Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

“Even though my heavy infantry has hammered the Northings’ flank,” said Mandrik of Warhaven, “we have not the force with us to face all of Regnar’s might as well as these undead. And my men will…begin to tire soon.”

Darius shot a sharp look at Mandrik, and there was confirmation in the man’s eyes. The warrior’s of Warhaven went to battle carrying a special draught made from dwarf’s root that would increase both their strength and their stamina. The miracle of Warhaven’s unlooked for arrival ahead of the other infantry was no longer a mystery, and the threat of exhaustion was very real.

“We must withdraw,” Darius agreed simply. “We have done the greater damage and learned much of the enemy, but it would seem he is not to be defeated in open contest.”

“So we have done no more than if we sheltered behind the walls of the Drift?” Boltran asked with a hint of anger.

“Bleeding the enemy is a soldier’s duty,” growled Mandrik. “Regnar has put forward the greater power and suffered the greater loss. That is what victory looks like.”

“And the titan moves slower to my eyes,” said Clarissa. “I think it was hobbled by the Paladin’s first blow.”

“Yes, we have taken blood from the Juggernaut, and we will see what that tallies in the end,” replied Darius, looking over the field of battle. “The green canopy is clearly thinner, much of its power consumed, and I doubt Regnar can now play this same card against the Drift.” His eyes then moved to the army of Corland, already in full retreat. “I feel in my heart we have forced other commitments with this battle. Warriors who have fought together once will stand the more readily in future battles.”

The Dukes followed his eyes and his thoughts. Several heads were nodded in agreement.

“Come, My Lords,” Darius said. “We must maintain an orderly retreat from the field of battle. Even brave men faced with the risen dead may break ranks. They will meet this enemy again all too soon, I fear.”

But even as he began to turn Andros away from the enemy, he became aware that Duke Boltran had stiffened suddenly in his saddle, frozen by some sight or thought.

“My Lord…” Boltran said with a soft broken voice that only Darius could hear. Darius came closer to the young Duke who had carried himself with such valor throughout the battle, and he saw at that moment the face of a frightened and vulnerable boy. Boltran pointed with a shaky hand and said, “…look…”

Darius turned and followed where the boy was pointing, and there, in the front rank of the undead, was the walking body of Eldoran, the Duke’s Champion.

Instantly, Darius nudged Andros over to one of the Duke’s household and took an arrow from the man’s quiver, drawing Sarinian with his other hand.

“Mirna devou, Mirna devou, Mirna vilas devou,” he said softly as he scraped the head of the arrow up and down the shining blade. The Avenger trembled with anger at this indignity, but Darius placed the sword back into its scabbard and took the bow from the hands of the warrior. He pushed Andros to the front of the party, notched the arrow with its shining head, and pulled the bowstring back to its greatest draw.

“Mirna vilas devou,” he whispered again, and as he let the arrow fly, it burst into white fire. It arched upwards, its light capturing the eye of nearly half the army, and it fell with flawless accuracy to strike the undead form of the Duke’s Champion. Elboran’s body fell once more to earth, now at final peace, though the army of undead marched over top of it.

Darius returned to the group and tossed the bow back to its owner. Rathman was there, pushing his horse forward, and his face showed a barely controlled anger.

“The Vilas Evoke,” he said through clenched teeth. “The Holy Fire. That is the weapon granted only for the defense of Holy Ground. How dare you…”

But Boltran reached back with one hand and grabbed the Priest’s arm, silencing him. He then turned to Darius, and there was a tear of gratitude on the boy’s face, though his voice was firm once again as he said, “Thank you, Paladin. Thank you for all of us.”

Darius bowed gracefully from the saddle and said again, “Let us withdraw. If we are to make Regnar pay for this sacrilege, there is still much to do.”

CHAPTER 8

Dragons at the Gate

Three questions.

Three questions were promised, and now were poised to be asked. Questions that would reveal as much about the interests of the questioner as the answers would reveal about the subject. An honest exchange of academic interest, except that most scholars did not have to fear being devoured whole if they did not respond correctly to an inquiry.

