Underneath the chambers of the Cathedral of The Light lay a series of underground tunnels. Used in the past as a maze that led to secret exits, including one near the nearby city, it was at the center of these ancient tunnels that Attern had awakened. With his vision still blurry and uncertain how much time had passed, he recalled the last moment in his memory: a betrayal. One that he would have never suspected, making it sting all the more when it happened. His advisor, his friend. Someone for whom mere hours ago he would’ve sacrificed almost anything for his sake. Why? Why would he do this? he thought. The absence of an answer was slowly eating away at him, yet he had more pressing concerns at the moment.
He looked around and saw himself chained by the wrists to a monument inside a circular room. Having recognized the architecture, he knew where he was. However, that posed little relief to him. He was deep underground, in a labyrinth that stretched across the cathedral grounds and much of the surrounding land. Help would not come here for him; he had to escape on his own. Every exit of the circular chamber was illuminated by torches, marking an increased frequency in their use by Baav and possibly whoever else he was working with. At this point, the old paladin was certain that his backstabbing advisor was not alone in this endeavor.
Isolated, surrounded by glimmers of light from the torches, and with his armor stripped from him, Attern’s first thought was to check out the chains that bound him. They were ordinary chains: no enchantment, no magical seal, nothing. Did Baav do that on purpose? Did he leave me with a chance to escape? Or did he belittle me so much so that he thinks magic isn’t necessary? It mattered not for now. After a few attempts to pull out the chains from their pivots, Attern concluded he had to resort to something else. He may have been a formidable warrior, but his strength was still within human levels at the end of the day. He panted and groaned as he made several more attempts to break free. Frustration was quickly building within him with each failure. He stopped and wondered what else he could do. He was not one to give up like that. Nor one who would accept to die in a place like this. From within the labyrinth, he began hearing noises — multiple footsteps, followed by the voice of the one who stabbed him in the back.
“I see you are as sturdy and obstinate as ever.”
Attern licked his dry lips. His voice was guttural and heavy. “Baav… what did you do…?”
“At this point, I doubt you’d be able to believe in my words anymore, Highlord, but I meant it when I said that I was sorry for having to do this.”
Judging by his lips and equally dry throat, Attern figured he must’ve spent at least a few hours without water. “What do you want with Thaidren?”
Baav let out a surprised look on his face. “So, you figured out that much. Well, I’m afraid the rest will have to remain a mystery to you. Once I am done wiping out the cathedral and claiming the prize, I will deal with you.”
“Not… not if I kill you first,” answered Attern with a groan.
“Kill me?” Baav asked, trying not to laugh. “You can’t even speak properly, let alone free yourself or kill me.” He slowly approached Attern’s ear and whispered, “The Light has abandoned us, brother. You, in particular, more than others.”
Attern did not have the opportunity to reply to his former friend. As Baav took a few steps back from him, dozens of footsteps could be heard from every tunnel of the maze. Soldiers? Does he have his own army? A more shocking discovery came when Attern saw what that army consisted of. By all that is holy. It was far worse than he ever expected. Out of all humans, Baav, an alleged servant of The Light, allied himself with fanatics who delved into the most blasphemous form of magic known to mankind: necromancy. The soldiers were walking corpses, reanimated, twisted puppets that should have been left alone, sealed in their graves. An undead army that would not feel pain nor stop until they had fulfilled the bidding of their master. Among them, several masked individuals marched as well. As they passed by Attern, one of them stopped and removed his hooded mask.
“How intimidating you looked when we first met at that inn,” he said with a disappointed tone. “Truthfully speaking, I find myself mildly disappointed to see you like this.” It was the same dark acolyte to whom Attern spoke back in Foreton. Despite the apparent discontentment in the acolyte’s voice, his face had a satisfied grin on it. “How the mighty have fallen. But don’t worry, we will take care of everything, Highlord.” He pointed at another acolyte who was holding something wrapped up in a leather rug. It approached Baav, bent down on his knees, and unfolded what had been hidden from the eyes of the men and the prisoner.
“You have received permission to use it as you see fit,” he said to the advisor. “For now.”
Attern began to pant uncontrollably as he attempted to let loose a threatening shout. He struggled to break free yet again but fell to the floor exhausted.
“I know, I know,” Baav said. “It was yours for a long time, but now I have been deemed worthy of using it.”
The acolyte was holding Viz’Hock, Attern’s longtime weapon before it was captured. A renounced and powerful artifact, strongly tied to the angelic powers whom the paladins serve.
“You… you don’t understand… Baav” Attern desperately stuttered, as if trying to warn him.
Throwing an indignant look at him, Baav listened to the old paladin’s words.
