CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Once outside, Fydelis looked up at the fat white moon and sighed with relief. Although Gareth could have ended it for both of them by handing over his comrade's souls— released Fydelis from his torment and gone on to die to have his own soul devoured, he had not. Yet the reasons were not selfish ones… not for Gareth, anyway. Fydelis's reasons were selfish in that he only wanted Gareth for himself for a little while longer. It was worth the torment he suffered at the hands of his master for as long as he must, just to remain so close to his Crusader.
Movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn, and he caught a quick glimpse of a shadowy rider on a horse, thundering away from them, up the ridge. "Fuck. Karathis," Fydelis spat. He'd hoped the general might have been among the dead, but knew it had only been wishful thinking. Gareth wasn't going to be happy about having to stop his commending of souls to the Creator, but he'd lose a lot more if they didn't go after his corrupted former general while they still had the chance to catch up.
"Gareth!" Fydelis called, nearly running into him as Gareth came out of the church. The medallion on his chest was glowing and beating with a fading red pulse in the direction of the fleeing rider.
"Karathis," Gareth confirmed. His breathing was heavy, and his face was freckled with blood. He was not ready for another fight so soon, but what choice did they have?
"The horses—" Gareth said, looking wildly around. In their haste, they had not tied them up and they were nowhere to be seen.
"No time!" Fydelis squeezed his eyes shut, calling to his master for the aid he knew he would give. Oh, this was going to hurt, but it had to be done.
***
Gareth had just finished uttering the last words of his prayer when the medallion on his chest started burning and the red glow lit up once again. He met Fydelis in the entrance, noticing how the demon's muscles bunched with urgency. Something tensed inside of him, some expectancy of his own, but it had very little to do with the situation at hand. He'd hoped they might have a moment to steal, a chance for him to speak and come to terms with what was in his mind and his heart, but fate had not yet been so kind, nor did he expect time to slow down. After their brief discussion, Fydelis bid Gareth to close his eyes.
"Why?" Gareth asked him, confused by his request, and he saw the pained and pleading smile that Fydelis had to offer.
"Please." The demon's voice was strained.
Gareth nodded slowly and closed his eyes.
"Don't open them— no matter what you hear— until I say."
Again, Gareth nodded his agreement, but his knuckles were already tightening in his gauntlets.
He heard Fydelis gasp, then the horrible sound of breaking bones.
"Fyd—"
"No!" The voice that reached him was rent with agony, and a bitter plea to keep his promise.
Gareth bounced on his heels, rocking between his feet to try and keep himself from opening his eyes, charging forward, and rescuing Fydelis from whatever horrific fate was befalling him now. It seemed to go on for an eternity, though Gareth was certain it had only been a few moments. The tearing and slithering of wet flesh, the cracking and creaking of bones…
"All right." The voice was deeper, hollow sounding, but was Fydelis. Gareth opened his eyes.
Before him stood not his demon, but a beast that resembled a Gryphon. Its back legs were hooves, the front were long, birdlike talons. Upon its back were huge wings, the color of fire and blood. The creature focused on him with one jet eye, its leonine tail twitching.
"Fydelis?" Gareth blinked in disbelief.
"Get on," the creature said. "Hold on tightly."
Gareth mounted the beast easily, his fingers grasping the silky feathers and familiar red mane. Fydelis spread out his wings and leapt into the sky.
"Incredible…" Gareth murmured. He could feel the heat of Fydelis's skin under his plumage, and the flex of a powerful body beneath him. They were flying above the snow-covered landscape, and in almost no time, Gareth spotted the rider below.
"There!"
The medallion on his chest felt heavier, as if the bright red glow was filling it with lead, and Fydelis began to circle, looking for a place to land.
Something whizzed past Gareth's ear and Fydelis shrieked, a bird-like cry, as a bolt from a crossbow tore though the feathers on one of his wings. Gareth searched, fighting panic, until he saw them— there, on the ridge, a group of seven archers.
Two more bolts whizzed by and Fydelis let out a grunt, his body pitching as he struggled to remain aloft.
"Fydelis— get me closer to Karathis— you go after the archers!"
Fydelis huffed and righted himself, his breath coming in loud pants in time to the flap of his wings. Gareth could smell the blood and it streaked the plating on his shin guard. He caressed the back of the griffin's head, wishing they could simply fly off somewhere and let him care for his wounds, but they had to stop Karathis.
Fydelis swooped over Karathis as the man continued to retreat towards the archers on his horse. Gareth rocked lightly, gathering momentum and the rhythm of the horse's steps, then flung himself from Fydelis's back.
Karathis let out a cry of surprise as Gareth tackled him from above. His steed panicked and threw both rider and unanticipated passenger. Karathis and Gareth tumbled off the horse and down the hill in a clatter of weapons and armor.
Atop the ridge, Gareth heard the surprised shouts of men as Fydelis went after the archers. He managed to keep his weapons and his wits about him, and it was a stroke of no small bit of luck. Karathis was rising to his feet and already preparing a charge in his direction.
"You should have died!" Karathis shouted, raising his two-handed sword and swinging it around with all of the ferocity a warrior of his caliber could muster. Gareth got his shield up just in time to deflect the blow, but the impact radiated all the way up his arm, making his shoulder burn in its socket. Though a man of fifty, Karathis had not lost a sliver of his edge. He had been Gareth's teacher— his mentor for several years, but now he was his enemy.