Malcolm stood expectantly beside the small doorway into Llan Praetor which he had created more than a decade before, politely waiting as the three huge forms gathered around him and trying hard to hide his growing excitement. The dragons had come here to discover some secret, some hidden knowledge contained within the castle, for which they were prepared to offer aid against the fast approaching forces of Alacon Regnar. But Malcolm had studied Llan Praetor for more than two decades, and he, too, stood to gain considerable insights from their visit. Insights into the dragons and their purpose. And insights into Llan Praetor itself.

“We cannot enter through such a doorway,” came the fierce rumble of Mraxdavar’s voice. The massive gold body was looming in Malcolm’s side vision, dominating even the presence of the castle and the fierce winds whipping around the mountaintop. As dangerous as it might be to keep one’s eyes off a potential enemy, Malcolm knew that even here in the open air, meeting the eye of a power such as Mraxdavar was more perilous still.

“It is the only means by which I have ever been able to enter,” he replied guilelessly, being equally careful to tell nothing but the strict truth. He knew all too well the propensity for liars to become ensnared in the dragon-speech.

The small door Malcolm had made in the mountainside that gave entry to the ancient fortress of Llan Praetor was absurdly small beside the mass of Mraxdavar and his two children, Albathor and Bramaclese, each measuring huge compared to their brethren, yet hardly more than half the size of their intimidating father. It had been nearly three days since their bargain had been struck, and they had passed the time in the convoluted negotiations that dragons held so dear, playing with words and meanings to test the stamina, the patience, and the wisdom of all parties involved. Malcolm understood the game well, the importance of showing no physical or moral weakness despite the growing exhaustion, and he knew he had won the grudging respect of the dragons by giving as good as he got, though he had been forced to use magic to sustain himself and match the tireless constitution of the wyrms.

“Our pact was for you to supply entry to the fortress,” Mraxdavar murmured, his voice soft with menace. “This you have not done.”

“Our pact was to give you access,” Malcolm countered. “That, I have now supplied. I cannot help you to walk across a threshold, whether I would or not. Therefore, entry is entirely your own concern.”

A hiss like escaping steam came from Albathor, but there were words imbedded in the sound, words to which Malcolm’s ears were not deaf.

“A foolish human trick to gage our power…let us force the issue here!”

“Silence,” Mraxdavar answered in the common speech, a short soft word that acted like a slap to the younger dragon. So Mraxdavar at least suspects I may understand the true tongue of dragons, thought Malcolm. In some ways, that was more alarming than the suggestion the dragons had an issue to be forced.

The eldest dragon turned his head, opened his huge jaws, and breathed upon the door. Not with the blazing inferno unleashed from the depths of his belly that would incinerate any and all living matter in its path, but a series of gentle puffs that looked almost like smoke rings floating rapidly towards the mountainside in which the door stood. Malcolm exerted the slightest will upon his staff, and he instantly was able to detect a powerful magic emanating from those series of rings.

Then, without warning, the entire side of the mountain seemed to open.

Malcolm actually took a half-step back, staggered by the sheer size of the doors being revealed. He had known of their existence for years; indeed, he had placed his own portal here to take advantage of the halls to which they led. But knowing and seeing were two completely different matters, and he could not keep the amazement from his face as doors that would accommodate titans opened before them.

“Easier than chewing a mouse-hole through the rock,” said Mraxdavar who had not missed the Wizard’s reaction.

“Only dead men question the power of dragons,” Malcolm replied. “And only fools question the weakness of rock.”

There was the slightest flicker in the eyes of the eldest wyrm, and Malcolm almost smiled. Powerful as the rings of smoke appeared to be, he had rightly surmised they were not strong enough to force open the doors simply by the energy they contained. They had been directed by a sure knowledge, a sign that Mraxdavar already had an intimate acquaintance with the stone of Llan Praetor. Malcolm had long suspected the dragons knew a great deal more about the castle than they had ever suggested, and the use of such a skillful key had just confirmed that suspicion.