“You know all too well that the hammer cannot be wielded by everyone. You know that it doesn’t hold just The Light in it.”
Baav paused briefly before smirking. “I don’t need The Light within hammer. No, no, no; I intend to use its TRUE power.” He lifted the hammer and immediately felt a surge of energy rush through his body. Yet, it was not the blessed embrace of The Light that enveloped him. In a matter of moments, the hammer started to change shape. Like a lizard shedding its skin, the blunt end of the weapon fell off, with the remaining tip and the hilt beginning to sharpen as the artifact turned into a blazing crimson sword. The grip’s end changed into a demonic-shaped skull, and even Baav’s body started to change. His muscles began to grow, bursting out through his armor. The gloves he wore melted in a sudden burst of flames and revealed a pair of demonic hands with sharp claws.
He fell on his knees, with one hand gripping the weapon as he tried to keep his balance. Baav’s shoulder-length hair grew even more and gained a pitch-black pigmentation. A pair of small horns emerged from his forehead, his skin turned red, and fiery, glowing veins appeared throughout his body. Even his eyes were no longer those of a human. They turned reptilian, red, glowing with bloodlust: demonic. Baav turned into the very creature that paladins had sworn to fight against. As soon as the pain ceased, he got back on his feet and let loose a beastly roar at Attern.
“This power… I can’t believe we were so blindly ignorant. That we fought against it. That you refused it. I never thought of you to be a fool, until now,” Baav cackled.
“That “power” will consume you,” Attern answered.
“How would you know? You’ve denied it all your life.” Having realized he was becoming angry and potentially unstable, Baav restrained himself, clearing his throat. “It matters not. It is time we take the boy.” He gazed at Attern with a smug look. “And bolster the ranks of our undying army.”
The undead slowly marched on through three of the corridors that led to exits near the cathedral. Attern continued to struggle in vain as he watched them move on, ignoring him. At least they had not killed him. He could still seize an opportunity to escape and help the others. Luckily, the cathedral was not short on skilled paladins that could face this threat. But what about the students? And we’re talking about a small army, after all. Most people here have fought small to medium groups of enemies at best. They are not ready for an open battlefield of this scale. He had to do something, anything. Hoping he may have loosened up his bounds, Attern attempted to break free once more. But the chains wouldn’t budge. He prayed for the blessing of The Light.
Light in heavens from above,
I call upon your blessed touch
Turn me into your vessel,
of might and strength
To seek out the darkness,
and drown it in your rays
To sever the head of the snake,
and set aflame its tail
By all that is light and holy,
grant me the power to vanquish evil,
For now, and forevermore
I am your tool; I am your servant.
Alas, nothing happened. Attern received no strength from the heavens. No answer. No help. He was alone here, where even The Light could not reach him. He would usually have supplies of magical items for this kind of situation, but all of his belongings and armor were taken from him when he was imprisoned. The monument he was bound to was somewhat similar to what he called The Dim Pillar. However, it had a completely different purpose. The labyrinth he was in could easily get a person lost in it for days, even with several exits at hand. This monument was a marking point, the center of the maze, but it was more than that.
On it, there was also an inscription. Carved long ago by someone not even remembered in these times, it held the words: Even in the darkest shadow, you can still find The Light. Do not despair and press on. It was a reminder to never give up. Attern had read these words before. He knew what was at stake here. It did not matter for him if his body would crumble. He would give his last breath for a chance to save the people at the cathedral. His friends, his family, he couldn’t live with himself, knowing that they died because he gave up on breaking a pair of ordinary chains. His brothers, his sisters, his sons, and daughters. His sons… They all depended on him. The old paladin stood up yet again and repeatedly tried to pull off the chain pins from the ground and the monument. After several tries, his foot slipped and got grazed in a sharp small stone. A superficial cut, yet it added further hindrance in using that leg.
Suddenly, Attern stopped. He glanced at his foot and the blood dripping from it. A flash of memory brought a subtle smile to his face. He remembered a secret that an old paladin taught him long ago, back when Attern was about the same age as Thaidren and Aramant. The words of that precious memory echoed through his mind.
If you find yourself in a situation where The Light can’t help you, and you have little to no options, there is still something you can do. As paladins, we became akin to The Light’s embrace, and even though we cannot store it in our bodies, we can absorb it from almost any source. But be warned that it is a dangerous technique to use, and it will leave a mark on you. Quite literally. You will need to draw a specific symbol on your body using your own blood. After that, you will be able to harness light estranged from the heavens for a short time.
