A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) (31 page)

Casually, he slipped the gold ring from his finger and let it fall behind him. There was the faintest sound of metal hitting stone, and Darius swung around in some alarm, looking for the ring. Adella, too, turned instinctively, her sharp eyes catching the flash of gold as the ring rolled in the darkness down the slope towards the cliff, and she moved quickly to save it from being lost.

The moment her hand was off him, Darius threw himself forward against the invisible wall. There was a burst of pure white light around Sarinian in its scabbard, the sword breaking through the wall, but oddly, Darius felt as if the barrier was opening for him of its own accord. Yielding to him. Welcoming him. Adella spun quickly and launched herself at him, and as Darius expected, she bounced helplessly off the field of force.

They paused, staring at each other across the barrier.

“Come, my friend,” she said, her voice light and a little puzzled. “Give me your hand. I seem to have a problem here.”

“I fear not,” Darius answered reluctantly. “I do not think the master of the castle would want you to pass this particular wall.”

Adella’s eyes narrowed.

“Indeed,” she said softly, studying him. “You were eager enough to take my hand back at the cliff face. Will you deny me yours now?”

“I do not deny you my hand by choice,” he replied. “But my mission may well hinge on Malcolm’s good will, and I think he would take affront to any one who brought a thief of your considerable ability within his walls.”

“Is that your thought?” she said with a slow smile. “Well, perhaps you should look behind you and think again. You’re not yet within the walls of Llan Praetor.”

Surprised, Darius turned and looked at the iron-bound entry. Even in the faint moonlight, he could see the door had no less than four handles, and even a layman’s untrained eye could spot at least three locks, each clearly a difficult challenge with the unnerving probability that they needed to be opened in the proper sequence. Darius hesitated at the daunting sight.

“No ham-fisted Paladin can get through a barrier like that,” Adella called confidently. “You’ll need me to tickle it open for…”

But Darius resolutely put his hand on the nearest handle, and the door opened to his first pull.

“Roast me on a spit…” Adella swore softly at the sight.

He paused and turned back to her.

“I leave you with a token of the debt I do indeed owe you,” he said. And then he added slowly, “I’d take it as a kindness if you would hold that golden ring close until the time when I can redeem it. It is the only memento I have of my late wife.”

Adella glanced down at the ring in her hand.

“How can I be sure to find you if once we part?” she asked quickly. “The wide world will become wider yet with Regnar’s advance.”

Darius smiled at her across the distance.

“Fear you not, Good Thief,” he said gently. “Our paths will cross again.”

Even in the dimness, he could see her eyes flash with rage at that echo of her own words.

“You may count on that!” the woman shouted, coloring with anger. “And that’s when I’ll send you down to bark in Hell, you…”

Darius slipped quickly inside, and the door closed behind him, sparing him the rest.

* * * * *

Bishop Kal was just completing the wearisome task of reviewing the Cathedral’s daily logs when he was interrupted by a quiet knock on his door. He frowned at the disturbance, one more item to which he must attend, one more drain on his patience. It had been a particularly irksome day with complaints from the Merchant’s Guild about the tithes, young Joshua demanding to be allowed to attend the Council of Lords, and continuing rumors about the presence of Red Priests within Alston’s Fey itself. It had been the sort of day that required time to reflect and gather one’s strength against the demands of the morrow when the problems were only likely to be still worse. Kal was just about to call out a denial when the door opened, and in walked Father Maldonar, Inquisitor for the Propriety Council and special envoy of His Blessedness, the Patriarch.

“What requires your presence in my chambers at this hour?” asked Kal, his displeasure clear in his tone. Maldonar had begun to take his access to the Bishop a little too casually.

“We have an unexpected visitor, My Lord,” the Priest said, his eyes gleaming.

“A visitor? One who cannot wait until the morn?”

“I fear not. When you receive him, I believe you will understand.”

“Receive him? Here? Now?!”

“I beg your indulgence,” the Priest said with a low bow. “I would not make such a request were the matter not of the utmost importance.”

Kal fumed for a moment, but Maldonar’s bearing emphasized his words, and the Bishop’s interest stirred. The Priest turned and opened the door fully, ushering in a hooded figure that seemed to be clutching its wrap against some terrible cold. Only when the door clicked firmly shut did the figure reluctantly relinquish its hood to reveal its identity. It was Ursulan, Chancellor of Corland.

