Authors: Greg Curtis
Though she had given the captain some of the reasoning behind her belief that Yorik was in fact a paladin, the most telling sign of his true nature she hadn't shared. He might or might not have understood, but in any case it was a matter private to Yorik. If he survived he wouldn't have wanted it shared. And she was certain he would survive.
Paladins were knights like many thousands of other humans, but separated from their comrades by their vows. Rather than serving a noble, a house or a state, paladins served a greater cause, a cause to which they pledged themselves with vows of obedience and fealty such as only a priest might make to his god. Vows greater and more important than anything else in their lives; family, friends, wealth, comfort – anything. Vows that bound them for life to a single cause.
And those vows left a mark on a person. A mark that someone attuned to the reading of souls could see clearly. Yorik had such a mark in his soul. But his was a mark that was slowly being obscured by the terrible darkness that had possessed him. It was the mark of vengeance and unfulfilled rage.
Yorik was a paladin on the verge of giving up on his vows, something that would probably kill him. But the hurt that had been done to him ran so deep that he wouldn't have cared. He couldn't hear his calling any longer. He was lost in his darkness, unable and unwilling to find his way out, or even to call for help.
What had been done to him to leave him this way she didn't know, though she was sure it was a matter of death and blood. His soul under the darkness was pure, and only the truly righteous and innocent could be hurt so badly, too often through the harming of loved ones. The real question was who guided him, and who could save him from himself?
All paladins of whichever order, save of course the Iron Hand, followed someone. A historical figure, a supernatural being or a prophet, and in some cases all three. They obeyed their teachings and in many cases even had some supernatural abilities conferred on them by their patron.
There were five orders of paladins in the human world as far as she knew. Two of them were copies of a couple of the same orders that lived in the elven world, though that was not widely known in the human lands. What he stood for and what magic Yorik had would depend on which order he belonged to.
The most ancient was the Order of the Just, a sect that followed the teachings of Lyrin the Just, the first law bringer in human lands, and a man not quite human. It was said that some of the blood that flowed in his veins came from the eldest of the dragons themselves and while that seemed fanciful in the extreme, their magic had many similarities to that of the great beasts.
Lyrin's followers devoted themselves to bringing the light of law to the furthest reaches of their people, and had many powerful houses throughout the human lands. They carried the symbol of the sword and shield of Lyrin emblazoned on their armour, and all the magic that went with that worthy patron. They had the ability to tell truth from lie instinctively; they could spot a guilty thought among a crowd and know a man by his sins. However if Yorik was such a paladin he could not seek revenge under any circumstances. To do so would be to violate his most basic vows, and probably to sentence himself to death even if he didn't die when his vows finally broke.
The Order of Kyla the Red took defence of the weak as their most sacred duty. Their patron Kyla, had been a human woman who had lost her husband and children one by one to bands of marauders during a terrible summer. But after her husband had been slain she had taken up his arms and taught herself the skills of combat. Then one by one even as the marauders attacked and her family were killed she had used those skills to kill their assailants, taking an ever greater toll on them. At the end though, when her last child had been slain, she had moved beyond humanity, as she had taken on the powers of something else, and used them to slay all the marauders. Hundreds of them. A woman of small stature and no experience in battle had been possessed by a fury and a need for vengeance far greater than anything anyone had seen. She had died in the fight, though some said she had died long before it. Her spirit however continued to guide her paladins.
They called themselves the protectors of the weak or the agents of their retribution if they were too late, and in combat claimed to be the most dangerous of all the paladins. They had good reason for the claim. Born only of their fellow members of the Order or taken from the ranks of the victims of evil, blessed with their own natural skills and then trained from birth almost in the art of war and aided by Kyla herself, they were said to be invincible. It was believed that Kyla's spirit still guided them from beyond the grave and granted them additional speed and power depending on the worth of their cause. Immense power. In righteous battle they were fearsome warriors. Their armour was red for the blood that they would spill in their cause, a not so subtle warning to their foes.
