The Cataclysm (15 page)

The medallion was a small shield with a single piece of black opal in the shape of an axe.
Graym looked down at it. “It was brave, your coming here when you were embarrassed. Thank
you, Miss. I'll keep this.”

“Until he gets hungry,” Darll said bluntly, “then he'll sell it. He'll have to.”

Rhael ignored the mercenary. “Why not stay in Graveside?” she asked. She touched the
medallion. “To fill the office that goes with this.”

“Office?” Graym said blankly, opening his eyes.

“Of Protector,” Rhael said. On impulse, she kissed his cheek. “Please take it. Your men,
too. You'll have food and lodging, and we know we can trust you.”

Graym stared bemusedly at her. “Me, a law officer?” He turned to Darll. “Would I be any
good, sir?”

“Unless you rob them, you can't do worse than the last one they had.” He looked at the
dangling chain. “I suppose you'll put me in jail there?”

Graym sighed. “Can't do it, now that I'm their Protector. Wouldn't be right, would it,
sir? I mean, you're their war hero and all.”

He frowned, concentrating, then smiled and slapped Darll on the back. “You can go, sir.
It's all right. You're pardoned.”

Darll's jaw fell and he goggled at Graym. “You're pardoning me?”

“First offense, like you said, sir. You've matured since then. Probably be an upstanding
citizen of Graveside.” He puckered his brow, thinking, and suddenly brightened. “You could
stay and be my military advisor.”

“You lead? Me advise?” It was too much. Darll shook his head and walked away, swearing, laughing, and muttering.

“What's he upset about?” Jarek asked. “He fought all right.”

“You all fought wonderfully,” Rhael said firmly. “You're our heroes.” She kissed Graym
again, then walked swiftly back through the pass toward Graveside.

“Heroes?” the Wolf brothers said at once, and laughed. Graym said gruffly, “There've been
worse.” Darll looked back up the road toward Graveside, at the retreating Rhael. “Lucky for them they found us, in fact.” Graym grinned at the others.
“Best thing that could have happened, really.” Suddenly he was back at the cart, tugging on one of the shafts. Darll joined him. “Right, then. Let's get back.” Graym pointed at the remaining
barrel of ale. “Skull-Splitter all around, when we get there, on the house.”

It was a surprisingly fast trip.

The knight stalked across the hellish landscape, sword in hand. The fog failed to conceal
the desolation around him. Gnarled trees and churned dirt were sights all too familiar
after so long. His world, his cursed world, was always much the same: dry, crackling soil,
no sun, no shadows, no refuge, no life, just endless devastation . . . and somewhere in the fog,
those who ever hunted him.

The fever burned, but, as always, he forced himself to withstand the pain. Sweat poured
down his face, trickling into his armor. The plague that coursed through him never rested.
Oddly, it had been a part of him so long that he probably would have felt lost without it.

The rusted armor creaked as the knight stumbled up a small hill. Beneath the rust on his
breastplate there could still be seen a ravaged insignia marking him as a knight of the
Solamnic orders. He rarely looked down at the fading mark, for it was a mockery of his
life, a reminder of why he had been condemned to this existence.

The price of being a traitor had been heavier than he had ever thought possible.

As he started down the other side of the ravaged hill, the knight caught sight of
something odd, something out of place in this wasteland. It seemed to glitter, despite the
lack of sunlight, and to the weary knight it was worth more than a mountain of gold. A
stream of clear, cool water flowed no more than a few yards from where he stood.

He smiled - a rare smile of hope. The knight staggered forward, moving as fast as he could
manage, ignoring pain, fatigue, fear. How long since his last drink of water? The memory
escaped him.

Kneeling before the stream, he closed his eyes. “My Lord Paladine, I beseech you! Hear
this simple prayer! Let me partake this once! A single sip of water, that is all I ask!”

The knight leaned forward, reached out toward the stream . . . and fell back in horror as
he stared into its reflective surface.

“Paladine preserve me,” he muttered. Slowly leaning forward again, he stared at his image
in the stream.

Pale as a corpse, his face was gaunt, almost skull-like. Lank, wispy hair - what could be
seen beneath his helm