Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (27 page)

A shining light was slashing through the darkness gathering about her, and while nothing could now sustain her body, her heart rose in sudden hope and gave enough strength to her arm to parry once more, and rise to strike down one of the remaining goblins that were seeking her end. The other goblins were suddenly running or destroyed, the light a terror they could not face, and she slumped back to the stones, as a familiar face came over her, a face she now realized she had long been expecting.

“Adella…” Darius said, but his tone told her of his desperation and his despair.

“You’re late, Glory Man,” she whispered, managing a grin. “Always said you were a step too slow…”

He tore open her armor, laying bare the wound, and she could see the horror of the damage reflected in his face. No surprise there. She knew a killing blow when it fell, even if this time, she was on the receiving end of it.

He thrust his hands down on the savaged flesh, a pathetic and hopeless attempt to staunch the blood, and her lips twisted into another grin at this first touch of his hands on her body. She rose slowly on her elbows, fighting back the crippling pain that threatened to tear her body in two, spending her last moments in motion rather than at rest, drawing closer to him. She was within scant inches of his face, close enough to feel the reflected pain, to feel the warmth of his skin, and she opened her lips as she neared his mouth for a kiss, a bite, a final taste of life.

His head turned towards her, struggling yet unable to resist, their lips coming within a hair’s breath, the unspoken desire swamping out everything else, even death. It was he that was trembling, passion and resistance racking his body, the distance between them nothing yet seemingly as vast as ever for him. Suddenly, it felt as if fiery life were flowing back into her mid-section, and she gasped, the numbness of death giving way as a healing flame cauterized the gaping wounds through which her life was seeping.

It was no longer agony to move, no longer the sum of her abilities to transverse that fraction of an inch, but somehow it made it even harder for her, too, to pass that final distance to touch his lips. She fell back, life defeating her as death could not.

She looked down at her belly, and she was only mildly surprised to see the skin whole and clean with no sign of the wound from the goblin’s scimitar.

“The laying on of manna,” she said, speaking the words of legend as a simple and obvious fact. “Not a bad use for hands chained by purity.”

With one motion, Darius gathered her in his arms and lifted her off the bloody stones, holding her body to him in an intimate embrace that crushed a little of the air out of her lungs, the intensity an answer, a rebuke, a promise.

But there was no more time. The loss of blood made Adella too weak to walk, and the battle was still roaring its demand for Darius.

*

On the battlements of the third wall, directly above the Wizard’s Gate, three figures stood staring down at the slithering black mass that had been the Juggernaut, the thing failing by no more than a thousand paces from reaching the gate to the Third Tier. It seemed almost that an act of god had intervened to save them. Now they were watching the swirling, fighting, dying bodies from all sides dance around the fallen titan.

“The second tier of the city is lost, that is clear enough,” said Mandrik of Warhaven grimly. “The goblins have overrun all but the nearest sections. But without the Juggernaut, the enemy has no chance against the Third Wall.”

“I will sound the withdrawal,” agreed Thrandar, Duke of Norealm, raising his hand to the waiting entourage beside them, and instantly, a dozen ram horns blared out the retreat. “I will waste no more men for the dredges of the city.”

But even as the call echoed through the Second Tier, Brillis answered coldly, “I agree you must rally your men. But they must fare for themselves. I will not open the gate.”

Both men turned and stared at her, shocked.

“You’d abandon my men?” demanded Thrandar. “After they have spilt their blood freely in defense of your city?”

“Their sacrifices will have been in vain if the goblins storm the gates when I open them,” Brillis replied. “The Third Wall is the last to span from mountain to mountain. I will not risk it for perhaps two hundred lives. The gates remain shut.”

Mandrik turned to directly confront the mayor, his face as calm and steady as ever, but there was a hint of fire in his voice. “It is not stone and steel that holds the Drift, Lady. It is the strength and courage of the defenders. You will breach your walls indeed if you make our men watch the slaughter of honorable warriors with their backs to your gates!”