There was something of their ways in Yorik, not to mention their legendary fighting ability though he had let some live. And in seeking vengeance he was actually protecting one or more people; those who the person he was hunting might one day attack if he was not stopped, and those who other like minded evil doers might think twice about harming when they heard what had happened to the first. Vengeance was not just allowed by the Order; properly constituted it was encouraged as a tool against evil.
So if he was of the Order of Kyla why would he be in conflict with his vows?
The Silver Order followed the teachings of the elemental king Nasrood, who had graced the human realm of West Thalia more than a thousand years ago. No one knew how large a group they were as they lived in small chapter houses dotted across the entire world. But they were the only order that embraced all the realms. So their chapters consisted of human paladins, elven rangers, satyr outriders, and gnomish wanderers. Some said there were even dwarves among their number though she found that hard to believe.
As had Nasrood his paladins believed in the value of order and goodness, and the delicate balance between the two; between nature and man, and between magic and science, and they served that cause faithfully. But it was sometimes hard to pick where their loyalties might lie on any issue. Whether they might defend the weak, or actually oppose them because of some commandment they had broken such as the cutting down of forests, or endangering the balance by casting too powerful spells. The values of elementals were not always the same as those of mortals. They were usually those of the Mother, the goddess of the elven people.
It was rumoured that the silver paladins when they finally took their vows, were given a taste of the essence of the elementals, which granted them their extraordinary magic and terrible strength. If so, it also granted them their unpredictability as they viewed the word from a perspective not quite mortal. Annalisse suspected there was a touch of something other than pure human in Yorik's magic.
Next there was the Order of the Iron Hand; paladins who took the attainment of strength as their truest goal. Strength of body, strength of will, strength of magic, strength of arms and even strength of acquisition. Though they too were an ancient order, little was known of them, as they were the most secretive of any. Unlike the others they had no patron, no guiding light. And often they weren't even considered paladins. Some called them warrior knights. Many called them worse.
It was rumoured that their members were rigorously, and many claimed barbarically, tested to the limits of their endurance on a regular basis, the greatest strength coming from the overcoming of the greatest adversity. It was also whispered that the Order controlled through its vast fortune many of the human lands outright, and that in time they would control the rest.
But more troubling still, unlike the other orders, paladins of the Order of the Iron Hand did not necessarily serve the causes of goodness, justice, law or balance. They served no cause but their own. They had an indomitable need to attain strength, usually by combat. They often protected the weak, but only because it gave them a chance to fight the stronger enemy, and they lived for combat. They supported the law when it made them stronger, and broke it when it suited them. And often enough they took contracts to overthrow houses and murder nobles. It wasn't just for the coin – though wealth for them was also a form of strength. It was for the chance to fight. To test their prowess in battle.
Yorik she was sure, was not of them. Such was the abuse that those paladins had endured in their training, that it seemed unlikely they would ever give in to their pain and seek vengeance, though they might well hunt down the one who had caused them wrong. But rather than for vengeance they would embrace such pain, and use it to advance themselves as they simply bested any who had thought themselves better then they. Besides, he was a good child.
Last was the Order of the Lady, a small group who followed the teachings of the dryad prophetess known only as the Lady, who had wandered through all the lands be they elven, human, dwarven or other perhaps five hundred years ago. The most recent of the orders and the smallest group, they often kept to themselves and shunned the others. But for all that they were powerful fighters. Their rangers among the elves were equally impressive, though few outside of their people knew of them.
At the time of her wandering it had been whispered that the Lady was not truly a dryad. That she too like Nasrood the Silver was an elemental merely exploring the world in mortal form while teaching and granting some of her essence to her chosen followers. Thus like the silver paladins her champions had great magic and great strength to aid them in her cause. Unlike them though, their purpose in life was clear. To fight for life and love.
