A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

Darius frowned, the news as bad as he had feared. The Southlands alone had the numbers and the training to stand against Regnar’s horde in open battle, but if they were divided by intrigue and politics, they would be lost before the first arrow flew.

“There is other news,” Tallarand continued, “though how reliable it may be I cannot say. Word reached me this morning that a strong column of the Northings has broken from Regnar’s main body and is rushing for the Highlander’s Pass. And I am told the Clans are preparing to flee without a fight.”

“The Highlanders yield the High Pass!?” Darius repeated in disbelief. “Impossible!”

“As I said, I question the information myself,” the man admitted, “but my source has never been wrong before. And we must remember that flight is contagious: with refugees pouring through the pass carrying rumor of Regnar’s swift progress, even the bravest might reconsider their position. Certainly such an attack would make sense, for consider what success would mean to Regnar.”

The high pass of the Highlanders was the only route other than Jalan’s Drift through which an invading army might reach the Southlands. It was far narrower and more difficult than the Drift, its high cliffs natural battlements for the defenders, and the Highlanders had a fierce loyalty and love for their land which spanned their entire history. To break through the pass would not only allow Regnar to cut off the Drift from the Southlands, it would be a devastating blow to all his opponents. Breaching the walls of Nargost was nothing compared to breaking the legendary spirit of the Highlanders.

“Then my decision is made for me,” said Darius, speaking more to the sword than the man, “and there is precious little time.”

Tallarand shifted his weight from one foot to the other and bit down lightly on his lower lip, clearly debating whether to relate more information or not. Finally, he said, “A final word for you. I have heard of a woman who is perhaps the only survivor of Carthix Castle and has seen the power of Regnar’s horde first hand. She claims to have valuable information about the enemy which she will sell for a price.”

“A spy?” Darius said dubiously. “Can she be trusted, do you think?”

The man before him smiled broadly. “Only a fool would trust this woman. But without knowing the details, I will still vouch for the value of her information. She sells no false goods.”

“And how do I find her?”

“Simply declare your interest in the information in the taverns of Alston’s Fey or Monarch. The woman’s name is Adella.”

Darius nodded. “I thank you for your words, Tallarand. In the wilderness, news is more valuable than gold.”

“I wish you good luck and good hunting, Sir,” said Tallarand. “While I make a rule not to involve myself in politics, I think my business might suffer under Regnar’s harsh edits. So if I can be of service in the future, please don’t hesitate to seek me out. I’m bound for Alston’s Fey now, and eventually on to Azare, but any message left with the Tavern Guild will be sure to reach me.”

“Not with the Merchant’s Guild?” Darius asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tallarand smiled. “I fear I’m a little delinquent in my dues. Pray, don’t bother them on my account.”

Darius nodded, eyeing the insignia on the man’s cloak and wondering where he would find that same pattern of inter-linked stars.

“I’ll hold your offer close. A good journey to you, Tallarand. If the war lasts long, we may yet meet again.”

With that, Darius swiftly mounted Andros and headed off at a full gallop, the great warhorse clearly rejoicing to be running again.

Tallarand watched him disappear down the forest road, his eyes thoughtful.

“Yes, my friend,” he said softly. “We may indeed meet again.”

* * * * *

The light step at the beginning of the journey had already changed to a heavy tread.

Shannon shivered again and hitched her pack higher on her shoulders, trudging resolutely forward. After emerging from Decision Rock, they had walked doggedly eastward on the forest road, hoping to reach a village, an inn, or some fellow traveler who might be able to give them directions, or at the very least tell them where they were. But they had not met a single soul. Still, they had made good time, their youth and the excitement of the trip whittling away the miles, and on that first day, they had whistled to the spring birds, laughed at the sunshine, and munched away at the fresh tidbits from Jhan’s pack. Now the tidbits were gone with the sunshine, and the forest road had turned to mud which clung to their heels, making every step seem like two.

The remains of a cold spring rain was still falling on them, small drops combining with occasional large drips from the overhanging branches to alternately tap and slap them with a wet chill. The rain had started pouring yesterday afternoon, quickly soaking everything, working its way inside their clothes and packs despite their rain slickers, and pushing up from the drenched ground to invade their shoes and freeze their feet. The downpour had guaranteed there would be no dry kindling available, and no fire had meant a cold supper and damp, clammy bedding, making for a bad night and worse morning.

