such sun kissed and mist shrouded hill, a pair of armored figures atop equally armored chargers faced each other across a grassy expanse. Both were attired in the finest armor of the age, yet each knight bore different pennants and colors.

On the east end of the hilltop stood an armored man adorned in blue and silver, the shades of his Lady and Goddess Alriva. His gleaming mithril full plate was accented with royal blue quartz and imprinted with the five stars of Alriva, creating a masterful hybrid of art and war. Three pennants fluttered in the wind, attached to the knight’s oak and iron-headed lance. A simple blue field a ram’s head ensigned with two stars was emblazoned upon the knight’s shield. It was his own personal symbol, well earned in his service to Alriva. A sword of archaic design was strapped to his leather saddle, secured inside a well-tooled leather sheath. The silver pommel glimmered in the morning light as the knight of Alriva turned his charger towards the other armored figure that was three hundred feet away, waiting for his opponent to make the first move.

The black knight’s shield bore the symbol of Va’Kir, the fallen demon lord of corruption and deceit. This man was no simple mercenary knight. He was a champion of an evil that the knight of Alriva sought to extinguish from the realm. The Va’Kirian knight was clad in dark blue dragonhide, crafted from the remnants of an elder dragon the blackguard had slain. The joints of the armor were fitted with flexible darksteele chainmail, a darker azure contrast to the dragonhide. He wore no helm upon his head and his face bore the scars of previous battles. The stern features of a soul wholly corrupted by darkness glared at the knight of Alriva, his dark gaze held no emotion save contempt for his opponent. A black-gloved hand settled upon the well-worn pommel of an ornate bastard sword and pulled the unmarred blade from its jeweled scabbard. The sword’s edge flared to life with a crimson glow, a glow that reflected in the callous gaze of its wielder. The blackguard stared down the length of tempered steel and saluted his opponent.

“With this blade I shall make your life-blood stain the earth that we stand upon and bring about your torment at the hands of my Lord Va’Kir. So I swear and so it shall be done!” The blackguard’s deep voice called out. He drove his spurs into his ebony mount’s flanks and thundered down the makeshift lists.

The goodly knight readied his lance and spoke a quiet prayer to Alriva. His Goddess had granted him the powers to dispose of such evil and he, a paladin, was going to fulfill those duties even if it cost him his life. Such was his devotion to the causes of good. The paladin leveled his lance and spurred his charger into a run.

“For honor and glory! For Alriva!” The paladin’s war cry joined the blackguard’s war cry, both calling upon their deities for victory. The battle had begun.

The two knights closed with each other, each one yelling out a war cry for victory. The paladin’s lance was by far the longer weapon and left the blackguard with no means to strike at his opponent without risking a grievous blow. The High Priest of Alriva, Gaeleon Silverfyre, had blessed the magnificent oak and iron-headed weapon before the paladin had left his home in the city of Mahis. The tool of war was one of masterwork quality and the blessing of magic flowed through it, granting the lance phenomenal strength and endurance. The paladin’s faith was behind his strike. The lance should have struck the blackguard and instantly sent him to the Hells that he so willingly served.

Yet it did not.

The blackguard smiled when the paladin’s lance erupted into shards as it touched his shield, showering both combatants with tiny wooden splinters. The symbol of Va’Kir, which was mounted upon the shield, flared to life with unholy fire and had destroyed the lance without a moment’s delay. The paladin’s eyes widened with surprise as his faith faltered with the breaking of his treasured lance. It was a mistake that the dark emissary capitalized on. His crimson edged bastard sword struck quickly, cutting through the paladin’s raised shield and biting deep into the paladin’s arm. The blade pulled away as the blackguard rode by, leaving a trail of crimson blood in its wake.

The paladin’s gauntleted hands grasped the reins of his charger, causing the animal to rear back. He wheeled his mount around to face his opponent. The blackguard was already charging for another pass. The paladin’s mind screamed at him, a frantic call for action. His left hand reached down and pulled free his silver hilted sword as the blackguard bore down upon him, a promise of death in his eyes.

The two blades crackled in a protest of crimson and azure energies as the blackguard’s descending blow landed upon the mithril blade of the paladin’s sword. Steel upon mithril rang out across the landscape, sending now silent mourning doves into flight. The blackguard’s sword broke through the paladin’s guard and scored another hit upon his wounded arm, leaving a twisted smile of grim satisfaction upon the blackguard’s bloodless lips. The paladin shuddered as the unholy blade seared his flesh, leaving behind a charred and crimson wound. He cried out desperately to Alriva.

“My Lady, grant me the power to send his unholy servant back to the Hells from which he came!”

The paladin’s blade flared with blue-white light and descended upon the blackguard’s poised shield. The blackguard cried out in surprise as the unholy symbol of Va’Kir melted away from the surface of the rapidly heating shield. He spurred his midnight charger away from the paladin, putting some distance between him and his opponent. The vile knight cast his ruined shield to the ground, searing the green blades of grass where it landed. Wisps of smoke joined the morning mists as the shield cooled quickly upon leaving its wielder’s grasp. The blackguard turned his cold gaze upon the paladin and laughed darkly.

“I was beginning to wonder if you had anything left in your arsenal, sir knight. Unfortunately, from the looks of you, that was the last trick you had…”

The blackguard regarded the heavily wounded paladin who was casting off his shield and clutching his shredded arm. The paladin’s helm fell to the trampled earth and snow-white hair cascaded down armored shoulders. Slightly pointed ears and a handsome angular face showed that the paladin was in fact an elf. Fearless green eyes glanced out at the blackguard and the elven paladin shook his head.

