The adversary the 13th p.., p.37
The Adversary: The 13th Paladin (Final Volume), page 37
‘Well, I would have nothing against putting his head on a pike,’ muttered Trogadon as he ascended the steps, gasping for air. ‘Did I miss anything. My pony isn’t the fastest…’
Then the first of the Blood Wolves leapt up the side of the wall and the time for mock-cheerful jokes and death-defying bravura was over.
To Ahren, it felt like an eternity of striking, stabbing, feinting, parrying, and shouting out warnings.
The wall was filling with more and more Dark Ones of all shapes and sizes, making manoeuvrability increasingly an issue. All the while, Hate was screaming his commands out over the battlefield, peppering them with dreadful threats to the defenders of what he intended doing to them and their families, thereby provoking both friend and foe equally.
Ahren could see how the power of the creature was growing and it took him little time to figure out the fiend’s plan. The Paladins would grow increasingly weary as evermore injuries were inflicted on them, while the room on the wall for fighting became increasingly restricted. Hate, meanwhile, was feeding on the disgust that thousands of soldiers felt towards him.
‘But why isn’t he fighting?’ asked Lyssin, hacking at the head of one of the few Sickle Hoppers that was assaulting the Ring. ‘What is the monster waiting for?’
‘The right moment,’ replied Ahren grimly. ‘It seems he has learnt a lot since his last encounter with us Paladins.’ The Forest Guardian tried his best not to let his voice betray his increasing concern at this realisation.
Don’t forget, he now possesses the essence of his dead siblings – and this is strengthening him, too, said Culhen. He is smarter and stronger than the last time.
Ahren smiled grimly as he skewered an Agony Boar that had used a pile of dead Dark Ones in an effort to storm the wall. At least, Hate does not possess the power of Revenge, he countered. When Four Claws had burned the child of the Dark god out of his consciousness, he had destroyed it for ever. At least, the Paladin hoped so, for he had not seen any billowing cloud of smoke rise – which had been the case when the other children of the Adversary had perished.
Culhen sank his teeth into a Low Fang before shaking his head violently and flinging the creature over the wall. Gravity took care of the rest. Let us hope that you are right, muttered the wolf. I wouldn’t mind if Hate didn’t hold the power of all the children within him.
A growling Blood Wolf leapt onto the battlements, slamming into the yelping Culhen. Ahren was about to come to his friend’s aid only to feel the swipe of a powerful paw against his back, which threw him head over heels off the Ring. The snow-covered ground raced up towards him with such speed that the Thirteenth hardly had time to turn himself in the air so that he would land feet first. Stabs of pain shot through his torso and legs even though the Forest Guardian had tried to lessen the force of impact by transforming the excessive momentum into a series of violent forward rolls, which converted, with the assistance of his armour and the carpet of snow, the expected breaking of bones into a collection of bruises and strains.
‘Ouch!’ was all the benumbed Paladin managed to say once he had come to a stop.
‘Good tumble!’ gasped Trimm, who was sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall, with blood coming out of his mouth and ears, looking in his barbed armour like a hedgehog that had been run over by the wheel of a carriage. ‘Now, if you had thrown yourself forward with just a little more speed, your knee wouldn’t hurt so much now.’
‘Thanks for the advice,’ growled the still dazed Forest Guardian.
The fog in his head had lifted sufficiently, however, for his concern regarding Culhen to increase. He slipped into his friend’s mind, hoping as well to ameliorate his own pain, but to his horror the only thing that he could see through the animal’s eyes was blackness.
CULHEN! he mentally roared as loudly as he could.
Oh, you are still alive, muttered the wolf in greeting. And I had thought that we’d both bitten the dust simultaneously.
Ahren tried to feel his friend’s pain, but nothing registered. How bad is it? Can you…can you feel anything?
The dead Blood Wolf is weighing heavily on my nose, muttered Culhen grumpily. And the Glower Bear that turned you into a flying Paladin decided, of course, to collapse on top of my back. I am lying under a mountain of corpses, and no-one has lifted a finger to help me. So, I soon won’t be feeling anything at all anymore unless someone pulls me out of here.