“My Lord Chancellor!” cried Kal in surprise. Ursulan’s face showed considerable alarm at the force of the expostulation, and Kal immediately took the hint, dropping his voice as he asked, “What has brought you here at this time of night?”

The Chancellor looked around at Maldonar as if for reassurance, and when no gesture was forthcoming, he said, “I have been assured that anything said here between us will be kept in the strictest confidence. Do I have your word on this, Lord Bishop?”

Kal glanced at Maldonar who gave the ever so slight nod, and he replied, “I can assure you of our discretion.”

“But do you swear it?” demanded the Chancellor, his own voice rising. “My very life hangs on your promise!”

Kal’s eyes flickered for a moment, but he quickly steadied. “I give you my oath as a sanctified priest of the Church that I will not divulge in any manner anything that passes between us this night. Now come, Lord Chancellor. What has brought you to us?”

Ursulan was breathing heavily, and he frowned as if wondering if the assurance of the Bishop was enough. Then he seemed to realize that he had left his options behind when he had crossed the threshold into the Church, and he shivered once, his small shoulders shaking violently. Then slowly, stonily, he said, “Duke Argus has been in contact with Alacon Regnar with the intent of betraying the Southlands to the invaders. They are conspiring against the other Dukes, plotting treachery. I have served Argus faithfully for many years, but I…I cannot be party to this. I…I cannot.”

Kal and Maldonar’s eyes met, both of their hearts racing at the words. They had been struggling for months to find some ecclesiastical charge they could bring against Argus, even though they knew many in Corland would choose the state over the Church if they were forced to it, a division that might well lead to civil war. But if they could convict Argus of treason against the Southlands, even his own people would turn against him!

“What evidence have you of these allegations?” demanded Kal, keeping his thoughts focused. Accusations against Argus they already had in plenty. It was proof that was lacking.

“The rock goblin mage killed in Alston’s Fey was an embassy sent by Regnar to Argus,” the Chancellor answered. “When the mob killed it, Regnar projected a magical sending to speak directly to Argus. It was there the terms of the pact were settled.”

“And those terms would be?” asked Maldonar .

“Argus is to have lordship under Regnar of all lands west of the Delmar River,” said Ursulan, though he had to take a breath. “In exchange for this, he will delay the gathering of the armies of the Southlands until Jalan’s Drift falls to the invaders.”

Kal’s jaw dropped as the enormity of the treason broke over him. They had known Argus was capable of treachery, but this…!

“Again, what proof have you of this?” demanded Maldonar.

Ursulan bristled. “Do you think Argus leaves treaties with his signature lying about for anyone to seize? He has taken the greatest care to cover himself, be assured of that!”

“But we must have evidence to set before the Council of Lords,” pressed Maldonar. “They will not act against Argus merely on your words, nor on the Bishop’s.”

“There is no such evidence, I tell you. If there were, I would be privy to it.”

“Come,” prompted Kal. “Neither Regnar nor Argus would enter into such a pact were there not means to enforce it. Think! There must be something to tie these two dogs to a common leash.”

Ursulan stopped and thought hard, his brow furrowed, his head shaking slightly. Then he paused and looked up, though the frown was still etched into his brow. “There is a secret room in the Corland embassy here in Alston’s Fey. I have never been there myself, but I believe Argus visits it when he is in residence here. The rock goblin ambassador was to be received here in Alston’s Fey. If there is any evidence that would incriminate Argus, it will be found in that chamber.”

“A secret room,” said Kal, intrigued, and he could see Maldonar’s interest rising as well. “Do you know how to gain access?”

“No. It is located outside the audience chamber, but entry is a secret known only to Argus.”

“There are individuals who can pass through any door, regardless of restrictions,” Kal assured him. “Can you arrange for a party to enter the embassy at night without eing observed?”

“No. You know the level of security Argus demands. The Black Watch are tasked with guard duty, and they will not yield to me.”

There was silence, their thoughts colliding against a wall of stone, and then Kal paused as first one idea and then another linked themselves together.

“You have no authority over the security of the building,” he said slowly. “But in Argus’ absence, you have full reign of the interior. Is that not so?”

“Yes. But the Black Watch maintain a guard within the building as well.”

“But if you were to receive a formal delegation, you would set aside rooms for their comfort, would you not?”

“If the delegation were large enough and important enough, certainly.”

“Then we have our answer,” said Kal, looking to Maldonar. “We shall convene a formal mission from the Cathedral at Alston’s Fey to discuss the problem of collecting tithes from Corland.”