I never thought it would ever come to using this, Attern thought. May The Light grant me strength. He bit his thumb and drew a magical rune on his chest. As soon as he was done, the sign started to burn, as if it had been freshly branded using heated metal. A couple of moments later, Attern could feel his physical strength returning, exceeding that of his normal state. He was absorbing energy from the light generated by the torches. He stood up and grabbed the chain pins holding his arms with his hands. He then pulled as hard as he could, shouting as loud as his breath would allow him. The pivots began to move as he continued to absorb energy from the torches until the chains finally broke loose. He rested for a brief moment before doing the same with his leg chains. Now he had to preserve his remaining power and get out of the maze. He grabbed a torch and walked down one of the tunnels. I’m coming, everyone. Please be well until I arrive.
***
Above the tunnels, near the Cathedral of The Light, Thaidren was enjoying a quiet evening by himself. He found a unique, private spot atop a hill nearby from where he could see both the cathedral and the closest clock tower. It offered a peaceful view, one that, in times of thought, helped him ease his mind. He leaned on one of the larger trees on the hill and watched the sunset. However, that spot was neither a secret nor exclusive to him.
“When I couldn’t find you anywhere, I figured you’d be here,” he heard from behind.
Thaidren was not bothered by Nebrina’s presence. Although he wasn’t sure why his handler came here. “If you want, have a seat and enjoy the view.”
Nebrina, one of The Five Lanterns, leaned her arm on the same tree near Thaidren.
He did not look her in the eye, yet he felt her gaze on him.
“We still can’t find him,” she said after a few seconds of silence.
“I am not worried. Maybe he went off on business again,” he said in an attempt to sound indifferent.
Nebrina, on the other hand, did not share the same alleged apathy. “The Highlord wouldn’t do that without saying a word to anyone. Plus, I doubt he would leave again so soon after his return. He rarely leaves to begin with.
“You worry too much, Master. The church can survive for a day or two without him.”
“Cathedral. Not ‘church.’ You know the difference all too well,” Nebrina snarled.
“Yeah,” Thaidren smirked, “one word annoys you, the other doesn’t.”
“Watch your tongue, disciple. Don’t forget your place.” She sighed, then softened her tone. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I find it strange for the Highlord to be missing like this.”
“Have you spoken to every — ” Thaidren stopped mid-sentence.
Nebrina followed his gaze and found herself speechless as well.
They both saw a dark mass in the distance heading toward the cathedral.
Nebrina snapped out of her shocked state first. “Heavens protect us, is that an…?”
Thaidren turned to her. “GO. Sound the alarm and prepare everyone. I’ll catch up with you.”
There was no time for further chatter. Nebrina could not afford to wait for someone fully donned in heavy plating like Thaidren. Wielding a short sword and a dagger, combined with her choice of thinner, lighter armor, she rushed down the hill, hoping that maybe someone else at the cathedral might have seen them. The Lantern yelled as loud as her voice would let her. “Sound the alarm! We are under attack!”
Thaidren grabbed his swords and followed her. What the hell is happening here? Why would anyone attack this place? However, their priority now was to gather intel on who the enemy was and what their weaknesses were. Only after that would there be room for their motives. Yet, it seemed strange for anyone to show interest in a place like this, other than those who wanted to train here, of course. He had to gather the men. In the absence of Attern, he figured that The Five Lanterns would have to assume command.
Nearing the cathedral, Nebrina arrived to warn the people of the imminent threat. The alarm bells rang throughout the entire area, alerting everyone to ready themselves for combat.
Illia and Aramant were the first to talk to her. “What’s happening?” they both asked at the same time.
Nebrina panted for a few moments before managing to catch her breath. “There’s… an army. They’re heading toward us.”
“Wait a minute. Are you sure they are hostile?” Illia asked.
“Trust me, they did not seem friendly. There is something ominous about the army. I can feel it, but I am not sure what it is yet.”
Illia nodded and turned her gaze upon Aramant. “Gather everyone and organize them into battalions. Then find the rest of the Lanterns.”
“Not every Lantern is here now. From what I know, Kelsi and Vermizi are both away, each on their own mission,” Aramant said.
“Dammit. Just find Issin and explain the situation to him!”
Aramant left to fulfill his order. The two Lanterns looked at each other, each expecting the other to come up with something.
“The Highlord is missing, and so are two of our best paladins. I doubt this is all a coincidence,” said Nebrina.
“Do you think that they’re…?”
“There’s no time to assume now. We must concentrate on repelling the invaders.”
Illia smiled. “Hmph, it’s been a long time since we fought side by side, Master.”
She responded in kind. “Yeah… it has been.”
