The knight who had aided him in the battle on the wall stood outside. The man bowed.
“Aravos ser, I’ve been assigned to be your aid,” he said with an easy smile. “Halvor decided that I needed to learn a lesson for disobeying his orders.”
“I… I’m sorry,” said Aravos. He stepped aside, holding open the door. “Please come in.” The elf watched the knight carefully, wondering at his smile. “You are a knight, not a squire. Halvor was out of place.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But I care not. You were the one who saved the city. I want you to teach me what you know.”
Aravos blinked. “I would have thought that you would want to learn from a real paladin, not a fallen one.”
“You were the only one that knew to look for the enemy commander,” said the knight. “The paladins didn’t even send anyone to stop the undead in the city.”
“What is your name?” asked Aravos.
“Devon,” he replied. “Knight of the house of Lyrr”
The Deathknight nodded. “Well, I guess we can get started.”
Aravos and Devon talked long into the night, far longer than Aravos ever had before, even as a paladin. The Deathknight had only spent a short time in the damned king’s army, but Deathknights were among the undead horde’s most powerful champions. With the damned king controlling his mind, Aravos had been an engine of destruction, the first to bring the armies of the undead to the edge of the Bulwark itself. He had been the commander of a vast horde and had a hand in raising fearsome Obsidian Towers that served as havens for the walking dead. A powerful paladin from an outlying town had broken the damned king’s influence in the battle fought below the Bulwark, and Aravos had killed hundreds of undead before turning himself in to face the justice of the stone king and the paladins.
It wasn’t the first time he had told the story, but it was the first time that anyone had seemed to care. Devon, for his part, told of his childhood in a village not far away from the city and of his unrealized dreams of joining the Church of the Light. His hopes had come to naught; he was unable to perform the miracle required for joining the paladin order. He went to the knights instead and eventually took a place in the stone guard. He had seen the soldiers leaving for the Bulwark, and seen the survivors limping back, fewer than had left, but he had never seen combat himself. Not until the undead had reached the walls of the stone city.
“The Towers are the key,” Aravos said, nursing a mug of tepid water as he watched the growing light. “We need to destroy their masters and the heartstones that bind them. Without the power of the Towers as a conduit, the damned king’s necromancy would falter this far away from his throne. The undead would die out.”
“Then why don’t we do that?” asked Devon, his eyes red from lack of sleep. “Destroy the towers and take back the land from the dead?”
“Only powerful agents of the undead know the secrets to the Towers,” Aravos replied. “Once I fought my way to the base of a tower, but I couldn’t break it. Even with all the power of the light that I could wield, the doors wouldn’t budge.” He laughed sourly. “Maybe the king could have opened them once, but none of the other paladins would even be able to scratch them.”
Devon started to speak, but a knock at the door interrupted him. Aravos glanced out the window and groaned.
“Let me guess,” said the knight. “It’s ser Halvor.”
When they opened the door, the paladin glared at them impatiently. “The King has ordered an excursion outside the wall. The undead raised another Obsidian Tower inside the Bulwark. The King says you can destroy it.”
“Maybe,” Aravos said carefully. “But I need some men. Paladins or seasoned knights. Maybe a dozen.”
“A dozen against an entire horde?” Halvor questioned. “Do you really think me that foolish?”
“This isn’t a trap Halvor,” snapped Aravos. “My magic can conceal us from the dead, bring us to the tower itself. Once we make it inside, I can seal the doors until we deal with the tower’s master.”
Halvor’s face twisted with loathing and annoyance, but he was forced to relent. “Fine. I will gather my best men. Be at the stables in an hour.”
“Pleasant man,” muttered Devon as the paladin stormed away. “Not quite as I imagined a paladin.”
“He’ll be a valuable ally soon,” Aravos said, opening his chest and taking out the armor, one piece at a time. “Anyone can consecrate a blade or get holy water, but only paladins and priests can use the light itself to heal or harm.” Devon helped him shrug on the heavy plate as he continued. “They are the only reason the undead haven’t overrun the entire kingdom.”
“Still…” Devon said as Aravos strapped the runeblade to his belt. “I always thought that the ‘champions of the light’ were supposed to be the best of us. People like the king.”
“Most paladins are like the king,” replied the Deathknight as he helped Devon gather the armor he had discarded earlier. “But in the end they are human and elf just like we are.” His face twisted. “Well, like I was.”
Devon yawned as he strapped on his heavy mail. “You said you survived the plague. Doesn’t that still make you like us?”
Aravos shrugged. “The plague changes you, binding your spirit to your body. Most people die physically in the process and their bodies begin to decay. They are the ghouls and zombies, the skeleton soldiers that make up the damned kings vanguard. If you survive the transformation, you usually become vampires or Deathknights.”
“Sounds pleasant,” grumbled the knight. “You can tell me about the ghosts and liches on the way to the stables.”
“The damned king attracts all sorts of evil,” Aravos continued as they walked out into the street. “The plague is not the only way to become undead, or even monstrous. Werewolves, wendigos, witches… the damned king has a place for all of these dark things.”
He fell silent as the streets became more crowded. People gave him a wide berth, wary of his black armor and fearsome blade. Devon chatted easily as they went, ignoring the people on either side. He paused in the market, digging a gold piece from his purse to buy some cheese and wine. Aravos gratefully accepted the offer of food and bit eagerly into the cheese, far better fare than he had had in months.
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