Paladin Vs The Darkone

An old wound opened beneath his ribs, not in flesh but in memory. He had seen that sigil before, carved into the gates of cities that no longer existed. He had faced armies beneath it and watched their commanders retreat into smoke, always leaving ruin behind.

He had believed the war finished.

A horn sounded from below.

His horse shied. Garrick caught the reins and drew the Dawnbrand with his other hand. Pale light ran along the sword’s edge, answering the oath etched into its steel.

Three riders emerged from the broken tower.

Black helms. Black cloaks. Long spears.

One raised a hand. “By order of the DarkOne, dismount and kneel.”

Garrick looked past them, toward the road winding south. Smoke climbed from the fields. Farther still, a watchfire burned atop a hill that should have belonged to the western lords.

“How long has your master occupied Valeward?” Garrick asked.

The rider’s helmet turned toward the sword. “Long enough to hang every knight who resisted.”

Garrick’s horse stamped at the mud.

“Where are the people?”

“Those who survived are being moved inland.”

“Moved where?”

The rider laughed. “You’ll see.”

The first spear came for Garrick’s throat.

He turned in the saddle. The shaft scraped across his gorget, showering sparks, and he drove the Dawnbrand through the rider’s chest. The sword passed through black plate as if it were wet cloth. Garrick twisted free before the falling body dragged him from the saddle.

The other two spurred toward him.

His horse surged uphill. Garrick lowered his shoulder as one spear swept past, then seized the rider’s arm and pulled. Man and horse collided. The soldier tumbled beneath pounding hooves.

The third rider wheeled, shouting for help.

Garrick leaped from the saddle and struck him across the helm. The soldier fell hard beside the ruined tower. Before he could rise, Garrick pinned his cloak with the Dawnbrand.

“Where are they taking my people?”

The soldier clawed at the dirt. “South road.”

“How many?”

“Thousands.”

Garrick pressed the blade closer. “How many soldiers?”

The man’s breath rasped behind his visor. “Enough to burn your home.”

Garrick’s jaw tightened.

A crossbow snapped from the tower ruins.

The bolt struck the soldier beneath Garrick’s sword. He jerked once, then sagged. A second bolt shattered against Garrick’s shoulder guard.

More black figures appeared among the stones.

Garrick whistled sharply. His horse came at a gallop. He seized the saddle strap and swung into place as bolts struck the ground around him. The animal plunged down the far side of the hill, carrying him away from the tower and deeper into the homeland he had come to save.

The road narrowed between fields. Ash drifted across it like gray snow. On either side, the crops had been trampled flat, and the irrigation channels were clogged with helmets, broken tools, and the pale limbs of the dead. A child’s wooden horse lay face down in the mud.

Garrick slowed only when the ringing behind him faded.

He dismounted beside a stone culvert and listened.

Wind moved through the dead wheat. Somewhere nearby, water dripped steadily. Then came a faint cry.

He drew the Dawnbrand and followed the sound beneath the road.

A woman crouched behind the culvert wall, clutching a boy against her chest. The boy’s face was streaked with soot. The woman held a kitchen knife in one hand, though its blade trembled so badly it clicked against the stones.

“Stay back,” she whispered.

Garrick lowered his sword. “I’m not with them.”

The woman stared at his armor. Dust and blood covered the blue enamel, but the silver sun of the paladin order remained on his breast.

“Paladin,” she said.

Garrick knelt. “Where is the nearest settlement?”

“Valeward Keep.”

His pulse struck hard once. “How far?”

The woman gave a broken laugh. “You can see its smoke from here.”

He looked toward the southern ridge. Smoke rose in thick columns beyond the trees.

“Is the keep holding?”

The woman’s eyes shifted to the boy. “It fell six days ago.”

Garrick felt the words like a blow.

“No,” he said.

“The gates opened from inside. Lord Harven’s men had no choice. They took the children first.” Her knife lowered. “The rest were chained and marched west.”

“West?” Garrick asked.

“To the old quarry. The DarkOne’s army is building roads through the hills. They say the whole kingdom will be under his banner before winter.”

The boy began to cough. Garrick removed his waterskin and offered it. The woman hesitated, then took it and pressed it to the child’s lips.

“Where are the paladins?” Garrick asked.

“Dead. Hiding. Gone.” Her eyes hardened. “You came too late.”

The truth found its mark because he had feared it before she spoke.

Garrick rose. “How many soldiers remain on this road?”

“Patrols move every hour.”

“Then you must leave before the next one comes.”

“Leave for where?”

He looked north, toward the mountains, then south toward the smoke.

“Anywhere the black banners have not reached.”

The woman’s fingers tightened around the waterskin. “There is nowhere.”

A horn sounded in the distance.

The boy flinched. Garrick turned toward the road. Through the trees, dark shapes moved between the fields.

“Under the culvert,” he ordered.