“The Lady of Healing grants me more than you can ever imagine, Blackguard. For I, Lord Amalanth Caldeain, will not rest until you and your kind are removed from this world and banished back to the Hells. I swear as such and so it shall be done.”

The paladin’s oath echoed the earlier words of the blackguard and the Va’Kirian knight could only smile at the irony.

“I see then. We shall determine who will fulfill their oath this day. So I, Balinthan Darkhope, swear it. Come now, elf, and let us finish this little game of ours.”

Balinthan kicked his horse into a charge and raised his bastard sword high, the crimson edge flaring to life. Amalanth brought his blade to bear, blue-white fire flickering along the length of the mithril blade. His snow-white charger sped towards the blackguard’s ebony mount. The two blades struck true as the two knights collided with each other, each blow tempered with the strength of their deities. The glowing blue light of the paladin’s blade bathed in the crimson, unholy radiance of the blackguard’s sword and both flashed brilliantly as their energies were unleashed in one mighty blow. The onslaught of divine force knocked both knights from their mounts, leaving them stunned and wounded upon the dew-covered earth.

Balinthan lay there, stunned. He glanced down at the searing wound in his left leg, a result of his opponent’s holy nimbus and what appeared to be a shard of mithril. It had to be part of the paladin’s sword. His faith and blade had proven the stronger, destroying the symbol of all that the paladin believed in. Balinthan could only laugh, despite the pain, at the triumph of shattering the beloved holy sword of his adversary. Such a disgrace upon the knight’s honor was truly a victory for him and his Lord. Balinthan stood to face his opponent, fighting off the pain of his wound as best he could as he reclaimed his fallen sword.

The paladin was not standing.

The elf was still upon the bloodstained ground. Crimson blood flowed from a grievous wound in the paladin’s chest, a shard of the elf’s own sword lodged deep within his body. Balinthan’s strike had been true and utterly ironic.

The paladin would die by his own sword.

The lingering pain of Balinthan’s own injury brought his attention back upon his condition. His eyes closed as he pulled the piece of smoldering mithril from his leg and tossed it aside. He gasped slightly as blood flowed freely. He drew forth a slender wand from his left bracer and spoke the command word, “Galathia.” The thin length of pure white quartz glowed softly with white light and the wound began to close as the mending energies of healing flowed through him. Balinthan grinned wickedly as he replaced the wand of healing into his bracer and returned his gaze upon the fallen elven paladin.

No matter how hard Amanlanth called out for his body to respond he could not will it to do his bidding. The shard was deeper than he imagined, severing all feeling in his broken form. The blackguard had received a grievous wound of his own and he would soon die. Or so Amalanth thought, until the blackguard, his wound wholly mended, stepped into his field of vision. He could only watch in horror as the dark knight came forward, unholy sword in hand. The blackguard placed his blade against the paladin’s throat, drawing forth a bead of blood. Balinthan laughed quietly and turned his damning stare upon the elf.

“My oath has been fulfilled this day. Your lifeblood stains this battlefield and you will die here as I have promised. You may think that your death will at least bring you some measure of peace but it shall not. I swore that your soul would belong Va’Kir and so it shall. By battling me this day and pledging your own oath, you agreed to these terms. Those are the rules and pledges of honor and they shall now be fulfilled. Perhaps you will take heart in the knowledge that I at least thought you a worthy opponent. Goodbye, sir paladin…”

With those condemning words, Balinthan’s sword flashed downward and into Amalanth’s throat, splattering the elf’s lifeblood upon the blade. Amalanth’s evergreen eyes did not close as his death was delivered to him. They merely stared up at his slayer in a look of eternal defiance. The paladin’s body shuddered slightly as his soul departed, seeking its proper place at Alriva’s side in the afterlife.

Yet his soul did not race towards the heavens as it expected to. A feeling of pure dread washed over the elf’s soul as something sinister called for it.

Amalanth…You are now mine…

A billowing cloud of darkness, unseen by any mortal creature, drifted towards the soul of the paladin. The soul desperately tried to flee, seeking the salvation of his beloved Alriva. But no salvation presented itself. The shadow came closer and fell upon the soul without any sound. The blanket of inky vileness washed over the paladin’s temperate and pure soul, drowning it in a sea of evil and corruption. The soul died wordlessly, consumed by the lies and deceit of Va’Kir.

Balinthan smiled, knowing the fate of his departed opponent. He had visited many such fates upon servants of the light. He wiped the stained blade of his sword upon the wet grass beside his fallen opponent. His hands made quick work of the paladin’s blood smeared armor as he pulled it off the elf’s corpse. The finely crafted plate armor was worth a small fortune but Balinthan meant to keep it as a trophy. A trophy that he would gladly show all who dared oppose him. His greedy gaze looked about for the paladin’s mount but it was nowhere to be seen; it must have bolted after the paladin had been unseated. He sheathed his unholy weapon in its jeweled scabbard and remounted his horse, leaving behind the paladin’s corpse for scavengers.

Balinthan turned his ebony mount to the south and spurred it forward. The sun had burned away the pallid morning mists and a day was beginning. The mourning doves’ calls were replaced with the cawing of carrion crows that came to feed upon the feast left behind by Balinthan. The brook’s waters were streaked with red as the blood soaked ground mingled with the brook, leaving a crimson smear upon the blemished landscape. The blackguard soon faded from sight as he disappeared into the departing mists, moving on to continue his vile conquest of all things good and pure, satisfied that evil had triumphed once more.