Whether or not the Lady was an elemental, her paladins followed the path closest to the ways of the elves. They fought for life and love, seeing these two values as the greatest of all. For without life they argued, there could be no world, and without love, none would want to live in even the most beautiful world. Their armour was gold, a colour chosen to represent the light of the new day, new life, and the beauty of the world around them. For the same reason the elven Rangers of the Order of the Lady also wore the same gold.
If Annalisse had to guess she would have said that Yorik wore either the silver or gold – or he did for the moment. But at some point, if his quest for vengeance was completed without proper atonement, he would wear neither. In fact he might well wear nothing at all. He would very possibly die as his vows, finally broken, would rob him of his very life.
But telling him that had been next to impossible. The darkness that hung over him had created a wall between him and her family that had been insurmountable. A wall he himself didn't want breached. So for three long days as he had escorted them to safety, they had barely spoken. He had stayed up the front, leading and guiding both, while the elves stayed in their wagons. At night he sat apart from them, refusing their company, refusing even their food though they had plenty. No more did he sleep, keeping watch even when there was no need. All he had done it seemed, was brood.
And now that he was gone, finally freed of his duty to them by the arrival of the elves, it seemed it had become her turn to do the same.
Chapter Three.
Fifteen days after leaving the elves, Yorik caught up to his prey in the fields outside Crossroads Shire, the last town before the barrier leading to Haldesfort, a mere ten more leagues away. But he had been closing in quickly on the wizard, and apparently that last ten leagues was ten too many for Mayfall, who had finally given up running in place of setting traps and fighting.
Thus the wizard had made his last in a series of costly mistakes, and Yorik could only hope that he understood that before he died. That he knew his downfall was entirely due to his own stupidity and arrogance. His unyielding pride.
He could have escaped being discovered and Yorik's vengeance had he hidden his crime better. But in his sickness it wasn't enough for Mayfall to simply do the terrible things he had done; he had wanted his victims to know his power over them, and his peers to know his might. That sick pride had cost him any chance of remaining unknown to the Order – or to Yorik.
At that time he had apparently considered himself a match for a paladin of the Order and taken his time as he escaped the city. He might have had to run realising that he could not take on the entire chapter, but he could never allow himself to be seen to be running.
But even as he was fleeing, knowing that Yorik was hunting him, in some strange need to flaunt his power he had chosen to use his summoned creatures to harry him instead of putting all he could into fleeing. It was another costly mistake as Yorik had defeated his monsters with ease and remained hard on his tail all the way. And each time the summoning had taken yet more time and strength from Mayfall – time and strength he could ill afford to lose with Yorik on his trail.
Finally, he had changed directions several times as he fled. Had he ridden hard, directly east from Ender's Fall to Haldesfort, Yorik might not have been able to catch him. But instead he had initially fled south and east, apparently hoping to be able to hide in the Hammeral Forests by means of his magic as he fled further. But Yorik was an experienced hunter and he had gained on him day by day, never losing his track. Finally Mayfall's course had veered east to run alongside the edge of the forest, before turning more northerly once more and making a straight run for Haldesfort.
There was a reason for that. Clearly the wizard wasn't so comfortable about spending eternity locked up with the Dark One. Most would know that the great demon imprisoned there would sup on their bones no matter how powerful they believed themselves. The ancient prison had simply been his only remaining chance to stay alive, and to keep him out of the eternal darkness of the underworld. Now he couldn't even take that path any longer. He was going to die. That Yorik silently promised him. Mayfall was going to die in agony.
It had been a hard journey for Yorik. He had ridden night and day, swapping mounts as often as he ate, and he'd slept very little, choosing instead to enhance his eyesight and that of the horses, so that they could see in the dark. Thus they had made up at least five days on Mayfall in that fifteen, but at a price. Both horses were exhausted, and Yorik himself was bone weary. Only the knowledge that he was gaining on his prey had kept him going. But that was enough. With the rage that was flowing through him it was more than enough.
