The cataclysm

Part VI

The Tower of the High Clerist was an imposing structure, its central tower rising some one thousand feet into the air. Tall battlements, connected by a curtain wall, surrounded it. Michael had never seen any building this strong, this impregnable. He could now well believe the claim made by Nikol that the "tower had never fallen to an enemy while knights defended it with honor."

Both stopped, stared at it, overcome with awe. "I have never been here," said Nikol. The lingering horror of the meeting with the undead knight had faded; her lingering anger at Michael was all but forgotten. She gazed on the legendary stronghold with shining eyes. "My father described it to Nicholas and me often. I think I could walk it blindfolded. There is the High Lookout, there the Nest of the Kingfisher — the knight's symbol. We planned to come here, Nicholas and I. He said a man was never truly a knight until he had knelt to pray in the chapel of the High Clerist's Tower — "

She lowered her head, blinked back her tears. "You will kneel there for him," said Michael. "Why?" she demanded, regarding him coldly. "Who will be there to listen?"

She walked up the broad, wide road that led to one of several entrances into the fortress. Michael followed after, troubled, uneasy. The tower was strangely quiet. No guards walked the battlements, as he might have expected. No lights shone from the windows, though the sun had long since sunk behind the mountains, bringing premature night to the tower and its environs.

Nikol, too, appeared to find this silence, this lack of activity odd, for she slowed her walk. Tilting back her head to try to see through the gloom, she started to hail the tower. Her call was cut off.

Cloaked and hooded figures surged out of the night. Skilled hands laid hold of Michael, swiftly relieved him of his staff, pinned his arms behind his back. He struggled in his captors' grasp, not so much to free himself, since he knew that was impossible, but to try to keep sight of Nikol. She had disappeared behind a wall of bodies. He heard the ring of steel against steel.

"You are a prisoner of the Knights of Solamnia. Yield yourself," said a harsh voice, speaking in the crude trade tongue.

"You lie!" Nikol cried, answering in Solamnic. "Since when do true knights move in the shadows and ambush people in the darkness?"

"We move in the dark because these are days of darkness" Another man approached, emerging from the gate leading into the High Clerist's Tower. More men followed after him.

Torchlight flared, half blinding Michael. Its light shone on polished armor, steel helms, and, beneath the helms, the long, flowing moustaches that were the knights' hallmark. One man, the one who'd answered Nikol, wore on his shoulder a ribbon. Once bright, it was now somewhat frayed and discolored. Michael had lived among knights long enough to recognize by this insignia a lord knight, one who commands in time of war.

"What have we here?"

"Spies, I believe, my lord," answered one of Michael's captors.

"Bring the torches closer. Let me take a look."

Michael's guard escorted him to the front. The knights were efficient, but not rough, according him a measure of respect even as they let him know who was in charge.

Nikol looked somewhat daunted at the sight of the lord knight, but she flushed angrily at the charge.

"We are not spies!" she said through clenched teeth. Remaining on guard, she used the flat of her blade to strike out at any who came near her.

The knights outnumbered her, could have taken her, but that would have meant unnecessary bloodshed. They glanced at the lord knight for orders.

He walked over to her, held the light to shine upon her. "Why, it is but a beardless youth, yet one who wields a sword with a man's skill, it seems," he added, looking at a companion who was wiping blood from a cut cheek. Frowning, he studied the sword in Nikol's hand. The lord knight's face hardened. "How did you come by such a weapon and this armor that belongs to a Knight of the Crown? Stolen from the body of a gallant knight, no doubt. If you thought to sell it to us for your own gain, you have made a mistake that will prove costly. You will end up paying — with your life!"

"I did not steal it! I carry it by — " Nikol paused. She had started to say she carried it by right, but the thought occurred to her that she did not have the right to bear the arms of a true knight. Flushing, she amended her words. "My father is Sir David of Whitsund, now deceased. My twin brother, Nicholas, who is also dead, was a Knight of the Crown. This sword is his, as is the armor. I took them from his body — "

"And she put them on and cut her hair and bravely defended the castle and those of us within it," struck in Michael.

"And who are you?" The lord knight glowered at Michael.

"Perhaps that false cleric from Palanthas, my lord," said a knight. "See, he wears the holy symbol of Mishakal."

The lord knight barely spared Michael a glance, turned to stare at Nikol.

"She?" the lord knight repeated. He stepped forward, scrutinized Nikol's features, then fell back, his gaze traveling swiftly over her body. "By Paladine, the false cleric speaks the truth. This is a woman!"

"Michael is not a false cleric," Nikol began angrily.

"We will deal with him later," said the lord knight. "You have yourself to explain first."

