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A Legend, Act IV

Act IV: The Battle

He felt ashamed. Here he was, fighting for a new world, but not wanting the fighting to end. He enjoyed the thrill of the battle and the rush of adrenaline. He loved the recklessness of battle and the fact that he may die. To him, it meant no hate, no love, no mercy or being merciless, no hope, no vengeance...no fear. There was only determination. Determination to fight. It didn’t matter if you lived or died. His trainer had taught him that. There was no point in worrying over whether you would live or die. Worrying caused you to make mistakes. There was little room for error in war.

He couldn’t help but feel he was unworthy of leading these people into a new era of the world. He would ponder for a moment and always came to the same conclusion: who better to lead these people than a general who know the ways of war? He loved battle, but had been growing too good for most of the soldiers they came across or the army of a king of some particular country or other. He yearned for a true warrior to come so that he might challenge him.

He had heard rumors of a Legendary Champion resurfacing in the distant country of Symterra. He shrugged. At best the rumors were false. Symterra was a peaceful land. He felt sure that they would understand what he was doing. They would support him.

His mind wandered and thought back to when he had first met the rulers of Gerryn. The king was too sick to fight and the queen was not fit to fight, having just given birth to another child. The heir to Gerryn, the princess, on the other hand was ready and willing to fight. She had challenged him. She didn’t win, but she did give him a nasty scar on his right shoulder. At times it would throb with pain but most of the time it was hardly noticeable.

The Princess of Gerryn was the type of challenge that he was looking for. He felt it was a great loss that she would have to be killed eventually. Such is the way of war. Sighing to himself, he nudged his horse forward and followed the rest of his troops.

***

Asyria picked her way through the marsh, careful not to step on anything that might slow her down. She felt horrible drugging Strite but she couldn’t have them both dying.

The princess could see the Blood Paladin waiting for her. She had to make the battle quick. She wanted to be rid of the Blood Paladin before Strite woke up. She saw the Blood Paladin’s head come up, expecting something. Asyria cursed herself and stepped out into the open.

The Blood Paladin smiled. “Ah, warrior maiden,” he said. “You came.” He frowned. “But you are alone. Why is that?”

Asyria only stared at him, ready to draw out her weapon.

“You did not bring a Champion of royal blood. You’re protecting him,” the Blood Paladin said flatly. “You’re protecting the other warrior.”

Asyria couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t believe how blind the paladin was to the truth. The Champion he needed for his dream was standing right in front of him. All the evidence had been there and he still hadn’t noticed.

The Blood Paladin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Asyria channeled her energy to begin forming the Rocan. She kept it hidden in her hand.

The paladin watched Asyria closely. He was beginning to become suspicious. Then Asyria’s hand exploded with light. She leapt forward, the Rocan raised above her head to swing down on the paladin.

The Blood Paladin saw her and jumped aside, narrowly missing Asyria’s blade. He checked again and saw that a part of his armor was seared as he drew out his own sword.

The two warriors circled each other, both looking for a weakness in the other’s defense as they feinted and jabbed. Impatient, Asyria charged forward, feinting with her sword as she let loose with a fire spell. The Blood Paladin backed away, then suddenly lunged forward, catching Asyria off guard. His sword caught her in the arm. A glancing blow, but still enough to cause trouble. He still needed her alive. He finally had the Champion of royal blood that he needed. His dreams would soon come to fruition. The paladin watched Asyria, wondering what she was doing. Her sword was now glowing with an intense light and was growing brighter.

They charged each other. Their swords clashed and locked. Energy could be seen crawling along both of their swords. The air began to sizzle and crackle with electricity.

Asyria couldn’t handle all of the different types of energy. All of them were trying to channel into her body all at once. She couldn’t absorb any of them. For some reason, none of this seemed to affect the Blood Paladin. Somehow, his body was neutralizing all the energy passing through him. He could see the panic in her eyes. His armor was being charred away but that was all. He seized on her panic and was able to hold her. She was paralyzed by the energy in her body. There was no way she could move. The paladin dropped his sword and grabbed her wrists. Slowly he began to drain her of everything she had. He panic rose as her body began to go limp.

“No!” she whispered in despair.

“Such a shame,” the Blood Paladin commented. “I never would have guessed that you, of all people, were the Champion of Gerryn.” He shook his head. “What a waste.”