Below, dozens, perhaps scores, of warriors were answering the rams’ horns, pulling back from their struggles, rallying around the banner of Norealm being waved bravely by their standard bearer, oblivious to the treachery about to befall them.

“Look you!” cried Thrandar, pointing. “My men are already falling back! They expect the gates to open! Give the signal!”

“Think you that Regnar does not know the meaning of the rams’ horns?” Brillis shot back. “Think you he has not been preparing for this very moment? The gates stay shut.”

“Wait!” shouted Mandrik. “Look there!”

The others looked to where he was pointing, and they saw a huge figure carrying someone in his arms as he raced towards the gathering force at the gate. As he got among the rallying soldiers, he set his burden gently down and turned to face the throng of Northings who were beginning to press the small group. A moment later, the figure drew forth a massive sword that gleamed with a brilliant light and heartened and steadied the warriors far more than any rallying flag.

“The Paladin is there!” said Mandrik intensely, taking a step even closer to the Mayor. “Will you sacrifice his sword to your security as well?”

For a long moment, Brillis stared down at the developing battle, and to her credit, she watched to see the way the Northings flinched at the arrival of Sarinian, the steady discipline of Thrandar’s troops, and the influx of still more Southlanders coming in from the outskirts. Finally, she turned to her waiting guards and called, “Order Captain Ellium to move his cohort up to the gates to act as covering force. Gather the Fourth and Seventh Archers here to supply support fire. Set the oil cauldrons ablaze and ready them for use. Then give the order to open the gates.”

“Thank Mirna!” said Thrandar in relief as the guards scattered to do their Mistress’ bidding.

“Thank the Paladin,” Brillis replied grimly. “And if the enemy presses the gates hard, I’ll empty my cauldrons even on him.” She leaned over the battlements to where the covering force was already massing behind the gates. “Captain Ellium, you will have exactly two minutes before the gates close again! Any stragglers can see what mercy the Northings will show them! With spirit now! Open the gates!”

*

Darius did not need to hear the debate on the battlements above or know Brillis’ reputation for ruthlessness to understand the dilemma facing the defenders within the Third Tier, and he was not surprised when the gates remained shut despite the blaring rams’ horns and the banner waving bravely. He knew they had one chance and one chance only. The thieves had done an excellent job of disrupting and confusing the enemy, while the thrashing tentacles of the Juggernaut were holding back the main body of the Northings and preventing a final push to the gate. They must drive back the scattered enemy so convincingly that the defenders would feel safe in opening the gates for just a few moments in order to let the stragglers in.

“For your very lives!” he roared as he drew forth Sarinian, and around him there came a ferocious shout from the Norealmers as they surged forth in answer. Swinging Sarinian over his head and making the air moan with its passing, he charged the dark ranks of the gathering Northings who were taken aback by this unexpected onslaught, and the next instant, he was among them, slashing and hacking a bloody path. The Northings were the fragments of half a dozen different tribes, not a cohesive unit, and soon they began to break and flee before the desperate ferocity of the Southlanders.

“The gates!” cried a familiar voice almost beside him. “The gates are opening!”

Darius glanced back to see Adella standing by him without any sign of weakness, her sword drawn and ready, but even as he wondered at her miraculous recovery, he saw the last remnants of blood steaming off of the silver blade and a small gleam of red in the woman’s eyes. But there was no time to do more than look. Adella was right. The gates were opening, supplying a narrow path to life.

“Steady!” Darius cried as some of the Norealmers broke and ran for the open gate, and fortunately, enough of the warriors stood firm to keep the Northings off balance. But the sight of the open gate and the retreat of their enemies gave sudden heart to the barbarians, and they surged forward in turn, intent on keeping their quarry from escaping. A torrent of arrows from the wall rained down of the front ranks, giving the defenders their chance.