Ursulan started slightly, the subject a sensitive one, for Corland was infamous for missing the tithe.

“Such a delicate problem will require long hours of discussion, would it not?” pressed the Bishop.

“That it will,” answered Ursulan faintly.

“We shall bring a proper assembly to accompany us,” explained Kal. “And while we are in council to discuss the tithes, the people in our assembly will be investigating this secret room.”

Ursulan’s eyes were wide as he grasped all the dangers inherent in the plan, but it was clear it answered all their requirements. They would gain access to the room without arousing suspicions, and if there was nothing to incriminate Argus, no one would know of their intrusion.

“I shall need some time to prepare if I am to elude suspicion,” said the Chancellor. “Two days, three. Even a week would not be too long.”

“Tithes were due last month,” replied Kal. “We shall announce our intent tomorrow and arrive at the embassy the day after. You will have till then to make your preparations.”

CHAPTER 20

A Meeting on the Mountain

The land was bathed in moonlight and rushed by beneath them with a thrilling speed, and the wind had chill hands that pinched and caressed their cheeks. Shannon held onto the wings of Gil-Gal-Som and shook her hair free to stream in the wind, laughing at the sensation. The stars were smiling down at them, and she felt she had but to reach up to gather a swath of them in her hands.

“Will you sit still, for Mirna’s sake?” growled Jhan, his hands locked in a death-grip around her waist.

“Will you pry open your eyes and look around?” she countered. “I’ve never felt such freedom! To fall now would be a small price to pay for such an experience. Would that this journey lasts ’til daybreak!”

A ghostly chuckle came from the mind of Gil-Gal-Som. “We shall outrace the dawn to the mountain of Llan Praetor. But do not begrudge the journey’s end. One who takes such joy in flight shall surely ride the winds again.”

“Oh, I pray that that is true,” Shannon said fervently.

“And I pray you get the chance alone,” replied Jhan with equal fervor. “Sweet Mirna let me feel solid ground beneath my toes again!”

Shannon chuckled and stroked the neck of the mighty pegasus, and in answer, he worked his wings and took them soaring higher yet; the winds were sighing, Shannon was laughing, and Jhan was moaning for help.

* * * * *

To his surprise, Darius found the interior of Llan Praetor to be finely worked stone, completely different from the rough weathered rock of its exterior. He held Sarinian before him and concentrated for a moment, and the light from the magical sword blazed forth, showing that he stood in a magnificent corridor which rose to a height of a dozen tall men and wide enough for that same dozen to walk abreast. The floor was decorated with a bewildering pattern of intricately drawn symbols and shapes, looking vaguely reminiscent of magical runes and glyphs, all of them interconnected as if to form some magic invocation. The walls, however, showed no such magic. They were decorated with a continuous mural of the great mountain peaks visible from outside, a glorious tribute, perhaps, from some unknown artist who loved the mountains and yet was denied the sight of them.

Slowly, Darius began to make his way down the corridor, his senses alert for any danger, his hands locked hard on Sarinian’s hilts. Far ahead, the sword’s light showed the corridor ended in a huge double door through which giants might pass, and it was flanked by two dark, monstrous shapes. As he drew nearer, he could see that the shapes were two enormous statues of gargoyles, their mouths open to show sharp fangs and lolling tongues, their claws poised to strike. He fancied he could even see a spark of life in their dead eyes.

Cautiously, he approached the doors, sensing a growing uneasiness in Sarinian as if power were stirring somewhere around them, readying itself to strike. The gates were so completely different from the small door through which he had entered that Darius wondered if they had been built by the same architects, the outer door intended for humans, these for giants. He reached up to try one of the great door handles, watching the statues closely, and he was just able to throw himself backwards when a gigantic stone foot of one of the gargoyle statues lunged towards him! The foot crashed down on the stone floor with the sound of thunder, the statue turning with startling speed, and Darius had to leap back again as the thing closed on him. He looked up to see the second statue moving as well, both creatures converging, their great mouths working, reaching for him with hungry claws.

He stood steady, making no further attempt to dodge or fight, merely holding Sarinian out before him and concentrating on its cold light. Immediately, the sword’s brightness began to swell yet again, growing to a blinding intensity that chased the shadows from the room, bringing full daylight into the heart of the mountain. The two statues hesitated, as if startled by the brilliance, their dark eyes blinded, and as they slowed, they seemed to freeze in place, turning to stone once more. Carefully, still holding Sarinian high before him, Darius slipped between the two statues and returned to the door. He tugged on the handle, and the great portal slowly opened, as if reluctant to acknowledge his victory. A tremble ran through the statues, a quiver that seemed to pass through the very rock of the castle, but the gargoyles remained stone. Darius stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him.