Ahren felt such a wave of relief that he decided to pass no comment on his wolf’s churlish attitude. What happened exactly? he asked as he gingerly tried to get up, his movements proving to be slow, shaky and sore.
The other Paladins happened, muttered Culhen, still sounding thoroughly annoyed at his present situation. Lyssin shot two arrows directly into the Blood Wolf’s eyes while Hakanu’s spear flew through the head of the Glower Bear like a silver thunderbolt. That young lad has a pretty decent aim now.
Ahren shuffled to the steps, Trimm smiling encouragingly at him but without making an effort to move. The corpulent Paladin had clearly decided that he had performed enough heroic deeds for one day. The Forest Guardian would have loved to settle down beside Trimm and the sleeping Eken. Instead, he struggled up the stairs, intent on getting a better picture of what was unfolding.
The archers were readying themselves for another phase of sustained shooting while the welcome reinforcements were slowly but surely moving in from either side of the vulnerable section of the wall, which the Paladin and his friends had been defending so valiantly. How Ahren wished that Uldini and Jelninolan could support them, but their magic would be needed at a later point – assuming, of course, that the Thirteenth and the other Champions of the gods would somehow complete the first part of their plan.
Hate continued to command and mock those on the battlefield at will from the very top of the tower. Ahren had no idea how they were going to attack him, this child of the Adversary, who had the crenellations to protect him. Ascending the narrow spiral staircase while Hate launched attacks from above was out of the question. There were plenty of heroic epics about solitary soldiers valiantly resisting entire armies by defying them from their position at the tops of towers. The child of the Adversary would undoubtedly hold all the trump cards from up high.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ahren saw the commander waving up at him. Clearly, the archers were ready to shoot again.
‘Get clear of the chemin de ronde!’ shouted Ahren to his friends. ‘Into the towers! But by the THREE, do not take on Hate in combat!’
‘Spoilsport!’ yelled Bergen.
‘You all heard Ahren! Let us make room for the archers!’ commanded the First.
‘So, your little Paladins don’t want to fight,’ sneered Hate gleefully down to the waiting bowmen and -women from his position at the top of the tower. ‘They hide behind walls – as they always do – while you lot are killed – and that, even though I am standing here waiting for them!’
He wants them to shoot at him again, murmured Ahren. And force us into doing something stupid.
‘No-one may climb on top of this tower!’ he screamed. ‘And that applies to you, too, Hakanu!’ he added, without needing to turn his head to his apprentice.
‘Yes, Master,’ replied the boy through gritted teeth.
Isn’t there something that you might be forgetting? asked Culhen tartly. An enormous Ice Wolf still lying buried on the chemin de ronde?
Buried is right, said Ahren as he moved back to the set of stairs as one Dark One after another took advantage of the Paladins’ retreat to storm the wall. You will be safe from the arrows if you stay under the corpses. He raised his arm as he looked at the commander.
Ahren, don’t you dare!
The bugle sounded as soon as Ahren brought his hand down. Then, still on the steps, he immediately ducked as a sheer wall of crossbow bolts swept the enemy on the chemin de ronde clean away while a hail of arrows flew in an arc above the parapet, landing on the slavering masses below on the far side of the Ring.
No, no, no! whimpered Culhen. I can feel the bolts slamming into the Glower Bear – and believe me, it is not a pleasant experience!
Ahren prayed to the THREE that none of the projectiles would inadvertently hit his wolf. Partly, because he wanted to see Culhen hale and hearty again, but mainly because if his furry friend were hit, it would be a bone of contention between them for evermore.
Oh, woe is me! wailed the animal as bolts flew all around him and arrows darkened the skies. The most loyal companion to a Paladin, abandoned by his so-called friend and used as target practice by a horde of blind marksmen and -women.
Ahren used the silence that followed his companion animal’s outburst to slip into Pelneng and free himself from the pain of his fall. He felt for the Wind Blade, which had slipped out of his grasp when he’d tumbled, sheathing it once his hand had found it. Then he took advantage of his spiritual calmness to unshoulder Fisiniell and nock a Deep Steel arrow to his bowstring of twisted unicorn hair.
