The Templar of Zunark

Zaile’s hand shot towards his dagger as he slid back. The Blade was faster, driving his hilt forward before Zaile could draw, forcing the hunter to parry with his hand. The instant Zaile turned the blunt strike, inferno needles pierced his arm, dropping him to his knees. Drenched in sweat and gasping for air, it took every bit of strength he had to stay conscious. When the agony finally waned, a dazed Zaile studied his palm with watery eyes, only to find it unscathed. This was a painful reminder for Zaile to be on his best behaviour next time he crossed the barrier.

Before his party could leap to his defence, the Blade clapped his forehead and let out an extended groan. He hurried to buckle his sword and made a Finnardian salute, his head bowed in apology.

“Mercy my witness,” panic lent his words unnatural haste. “Thought you a Freak.” He continued, still catching his breath. “You hunters?”

Axe hoisted high, Kannu edged forward. “Yeah.”

“He’s a Finnardian,” said Tiana, shuffling in front of her partner. “Has Zunark taken your senses?”

“Euphon from house –” the Blade caught himself mid-sentence. “An Apprentice of the Divine Blade and I urgently need your assistance.”

“That depends,” said Ferric. “Did a Zunarkian best you in battle?”

“H-he…” Euphon mumbled. “The craven heretic ambushed us.” He pointed to his sword. “I can track him down, and you’ll need this to hurt him.”

The hunters’ eyes met. Still rubbing his throbbing hand, Zaile nodded. After a brief pause, Tiana and Ferric followed suit. Face souring at his partner’s decision, Kannu lowered his axe.

“Fine,” Kannu growled. “Lead.”

Despite his unsteady legs, Euphon jogged at a martial pace while muttering a prayer, only pausing to steal glances at Zaile, whose unease grew with each turn of the head. Did Euphon suspect him?

“You’re an odd one,” said Euphon, casting a sideways glance. “The last Fallen my sword touched was out for an entire day.”

Zaile swallowed the bile surging up his throat.

“How’s the hand?”

Zaile nearly laughed. A Blade concerned with a Fallen? To humour the man, Zaile threw a couple of stinging jabs with the afflicted hand.

“Good form,” praised Euphon. “Who taught you?”

“Enemies.”

“Speaking of enemies,” Ferric joined in. “Shouldn’t you be telling us about the Zunarkian?”

“Right,” said Euphon. “That coward excels at striking from the shadows...”

The ensuing discussion had Ferric questioning Euphon. It reminded Zaile of Prim investigating the children’s mischief. Several times, he would exhaust an enquiry only to poke at the subject again with different wording. Yet, unlike his fellow Blades who were above speaking to Fallens, Euphon kept his tongue free. During his occasional banter, he showed shades of Isondre. From his unnatural pauses and swimming eyes, however, Zaile smelt concealment.

“Zunark’s armpits,” Kannu repeated this curse again, pointing at the wall of trees. “Let’s get it over with.”

The leafless, wooden giants wove an eldritch web into the scarlet sky. Their gnarled, raven claws gave concrete shape to the abstract danger in Kannu’s accounts. Zaile lifted his head, shuddered, and fixed his gaze to the ground. Next to him, the big hunter had squeezed his eyes shut and was praying to the Divine Finnardi. Zaile joined him.

His first step into the withered forest squelched. Zaile looked down and found mud. Within a few dozen noisy paces, he began to miss the quiet, rustling ashes. Lips pursed, he skulked ahead to Euphon’s left flank. Finding only dead twigs, Zaile lifted one finger. To the right, Ferric mirrored his gesture. No trails.

The stench of decay grew more potent the deeper they waded into the forest. Muffling his nose with one hand, Zaile trotted on with his dagger at ready. A flicker in the shadows caused him to turn. More dry wood. Zaile frowned before carrying on. Kannu, rather than taking those chances, hacked down every branch in his way, heedless of the noise he made.

Zaile looked to Euphon and could not help but question the man’s methods. Rather than checking for footprints in the mud or looking for broken twigs, he would close his eyes and poke at the thin air with extended fingers, almost like the probing of a blind man. Guided by what Zaile could not fathom, the Blade continued on with great confidence.

Then it happened. Up ahead, Ferric lifted a clenched fist.

Danger.

Zaile bounded up the nearest tree to get a better view of what had alerted Ferric. With narrowed eyes, he peered through the thick wall of branches. After scouring the landscape below, he noted a dot in the distance, something that did not belong in this forest. Overcame by a swivet, he bounded back down.

It wasn’t the Zunarkian.