The first Yorik knew of his quarry's nearness was when he felt the beginnings of a tangle trap forming around his horses legs, and knew he was under attack. This time though it was not by a summoned creature sent after him as had happened a dozen times before, but by the wizard himself. The tangle trap was simply a way of immobilising a target, the better to be able to attack him from a safe distance. But Mayfall had reckoned without Yorik's own skills. He should have known better.
Yorik was a paladin of the Order of the Lady, trained in all manners of magic, sensitive to them, always alert and quick to respond. He might be soon to be excommunicated from the Order, but he was still a paladin by training and experience.
In the instant he felt the trap forming, Yorik leapt up to stand on Crysal's saddle, and from there vaulted on to Smilla's saddle pack, and then jumped lightly to the ground easily five paces clear of the trap and ready. His horses might be trapped, but he was not.
No sooner had he landed as lightly as a cat upon the ground, great sword drawn, then Yorik cast the spell of true vision, looking for other traps. The one thing he knew was that there would be more. Mayfall knew he was coming, knew his likely fate if he caught him, and would no doubt have spent his time preparing.
He was right. His death would be hard. For what he had done it had to be terrible indeed.
Glancing around with his eyes free of any glamours, Yorik could see nearly a dozen magical energies lying loose upon the trail in front of him. All traps, and many not so friendly as the tangle trap. It had been foolish of Mayfall to use so many costly traps against a paladin of the Order. He should have known that Yorik would have been able to see them and saved his strength.
Knowing his enemy was near Yorik left his horses behind him and began walking the trail ahead on foot, carefully avoiding the traps laid out, looking for the first sign of the wizard. He couldn't see him anywhere, but he knew he was close; it would be the only way he could act if and when his traps caught him. The only time he would risk exposing himself. Which was all Yorik needed to guess where the wizard lay.
Seventy paces ahead he could see a pile of rocks and boulders that had somehow formed themselves into a crude wall and he guessed that Mayfall would be hiding behind it. It was the only cover within a hundred paces where the wizard could spy on his hunter unseen, and the incline would give the wizard some extra confidence as he cast his spells down upon him.
Leaving the road, Yorik headed directly for the rock wall, meaning to kill Mayfall quickly and be on his way before nightfall. It would not be easy. The wizard was a canny one and well versed in using spells as weapons, but Yorik was determined and the memory of his family would not let him fail.
No sooner had he begun heading for the wall then Yorik felt the air around him becoming charged, and he dived to one side with all the speed he was capable of. A heartbeat later a bolt of lightning struck the ground where he had just been, scorching it bitter black and sending the dirt around him flying. It was a powerful blast but it had missed, and some more of the wizard's terrible power had been wasted.
Yorik didn't take the time to celebrate however, and instead rose quickly to his feet and leapt sideways as the air once more became charged all around him. He was only just in time. A second blast hit the ground where he had lain only a second before. Again Mayfall had missed, and two such powerful bolts in quick succession would surely have begun tiring the wizard.
“Missed me again Mayfall. Getting old like your spells? Or are your eyes failing?”
Strangely enough he felt nothing as he taunted the wizard. Somewhere along the road to vengeance Yorik had almost reached that stage where the wrong done to him, the pain he had suffered simply didn't make sense to him any longer. What had been done was so great, so overwhelming that now he almost couldn't feel it. It was like being beaten. At some point the pain became so overwhelming that any more pain didn't matter.
Nor did pleasure. It was simply lost in the overwhelming mass of suffering that already owned him. Rather than to bring him some measure of satisfaction he taunted the wizard simply because it was the smart tactic. His many years of training told him that wizards had to be single minded to use their magic. Anything he could do to break the wizard's concentration was good.
The only response was a grunt from the mage, and then a circular shimmer of light appeared on the ground between the two of them. It was a summoning spell as Mayfall tried to draw allies to his cause.
“You are already becoming weak, like an old hedge wizard. Calling for help so soon. Are you sure you even have the strength to control them?”