Most of the paladins at the cathedral were still confused as to what was happening. As Aramant left in search of Issin, he guided the men to the main road, where Illia and Nebrina were standing. In the meantime, Thaidren had arrived back from the hill and was doing the same. On his way to the main road, he ran past the graveyard. It was then that he stopped for a moment, in shock. From the crypts of the cemetery, undead soldiers began to rise. Their aim seemed to revolve around getting inside the cathedral and the living quarters. At the graveyard’s entrance, Issin and several paladins were desperately trying to hold them back. Yet, they were constantly pushed further and further back. Thaidren decided the best course of action was to join them while hoping that Nebrina and Illia would manage to find reinforcements from elsewhere.
“What in the bright sky is happening here?” Issin asked.
“There’s an army marching toward the main road. Nebrina should already be there by now,” Thaidren answered.
“And what about this blasphemy? Who — What — are we fighting?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Well then, whoever this unknown enemy is, he, she, or they are toying with the dead. A feat that not many people can do with ease.”
It was the first time for Thaidren, and many others, to see an actual undead, let alone a small army of them. They knew that such abominations could be summoned into the world. Still, to experience it firsthand was something no book, lesson, or other teaching sessions could prepare one for. The stench of the rotting flesh, the sinew hanging and falling off their brittle bones, the empty eye sockets, and the blackness within them. People were hesitant to fight such creatures, to say the least. Nevertheless, they had to. Among those fighting at the graveyard was Epton, Aramant’s childhood friend. Upon seeing him, Thaidren grabbed the mute paladin by the shoulder.
“Go and find Aramant,” he said. “Get him here along with as many people as you can.”
He nodded and ran off. The other warriors on the main road were probably unaware that they were also about to be ambushed from behind. But at least they were not fighting the undead. Or so Thaidren thought.
Back at the main road, the army got close enough for Nebrina and the others to understand what they were going to face: a legion of undead soldiers, dark acolytes, and worst of all, a demonic behemoth among their midst. Towering any human or undead there, it would stand to reason that he was the one in charge. Capturing him may prove helpful in the long run, yet it posed no priority unless they found out he was the mastermind behind the attack. Nebrina and Illia charged forward, followed by several battalions of paladins, each of them ready to defend their home and loved ones.
“Chaaaaargeee!” Illia shouted.
The demon pointed forward with the tip of his sword as the undead started to rush ahead. Snapping their jaws and screaming beyond the sounds akin to the living world. The two armies clashed. Everywhere, maces, swords, and axes met one another in battle, some shattering and some bringing their wielders victory. The stench of the dead had been quickly accompanied by the smell of fresh blood spilled on the battleground. Baav, with his new demonic powers, would send dozens of his former companions into oblivion with a mere swing of his sword. He would set them ablaze, then reabsorb the fires so that the corpses could be raised as new soldiers in his army.
Nebrina and Illia were fighting back-to-back, crushing as many undead soldiers as twenty capable paladins could. Nebrina waved her hand over her dagger, then her short sword as they began to glow with the brilliance of The Light. She continued to slash through the ranks of the undead, yet it felt as futile as scooping out water from a lake using a pierced bucket.
In the distance, Baav noticed her presence and started to move toward her and Illia. They were two of The Five Lanterns, after all. It would be better for him to take care of them first, to tip the scale of the battle in his favor even more. However, his newly-gained, superior body granted him more strength and magical power at the cost of more sluggish movement. He pursued without haste, relishing the thought of what he would do upon reaching them.
At the graveyard, the situation had rapidly escalated from bad to worse. The vast number of undead soldiers that came out from the crypts were flooding the area. Thaidren and the rest were repeatedly pushed back, with no chance to repel them faster than others would take their place.
Issin was already beginning to feel the strain of fighting too long. “We’re getting nowhere. If this goes on for much longer, they will reach the graveyard exit, and they’ll be able to move freely.”
“They’ve already started.” Thaidren pointed at parts of the graveyard’s surrounding fence-walls. Many of the risen had already climbed or jumped to the other side. Things would soon get out of hand for the warriors of The Light.
“We HAVE TO close the way out. Even if we have to destroy the crypts themselves. Thaidren, buy me some time.”
Thaidren nodded as he ordered the men. “Everyone! Form a circle around Master Issin. Defend him at all costs.”
Issin grabbed him by the shoulder. “After I’m done, you’ll have a few moments to seal the entrances.” There were five crypts in total, and Issin knew that Thaidren was the best person present to destroy them. By using his ice magic, he should be able to block the entrances, maybe even collapse the crypts’ interior on the undead. With that thought, the oldest of The Five Lanterns let go of Thaidren and focused on his task. He kneeled, closed his eyes, turned his head to the sky, and started to pray.