The silver collar on his white blazer distinguished him from Euphon. Dark brown locks, mixed with sweat and blood, clung to his pale face. He had lost an arm and a leg. The bleeding had applied a tinge of purple. Given the red trail behind him, he had suffered the injuries quite some time ago. Yet, his chest still rose and fell with each laboured breath.

“A Guardian,” Ferric whispered, snapping his neck towards Euphon in alarm. “Euphon, explain.”

Euphon tugged at his black collar. “He’s my commander.”

This wounded man had the party on edge. None of them had ever seen a Finnardian warrior, much less one decorated with silver, at death’s door. The Peacekeepers may not be the elites lining the western fronts, but they still had lethal warriors among them. Zaile tensed and glared at Euphon. The cowardly ambush story stretched credulity.

“Guardian Rondel,” Euphon whispered, lending the man his shoulder. “I’ve brought assistance –”

“Dress his wounds first,” Tiana hissed. “He’s going to bleed out.”

Euphon managed a bitter chuckle. “It’ll take more than this to kill the Guardian.”

“…Leave,” the Guardian rasped, seizing Euphon with his one remaining hand.

A deafening crash brought the conversation to a premature halt. Zaile jumped, covering his ears. The clamour drew near. Whatever was heading their way, it didn’t bother with stealth, toppling trees as it went.

“Too late,” Kannu bellowed. “To battle!”

Clicking his tongue, a frustrated Euphon propped Rondel against a tree and drew his sword. He muttered fevered prayers as he carved esoteric geometry into the mud. Concluding with a shrill crescendo, he punched the blade into the earth. His body glowed a faint gold.

Ferric planted himself before Euphon. Zaile and Kannu completed the ring around the Blade while Tiana bounded up a tree. Silence returned. Ferric cracked his knuckles. Zaile tightened his grip. He felt watched.

“Didn’t know Apprentices could ward,” said Ferric. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah,” said Euphon. “So long as I stay here.”

“Not lying again, are you?”

Euphon grunted, as if the verbal jab was corporeal.

“Later,” growled Kannu. “Survive first.”

No sooner had he spoken than a shadow shot out of the woods towards Euphon. Zaile lunged. Before he could even strike, the nebulous darkness was already behind him, sending his face into the mud. No Freak, however nimble and strong, had ever humiliated him so. Snarling, Zaile sprung to his feet.

Ferric and Kannu intercepted the shapeless assailant. The Graystar formed a wall of stinging jabs, holding it back despite not landing a single blow. Kannu separated them with an earth-rending swing. With Zaile racing back to complete a three-way pincer, it withdrew, hounded by a salvo of whistling arrows.

Halt!

Zaile froze. A foreign voice bounced between his ears. He narrowed his eyes at the living shadow. Was it talking to them? Ferric, the first to break the pause, pounced. Kannu followed, flanking it with his axe raised high.

A Templar slays not the faithless. Step aside.

Ferric’s face darkened as he tightened his fists. “A Templar? Euphon, you lying –”

“Kill him!” yelled Euphon, cutting short the accusation. “I can’t hold back his luck much longer!”

Zaile caught a glimpse of Euphon. Drenched in sweat, his light waned. He turned to the shadow again. If his knife could not even touch it now, he would never touch the thing once Euphon depleted his magic.

“No orders!”

Roaring in protest, Kannu shot out before Tiana’s hail of arrows raced past the intended target. A steel tornado, he gored the earth, trees, and everything else but the shadow. The black goo always moved even before he could swing. Ferric joined the assault with raking fingers.

Instead of joining the fray, Zaile clambered up a tree. Now perched above the shadow, he no longer felt marked, almost as if he had slipped into a blind spot. Taking a deep breath, Zaile dove, driving his dagger down. Much to his surprise, he slammed into the creature, pressing the self-proclaimed Templar into the ground. He sensed something solid at the tip of his blade before an overwhelming force catapulted him into a tree.

Groaning, Zaile dragged himself back up. His vision returned in time to witness his handywork. The obscuring veil fell away, revealing a tall man. Unshaven and ungroomed, his beard and hair seemed to belong to one single mass of fur. His bulking muscles, combined with the unnaturally dark skin, made the Templar look like a diamond that walked out of a furnace. A lengthy pommel rose over his broad shoulder, leaving Zaile to imagine how large the blade must be.

“That was expensive, boy,” the man growled, approval and rage mingling. “Not bad.”

The Templar stalked forward, one palm facing the sky, the other, the mud. Zaile frowned. Why would anyone leave themselves wide open? Yet, his nose was warning him. Ferric’s trembling confirmed his suspicion. The man who stopped an axe with his bare hands was shaking with terror.

