Excerpt from The Arch Mage's Paladin Now in Amazon Books

[Paul]

Gilliad took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The Orcs in the hall paused their raucous celebrations, their beady eyes narrowing with suspicion as the 'newcomer' approached the throne. He cleared his throat, the sound echoing through the cavernous chamber. The chieftain, a hulking brute with a necklace of Elven ears, looked down at him with a sneer. "What is it, whelp?" he bellowed, his voice a thunderous growl.

"I challenge you," Gilliad announced, his voice steady and firm despite the tremor in his soul. The disguise spell held firm around him, his crimson helmet hiding his Human features, his armor painted with the crudest of Orcish runes. "Your reign of failure ends tonight."

The Orcs in the room jeered, but there was a flicker of interest in their eyes. The chieftain's sneer grew into a full grin, revealing a mouthful of broken, yellowed teeth. "Ah, fresh meat," he rumbled, rising from his throne, his massive club thumping against the stone floor. "But you're not just any whelp, are you?" His eyes locked onto the gleaming silver amulet around Gilliad's neck, a symbol of the Human's lineage. "I feel a story in your bones."

Marial, hidden in the shadows with her sisters and Iolena, watched with bated breath. She could feel the tension in the air thicken like the forest canopy before a storm. The chieftain's guards stepped aside, their own discontent with their leader's weakness evident in their posture. The sisters exchanged a knowing glance, their archer's instincts at the ready should the tide of battle turn.

Gilliad unsheathed his sword, the metal singing a harmonious tune as it left its scabbard. The light from the flickering torches danced across the blade, casting eerie shadows on the ground. He stepped into the center of the makeshift arena, the stone floor stained with the blood of past battles. The chieftain followed, his heavy footsteps shaking the very foundation of Vudug.

The duel began with a fiery exchange of blows, each strike a testament to their unyielding determination. Gilliad's blade, infused with the light of Solsadir, clashed against the chieftain's crude weapon with a sound that echoed through the stronghold. The Orcs surrounding them watched with rapt attention, their grumbling turning to a tense silence as they sensed the shift in power dynamics.

Gilliad's movements, enhanced by Ilvaria's shadow magic, were a blur of crimson and silver as he darted around the chieftain's heavy swings. His reflexes were those of a creature born of the very light he worshiped, allowing him to dodge and parry blows that would have cleaved lesser warriors in two. Yet, the chieftain was no ordinary foe; his brutal strength and cunning were renowned among his kin. Each blow that landed was a thunderous impact, the force of it resonating through Gilliad's bones, leaving him gasping for air.

Marial, her heart pounding in her chest, watched her beloved with growing concern. She could see the fatigue etching lines into his handsome features, and the sweat beading on his brow. The chieftain's armor, though scarred by the knight's blade, remained a formidable barrier, each strike seeming to drain a little more of Gilliad's vitality. Her fingers itched to weave a spell that would tip the scales in their favor, but she knew better than to risk exposing herself or her friends.

Arizelle, her eyes never leaving the combatants, whispered a prayer to Eona, her deity's gentle power flowing through her veins, ready to be channeled into a healing embrace if the need arose. Her sister, Iolena, remained poised, her Holy Hammer at the ready, a silent sentinel of the divine.

The chieftain, a behemoth of muscle and sinew, swung his mighty club with the force of a storm, each miss a testament to Gilliad's unyielding skill. Yet, with each swing and parry, the toll of the battle began to show on both combatants. The chieftain's breath grew labored, and his movements, though still powerful, grew less precise. Gilliad's blade sang a tune of valor, each strike a symphony of steel that echoed through the chamber, a dance of deadly intent.

Marial's eyes darted from the duel to the guards, their expressions shifting from bloodlust to doubt. The whispers of the forest had reached them, a silent chant of hope and unity. The chieftain, noticing the change, roared a challenge to Gilliad, his rage fueling his final desperate assault. The knight, reading his opponent like an open tome, feigned a stumble, inviting the decisive blow.

In a heartbeat, Gilliad dropped to the ground, his armor scraping against the stone with a metallic shriek. The chieftain's club arced through the air, a lethal blur aimed at Gilliad's unprotected head. Yet, faster than the eye could follow, Gilliad slid between the chieftain's legs, his sword flashing out in a silver streak. The blade met its mark, slicing through the thick leather and muscle of the Orc's Achilles tendon on one foot. The chieftain's bellow of pain and surprise echoed through the chamber as he stumbled, his mighty club clattering to the floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Gilliad leaped to his feet with the agility of a forest deer. The chieftain, now off balance, had no chance to counter the knight's swift ascent. Gilliad's sword, bathed in the light of the Lumina Trees, found its way to the Orc's chest, the tip piercing the weakened armor plates. With a mighty shove, Gilliad buried the blade deep, the crimson light of the Shadowbane enchantment flaring to life, marking the chieftain's fate. The creature staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief and pain. The room held its breath as the chieftain's body, once a bastion of brute strength, now trembled with the realization of its mortality.