The good humor and optimism of the start of the journey had given way to a contagious case of the grumbles.

“Three days of it!” Jhan snorted. “This mud is thicker than Father John’s pudding. We don’t have any idea where we are or where we’re going, slogging through the mire on foot to catch a mounted man moving in haste. And one mounted on Andros yet, the fastest steed ever to set hoof in the forest. We might as well be walking backwards for all we’re gaining.”

The wet was having an even more serious impact on Jhan. Damp socks had chafed away at his feet, leaving him with a couple of blisters which they had bound carefully last night, and so far today, he had kept up manfully, showing no trace of the pain he must be feeling. Both of them changed socks at every rest time, placing the wet pair inside their shirts to dry them with the body heat raised by the walking; it was an old woodsman’s trick that was serving them well, but it also made them feel even clammier.

“You say we’re making for a city?” Jhan asked. “What was its name?”

“Alston’s Fey,” she replied, the name etched into her memory. “My father had specially marked the town on his map.”

“You don’t really expect to catch up with him there, do you?”

“There or another town,” she replied stubbornly. “I’m sure we’ll find someone to help us.”

“Help us! Two young country bumpkins rolling into some tough trading town wearing forest clothes and a layer of road mud,” Jhan said with a shake of his head. “They’re going to be licking their chops at the sight of us. Wandering through a big city, arriving days behind your father, even if he bothered to stop there in the first place. And your solution is to walk right up to strangers and ask if they’ve seen a single warrior passing through.”

“My father has a way of standing out from other people,” Shannon answered confidently. “We’ll find him.”

“Sweet Mirna willing and the winds don’t rise,” said Jhan, quoting the old proverb.

Shannon’s patience was nearing an end, but as she began to make a tart reply, her eye was caught by a splash of bright color moving through the trees. She stopped and looked, Jhan’s eyes being drawn to it as well. It was a large bird, about the size of a small hawk, but its outlandish mixtures of reds, yellows, and oranges marked it as a clear stranger to the predominantly green woodlands. The bird was coming down the eastern road, the direction in which they were going, and it was flying poorly, virtually going from tree to tree. However, when it seemed to spot them, it covered the remaining distance in one sprint and settled in a branch directly in front of them.

“Auck! Save the Peddler!” the thing screeched, shocking them both, its words surprisingly clear. They had heard tales of speaking birds, but they had seemed like children’s stories, fables as reliable as cloud castles and fairy gold. Yet a moment later, it spoke again. “Save the Peddler! Auck!”

The creature waddled a little ways along the branch and then back again, obviously agitated.

“What do you think it means?” Jhan asked, his eyes warily on the bird.

The creature flapped its wings and flew to a tree across the road and a little farther down.

“Auck! Save the Peddler!” it repeated and flew to another tree further along as if leading them back in the direction from which it had come.

“I think it wants us to follow,” said Shannon slowly.

“Do you think we should?” wondered Jhan. “It could be a clever trap.”

Shannon half-snorted at the thought. “More likely somebody’s in trouble. Come on.” She took a few steps towards the bird. “Lead on.”

“Auck!” the thing cried, and took off down the path, pausing on a limb a little further down to look back and make sure they were still following. They quickened their pace and were easily able to keep up with the bird. The creature led them some distance down the road before suddenly darting off to the side into a slightly clearer area of woods, dominated by a few, large trees, spaced well apart.

As they moved cautiously off the road, Shannon saw that the bird had perched in a tree where the ground seemed to drop away sharply. They walked carefully to the edge and saw it was a muddy slope rolling down to a ravine filled with mud, rocks, and uprooted trees. There, half-buried in the debris, was a large, square-built wagon.

“Help!” came a weak cry.

“Auck! Save the Peddler!” the bird said again, its meaning now perfectly clear.

The same rain which had made their night so unpleasant had caused the mud slide, apparently carrying the wagon and its occupant down to the bottom of the ditch. Jhan tested the ground a few times and found it still soggy but not likely to give way again.

“You wait here in case I get into trouble,” he said to Shannon, and she nodded in agreement.