“Shall I act as guide?” asked Malcolm. “Or do you already know the way?”

*

The dragons were in conference, a quiet discussion before entering into the castle, gathered downwind of Malcolm to make it harder for him to overhear. But he knew at least a portion of what was passing between them.

Albathor and Bramaclese were not along at their Father’s insistence, but rather at Malcolm’s. If the matter should finally come down to killing, Malcolm was not completely sure he could do serious and lasting harm to the eldest wyrm; far worse, he suspected Mraxdavar believed the same thing. But should treachery occur, Malcolm’s last blow would be against the two lesser dragons, and he had absolutely no doubt that he could do them both a very serious injury indeed, whatever action the father might take. Malcolm felt quite sure that Mraxdavar would not sacrifice his two eldest children merely to kill one mortal wizard whose days were nothing in the long history of a dragon’s life, and so the younger monsters kept pace, unknowing hostages to their Father’s honor.

The short conference between the dragons was ending, perhaps no more than a discussion about the order in which they were to enter, though Malcolm felt he detected a hesitation on their part, a reluctance to proceed now that the door actually lay open before them. Finally, Mraxdavar turned to him and said, “Hear now the first of the questions you have committed to answer. When you created the miniature door, what response did you perceive from the stone of the Castle?”

Malcolm pondered the question for a long moment, for while a structural question seemed perfectly natural, it was significant in light of Mraxdavar’s knowledge of how to open the true portal into Llan Praetor. It suggested that while the dragons might know much about the functions of the Castle, they did not know the details of how it was created.

“I made several unsuccessful attempts to open a passage before stumbling upon the right formulation,” he answered. “Each attempt at drilling a passage or doing damage to the rock itself failed, and the stone actually seemed to replace itself regardless of the amount of power employed.”

He paused and glanced again at the side of the castle, struck by a sudden thought. He had forged this door almost twenty years ago when he had known little about the true nature of Llan Praetor, and remembering those early days now with the advantage of twenty years’ experience gave him a completely different perspective. The castle was aware of me and shut me out when I was doing damage to it, he realized.

“Your answer is incomplete and unacceptable,” the dragon hissed softly, recalling Malcolm from his own thoughts.

“I finally tried employing a spatial spell,” Malcolm continued, still somewhat distracted. “To create space rather than destroying rock. My first few attempts also failed. But when I focused on the minute space existing already within the body of the rock, it expanded, rapidly at first and then more slowly, until it reached its present dimension. It was as if…as if the Castle were relenting and giving only me access.”

He looked from the stone back to the dragons, but he could tell nothing from their postures; he caught a glance exchanged between Albathor and Bramaclese, but he had not enough experience to read it.

It was Mraxdavar who took the lead, unwinding his endless coils with a smooth and sinister grace to extend himself through the portal and enter the hallway beyond. As the Eldest Dragon set claw upon the stone of Llan Praetor, Malcolm actually stopped and stared. The stars carved into the stone floor gleamed forth with a cold light in response to the dragon’s passing, and they held the gleam for long seconds after the monster had moved on, as if reluctant to surrender the power they had gained. Never in his years of studying the fortress had the Wizard seen anything resembling this reaction from the stone, and it gave him serious pause. All his research and intuition told him Llan Praetor held a power the dragons feared, may even have been the home of some deadly enemy whose name was now lost in time, so he now could hardly credit the sight of the stone of the fortress gleaming in acknowledgment of their passing…almost as a sign of tribute.

Ahead were the stone gargoyle sentinels who had held guard over the main passage since the birth of the castle, and Malcolm frowned in puzzlement as it seemed there was now only a single sentinel standing guard over some broken stone. His puzzlement turned to amaze when he realized the broken stone was the ruin of the second guardian.

“One of the guardians is overthrown,” Mraxdavar observed. “It would seem a being of considerable power has passed this way.”