“Hold them off,” Thaidren yelled in an attempt to inspire the other paladins. “We can do this.” Between the clashing of weapons and the screams of both the dead and the living, it was hard to say who could hear him. As for the young warrior himself, he was cutting through the ranks of the enemy like a scythe over a field of grains. So far, he had not tapped into his elemental powers. It was necessary to preserve them until the time was right; for when the crypts would become accessible. He felt rushed by a temptation to unleash his magic but dismissed the thought.
Seconds passed on as if they were minutes. It did not take long before Issin stood up and raised his hand, pointing at the sky, his eyes still closed. From the darkened skies, a surge of radiating light came forth to surround him. It went straight into the earth, creating a shockwave of pure light that dissipated the remains of the undead, cleansing the foul magic that moved their brittle bones and turning them back into what they should be: corpses. Although many of them were outside the range of the attack, the shockwave cleared enough of their ranks to give the paladins a chance. Thaidren rushed as fast as he could to the two closest crypts and froze the entries off. The crackling of ice and the bony shrieks of the undead trapped inside painted a horrific image of death and chaos around him. He turned his attention toward the remaining three, stacked up in a line, and reached out to them. While having to deal with the newly-surfaced soldiers, he briefly sensed something. Between the clanking of metal and the inhuman sounds of the undead, he faintly heard something reminiscent of a human’s voice. A presence, not too deep inside the fourth crypt, panting and screaming. There’s someone in there, he thought. But how? No. It cannot be… Even though logic dictated otherwise, Thaidren decided to run past the third crypt and go straight to the fourth. Issin saw him as he slowly recovered after channeling the powers of The Light.
“What are you doing, boy?” he screamed at him in vain. They were too far apart, too much noise between them.
Thaidren reached the fourth crypt and ran inside, going through the undead army, tackling them, breaking their bones, and throwing them down the passage’s stairs. Within the deep passageways below, he saw a flicker of roving light, similar to a firefly. Upon taking a closer look, he realized it was none other than Attern, still absorbing light energy from his torch while fighting off the undead. The image petrified the young warrior for a split second as his mind struggled to accept the reality before his eyes. A paladin, in his late years, with no weapon or armor, trapped underground and slaughtering unnatural monstrosities, all by himself. He quickly let out a mighty war cry before rushing to Attern’s aid.
“Attern,” he shouted with a sense of both relief and surprise.
“Thaidren. Thank The Light!”
“No time… We have to get out of here. Can you run?”
The old paladin was exhausted from fighting the undead and in a terrible state. “I’ll try,” he answered.
Outside, Issin received reinforcements from Aramant, whom Epton had found minutes ago. With their help, they managed to hold off the undead march but barely. They still couldn’t advance to the crypts to seal them off. Not to mention the already defeated soldiers had formed piles of bone and rotten flesh that blocked their way.
“Nebrina and Illia are at the main gate. They need our help as well,” Aramant said to Issin.
“Right now, I’m more concerned that WE need some extra help,” replied The Lantern. At the same time, he was convinced that Thaidren had perished inside the fourth crypt. He couldn’t have survived fighting so many of them. Damn, he was the best-suited man to take them down, he thought. He could not wait any longer, simply holding off the horde of abominations was not an option. Somehow, they had to start advancing. “Ok, men,” he shouted, “I’m going to give you ten seconds to build up your courage and take a deep breath, after which we are somehow going to march forward and bury the bastards!” The countdown was as much for his men as it was for himself. “I want you all to give one hundred and ten percent, and may The Light protect us all.” Aramant started praying, and his sword glowed with light. Some of the more experienced paladins followed his actions.
“Onwaaaarddddd!” Aramant let out a battle cry before pressing on, slashing one undead after the other, Issin right behind him. Despite being shaken up by the surge of energy he unleashed earlier, The Lantern still kept up with Aramant. They continued to do their best to advance, but even with two of the crypts sealed off, it was challenging to progress more than a few steps at a time. With the brink of exhaustion steadily closing in, taking a break to even catch their breath meant slowing down their already sluggish advancement, a predicament in which Issin was aware that the men could not keep up with for long. But there was no turning back now. Either they sealed the tombs off, or they would die trying. While pressing on, Issin tripped and fell to the ground. He continued to fight even then as he slashed the feet of some of the undead soldiers near him.
Aramant rushed to his superior’s side and offered him his hand. Yet, in doing so, he exposed himself by letting his guard down. One of the skeletal soldiers managed to land a blow with its sword on Aramant’s shoulder. His armor blocked most of the attack, leaving him with only a superficial cut.