Asyria’s body collapsed into his waiting arms, the light of the Rocan diminishing, then finally fading out. The Blood Paladin carried Asyria to his horse and threw her onto the saddle like a sack of wheat, then climbed into the saddle. Just as he was about to leave, the paladin saw a new figure approaching. It was the Symterran warrior. His face was grim and determined as he came out into the clearing.

“I have already taken the princess, warrior!” the Blood Paladin called out. “If you want her back you will have to challenge me!”

Strite took an angry step forward, ready to do battle. His sword was drawn, which was crawling with magical energy. “Then I challenge you, Blood Paladin, to a battle for the life of Asyria!”

The paladin laughed. “You fool!” he cried. “You cannot defeat me if I accept your challenge!”

“As the Champion of Symterra I can defeat you!” Strite shouted back.

“A Champion?!” the Blood Paladin cried out in astonishment. “Of Symterra?!” He laughed insanely. “This is a good day! I accept your challenge, Champion of Symterra, but it will be under my conditions!”

Strite paused, unsure, then said, “I accept!” He had no choice. This was the only way he could defeat the Blood Paladin, save the people of Gerryn and Asyria in the process.

“Do you know where the temple is?”

“The temple near the forest?”

“Yes. The battle will be there.” The Blood Paladin’s steed reared into the air. “Until then, Champion of Symterra!” and with that the paladin galloped off in a westerly direction.

Strite stood where he was, shaking with rage. He closed his eyes and calmed himself down. He had to make it to the temple before the Blood Paladin started his sacrifice of Asyria. Sheathing his sword, Strite followed the tracks of the horse, running as he did so. He couldn’t waste any time.

***

The Blood Paladin wanted to be sure that Strite followed him. He wanted to fight the warrior, one of the last true warriors he had seen. He shook his head. Asyria could have been a fine warrior as well. If only she hadn’t been Gerryn.

As he neared the ruins the Blood Paladin ordered that every soldier leave the area and not return. He told them that he had the sacrifice he needed to create the world of his mind’s eye. The soldiers rejoiced and followed his instructions. He had no need of them any more, and they knew that.

The paladin lifted Asyria off the saddle after he dismounted and carried her inside. The time of a new era was drawing nigh!

***

Strite spotted the moss covered temple. He stopped to rest for a minute, then carried onward. He thought is was strange that there were no soldiers or even guards patrolling the area. Throwing caution to the wind, Strite sprinted across the open clearing and into the temple.

It was dark inside. Shadows were everywhere. He could barely make out door at the other end. They were heavy and made of marble, just like the rest of the temple. He paused to take a closer look around him. On the walls were carvings of scenes. Some were of feasts and others of dragons and faeries. Others told stories of great wars and battles. There was one that had the ancient Symterrans in it and they were meeting with some Gerryns. He traveled further into the temple. There were signs of warning in a faded red hue and direction arrows with name plaques underneath. He guessed that at one time this temple had been very busy and prosperous. He was almost saddened by it.

Strite moved on, praying that he wasn’t too late. He pushed the doors open. He stepped inside the vast chamber and was immediately greeted by a voice.

“Welcome, Champion of Symterra!” the Blood Paladin shouted. “I have been awaiting your arrival!” He looked down at Asyria, who was on a granite altar. “Ironic, isn’t? I never would have guessed that this woman was also the Champion. She put up quite a good fight, though. She destroyed my armor and gave me another nasty scar. But, with her sacrifice I will become more powerful and I will be able to cleanse the world of all evil!”

“You’re insane!” Strite snarled viciously.

“I am not insane,” the paladin corrected with an eery calm. “I am merely a man with a vision. A vision of a world where none suffer.”

“Then why are you killing all of the Gerryns?!” Strite growled. “If you truly wanted a world like that then you wouldn’t be slaughtering innocents!”

“Oh, no, my dear friend. The Gerryns are far from innocent. They are blood-thirsty and violent. She-” he pointed at Asyria “-has merely reinforced what the gods have already told me. After all the Gerryns are gone, Symterra will be next. You have proven to me that Symterrans are dangerous. Foolish boy. You shouldn’t have challenged me. I would have left your people alone.” His grin was psychotic. He raised a steel dagger above Asyria’s heart. “Now watch, Champion of Symterra, the coming of a new and glorious world of my making!”

