“This was the first battle we’ve won in months,” the king repeated sternly, staring at the gathered paladins and their prisoner. “And it is because of him! We repelled the attack on the Stone City because of him!”
Aravos, in chains once again, could almost feel the anger radiating from Halvor, the leader of the paladins. He sighed, listening halfheartedly to the man’s protests.
“He is a Deathknight!” the big man repeated, as respectfully as he could manage. “He is undead! He is one of them and he could turn on us again at any moment!”
The king’s eyes flashed angrily. “You know as well as I, that he is undying not undead. He survived the plague, by some strange blessing of the light.” He groaned wearily and massaged his head. “Aravos, you were once one of us, a paladin. By that right alone we owe you some small honor. Tell me, do you have any connection to the light left at all?”
The elf dropped his head, suddenly sad and ashamed. “No, my king… I have been made into a creature of shadows… the light has forsaken me.”
“Perhaps,” murmured the king. “I am a paladin myself, lest you have forgotten.” He almost smiled as Halvor began to shift uncomfortably. “If you had truly forsaken the light, you would think it a small matter, of little consequence, a simple trade of power for power. But you look at your runes of shadow and frost and fire with disgust… with the humanity of the champion that I remember.”
“You honor me sire,” Aravos said quietly, staring at the floor. “Honor that I do not deserve. I fought against the realm, against the Church of Light.”
“And today you saved the realm and the order,” said the king. He stood, an old man, yet still strong and dressed in robes of shining gold and silver. “And in spite of your crimes and your unfortunate fall from grace, it seems we have need of you once more old friend.”
“My king, I must protest….” Halvor said, only to be silenced by a sharp glance.
The king stroked his white beard. “You fought valiantly to save us just this morning… yet I understand than many fear you will fall under the influence of the damned king once more.”
“They are not alone,” replied the elf carefully.
“Then let the fears be eased,” said the old paladin. He moved closer to the kneeling Deathknight and gestured to Halvor and the others. “Come, lend me your light if you will.”
The paladins glanced at each other and gathered around their monarch, raising their hands. A soft, golden light began to grow around him as he knelt beside Aravos, taking the elf’s head in his hands. Aravos flinched, expecting the holy man’s hands to sear his skin. Instead, he felt a sudden warmth spreading through him as the king looked into his eyes. The old man released the elf and touched him on the forehead, just above his ghostly blue eyes.
“This spell will protect your mind,” he said softly. “It is a mighty magic, and if the damned king takes you once more it will fill you with light.” His eyes turned sad. “It would kill you my friend, but at least you would no longer be a threat to your friends.”
He stood up and turned back to his marble throne. “Aravos Sunstrike, I hereby grant you my royal pardon. Your weapons and armor will be returned to you, as will a portion of your estate. But hear this, my pardon comes with a price. You have a knowledge of our enemy that we do not. The undead devoured your people before they moved on our borders, but more than that, you were, for a time, a commander and slave to their armies.” He leaned forward, his old eyes shining with the power of the light. “You will go with my paladins and knights and reclaim the Bulwark and the towns beyond this city wall. Guide them and aid them, protect this realm and rescue its citizens… repay the crimes that you committed. Do you understand?”
Aravos nodded, at a loss for words.
“Halvor,” continued the king. “Have one of your men retrieve Aravos’ armor and weapons from the armory. Unchain him and take him to the chambers we’ve prepared. Provide him with a squire if he wishes.”
No comments:
Post a Comment