Malcolm was even more alarmed as he looked closely at the stone carnage. There was no time to cast a Resonance Spell that would gather the sounds and images from the near past, but the Wizard suspected that speed as well as power had been instrumental in the raiders’ victory. How else could only one be destroyed and no dead bodies left in the hall? That was an uneasy thought, suggesting someone with enough speed and cunning to elude a killing magic, but Malcolm’s reaction was tinted with another emotion, though one he would never admit, even to himself. Never before had he brought a visitor into Llan Praetor, and he was feeling absurdly embarrassed to have this devastation littered in front of the dragons, an anxious host upset by this affront to his guests.

He swallowed, forced down his momentary unease. This matter was far too serious to let minor emotions intercede. He forced himself to stand back, waiting on the dragons and making no effort to open the door, but Mraxdavar stopped and looked down at him.

“I can pass the door easily enough,” the Dragon said softly. “But it may well mean the ruin of your final guardian. Do you wish me to proceed?”

It took only a moment of reflection to answer the question. Although seeing the dragons exerting power on the sentinels of Llan Praetor itself would undoubtedly give some valuable insights into relative power, Malcolm had no doubt the confrontation would end with a second shattered statue littering the floor. But the answer was even simpler than that. Despite his thirst to know what the Dragons’ knew, he had no desire to see any harm done to Mraxdavar or his kin.

Accordingly, Malcolm stepped forward, raising his staff as he went, and a beam of light hit the face of the gargoyle, rendering it both blind and deaf. A small gesture of his free hand caused the huge double doors to open, and he stood back to let his guests pass. There was the smallest nod from Mraxdavar, a recognition of both thoughts that had gone through the Wizard’s mind.

“The second question as you have promised,” Mraxdavar said once they were all within the chamber, and even his softest voice was magnified a dozen-fold by the expanse of the room. “What magics did you first employ to gain passage from these guardians?”

Again, a straight forward question on the surface, but Malcolm felt the theme focusing less on Llan Praetor and more on his relationship with the Castle.

“The guardians never attacked me, and I have always attributed that to protection spells I had in place,” Malcolm explained, though he was now reconsidering that assumption as well. “They did block my way at first and refused me access through the doors. I employed a powerful version of a quelling spell, and after that, they paid me no more heed.”

He frowned a little now that his attention was focused on the issue. He had dispensed with protection spells within the castle many years ago as he had learned the means of moving safely through its halls, and he had assumed that the guardians had simply come to accept his right to pass. But there was no time to mull over the issue now. All three of the dragons had turned their attention to the central hall and were moving about with a clear purpose to their movements.

The central hall of Llan Praetor was replete with stars above and below, and Malcolm had discovered many years earlier that the unique pattern of stars actually called out an exact location in the firmament, as if the individual was afloat in space. He had also learned that striking the floor could move a person within Llan Praetor, while flying up to strike the star pattern above teleported them to distant sites outside of the fortress. Still, he had always had a nagging belief that he was missing something of great import in the central hall, some function obvious and fundamental that he had overlooked in his painstaking attention to detail.

Now, as the dragons moved about the chamber, he knew he had been right.

All the stars above and below were gleaming with a warm light as if they had suddenly come to life, and each even showed slight variations in shade and hue that Malcolm instantly recognize as their true coloration. But light and color were by no means the only changes. The entire hemisphere seemed to be in motion, the stars rotating slowly through their normal pattern to suggest hours of the night slipping by in mere seconds, the dominance of time broken by the expanding power of this suddenly limitless chamber. It was as if the real night sky had erupted above them.

As he stared up at the firmament, Malcolm felt his eyes growing suddenly heavy, his legs growing inexplicably weak. He blinked and shook his head, trying to steady himself. It’s exhaustion, his mind warned, three days of endless, agonizing dragon-speech beginning to exact their toll. But…but that was impossible! He had protected himself against that debilitation with the casting of a Sustaining Spell at the very start of the ordeal and followed it earlier this day with an Invigoration Potion, enough to keep him fresh and sharp for at least two more days.