The group had nearly reached the third crypt entrance. Issin’s gaze shifted toward one of the heavy-armored paladins in the group. He wielded a two-handed mace that could easily break the brittle bones of the undead in a single swing. He rushed toward him and signaled to switch weapons, lending him his sword and shield and taking the hammer. His goal lay one step farther, and as soon as he reached the crypt, he swung the hammer as hard as his strength would allow him, destroying a segment of the lower structure of the burial catacomb. Other hammer-wielding paladins followed suit, under the hope that their brothers in arms would be able to defend them.
Their efforts were rewarded as the third crypt fell apart, the undead coming out of it being buried beneath its rubble. Only two more to go now, thought The Lantern as he took a couple of seconds to catch his breath. Alas, Issin’s squadron could not advance anymore. Wherever he looked, he saw each of his fellow paladins outnumbered and overwhelmed. One by one, they fell to the ground, lifeless and drenched in blood.
Aramant’s movements became slower, less coordinated, as did his reflexes and focus; a consequence of the long battle. At this point, panic started taking root in his mind. His survival instincts compelled him to run away, but it was not in his character to do so.
Don’t think, don’t think… Don’t THINK! he thought as he continued to fight on. He swung his weapon, hitting a dozen undead and shattering their bones only to gaze at the hundreds of others that would take their place. He was struck again, this time near his wrist. He dropped his weapon, and in a short burst of fear, he took a step away from it, leaving himself unarmed. This is it, he thought. It’s over. We’re going to die.
His moment of discouragement was interrupted by the image of Issin rushing to his aid. After clearing the undead surrounding the young paladin, he threw a hard punch at him.
“Snap out of it, boy!” he shouted as if he seemed ready to kill him himself. “You can give up when you die. Not a moment sooner!”
His words reached the young paladin, redirecting his fear for a brief moment and bringing him back to his senses. After that, he felt a strong sentiment of relief to have someone like Issin leading him. He quickly grabbed two shields, discarded by their nearby fallen friends, then placed himself back-to-back with Issin, constantly rotating in the swirl of undead that surrounded them. Where Aramant would focus on the defense, Issin would concentrate on landing the improperly-said killing blows. Having no other choice at this point, they started stepping back from the remaining crypts.
“What are we going to do?” asked the young paladin.
Issin remained silent. On the one hand, he was too preoccupied with fighting. On the other, he did not know how to answer. “I don’t know yet, but we’ll have to find another way to get there. Fast.”
The only place they could retreat to was the graveyard entrance. It would be a tighter, easier-to-defend spot. That is, assuming the enemy wouldn’t climb up the graveyard walls again. The remaining paladins attempted to regroup at their location, in a small formation. For better or worse, at least now they were coordinated once more.
As the fight pressed on, aid seemed to have come in the form of arrows shot by some of the less combat-suited disciples from the cathedral tower. Circumstances dictated that anyone capable of lending a helping hand would do so, despite their status. Inside its walls, the medical staff were preoccupied with treating the critically injured that were brought back. After that, they would have time to help the ones outside.
Arrows, shot from the top tower. Issin’s thoughts turned to an idea. He knew that inside the cathedral, in the basement, sat canisters of flammable oil.
“We need fire,” he yelled at the people in the tower, hoping they would hear him. “We need fire,” he shouted several times over to make sure his words were heard. Aramant and the rest called along with him. If they could incinerate the graveyard or at least a part of it, they might turn the situation in their favor. One of the archers above nodded and ran back inside.
“Bring the oil canisters from the basement! ALL of them!” he commanded.
Outside, Issin and the others were desperately trying to hold off the undead at the gates until their newfound plan could be set into motion.
“Hold them off, men. Just a few minutes.” Glancing to the side for a moment, Issin noticed that his fears were coming true. Several dozen undead soldiers had climbed the graveyard walls and stormed the outside without resistance. He signaled to some of the paladins to go and hold them off by any means necessary. With the number of troops under his command slowly decreasing, he soon realized that only he, Aramant, and a handful of others were left to defend the gate.
“They’re too many,” he heard one of the paladins yelling from a distance. The screams of the wounded and those still able to fight echoed across the cathedral grounds. Shortly after, the sounds of agitated horses housed at the stables could be heard. Understandably so, as it was the closest structure to the graveyard not blocked by a gate. The undead that had managed to get outside had ended up driven to the stables by the squeals and screeches of the horses. Aramant remained silent. He was terrified himself, but at this point, he realized he could only fight back for as long as possible.
“Do not leave my side, boy,” Issin said to him. “I want to look Attern in the eyes with pride as I tell him how we both survived, so stay with me, and don’t you dare lose your focus.” Issin was just a few years younger than Attern, yet their history together could fill at least one book. There were countless instances in which they had fought side-by-side, like brothers in arms, similar to how he was fighting alongside Aramant now. Despite the dire situation they were in, the atmosphere stirred a subtle feeling of nostalgia within him. He would not let the son of his friend die here. And he would prefer to emerge from this alive too.