“No!” Strite whispered in horror. He lunged forward. He was only a few feet away from the Blood Paladin. He could still make it. He could still save Symterra and Asyria from this crazed maniac.

In the same instant that Strite leapt forward the Blood Paladin thrust down ward with the dagger.

Too late.

Strite saw the dagger come down and bury itself into Asyria’s chest.

Too late.

Strite’s own sword pierced the Blood Paladin’s chain mail.

Too late.

The sword tore into the paladin’s chain mail and ripped through his heart.

Too late.

Strite shoved the dying paladin away from him, leaving his sword in the mad man’s body.

Too late.

Strite rushed to Asyria’s side, hoping against hope that somehow, in some way, she was still alive.

“You are too late, Champion of Symterra!” the Blood Paladin gurgled. “I shall create a new world now!” The paladin was not aware that his life blood was quickly leaving him, so lost in his own delirious vision of his new world.

Strite ignored him, and therefore did not notice when the Blood Paladin died. He sat on the altar and cradled Asyria in his arms. He knew deep down that she was dead but even still he looked for signs of life: an intake of breath, a fluttering of the eyelid, anything.

Strite tenderly brushed some hair away from Asyria’s face. He thanked any god that was listening that Asyria hadn’t been awake when the Blood Paladin killed her. Thinking of that, he jerked the dagger out of her heart and let it clatter to the ground.

Why couldn’t he have been here sooner? He thought to himself. Then this never would have happened.

He realized now how much he really cared for her, how beautiful she had been, and how much his heart had been full when she had been around. Tears began to blur his vision. He tried to wipe them away but more came to replace them. He couldn’t see her face any more.

“I love you,” he whispered to ears that could no longer hear. “I’ll-I’ll take you to the sea in Symterra. The sea is so beautiful. I’ll even take you to the top of Death Mountain. The view’s spectacular there. I know you’ll love it. You can see all of Symterra from the mountain top.”

He began to sob quietly. He rocked Asyria back and forth in his arms. Nothing mattered anymore. He wished with all his being that Asyria was alive. He tried to convince himself that she was only really sleeping and that there was no blood on her shirt. But Strite knew that it was all false. Asyria would never come back to life. He could never tell her that he loved her. All because he had been too late. If only he hadn’t taken so long to get here. If only he hadn’t stopped to look around the temple. If only he hadn’t wasted his breath on the Blood Paladin and just lunged at him, killing him. If only... He let the thought drift away.

His sobs had died down to soft hiccups, a reaction from his throat being constricted from so much sobbing. He felt an ache in his heart. It felt as if his heart was torn in two and bleeding, and that the bleeding would never stop. He could feel himself dying inside. He missed her so much. Without Asyria he would just become a shadow of himself, forever haunting the grounds of Symterra Castle. That is, if he didn’t decide to stay here. In fact, he would prefer to stay here, in this temple. He could bury Asyria here and keep a vigil upon her grave. He would make sure none defiled her resting place. He would become like the stone Knights of Symterra that guarded the palace fat to the east of Symterra, forever vigilant.

A familiar golden light bathed him. Strite looked up and saw seven figures. Three he recognized as the Gods of Symterra.

“Strite,” Roan, the God of Strenght, spoke, “I know you are grieving inside right now but you must leave this place.”

Strite shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said. “I’m staying here.”

“Strite, you must leave,” Unah, the Goddess of Knowledge, said. “If you stay here dreadful things could happen to Symterra.”

“So is Symterra and the Legendary Champion more important to you than me, Strite, a lowly servant whose dying inside?!” Strite cried.

The three gods and the other four gods exchanged glances. Farn, the God of Bravery, kneeled before Strite. “We are thinking of you when we say this. You are as important to us as the smallest insect. But what we do is important, as well. Please forgive us. Remember, it takes courage to move on.” The goddess lifted Asyria’s body out of Strite’s arms.

“No!” Strite cried. He tried to reach Asyria but to no avail.

The three goddesses looked at each other, then away.

“We are sorry, Strite,” Din apologized. With a single thought she sent Strite back to Symterra in the future.

The God of Virtue spoke. “We would like to thank Strite for saving Gerryn by giving him a gift.”

“A gift?” Farn inquired.

“Yes,” the Goddess of Faith replied. “You see, among our people reincarnation is possible...”

The three Gods of Symterra smiled at each other. They bowed to the Gerryn gods. “We know that Strite will accept this gift.”

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