The Death of Promises by David Dalglish Page A

they were nothing. Lathaar felt his arms pushed back from the contact. He gave his opponent no rest. Again his swords slashed out, this time from either side. Again the shield pushed them away, batting left and right. His swords accomplishing nothing, he tried a new tactic. He slammed his entire body against the shield, hooking the hilts of his swords against the edge. His body shook with the contact. He spun off, pulling with his swords to toss Jerico’s shield out and wide. Finally, his opponent was exposed.
    And so was he.
    The two were so close that Lathaar had no time to react before the ridged edges of Jerico’s mace rested against his neck.
    “You were doing so well,” Jerico teased. “And then you had to do something stupid.”
    “I don’t know what to do,” Lathaar said, pushing the mace away with his fingers. “I’ve never seen anything like what your shield has become.”
    “No one has. I asked Keziel, as well Lolathan and Mornida at the Citadel. No paladin has been given the blessing that I have. It’s always the weapon we hold that projects our faith and gains Ashhur’s blessing. I guess for me, I’ve always viewed my shield as my greatest weapon.”
    “I’d never outlast you,” Lathaar said, spinning his swords. “And you’ll never make a mistake. That’s how you lived all these years, isn’t it?”
    Jerico kicked the dirt and blushed a little.
    “You make me sound so much better than I am. I have a big shield and Ashhur’s made it glow. Let’s not get carried away here.”
    Lathaar smashed his swords together, showering sparks to the ground.
    “Again. I’ll figure out how to beat you. I just need some time.”
    “You’re welcome to try,” Jerico said, hoisting up his shield so that his eyes just barely peered over. “Ashhur knows it’s been awhile since I had some competition.”
    Lathaar tensed, thinking over several routines for attack, when suddenly Jerico lunged, his shield leading. Before he could move, the gleaming object slammed against his arms. He braced his legs to stop, but he was off balance and Jerico knew it. The shield lowered, and too late Lathaar understood why. A foot swept underneath, taking out Lathaar’s legs. The paladin hit the ground, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs. Jerico stood over him, grinning.
    “That’s to make sure you don’t get comfortable,” he said. “Don’t think I’m going to sit here all day letting you hack at me. Understood?”
    He clipped his mace at his belt and offered his hand. Lathaar took it, shaking his head as he stood.
    “I thought we’d practice, and maybe I’d teach you a thing or two. Guess it’s going to be the other way around, isn’t it?”
    Jerico tapped his forehead with his forefinger.
    “I had five years of training at the Citadel beyond what you were given. And don’t think you’ve fought any more, or suffered any worse, than I have since the Citadel fell. Normally I’d try to be gentler about this, but we’re the last. We have no chance for error and no room for pride. The next time we spar, we wear armor. Understood?”
    “Yes, master,” Lathaar said, doing his best to swallow his bruised pride.
    “Come on, now,” Jerico said, smacking him on the arm with an open palm. “No pouting, and no master, or teacher, or whatever else you can think of. I’m your brother in Ashhur and that’s more than good enough for me.”
    Lathaar stood, sheathing his swords and then brushing off the dirt from his clothes.
    “You going to be alright?” Jerico asked him.
    “Yeah, yeah.” He bowed to the other paladin. “I just expect a bit more maturity from myself. We’ll spar again tomorrow, and it’ll be far closer than today, I assure you.”
    Jerico grinned. “Now that’s more like it.”

    L athaar searched inside the Sanctuary, but it was outside that he found Keziel.
    “I wouldn’t think the cold air would be good for an old man like you,” he said, bowing before his elder.
    “The