Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (25 page)

Safely in the sunshine above the canopy, Albathor began thrashing back to life, his wings opening and closing, trying to shake off the shock of Regnar’s stunning beam. When he had cleared his mind, he glared down at his savior.

“You are a fool, human, to thus save the source of your death,” the huge dragon rumbled. “This means only that I shall be mercifully swift when I kill you.”

“I didn’t save the wyrm that seeks to kill me, Albathor,” Malcolm answered calmly. “I saved the second of Mraxdavar’s children. Besides, I have potions I plan to make from your tail scales. I couldn’t yield them to Regnar.”

The dragon bristled in answer, and for an instant, Malcolm thought he had gone too far and Albathor was about to strike out in fury at both the words and the stain of rescue. But a soft voice from behind stopped them both.

“Whatever your reason for intervening, you have a father’s thanks.”

Malcolm swung partly around to see Mraxdavar floating just behind and above him, again resting on the thermals. The Wizard offered a small bow in acknowledgment.

“We shall leave off the attack,” the dragon announced to the entire pride. “Four of my children are enough sacrifice for the Drift.” Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in question and the dragon answered by saying, “One other of those covering your retreat fell before they could find the sanctuary of the clouds again.”

Malcolm closed his eyes, and there was true honesty in his voice when he said, “I am sorry. They were noble beings who fell in defense of their kin.”

Mraxdavar said nothing, but Malcolm could almost feel his pain at the loss, and at the manner in which they had died. The sight forced out the question he had been fighting to hold back since the start of the attack. “Why did we not all attack at once? Bramaclese did not have to endure a single arrow in his attack, while all the others suffered from their lack of surprise.”

Mraxdavar showed no outrage at such insolence from a mere human. Instead, he held out one of his enormous claws and opened it to show some kind of vial. Inside the vial was a black liquid. Malcolm’s eyes shot upward in question, and the dragon nodded once in confirmation.

“Yes, this is indeed a sample of the plasma sent forth by the titan,” he said. “It represents some of the Juggernaut’s essence. We did not come only to attack the enemy but to learn of his nature. We know now that it is not to be destroyed by sheer power, and we must seek another answer to its riddle. Come. We must go.”

“Where?” asked Malcolm, his mind still dwelling on that black liquid and trying to grasp all its implications.

“To the Castle of the Winds which you call Llan Praetor,” the dragon answered. “The obligation has now passed back to you. A second visit and three more questions. Or one service. Those were the promised terms.”

Malcolm nodded in acknowledgement, but he could not help but swallow nervously. What service would Mraxdavar demanded as payment for four of his children?

* * * * *

The passages beneath the fortress of Ringimore were dark, dank, narrow, and filled with every nasty smell Joshua had ever encountered, and a few he could only imagine. His robes were covered with slime or worse, he feared to wipe his face for what might be on his hands, and his feet were slipping with almost every other step on the slick stonework. He stumbled for what seemed the hundredth time, making the tiniest of noises when his knee hit the ground, and he got an instant hiss back from the invisible figure he was following with the aid of a cord tied to his belt.

“For Mirna’s sake, Father, try to stay quiet!” said Tallarand, his words barely a whisper. “You’re stumbling about like a drunken troll!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back. “These slippers you gave me are…”

He was referring to the felt footwear which Tallarand has insisted on him putting over his boots, but he never got a chance to finish. A hand came out of the darkness and perfectly tapped his chin upwards, effectively shutting off his words. How in the world was he able to find my face let alone my chin in this darkness? Joshua wondered.

“There are listening posts down here,” Tallarand said, his whisper admittedly softer than Joshua’s. “Small tunnels to the surface manned by guards with ears trained to tell even your religion from the way you walk. We’ve only a few dozen yards before we reach the air shaft. Just try to stay upright until then.”

Joshua nodded in answer, knowing it was useless in the blackness, yet Tallarand had moved with such incredible skill that Joshua was beginning to honestly think the man was indeed able to see in the dark, opening the shielded lantern he carried only a half-crack at two points so far. The cord tugged once more in his hand, telling Joshua the man was moving forward again, and he obediently followed, taking extra care of his footing.