“One with the heaven and earth,” Ferric whispered. “No…”

“Graystar!” Kannu yelled, slapping Ferric on the back. “What’s a Templar?”

“Solmis Beram,” the voice sounded just like the telepathic speech earlier, only this time, there was a menacing edge. “Disciple of Saint Bladestorm, Templar of the Rieva Shrine. Brothers of no faith,” he paused, looking up a tree, “and sister, stand aside.”

Pushing back Zaile and Ferric, Kannu stepped forward, roared, and whirled his axe. Zaile rubbed his eyes. The large hunter seemed to have shrunk a fraction. Moreover, black sparks popped and crackled around him.

“Come, demon,” roared Kannu. “We fight!”

“Fight?” Solmis chortled. “That’s optimistic.”

No longer amused, Solmis roared with unbridled wrath. Zaile screamed. He covered his ears, now wet and sticky. They were bleeding. His bones jittered. For a moment, he thought they were trying to escape his flesh. Something plummeted from above, making a slapping noise as it hit the mud. In her panic, Tiana had dropped her dagger. Kannu halted, still as a statue. The dark sparks around him died like candles in the wind. No fight left, Ferric stood motionless, his arms limp at his side. Even Euphon, despite his Finnardian blessings, collapsed to his knees.

His face a mask of demonic fury, Solmis marched towards Kannu. Zaile did not see the punch. He heard it. Not even the blacksmiths of the Sahjax forges could make such a sound when swinging their hammers. His ears rang long after Kannu’s axe clattered onto the dirt, hitting the ground moments before its wielder followed.

With a shrill battle cry, Tiana leapt off the tree with twin daggers. Solmis ignored the slashes, disarming and knocking down the huntress in one motion. Ferric bit his own hand and screamed. Red rivulets running down his wrist, he pounced, raking at the Templar’s throat with bloodied fingers. Snorting, Solmis dropped a thumping elbow, bouncing Ferric’s head off the ground.

Biting himself just as Ferric did, Zaile expelled his lungs and charged. Solmis, moments from stomping Ferric into the dirt, spun around. Pressed low, Zaile stabbed at the groin but a rising knee forced him back. Scrambling, Zaile hacked at the extended leg, but Solmis danced just out of reach.

Zaile frowned. Solmis had swatted his companions like insects. Yet, the Templar studied him – his knife – with intense curiosity. For a moment, the Zunarkian’s hand hovered over the pommel on his back. Solmis didn’t draw his sword.

“Good instincts,” praised Solmis, pointing at Zaile, “but poor form. What’s your name, boy?”

“Zaile.”

“I’ll remember you, warrior.”

Within a blink, Zaile found Solmis in his face. He felt something, perhaps fingers, brushing over his chest. Immediately, Zaile collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. Rolling and thrashing about, he fought the drowning sensation till he lost all strength. Slowly, his ability to breath returned. From his peripheral, he saw Euphon squaring off against Solmis, his sword raised high. The Zunarkian Templar wore a cruel grin, making no effort to disguise his derision

“Where is Krugo Arcman?” he asked. “Where is that mongrel?”

“Grace of Mercy,” Euphon replied with a prayer. “Grant me strength to smite heresy in thy name.”

Zaile lifted his head in time to witness Euphon’s blade shatter upon the adamantium that was Solmis. The Apprentice studied his broken sword before letting it go. With an audible sigh, Euphon shot a look of askance at the heavens. Finnardi did not answer him.

“You can lead me to Krugo,” Solmis hissed. “Or I can hack off your legs and hold you captive.”

“They won’t trade a war hero for an Apprentice.”

“Not unless the said Apprentice is the grandson of a High Guardian.”

Having recovered control of his limbs, Zaile fumbled about and found his knife. Slowly, he crawled towards the Zunarkian, praying he would go unnoticed. As he slithered over the sludge, Zaile heard footsteps, the soft, deliberate treads of a hunter watching a prey. Alarmed, his eyes darted left and right. It was then he noticed that the dying Guardian under the tree had vanished. Then came a prayer.

“Lend this humble vessel thy divine might.”

Solmis spun around but was too late. Rondel, no longer on the verge of death, emerged from the thin air wearing a coat of blinding light. Now standing on two legs, the Finnardian warrior charged, unleashing a palm strike with his remaining arm. Hit square in the chest, the Templar shot into a tree as though he was a quarrel fired from a crossbow.

“What are you waiting for?” Rondel roared. “Run!”