Again, he glanced at the commander, pointing then at the bellowing colossus on top of the tower, who was standing on the merlons, goading the archers into seeing him as a target. Another shouted command followed by a short, sharp bugle blast and a mass of arrows resembling a swarm of hornets descended on the hysterically laughing Hate, who rained down, for his part, a hail of insults onto the soldiers below. The child of the Adversary had deliberately placed himself into what seemed a vulnerable position, so that the projectiles would harmlessly hit him, thereby unwittingly enabling Ahren to fix his aim on the cackling diabolical monstrosity from the steps below.
The Forest Guardian took a deep breath, extended his bow, aimed and then shot. The arrow flew precisely along the course he had intended, grazing the back of the enormous creature before disappearing from Ahren’s view.
For a heartbeat, Ahren feared that he hadn’t hit the target, but then the crudely forged armour protecting Hate, slipped off his massive body, Ahren’s perfectly aimed missile having cleanly cut through the straps that had held the metal sections in place. The breastplate was so battered by the missiles dispatched by the regular ranged fighters that it could no longer withstand the barrage.
The Paladin quickly shouldered his bow and crawled behind the corpse of a Glower Bear to avoid being seen by the now rabid creature. Hopefully, the proud child of the Adversary would draw only one possible conclusion from Ahren’s spontaneous act of deceptions…
‘You maggots will pay for this!’ bellowed Hate furiously at the archers. ‘I will grind you all to dust even without my armour!’
Then with a furious cry, he flung himself off the tower, and not three heartbeats later, he had struggled to his feet in the snow and was already hurtling after the fleeing marksmen and -women.
‘Why were you tempting him down to me?’ whimpered Trimm, glancing at Ahren before pulling himself up with a groan from where he was lying at the foot of the wall. ‘I thought we were friends.’
Ahren, however, was already sprinting down the steps, unshouldering Fisiniell. Shooting an arrow at Hate, he simultaneously delivered Culhen an urgent message. Tell Sun Shimmer that we have Hate outside the Ring at last. All Paladins must get into position.
Ahren pulled arrow after arrow out of his quiver, aiming them at the gleaming, glasslike black skin of the monster, causing the child of the Dark god to finally turn around, no longer focusing on the terrified archers. It said something for the courage of those men and women, for they immediately began shooting their arrows and bolts at the Dark Ones on the far side of the Ring, giving the Paladins the opportunity to begin fanning out on the wall.
Good cat, groaned Culhen, Ahren smiling grimly as he heard his four-legged friend. At least Muai is trying to free me.
Ahren had no time to turn and see what was happening behind him, for now Hate was giving him his undivided attention. He shouldered Fisiniell beside his now empty quiver and drew his Wind Blade, which seemed, when compared to the two-handers that the obsidian-coloured colossus was holding in each hand, to be nothing more than a wooden plaything that a young boy might use when playing soldiers with his friends in the back yard. The eyes of the Adversary’s offspring, glowing red like two burning coals, were searing into those of the Thirteenth.
‘This time there will be no getting away from me!’ snarled the monster before lunging forward.
Ahren knew from their last encounter – shortly before the Adversary had created the Obsidian Fortress with the magic He had stolen – that his weapon would leave no marks on the skin of this colossus, the young man deciding that for the moment he would not even attempt to approach Hate too closely. It was sufficient for the young man to stay alive for as long as he was confronted by the onrushing attacker.
Hence, he ducked, leapt and parried as well as he could, so that the two enemy weapons with their serrated blades would not tear him brutally to shreds. The last time, Hate had used two-handers that had been seized from his enemies, but now it appeared as if he was using weapons that had been forged especially for him in the heart of the Obsidian Fortress, and which were the perfect length for the monstrous being’s long arms.
It wasn’t long before Ahren began gasping, his acrobatic feinting actions bringing him closer and closer to complete exhaustion, while his battered body was being tested almost to beyond breaking point thanks to the effectiveness of the trance that he was in.