It seemed like only a minute later that the man had stopped again, and suddenly the lantern was partially uncovered for a third time, the beam nearly blinding, but Joshua could just make out an iron grating covering a narrow hole in the side of the passage. He glanced back to see Tallarand beginning to fold a piece of parchment he had been consulting, and Joshua stared at it, hardly trusting his eyes. Rather than writing, it appeared to contain a series of bumps and raised areas across its entire surface. A map contoured to touch so it could be followed even in the darkness, Joshua realized in amazement.

“Hold the lantern, Father,” the man said softly, and Joshua took the light source, keeping the beam on the grating. Tallarand went up to the thick iron bars and seemed to touch a series of them lightly, almost as if getting the feel of their texture, but Joshua was surprised to see smoke coming from first one, then another, then all of them together. A moment later, the entire grating came away in Tallarand’s hands, leaving a clear if narrow opening.

“How…?” Joshua asked, doing little more than mouthing the word.

Tallarand threw a piece of cloth over the detached grate and laid it on the stone without making a sound before answering softly, “Dragon’s blood. Give me the lantern and follow close. If I stop, you freeze, and I mean don’t move a muscle. Both out lives will depend on that.”

The air shaft, in some ways, was actually more comfortable than the open sewer drain. True, he now had to travel on hands and knees or even squirming on his belly, and the smell of the dank stone was even stronger with his nose only inches from it. But there was something reassuring about being in close contact with something other than the darkness, touch helping to compensate for the loss of sight. He continued to hold the cord, but now, Tallarand kept a light constant tension on it which told him it was safe to continue.

Once, then twice, the cord went suddenly slack, and each time Joshua froze as directed, barely breathing, muscles rigid, having no idea if the man had paused to get his bearings, to disarm a trap, or to deal with the snakes or rats that made these tunnels their home. Each time, the tension on the cord resumed, telling him the issue, whatever it was, had been resolved and their progress could continue.

It was during a third pause that Joshua’s dark-accustomed eyes detected a faint light from somewhere ahead of the leader, an illumination with the slightest flicker that suggested a candle or a fire of some sort. A moment longer, and Tallarand moved forward again, only now he was emerging into some sort of opening, and a voice somewhere ahead was saying “What in the Name of Grace…?”

Joshua pulled himself through the narrow opening, noting that the bars had received the same treatment as those at the other end of the passage, and he emerged into a dungeon cell that seemed spacious and almost pleasant after passing through the bowels of the castle. There was the same mattress in one corner, the rough table with its single chair in the middle of the room, and the illumination came from that single sputtering candle on the table. It was all the same as the last time he had left it, but then he had departed as a priest. Now, he was returning as an outlaw. That made him swallow hard, though his heart continued to beat at the same steady pace.

“Tallarand! Joshua! How in the world…how could you get here?” Darius was saying, his face showing both his confusion and his delight.

“We found the posted visiting hours to be unacceptable,” Tallarand was saying lightly. “So we decided to make our own.”

“How are you, My Lord?” Joshua said coming forward, and he found himself in a crushing embrace from the huge warrior, disregarding the condition of his robes.

“All the better for seeing you,” Darius said, releasing him and extending a hand of welcome to Tallarand as well. “But why are you here?”

Tallarand raised an eyebrow at a question with so obvious an answer, but Joshua realized they should have expected it. The man had been spending his time in quiet communion, fully expecting that this was to be his last day on Earth, and in such a state, he was quite likely to overlook the obvious.

“We have come to take you to freedom, My Lord,” he said simply. “You will not die this day.”

Darius blinked at him as if he had just said something that bordered on the absurd, but rather than a blinding smile of relief when comprehension came to him, the man’s face showed only a gentle sadness. Joshua suddenly had a terrible sense of foreboding.

“Your efforts have been wasted, I fear, my friends,” Darius said quietly. “My freedom is not yours to grant.”

“You’d rather stay here and await the executioner’s axe?” Tallarand said, his words sarcastic, but his eyes showing the first hint of doubt.