Aramant nodded at him and let out a war cry as they continued to hold the gate. Considering the number of enemies that had gone past the walls, it quickly became a back-to-back situation again. Within a few moments of their reaching exhaustion, a voice from the cathedral’s bell tower yelled:
“Incoming!”
What followed was the sound of shattering ceramics on the graveyard grounds, soaking the earth and undead in flammable oil.
Issin let out a battle cry and shouted alongside Aramant. “Fireeee!”
On the other side of the graveyard, Thaidren was trying his best to defend Attern as they made their way back outside. Exhausted and without a decent weapon, the Highlord could barely fight back anymore. The only element in their favor was that Thaidren managed to freeze and collapse the tunnel behind them, leaving only one more crypt from which undead soldiers came. Nevertheless, more enemy forces were heading toward them, blocking the exit. At the same time, the majority of the undead continued their assault on the cathedral. At this point, Thaidren had depleted a considerable amount of his magical energy. If he were to use more, he might risk exhausting his physical stamina as well.
“Come on, just a bit more,” he said to Attern as they slowly pressed on.
The beaten Highlord could only pant and nod at him while trying to be as little of a burden as possible. He still had some time left from the light-absorbing symbol on his body, yet its borrowed power was leaving him with each passing moment.
As they climbed the final steps outside the crypt, Thaidren felt a surge of adrenaline. He made use of his heavy armor plating again by tackling the corpses that stood at the exit. Before he could exit to clear a path for Attern, the sound of oil canisters breaking made him pause. With a glance upwards, he quickly understood what had happened so far and what the others planned. As soon as he saw the archers at the tower windows, aiming at the ground with fire arrows, he rushed back inside the crypt.
The ground caught fire, scorching the corpses of the defeated and preventing the remaining undead from exiting the last crypt. Unfortunately, it prevented Thaidren and Attern from getting outside as well.
Dammit, thought the young warrior. We have to get outside the graveyard somehow.
Attern lay a few steps behind his protege. Seeing Thaidren backing up, he figured that something outside was not right. He then saw him getting closer as the clear view outside the crypt’s exit was blocked by a dense layer of burning smoke.
“They burned the graveyard grounds,” Thaidren said while helping Attern climb closer to the exit.
Attern’s eyes quickly opened. “Did… did they use oil?” he struggled to ask.
“Yes, they threw canisters from atop the bell tower.”
The beaten-up face that resided on the Highlord showed a brief, subtle smile. “We need to get out!”
“What? We cannot get past that fire,” Thaidren said. “And even if we do, the smoke is going to — ”
“Thaidren…” Attern waved his hand, pointing toward the exit, “have faith.”
Has he gone mad? It was the first time that Thaidren asked himself such a thing regarding Attern. He dismissed the idea quickly. He had known him for so long. He began seeing him as a fatherly figure a long time ago. He may not trust the fiery embrace outside, but he did trust the old paladin with his life. Without any more hesitation, Thaidren signaled Attern to grab him with his hand on his shoulder and they started moving toward the exit.
The smoke was too dense for them to see or breathe properly. Attern started struggling from Thaidren’s grasp, trying to drop to the ground. At first, he was afraid that he felt his lungs burning from the inside and couldn’t handle the pain. The thought of returning to the crypt did cross his mind. However, no sooner than Thaidren had time to react, the Highlord touched a spot of burning oil. He groaned for a moment, then, before Thaidren’s eyes, the fire started to change its color to a bright yellow. The old paladin was sanctifying the ground and the flames covering it, turning it into a holy fire. He also used the painted symbol’s ability to draw out the flames’ energy, healing some of his lesser injuries and regaining some of his strength back. He panted briefly as he stood back up and put his hand back on Thaidren’s shoulder.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “The fire will not harm us now.”
Trusting, yet hesitant, Thaidren pressed on with Attern through the smoke and scorched ground. Covering their faces as best as they could to avoid inhaling the smoke, Attern stumbled across one of the two-handed maces of the fallen paladins. He tossed the rusty weapons he had picked up from the undead and took a firm grip on it. At his side, Thaidren was still feeling unease. The flames did not harm him, just as Attern said, but the heat and the smoke were still a real threat. In an attempt to find himself a waypoint of a sort, he reached with his arm to the closest wall. He soon realized that it was one of the last of the crypt’s inner walls, from which undead soldiers still poured out before meeting their end at the hands of the infused fire.
