The Tomb of the Dark Paladin by Tom Bielawski

authority. Ederick watched him, stunned. Indeed, none seemed eager to take the chance. "You fools have been duped by a wizard from Hurkromin, so you have! Zuhr will be looking upon you with shame. We're leaving now, so we are. Don't be foolish!" The bard turn his back confidently.
    Ederick shook his head. How easily the Hand of Zuhr had fallen! Indeed, with neither battle fought nor sword drawn these men had proven themselves unworthy. He was pleased that his armor and his precious few belongings were already strapped to his horse, for there was nothing left for him here. He glanced at the bishop and just for a moment saw a sincere look of sadness in the man's eyes. It was as though the bishop were trying to tell the knight something. But what? A silent plea for help?
    Bart strode confidently toward the portcullis, the people in his way parted before him. Ederick followed after, his senses on high alert and feeling a bit guilty about leaving the bishop to the questionable mercy of the evil within the Tower. Then the twang of a bow sounded and a lone arrow flew through the air from the parapet. Bart whirled and thrust his finger into the air toward the hurtling arrow and the missile just stopped. It fell to the ground as though it had struck a wall. The bard stared hard at the stunned bowman who cowered under the powerful glare and dropped his bow. Seemingly satisfied, the bard turned and strode through the portcullis. 
    Although the knight and the bard had not always seen eye to eye, he was certainly glad to see the bard right now. Ederick was amazed by the increase in the bard's strength and control over his powers. His appearance seemed more refined now, his features more chiseled. The knight was so surprised by the change that he wondered if the bard had cast a spell or if it were simply exposure to the magic. The bard's green eyes were brighter, his body leaner and more fit. His face was clean-shaven and it seemed that his skin wrapped neatly over the bones of his face. He didn't look unhealthy, but if the man had been thinner the knight would have been concerned for him. 
    "Bart," he called, urging his horse to a trot to catch up to the bard. Bart slowed down, allowing Ederick to reach his side. 
     

     
    "Halt!" shouted the bishop. He pointed his shepherd's hook at the bard in a threatening manner. It was then that Ederick noted the bishop's eyes bulged and seemed to darken almost to black in the flickering torchlight of the courtyard. He glanced at the black wagon on the far side of the courtyard. Its door slowly opened and a cloaked and hooded figure emerged from within. A purple and silver sash with strange lettering crossed the being's body and a number of odd talismans and pouches hung from many places.
    The hurkin wizard.
    The knight was at a loss. He knew these men and the bishop very well. They had become his friends, his comrades. Yet here they stood, ready to kill him. The hurkin sorcerer had bewitched them and Ederick could not understand how Zuhr had let that happen. The bard gripped his own staff more tightly then, his face a mask of grim determination.
    "Bishop Rohan," said the bard, the anger in his voice was profound. "Don't make me fight you."
    Ederick was poised for battle, but every bit as troubled as the bard at the prospect of fighting these good men and he would sorely regret taking their lives. The bishop seemed to struggle then, his hook trembled, perhaps fighting against the evil charms that had beguiled him. The knight prayed fervently that the bishop could somehow break free from the spell. The wizard disappeared, then a cloud of black smoke appeared beside the bishop. As the smoke dissipated the sturdy form of a cloaked figure appeared. The wizard's hood now rested on his shoulders giving them all their first look at his face. Gray skin, slightly upturned nose and small tusks that protruded from his lips marked him as a hurkin. Greasy gray hair framed a dark face with beady eyes