Holy Knights

Holy Knights

The following tale takes place in an age of darkness; in a time when evil creatures ruled the night and hope was fleeting. The only thing that stood in the way of the end of humanity was a knightly brotherhood of righteous warriors known as… the Paladins.

Prologue: Gwendolyn.

September 14th, 1463.

A column of the living dead was marching through the forest, on its way to join Lord Malum.

In the aftermath of the siege to the outer areas of the elven capital, word had spread of the death lord’s defeat in the forest of Elysium and many of the local warlords were trying to curry his favor by sending token forces to aid him in recouping his losses. Though much of the death lord’s army had been destroyed, there was still a chance that the forest itself could still fall if hit hard enough. To that end, one of his rivals, the Red Duke had sent his troops to the forest’s southernmost border on the verge of the frontier, east of the human capital.

Little did the Red Duke know, however, that this column was never going to reach its destination. Gwendolyn would make certain of that.

A pair of green eyes scanned the column while keen ears listened in.

The sound of the pounding of their withered feet could be heard for miles, but even without this telltale warning sign, it was easy to track their progress; the stench of carrion wafted in on the wind. It nearly made her retch, but somehow she found the strength to keep the feeling down. Doing such a thing would give away her position and cause her entire plan to unravel. For days, the leader of the rangers had been on the hunt; dispatching large numbers of the undead and planning to attack the column in force once it had reached the ambush site. Half a dozen of her warriors lay in wait, arrows at the ready; every one of them blessed by the local priest, which made them far more effective at dispatching the undead than ordinary shafts.

That and it made the more religious of their number feel a bit more secure; thinking that God Himself was on their side was always good for morale.

From her hiding place high up in the branches of an old oak, the leader, Gwendolyn made a mental note of the dark figure riding on horseback at the head of the column. A smirk passed her lips as she saw the gleam of magical power in the amulet around his neck. This was the necromancer in command of the column, she figured. If they were to eliminate him, his entire force would crumble. No doubt that amulet he wore gave him command of these creatures and was the source of his dark power. Most likely it also gave him some protection from ordinary weapons. She liked that. More of a challenge. Besides that, having some magical protection often made the necromancers overconfident and it made them think they were untouchable. How wrong they were and how she took such joy in proving that to them.

A slight gesture with her fingers and she signaled to her warriors that this was their primary target, and the other rangers gave their reply in their secret sign language in affirmation. A moment later, just as the necromancer’s horse passed under Gwen’s hiding spot, they gave the sign they were ready. Gwen returned the sign, then made the signal that they were to wait just a bit longer. Below, the necromancer had ordered his troops to halt. Normally, she might have thought this was a perfect opportunity, but this had to be done at the exact moment or everything would go wrong. He hadn’t stopped because he had noticed her – rather, she suspected it was the opposite.

Curiously, she hadn’t noticed it herself until she understood exactly why the horde had halted. The sound of the woodland creatures had ceased. Even the birds had stopped chirping. Before she could figure out exactly what that meant, the creatures in the column’s front had assumed a fighting stance; skeleton warriors armed with rusted swords and axes at the ready. From somewhere nearby, she heard the trample of footsteps, not from any of the undead, but from a living human. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out the unmistakable glint of armor.

As she turned to the source, she caught glimpse of a man wielding a glowing war hammer launching himself at the horde. With bated breath she watched as he laid into the undead. Every blow he struck found its mark. Every skeleton that was hit had their bones scattered into fragments just before they dissipated into black ash. That hammer he wielded was probably blessed, but that wasn’t all to him. Her eyes could barely register his movements as he went about the battlefield; despite the weight of his armor, he moved about with incredible speed, and in the time it took for her to blink, he was somewhere else smashing his way through each opponent. Before long, she watched as he finished off the last of the skeletons with single blows and then came face to face with the necromancer himself.

There was a flash of anger on the sorcerer’s face as he dismounted – obviously he hadn’t anticipated this interruption, nor had he expected any foe to be able to defeat his skeletal guard so easily.

The necromancer raised his thin hands; his palms starting to glow as he began to cast a spell, only for the armored warrior to barrel straight into him with his shoulder. Stumbling, the necromancer attempted a counterattack with a bolt of green light, but the other man proved too quick, and he was on his foe in seconds, the blast harmlessly scattering into the air. Deftly he raised his hammer and brought it down into the necromancer’s head – splitting his skull like an overripe fruit. The lifeless body went down – as did all the creatures in the column as the spell animating them was lifted. Just as Gwen had anticipated, the whole lot of them simply collapsed as if they were puppets that had their strings severed.

Nodding in apparent satisfaction, the armored warrior paused a moment and took a breath, allowing Gwen to get a better look at him.

He was of average height with a strong build, broad shoulders and long, powerful legs. He had a mop of dark brown hair that was stained with gore with a light layer of matching stubble about his chin. His eye color she could not tell, as they were hidden behind a glow of brilliant blue light. Likely, he was possessed of awesome magical power. She noted with some humor his expression, he seemed to also be possessed of a childlike glee as he celebrated his victory – the little bounce in his step, the slight bob of his head as he looked around the corpses and the way he seemed to stand straighter with a grin at his lips.

Turning to her warriors, she flashed a sign to stand down. They all had surprised looks on their faces as they watched the skirmish unfold and end as quickly as it began. But then, it wasn’t an unwelcome outcome; the fight had ended without them having to lift a finger. Better still, one man had done them a great service. This might very well be a welcome ally in the battles to come.

Just as she was about to jump down and ask for his name, to her astonishment, she found he had already disappeared.