With the flames being holy in nature, as soon as any of the dead soldiers touched them, they would be instantly turned back to their natural state. The crypt’s exit was already halfway blocked by the pile of bones gathered from the mindless undead that attempted to get out. Yet Thaidren and Attern could not leave it unattended, for when the fire would cease, the abominations would resume their march. He pointed at Attern’s mace and signaled him to give it to him. Similar to how Issin broke the lower structure of one crypt, so did Thaidren with a few swings. Now all the burial tombs had been sealed, and the undead were buried underneath the graveyard’s scorched grounds. However, there were still some remnants of the army that needed to be taken care of.
As soon as they got out, Thaidren rushed with Attern toward the cathedral.
“Help,” he shouted. “The Highlord is wounded and in dire need of medical assistance.”
Upon reaching the cemetery exit, Aramant spotted Thaidren carrying his father. His desire to go to them was stopped by Issin’s hand, which grabbed his arm.
“He’s going to be fine. We still need to focus on the task at hand. It’s not over yet.”
A fiery explosion in the distance made it clear that this was no place for Aramant to argue. He let out a subtle nod and rallied the men as they began preparing to head toward the main road to assist Nebrina and Illia.
Several members of the medical staff took Attern and placed him on one of the tables in the dining hall, which served as an emergency, improvised infirmary. One of them looked toward Thaidren and nodded.
“Go,” she said, “we’ll take care of him for now. You’re needed outside.”
Before leaving, Thaidren took a quick look at the medical ward. He wanted to see how many injured were there and who they were. He could not spot Nebrina or Illia. That could only mean that they were still fighting or… No, he did not want to think of the alternative.
The young warrior walked back outside, culling off the remaining few undead soldiers who had gotten out of the graveyard before it had been incinerated. Shortly after, he spotted Issin and Aramant, and some other fellow paladins doing the same.
Issin felt relieved that he was wrong about Thaidren’s demise. “Glad to see you in one piece, son,” he said, smiling.
Thaidren shared his sentiment, yet the time to celebrate was still a long way off. The battle was far from over.
“The crypts are all sealed.”
“So I’ve noticed,” replied Issin. “But back to more pressing matters, Nebrina and Illia are holding their forces at the main road. Most of our troops are there.”
So, their main force was not the one at the graveyard? Thaidren felt discouraged to hear that. They had already gone through what seemed like enough to last a lifetime, let alone what awaited them next.
“Where did they get so many bodies? Even the ones from the graveyard aren’t enough to justify their numbers,” Thaidren said.
“There must be something else. Maybe the crypts connect to somewhere else,” replied Issin.
“It’s either that or…” Aramant paused mid-sentence, shocked at the thought, “or they slaughtered a nearby city.”
The Foreton Harbor in Leor… It became clear to everyone that some of the enemy forces were not long-ago mere citizens of the port. Their population was in the thousands. The opening to the sea would have also allowed the enemy to bring their undead forces by ship. A gruesome perspective, to say the least, yet there were many people in this world capable of such horrors.
“Enough,” Issin said abruptly. “We need to go to the main road and support our fellow paladins. We can chitchat later.”
Thaidren put his hand on Issin’s shoulder. “You should go to the medical ward.”
Issin pulled away from his arm. “As long as I have breath in my lungs, I will continue to fight these monstrosities. Besides, I want to have a “conversation” with the one leading them.”
Seeing he had no way of convincing The Lantern to back down, Thaidren’s attention shifted to Aramant.
“I… found Attern,” he said.
“I saw you dragging him inside the cathedral. How is he? Is he safe?”
“For now, he needs to rest. The medical ward is taking care of him. I don’t know how or what he was doing there, but he was underground, near the exit of the fourth crypt.”
Issin was beginning to understand. So that’s why he ignored the third one and rushed to the fourth. He looked at Aramant, knowing he would probably want to go see him. He shook his head in dissent. “Be at his side when he wakes, victorious and alive.”
Aramant did not answer. He looked at Issin, then at Thaidren. After a brief moment, he clenched his fist and tightened the grip on his weapon.
Issin looked at both Aramant and Thaidren with concern. He knew all too well that they could not stand each other. Yet he hoped that when the situation demanded it, they would be able to cast aside their quarrels and fight alongside one another. He took a short moment of reprise and sighed before turning in the direction of the outer road.
“Unfortunately, the undead have massacred most of the horses at the stables. We were only able to save a few of them by cutting them loose. They fled long ago.” He paused for a moment. “We will reach our brothers and sisters on foot. Anyone have a problem with that?”
Thaidren, Aramant, and the few remaining paladins shook their heads.
“Good. Now, let’s go, men. Let’s show them what it means to mess with servants of The Light.”