"Karathis! Stop this madness! What is the point?" Gareth reeled, drawing his weapon and deflecting another blow from Karathis. He struck the general’s wrist with the pommel of his sword. It clanged off of Karathis's black plated gauntlets, having little effect. As foolish as it was, Gareth still hoped there was enough of the man he knew left inside to see reason, but it was becoming apparent that General Karathis was no longer the commander he'd once served.
"The point is godhood!" Karathis yelled, whirling and cutting low. Gareth arched and locked his blade with his old general’s, twisting his wrist to swing both weapons around to face height. Karathis raised his thigh and kicked Gareth away, separating them for a moment. Then he spun, slicing down with his heavy weapon.
"You wish to be a god?" Gareth demanded, again deflecting the blow with his shield.
"I will be his right hand!"
There was a screech from the top of the hill, the horrific sound of a creature in the throes of agony or anger, he could not say which, and Gareth glanced over, praying he would not be too late to save Fydelis.
Karathis lunged. The sword bounced off the edge of Gareth's shield, knocking it to one side, and the blade caught Gareth in the left shoulder, passing just under his pauldron. Gareth spun with the blow to keep it from taking off his arm. He countered by bringing his sword back around to strike clumsily at Karathis's kidneys. The general roared, his back arching from the impact, and Gareth shoved him away, staggering back a few paces to try and get a look at the damage done to his shoulder. Blood was turning his silvery white armor a garish metallic red, and his left arm trembled as the muscles that hadn't been severed tried to retain a grip on his shield. His body was still exhausted after his battle with Karathis's men in the church. The few moments he'd taken for prayer had not been enough to recover, and without Fydelis, he feared he could not keep up the pace. As fit as he was, Karathis should have begun to show some signs of fatigue, wielding his two-handed sword. But he gave no appearance of slowing down. Perhaps he had the assistance of a demon as well.
Fydelis.
Gareth had to get to him, and the only way he could do that was to get past Karathis. At this moment, it wasn't looking good, and fighting along the slope of a ridge was not making the battle any easier. Somehow Gareth had ended up at a lower point on the rise, allowing Karathis more momentum when he swung. The only benefit was that Gareth could use the pull of the earth below to avoid taking the full brunt of most of his strikes, but this was only taking him farther and farther away from Fydelis.
The blows became hammering now, and each one jarred Gareth's shield arm, weakening it until Gareth could no longer hold the shield aloft without help from his sword hand, which he needed to help deflect as many strikes as he could. Mostly, his left arm hung limp at his side, the shield only attached by the strap on his forearm. Had Karathis deigned to attack his hip, it might have been useful, but as it was, Gareth now only had the protection of his armor, and without Fydelis being bonded to him, any injuries he sustained were not healing. He stepped back, losing his footing and fell, landing hard on the snow-covered hill.
Karathis leapt, bringing the point of his sword down at Gareth's midsection. Gareth used the slope of the hill, kicking off and somersaulting over backwards to avoid being impaled. He landed on his knees and jabbed blindly with his blade, catching Karathis across the inner thigh, just under his guard.
Blood rushed out of the wound, pumping like a heartbeat. Karathis howled and caught himself from going down on one knee by leaning heavily on his blade. Gareth thought this slight reprieve had given him the perfect opportunity to attack, but then Karathis lunged forward, his sword sweeping in a sideways arc. His body pivoted from the force and the weakness of his wounded leg. Gareth felt the sword shatter his armor, slicing through his gut before he could dodge. Gareth spun with the blow and swung his sword wide, managing to hack Karathis across the back of his knees as he went down. Karathis was knocked forward by the injury, his face pale with surprise. He caught Gareth in an embrace that took them both tumbling down the hill. They ended up at the bottom with Karathis on top, and Gareth could feel the cold mud against the back of his head. They had both lost their weapons, and Gareth's shield remained strapped ineffectively to his wounded arm, preventing him from grabbing both of Karathis's hands as he tightened them around Gareth's throat.
"Die, blasphemer!" Karathis screamed. His eyes burned with mad fury. "May your miserable soul rot in a demon's bowels!"
Gareth struggled to breathe as his throat was crushed between Karathis's meaty hands. The edges of Gareth's vision popped with black starbursts that spread out, making the world seem colorless and too sharp. He wasn't aware how much was hallucination, but he could see Karathis's aura, shining a deep black-violet and burning like flames. In the center of Karathis's chest, he saw a blue-green light, similar to those he'd seen suspended in the holy relics. The Medallion was throbbing, pumping like a fist against Gareth's sternum.
Gareth blinked, trying to clear his vision. With his mostly useless shield arm, he wound up and flung it towards his chest, trying to roll his body at the same time. He caught Karathis in the temple and knocked him off. The general's nails scored Gareth's windpipe as he fell, but finally he could breathe. He sucked in a loud, choking gasp and grabbed the dagger attached to his thigh. With his last remaining strength, he hurled himself forward, landing on Karathis, and aimed a sluggish, poorly coordinated, but carefully controlled thrust of his blade in the hollow of Karathis's bare throat. As he pierced the flesh, bits of the smoky aura began to curl up from the General's open wounds, getting sucked into the medallion on Gareth's chest. Gareth fell back, exhausted, as the spiraling vortex opened from the gem once again, and began to draw out the remnants of Karathis's poisoned soul. It did much as it had to the mayor, finishing by tearing out the physical cage of his soul. But instead of the red, twisted mass that had risen from the mayor's chest, it was a glowing, green crystal… the same as he'd seen suspended in the holy relics. He stared at it, mesmerized by shock. As the gem was sucked inside of the black vortex and swallowed up by the darkness, Gareth suddenly had a sense of overwhelming dread that he might be harvesting souls intended for the Creator.