“It is not these stone walls that make my prison,” Darius replied. “I am held by the promise of my word.”

“Your word? Come! You owe nothing to that joke of a court,” Tallarand retorted.

“It was not to the court that my word was pledged.”

Tallarand closed his eyes and shook his head in open disgust. “The Demon take any and all words that can tie a man to a wooden stake and set him on fire.”

Darius said nothing for a moment, his expression showing the distance that lay between them, and he finally said flatly, “Neither of you should be here. It will go hard if they should come and find a priest and a…a…”

“A minor peddler in trinkets and diversions,” offered Tallarand.

“My Lord, we have not come only for your life or our conscience,” said Joshua. “The Drift is in terrible danger, and with the death of Duke Boltran, the armies of the Southlands lack a leader. They…”

“They do not need a condemned criminal to guide them,” interrupted Darius. “What leverage I may have possessed ended with the death of Boltran and the sentence of the Maganhall court.”

“With the gentry, perhaps,” said Tallarand calmly. “But you have apparently made a deep impression on other sections of society. I am here at the request of an old acquaintance of yours that you apparently left squatting on a rock outside of Llan Praetor.”

“Adella!”

“The very same.”

Joshua watched a small smile creep over the Paladin’s face, and he could glimpse the strange friendship that had grown between these two unlikely individuals over the course of that journey to the mountain fortress. But then the man shook his head, the smile replaced with his old resignation.

“Adella’s plans always serve many goals,” he said at last. “I fear she must now find her way through that labyrinth without my aid.”

“Will you offer your daughter the same cold comfort?” asked Joshua.

Darius jolted as if hit with lightning. He grabbed the cleric by the shoulders, almost lifting the younger man off his feet. “Shannon?! Shannon is safe?”

“As safe as anyone in the Drift. She also begs for you to come and deliver the city from the threat of Regnar and this Juggernaut.”

“Is she unharmed? Is she with Adella? Where has she been?”

“Out on the Plains of Alencia and to Nargost Castle, apparently,” grinned Joshua, infected with the man’s unbridled joy. “As incredible as it may sound, they have freed the hostages that Regnar had taken as security on the bond of the states of the Plains. They have been brought safely to Duke’s Hall, and their families will soon learn of their release.”

A look of calculation came to Darius’ face, and he released his crushing grip on the young cleric’s shoulders. Joshua was puzzled by the reaction.

“Aye, My Lord, you read it aright,” said Tallarand, a touch of cynicism in his voice. “The remaining states of the Plains may be gathering their forces, but they are not in any great rush to do battle. The Juggernaut and the Silver Horde have passed them by, their families are now safe, and they would do well to wait on the results of the assault on the Drift before declaring their final allegiance.” There was a short pause before the man continued, “But does that not make the defense of the Drift all the more critical?”

Darius sat down heavily in the one chair, his face reflecting the struggles within as he weighed the new information against the old. Finally, he shook his head and said heavily, “I cannot leave.”

“What?!”

But Joshua had been watching the expressions playing over the man’s countenance and expected the answer.

“The door has been opened by us, My Lord,” he said. “Not by your actions, but by ours. Let any judgments from God or Man fall upon us, not you.”

“Bravely said, Joshua,” Darius said gently. “But that judgment has already been levied. I am accused of flaunting the laws of the Church. If I flee from the judgment of the Court now, I will just be confirming that sentence.”

“An unjust sentence,” responded Joshua with heat. “One motivated by politics and not by facts. No one is bound to abide by such a skewed ruling.”

“That is the very point,” said Darius. “We all acknowledge the right of the Court to try me. We cannot now reject that right simply because we do not like the result. But the issue goes far deeper than a single sentence or even a single life. The Church stands on the very brink of schism, and it is due in no small part to me. I know. I have seen it before. I have failed to keep the focus on the enemy, and now many of the faithful are torn between what they think is my belief and the dogma of the Church.”

Joshua opened his mouth to answer, to argue, but there was too much truth in the Paladin’s words.