He found himself standing in a huge circular room, the great stone ceiling showing the stars of a summer’s night with such breathtaking clarity that for a moment, Darius thought the room was open to the sky. The floor still showed its magical design, but it had changed subtly, the symbols slightly further apart, a hint of space interceding in the pattern. There were three other sets of doors, identical to the ones behind him, spaced evenly throughout the room.

“And so, Sword,” he said softly to Sarinian. “Where go we from here?”

Straight forward
, the sword answered.
The center of the castle’s power is not far ahead
.

Darius let out a small sigh, not sure whether to be cheered by that news or not. But he resolutely put aside his doubts and headed for the far doors, the Avenger poised and ready in his hands.

* * * * *

Adella sat on a rock before the gate of Llan Praetor in the waning moonlight, glumly considering her options and comforting herself with ways of torturing that accursed Paladin to death when next she should come upon him.

She glanced again at the locked door only a few tantalizing feet away, her fingers itching at the sight of those intriguing locks, her mind once more toying with the vast treasures which lay beyond. Treasures which that prudish hayseed of a paladin was probably trotting by even now without so much as a glance. A hayseed, perhaps, but one who had smelled out her little trick and left her warming a rock while he walked the corridors of Llan Praetor. I’ll cut off his arms and set fire to his legs, she promised herself. That’ll wipe the smug smile off his face.

She shook the anger off and looked up to where the spires of the castle blended with the night, the stars the only difference between rock and sky, but there was no inspiration there. She had tried before (more than once) to gain access to Llan Praetor, each attempt getting her closer and closer to her goal, and the last one had floundered on that same damnable field of force. She had tried to go through it, over it, under it, and around it, slashing it with Bloodseeker, digging into the solid rock, even jumping down upon it from above, all to no avail. But this would have been the perfect solution, the skeleton-key to unlock all the barriers. When she had seen the way Darius’ sword had dealt with the spells of the goblin-mage on the streets of the Fey, she had sensed a superb opportunity, had brilliantly initiated it, flawlessly executed it, only to be betrayed in the end by a small golden ring. She glanced again at the ring which she still held in her hand, a plain simple band that somehow seemed more precious than many jewels she had held over time. The only memento of his late wife. Irritably, she stuffed the thing into a hidden pocket of her armor.

Oh, I’ll hold it right enough, she assured herself. And I’ll ram the damned thing down his throat when next we meet and leave him only a dull razor with which to cut it free.

It wasn’t just Darius’ actions or his attitude that were driving her wild; it was that she had been out-smarted by a starry-eyed, head-in-the-clouds idiot of a paladin. Out-thought, out-tricked and out-maneuvered, left behind like a first-year schoolgirl by her elder brother. Even that, however, could not account for all the rage seething within her, but she refused to look any deeper; refused to explore that simplest and most basic outrage of a woman abandoned by a man.

“I’ll dissolve his feet in hot dragon’s blood,” she swore to herself, holding the fury close. “And leave him in the middle of the eastern deserts so the white vultures can feast on his living bowels.”

Still, that won’t put me any closer to the treasures of Llan Praetor, she told herself. Her mind began to ponder the possibility of somehow teleporting beyond the wall of force and to dally darkly with all the marvelous uses for red-hot pokers and burning oil.

Some subtle shift in her surroundings drew her attention away from her thoughts, and she frowned, wondering what had changed. Dawn had delivered its first red wound to the night, the stars in the eastern sky slowly beginning to dim, and as she glanced to the west, she saw some silvery form barely visible in the light of the crescent moon. Her eyes narrowed, the elvish blood in her veins helping her to make out more detail, and she quickly threw herself behind the rock on which she sat to avoid being spotted.

“Gil-Gal-Som, or I’m a pig-farmer,” she breathed. “And there were two heads between his wings.”

Two passengers, and ones powerful enough or rich enough to induce Gil-Gal-Som to carry both of them right into the very teeth of Llan Praetor. Adella smiled in the darkness.

She drew Bloodseeker from its scabbard and tossed it to the ground. In its place, however, was not the sword but a great silver wolf with white teeth and green eyes.