I won’t be able to keep this up for much longer, thought Ahren. It’s high time —
‘Take that, you deformed monstrosity!’ bellowed Trogadon, a bolt a forearm thick and made from gleaming Deep Steel whizzing past Ahren.
The young man felt an overwhelming sense of relief as the dwarf’s projectile slammed into the middle of Hate’s chest. He began lowering his Wind Blade in anticipation of having a welcome breather – only to witness how the bolt simply ricocheted off the skin of the creature before clattering to the ground.
‘What the…? was all the Thirteenth Paladin managed to say before an almost casual swing of a two-hander sent him flying high into the air.
Clearly, the teeth of the monstrous child’s blade were capable not only of inflicting gruesome injuries but also of getting snagged in an opponent’s armour, flinging the unfortunate away with extraordinary power.
Nothing is going well today, thought Ahren.
Then he slammed into the snow.
Chapter 15
The impact was so severe that Ahren’s tortured muscles were unable to steady him, the Forest Guardian rolling violently along the snowy surface and looking for all the world like the heavy leather ball which Falk had made him practise with when they were master and apprentice in the Eastern Forest.
Strange, what one thinks of when was being flailed no end, mused Ahren numbly.
Keep thinking rationally, warned Culhen, the presence of the wolf in his mind clarifying the Paladin’s thoughts just in time for him to evade Hate’s stomping foot by twisting sideways.
‘PALADINIM THEOS DURALAS!’
Roaring the Paladins’ war cry, Falk threw himself between Ahren and the cockily grinning colossus.
‘If you want him, you will first have to get past me!’ The old man’s shield glittered in the sunshine as he held it protectively over Ahren, who was now struggling to his feet.
‘The measly shield of a measly man,’ laughed Hate scornfully, simultaneously performing a downward stroke on Falk with both swords. The clash of steel on steel was deafening, Ahren’s erstwhile master buckling considerably under the force. ‘Three attacks and you will be kissing the snow,’ promised Hate with a dark smile. ‘After which you can watch how I divide this weakling here into tasty little morsels.’ With that, he pointed his blades at Ahren.
‘I haven’t been described like that in a long time,’ murmured the younger Forest Guardian, positioning himself beside Falk. He had to tilt his head back to look Hate in the eye. ‘But you are entitled to your own opinion.’
Laughing mockingly, Hate raised his weapons, the two Paladins immediately springing left and right, forcing the creature to divide his attention, their tactic, however, coming to naught. Completely ignoring Ahren, Hate again hammered his blades into Falk’s shield. The old man groaned as he sank onto his knees.
‘Two,’ counted the monster with a leer.
Ahren sensed his own rage seething within him and even breaking through his Pelneng. Remembering their original plan for evading Hate’s special powers, he sank deeper into his trance – past Pelneng and down into the Void. His head became clear, all his emotions vanishing into a sacred nothingness. There was only him and his opponent.
‘Falk,’ he said calmly. ‘Think of your role in this combat.’
The old man struggled back to his feet, retreated a pace and took a deep breath. Then his face became expressionless – a reflection of the smooth features that Ahren, too, displayed. ‘Ready,’ said Falk in a cool voice.
Perplexed, the child of the Adversary looked from one Paladin to the other. ‘Where is your hate?’ he asked cagily. ‘I can sense it – buried deep in your hearts.’ Then he guffawed. ‘You are not going to defeat me this way.’
‘We do not want to defeat you,’ said Ahren, stabbing his Wind Blade towards one of the beast’s glowing eyes.
A grunt and an irritated parry was the response.
‘We only want to keep you in check.’
Again, Hate laughed – this time Falk aimed his blade at their opponent’s eye. ‘You cannot stop me!’ exclaimed Hate fervently. ‘I shall sweep the pair of you away!’
As if to prove his point, he drove his blades towards Falk, the latter quickly raising his shield. But this time, the colossus did not aim directly at the old man, jamming his swords on the two sides of the Paladin’s metal sheet instead. With a loud grunt, he lifted Falk into the air before hurling him backwards, causing him to fly off like a leaf in the midst of an autumn storm.