Biting her lip, her face stained crimson, Nikol looked irresolute. Michael guessed at the struggle within her breast. She had lived the Oath and the Measure, fought evil, defended the innocent. She had come to think of herself as a knight. Yet, by the Measure, she knew she was in the wrong. Kneeling on one knee before the lord knight, she presented her sword hilt-first, over her arm, as was correct for a knight, when yielding to one superior in rank or to a victor in a tournament.

"I have broken the law. Forgive me, my lord."

Nikol was pale and grave, but she held her head proudly. She did not kneel from shame, but out of respect.

The lord knight's face remained stern and cold. Reaching out, he took hold of the sword she offered him and tried to remove it from her grasp. She let it go reluctantly. Not since her brother's death had anyone other than herself handled his blade.

"You did indeed break the Measure, Daughter, which prohibits the hand of a woman from wielding the blade of a true knight. We will take into consideration the fact that you came to us of your own free will, to surrender yourself — "

"Surrender? No, I have not, my lord!" Nikol stated. Rising to her feet, she shifted her gaze, which had been fixed wistfully on the sword, to the lord knight's granite face. "I have come to warn you. That false cleric, of whom you speak, is rousing the citizens to violence against the great library! Tomorrow they threaten to burn it, and all the knowledge it holds, to the ground."

Nikol looked from one to the other, expecting shock, action, expressions of outrage. No one moved, no one said a word. The knights didn't even seem surprised. Their faces grew more grim and rigid, and dark lines deepened.

"Am I correct in understanding that you did not come here to ask forgiveness for your crime, Daughter?" the lord knight said.

Nikol stared at him.

"You… What… My crime? Didn't you hear what I just said, my lord? The great library is in danger! Not only that, but the city of Palanthas itself could fall into the hands of this evil man and his henchmen!"

"What happens in Palanthas is none of our concern, Daughter," said the lord knight.

"None of your concern? How can you say that?"

"Many of these men came from Palanthas, as did I myself. The people drove us out. They attacked our homes, threatened our families. My own lady died at the hands of the mob."

"Yet," said Michael quietly, "by the Measure, Sir Knight, you are bound in Paladine's name to protect the innocent — "

"Innocent!" The lord knight's eyes flashed. "If the city of Palanthas burns to the ground, it will be no more than the rabble deserve! Paladine, in his righteous wrath, has turned his face from them. Let the Dark Queen take them and be damned!"

"The wrath of the gods has fallen upon all of us," said Michael. "How can any of us say we didn't deserve it?"

"Blasphemy!" thundered the lord knight, and he struck Michael across the face.

He staggered beneath the blow. Putting his hand to his cut lip, he saw his fingers stained with blood.

The lord knight turned to Nikol. "The blasphemer will not be allowed within our walls. You, Daughter, since you are the child of a knight, may stay here in the fortress, safe from harm. You will remove your armor, turn it over to us, then you will spend night and day on your knees in the chapel, begging forgiveness of the father and the brother whose memories you disgrace."

Nikol went livid, as if she'd been run through by her own sword, then hot blood flooded her cheeks.

"I'm not the one who has disgraced the knighthood. You! You're the disgrace!" Her gaze flashed around at the knights. "You hide away from the world, whining to Paladine about the injustice of it all. He doesn't answer you, does he? You've lost your powers and you're scared!"

Moving swiftly, she reached out, grabbed hold of her sword, wrested it from the lord knight before he knew what was happening. Lifting her weapon, she fell back, on guard.

"Seize her!" the lord knight ordered.

The knights drew their swords, began to close in.

"Hold," came a deep voice.

A blast of bitterly cold wind blew out the torches, chilled flesh and blood. Swords fell from numb hands, clattered to the ground with a hollow sound that was like a death knell. The knights' faces went stark white beneath their helms. Their eyes widened in horror at the sight of the terrible apparition riding down upon them.

"The Knight of the Black Rose!" cried one, in panic.

"Paladine forfend!" shouted the lord knight, raising his hand in a warding gesture.

Lord Soth laughed, a sound like the grinding of rocks in a mountain slide. He reined in his nightmare steed, regarded the knights cowering before him with scorn.

"This woman is far more worthy than any of you to wield the sword and wear the armor of a knight. She stood up to me. She faced me, unafraid. What will you do, noble knights all? Will you fight me?"

The knights hesitated, cast terrified, questioning glances at their leader. The lord's face was yellow, like old bone.

They are all in league with the Queen of Darkness!" he shouted. "Retreat, for the sake of your souls!"

The knights picked up their swords. Massing around their leader, they fell back until they had reached the massive wooden doors, which opened wide to let them in. Once inside, the doors slammed and the portcullis rang down.

The High Clerist's Tower stood dark and silent, as if it were empty.