“We’ve some unexpected guests,” she said softly. “Go and greet them, and sing them along, but do not let yourself be seen until the very last. I’ll welcome them here.”

Why play we these games?
the wolf asked, its green eyes flaring in the failing night.
Take the first in ambush, and that will leave us facing the second one to one
.

“A corpse will get us no closer to Llan Praetor,” she answered calmly. “Now do as I bid.”

The wolf nodded its great head once in acquiescence and bounded off into the darkness, leaving her to lay her plans.

“Perhaps it won’t be a completely wasted trip after all,” she whispered to the rocks.

* * * * *

The wolf’s howl was getting closer. Much closer.

Shannon shot a quick glance at Jhan, standing with his woodsman’s axe in hand, and up here among the peaks, the faint redness of the coming dawn was enough for her to see the nervousness in his eyes. They had heard the cry of wolves often enough before, had even killed a few of them, but there was something in this voice that seemed to pierce their very hearts, a quivering hunger that lusted for blood and dying flesh. The first howl had broken their farewell to Gil-Gal-Som, sending him screeching back into the sky and driving the memory of that magical flight across the starry sky from their minds. It was as if the great pegasus had recognized the howl and knew they were dealing with much more than a mere wolf. Now the two of them were alone, watching the darkness as they made their way towards their only hope of sanctuary, the great looming mass of the mountain-castle.

Shannon took a fresh grip on the throwing daggers which she held in either hand, the right by the tip for throwing, the left by the handle to thrust, but she wondered again if she should even considering throwing if the beast appeared. It seemed inconceivable that one or even two of her small daggers could fell a wolf who howled like that, and the wounds might only add to its viciousness. She flipped the dagger to catch the hilts, then flipped again to the tip, indecision her deadliest enemy.

“Aaaahrooo!”

The howl came from just over the next ridge of rocks!

She looked at Jhan, and he grabbed her arm. “Come on!”

They began a steady trot, keeping their eyes wary and their weapons at the ready. Ahead were some low boulders, and right beyond was the sheer cliff of Llan Praetor. They were nearly there.

The next instant, there was a flash of silver, a deep, threatening growl, and they barely had time to look up before the silver wolf launched himself from the highest boulder directly at Shannon. No chance to think, to run, or to throw, only an instant to push forward the one dagger as a pathetic defense and brace herself for the impact which would almost certainly kill her.

The blow never fell.

From out of nowhere, another form came flying over the nearest boulder and caught the wolf in mid-air, knocking it off to the side. The two forms were interlocked, rolling rapidly down the slope, heading towards the brink of the cliff. Stunned, both she and Jhan blinked, staring, but in the darkness, it was hard to make out details. Shannon thought she saw an arm rise and fall, as if making a dagger thrust, and there came a muffled howl of fury from the wolf. The next moment, the two forms vanished, and Shannon gasped in horror, running down the slope in the wild, belated hope of reaching her savior before the cliff took them. There came a long, distant howl, abruptly silenced, as if the wolf was screaming with fear as it plunged to its death, but the sound was somehow odd, lacking that special quality which had filled them both with fear, almost as if it were a mere imitation of the wolf.

Shannon reached the brink and peered over, Jhan a few steps behind her. Even in the dark, the drop made her stomach squirm, and she was both amazed and relieved to see a human figure slowly climbing up the face of the cliff, apparently pausing to sheath a great sword despite the fall. Of the wolf, there was no sign at all.

“Let me help!” she said, leaning down and extending a hand. The figure looked up, and Shannon was stunned to see it was the face of a beautiful woman with gleaming black hair. The woman smiled in answer and began to extend her hand, but then froze, her eyes locked on Shannon’s face.

“Are you hurt?” Shannon asked anxiously. “Jhan, hold my hand so I can reach her!”

Then suddenly, the woman laughed out loud, the power of her mirth echoing down the cliffs and ringing from the peaks, the sound both startling and unnerving. Shannon blinked, not sure how to react, and she was further surprised when the woman lightly and easily climbed those harrowing few feet of bare rock on her own.

“Well met, young friends!” she said, her smile still beaming. “My name is Adella, a common adventurer and an uncommon guide.”

Shannon gaped openly at this woman, bound with leather armor and with the great sword hanging at her side, standing with an open pride and brimming confidence that she had rarely seen before even in men. It was the exact opposite of the quiet wives and gentle homemakers with which she had grown up.