It might have been true, or it might not. Certain the wizard had to be tired from his weeks on the run. Yorik didn't know if he was weakening and he really didn't care. Whatever came through he would handle. What he did care about was the way the light circle started flickering as he taunted him, as it told him that Mayfall's concentration was faltering. It wasn't much, and in a few more heartbeats the circle was once more solid, but Yorik knew the wizard had spent a lot more of his strength just holding it together after his lapse in concentration. It had been a costly mistake. He was already being drained.
Suddenly Yorik caught a glimpse of a gigantic black troll appearing in the circle and he abruptly ceased talking and concentrated on the battle, as he had to dodge a gigantic black club being swung at his head. Had it hit him he would have been instantly killed, and even as agile and well protected as he was, it barely missed. Mayfall had gone all out in summoning his most powerful defender, and there was no doubt the creature was both powerful and deadly as the wizard intended. Few could hope to stand against such a monster. Unfortunately for Mayfall, Yorik was one of those few, and he knew from a dozen battles exactly how to fight trolls. Even giant black ones. You just had to use their size and weight against them.
No sooner had the club passed him by then Yorik slipped around the side of the troll in the opposite direction, opening up a large gash along the creature's side as he did so. It was almost too easy as the creature's extra size and power made it slow to react.
And what a slice it was! In a man it would have been the end of the fight as half his innards fell to the ground. Even in a ten foot high thousand pound troll it caused him to scream and clutch at his wound. Summoned creature or real it didn't matter as Yorik knew he'd scored a direct hit. Muscles had been torn and rivers of black blood were now pouring down its side. Whatever world the creature had been summoned from, it wasn't staying long in this one.
A second pivot behind the creature's back brought Yorik to its other side, and even as it held its hand and club to one wound, Yorik opened up a second gash just as deep. It was another killer blow and the troll fell to its knees screaming, all thought of attack forgotten in its pain. It was just the effect Yorik had hoped for as he swung his great sword for all it was worth into the back of the creature's neck, nearly decapitating it.
With a single strangled screech the creature fell the rest of the way to the ground and lay still, dead if it had ever truly lived, while a second scream came from somewhere beyond the rocks. Caught as he was in his spell, trying to keep his monster under control, Mayfall had felt his creature's death, almost as though it was his own. That was the danger of summoning; that the bond between summoner and that which was called forth, was so strong it could actually kill the master. Sadly Yorik knew he wouldn't be that lucky. Mayfall was too experienced for that. But he was hurt, and perhaps more important still, surely shocked and frightened at seeing his most powerful champion defeated so easily.
Emboldened by his success Yorik advanced quickly on the stone wall, only to feel the air around him become hot with magic. Reactions born of years of training made him leap once more to one side, just as a white hot beam of sunlight came out of nowhere to bake the ground where he had been standing, and turn it into an inferno of lava and fire. The mage had thrown a sunburst. It was the most powerful of the fire mage's spells, and also one of the most draining.
Picking himself up off the ground before the wizard could hurl anything else at him, Yorik knew that Mayfall had to be getting close to his limit by then. Dozens of traps, two massive lightning bolts, a master level monster summoning spell, and now a sunburst; he couldn't have much left.
The hail of fire arrows that came his way immediately after though told him that the wizard wasn't dead yet. There was still work to be done. But at least they were fire arrows and not sun bursts. Being of much lessor strength his own spelled armour could protect him from them if he was too slow and got hit. But he didn't plan on being that slow.
Advancing once more, Yorik watched scores more of the fire arrows come flying at him, and simply dodged as though they were flying snakes. It wasn't hard. They were poorly aimed and not nearly as fast as they should have been. Meanwhile the fire raging through him made him far faster. The wizard was weakening. None of his arrows had hit him, and with each new magical volley, Yorik approached another three or four paces towards the wall, while the wizard slowly tired and began panicking.
Soon Yorik was within twenty paces of the wall, where his prey hid. And though he didn't realise it Mayfall was simply waiting to feel Yorik’s steel in his gut.