He then half-walked, half-slid down the slope, coming to rest beside the wagon. He shoved away one small tree and a couple of rocks in order to reach inside, and the sound of items being shifted indicated that the victim had also been buried beneath the wagon’s contents. A moment later, Jhan emerged, and with him was a chubby older man wearing only a long gray nightshirt. Jhan reached back into the wagon and pulled out what appeared to be a pair of trousers. Together, they managed to struggle back up the ravine to where Shannon could reach them and offer a hand.

“Praise you, friends!” the man gasped. “Praise you now and again! I feared I would die down there in that cold black muck!”

He had a curious manner of speech and a strange accent that didn’t belong to any part of the forest they knew. He made no effort to introduce himself, and after a moment’s thought, Shannon decided that was probably the wisest course.

“I was trying to sleep out the storm last night, when suddenly it felt as if giants had grabbed my poor wagon,” the man said, accepting his trousers from Jhan and unabashedly donning them in front of Shannon. “I was turning and rolling as if falling down into the Pit itself, and then it stopped and I was buried beneath all my wares! What a terrible joke for a merchant to be nearly killed by his very livelihood!”

The man clearly had had a frightening experience, but Shannon suspected that he spoke in the same breathless manner about even common events.

“Well, at least you’re alive and unhurt,” she said. “And you can thank this marvelous bird for your rescue. Without him, we never would have found you.”

“Auck!” cried the bird, but the man paid it no attention at all.

“Unhurt? Unhurt!” he said. “My horses are gone, fled with the storm! My goods, my wares, my wagon! Unhurt? Friends, will you not at least help me to get my wagon back up to the road?”

Shannon looked dubiously down to where the heavy wagon lay at the bottom of the ravine.

“Your wagon’s still half buried in the mud,” Jhan said. “All three of us couldn’t budge it even if we carried all the contents up the slope first.”

“And I fear we haven’t the time,” Shannon said shortly. “But you can come with us to the next village to get help if you wish.”

“You can’t abandon my good wagon like that, friends!” the peddler cried anxiously. “My entire life is lying at the bottom of that ravine. If I go to the nearest village for a horse, it will surely be looted by the time I get back.”

Shannon and Jhan exchanged glances, realizing the peddler was probably right. Based on their own experience, the nearest town was likely to be days off, and there was no guarantee that he would find people willing to travel all the way back here to help.

“If you could but help me get the wagon and goods back to the road,” the man continued, “I could pull it myself. It would be a long draw, but at least I’d have all my wares when I reached town.” His eyes narrowed shrewdly as he eyed their already thin packs. “Perhaps we can come to some arrangement?”

Shannon glanced down at the wagon, thinking of all the things that might be stored there. Provisions, new shoes for Jhan, weapons. Perhaps a map.

“Jhan…?” Shannon asked, their minds working alike.

The youth let out an annoyed sigh and began to study the wagon, the slope, and the surrounding woods. He walked over to a tall oak not far from the edge of the slope and patted its thick trunk, looking carefully up at its limbs. After a moment, he turned back to the peddler. “How much rope do you have in your wagon?”

“A league of rope!” the man shouted with enthusiasm. “Rope enough to circle half the forest if need be!”

“Let us see,” Jhan answered skeptically.

They tumbled back down the slope together, and the man unlatched one of the bins on the side of the wagon to reveal a large cache of coiled rope; far less than a league, of course, but apparently more than enough for Jhan’s need.

The youth nodded slowly and said, “I make you no promises. The wagon is damaged and half-buried in the drying mud, so we can’t be sure it will stand the strain. But if this works, you’ll be back on the road in a few minutes.”

“I’ll stand the hazard!” the man said, his eyes bright. “My old wagon shan’t fail me, I know!”

Jhan nodded again and took the end of the rope and tied it securely to both the body of the wagon and the front axel. Then he threw the remains of the coil around his shoulder and labored up the slope to the foot of the great oak. Here, he tied the other end around his waist, placed his axe in his belt, and, with a woodsman’s skill, began to climb the thick body of the tree. He paused at one point and cut away one small branch, letting it tumble to the ground before continuing to climb. Shannon frowned, wondering what he was about.