The woman stared at him.

“Now.”

Something in his voice broke through her fear. She dragged the boy deeper into the stone shadows.

Garrick mounted and rode toward the patrol.

There were six soldiers this time, marching behind a wagon piled with sacks. A black banner hung from its rear, the crowned skull painted in red. Two prisoners stumbled behind it, wrists bound together. One wore a miller’s apron. The other was an old man with a bloodied face.

Garrick charged before the soldiers could form ranks.

The Dawnbrand cleaved through the banner pole first. The black cloth fell beneath his horse’s hooves. Garrick struck the nearest soldier from the saddle, then wheeled as a spear glanced off his breastplate. His horse screamed when a blade cut its flank.

Garrick’s fury became motion.

He drove his elbow into one helm, split another with the Dawnbrand, and kicked a third soldier from the road. The remaining two fled into the fields.

“Stop!” Garrick shouted.

They did not.

He wanted to pursue, but the wounded horse stumbled. Garrick swung down and cut the prisoners’ bonds.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

The miller rubbed his wrists. “Who are you?”

“Garrick Valeward.”

The old man’s eyes widened. “The paladin?”

“I need to know what happened at the keep.”

The miller glanced at the fallen banner. “You need to run.”

“I need answers.”

“You need an army.” The old man pointed west with a shaking hand. “The DarkOne’s main host is not at Valeward anymore. They left this morning.”

Garrick looked toward the smoke. “Where are they going?”

“North. Through the king’s pass.”

“That leads beyond the border.”

“It leads everywhere.” The miller swallowed. “They are not settling. They are moving. Town after town. Fort after fort. By the time anyone gathers to fight, the black army is already behind them.”

A sharp whistle came from the culvert.

The woman emerged, clutching her son. “More riders!”

Garrick heard them now: hooves striking the road, fast and numerous.

The miller seized his arm. “There is an old charcoal trail behind the ridge. It reaches the river.”

“Take them,” Garrick said.

“And you?”

Garrick looked at the wounded horse, then at the road ahead. A line of black riders crested the rise. Their armor caught the dull light. At their center rode a captain beneath a crimson standard.

“I’ll slow them.”

The old man shook his head. “One man cannot slow an army.”

“No,” Garrick said. “But one man can make them look in the wrong direction.”

He mounted again despite the horse’s trembling legs. The woman caught his bridle.

“You said you would help us.”

“I am helping you.”

“You cannot fight all of them.”

Garrick met her eyes. “Not today.”

He turned the horse north, drawing the patrol away from the culvert. The captain shouted. Black riders broke formation and followed.

Garrick drove toward the ridge, but the wounded horse faltered before the trees. He slid from the saddle and struck its neck.

“Go,” he whispered.

The horse limped toward the river trail.

Garrick climbed the ridge on foot, the Dawnbrand burning in his hand. From its crest, he saw Valeward Keep at last.

Its towers had fallen inward. Its walls were draped in black. The silver sun banner of his order hung from the highest battlement, torn open and nailed beneath the DarkOne’s crimson standard.

For three years, Garrick had carried home in his mind: green hills, crowded streets, the bells of the keep calling at dawn.

Now the bells were gone.

A horn sounded from the road below. The enemy had reached the ridge.

Garrick stepped behind a shattered stone wall and watched them pass. Dozens became hundreds, black ranks flowing north with wagons, siege engines, and chained prisoners. Their column stretched beyond the fields. At its rear, riders drove frightened villagers forward beneath raised spears.

The army was not occupying Valeward.

It was consuming it and moving on.

A figure broke from the column and stumbled toward the ridge. A young scout in a torn green cloak, one hand pressed to his side. He fell among the stones.

Garrick rushed to him.

“Easy,” Garrick said, kneeling. “Who sent you?”

The scout gripped his vambrace. “You’re Valeward.”

“Yes.”

“Then listen.” Blood darkened the scout’s fingers. “The army crossed the north pass before dawn. They’re heading for the river cities.”

“How far ahead?”

The scout’s eyes flicked toward the marching column. “Three days.”

Garrick looked at the black banner above his ruined home.

“Three days until they reach the cities?”

The scout shook his head. “Three days until they reach the last free fortress.”

Behind them, a horn called the army forward. The sound rolled across the broken fields, and the prisoners began to move.

The scout’s grip weakened. “If the fortress falls, there will be no line left between the DarkOne and the eastern lands.”

Garrick rose, carrying the scout’s weight against his shoulder.

His home was gone. His people were scattered in chains. The enemy was already marching beyond the borders, faster than any message could travel.

He looked once more at the ruined keep.

Then he turned from it.

“Where is the fortress?” he asked.

The scout pointed north.

Garrick lifted the fallen man and started toward the river trail, while behind him the DarkOne’s army rolled onward, blackening the road to every land beyond.

End of chapter one. 19 more chapters in the full book.