“Fall back!” shouted Darius, keeping his face to the enemy. “Steady there! Fall back to the gates!”

More warriors broke and fled, leaving an ever thinner line to face the Northings, but there came a brave roar from many voices behind them as a force sallied forth to cover their retreat. Their one chance was now upon them.

“Run for the gates!” Darius cried, giving the remaining men leave, for no sooner had the great portals opened to their fullest point than they began the slow process of closing again. More arrows slashed into the closing enemy, keeping them at bay, and the covering force had no sooner deployed than they began to withdraw as well, the enemy showing no stomach to face these fresh spears.

Nearly everyone was safely back within the wall, Darius and barely a handful of warriors still outside the nearly shut gate when it happened. A beam of yellow light shot out from a nearby building and struck the giant gates, and the hearts of every Southlander froze as the doors ground to a halt, leaving a gap three men wide.

An opening spell, groaned Darius. Even a minor mage could cast such an enchantment, and this one had been conjured with enough skill to counter the physical closure of the gates. It could not last long. It did not have to. The barbarians needed only a few heartbeats to be through the opening and into the Third Tier.

There was a mad scream from the massed Northings, and they charged the gaping gate before it could close farther, the fate of the city hanging on those hinges. A volley of arrows from above answered them, but it bought only an additional moment of life. Darius stood to his full height and raised Sarinian over his head, the sword entering into the yellow beam of power that held the portals, and there was an explosion of white light that eclipsed the yellow ray.

And the gates began to close again.

A second and a third blast of sickly yellow power came from other locations, slowing the doors again, but Sarinian met both of them, the magics no match for Sarinian’s purity. Darius stood firm, sword ready, watching for another spell, heedless of the Northings nearly upon him, and he waited until the exact last moment before the gates closed before stepping inside. There was a sudden whooshing sound from outside the gate followed by screams of agony, and a trace of fiery liquid slopped under the gate, a hint of the inferno unleashed against the invaders which he had so narrowly escaped.

“Well done, Paladin!” came a call from above, and he looked up to see Brillis staring down at him. “But you came close to taking a flaming bath along with the Northings!”

Darius slowly slid Sarinian back into its scabbard, noting the presence of both Mandrik and Thrandar by the woman’s side.

He smiled slightly and half-bowed. “Your timing was perfect, Lady. A strong heart, a steady hand, and an ear that heeds counsel. Those bode well for the safety of the Drift!”

The smallest smile creased the woman’s face, and she nodded once in answer.

*

“That shall be a lesson for others who think to speak to me with words of failure and defeat on their lips,” growled Regnar, looking down at the unrecognizable lump of charred remains that moments before had been Ilixiel, War Chieftain of the Korgus Tribe.

That is the third general you have reduced to ashes
, observed the Ohric impassively.
Even the dullest among them would have learned that lesson by now.

“I shall break the gates of the Third Wall myself,” growled the Tyrant. “I shall blow them from their hinges and send them flying backwards through the horde of defenders as I did with the keep at Nargost Castle. Then the goblins shall feast on dying flesh, and the path to the Southlands shall be clear.”

The Dragons are gathered beneath the wings of Mraxdavar himself
, the Ohric reminded him.
They are in league with this human wizard, and their power may well sustain the gates despite our efforts. It would not do to have the armies see their magics prevail over us.

“But we dare not loiter,” Regnar replied. “The power of the Juggernaut is now lost to us. Worse, when word reaches the vassal armies of the release of the hostages, they will march against our rear and crush us between two walls.”

Time, still, may be our ally
, the haunting voice of the scepter continued.
The leadership of the Council has passed to Argus, and that means dissension is already breaking their ranks. The Dragons have no love for humans, and their service is not endless. And finally, the Cocoon of the Juggernaut now stands before the Third Wall of the Drift. Whatever form it assumes, the Drift shall bear the full brunt of its new power.

Regnar scowled, the thought of even a short period of inaction repugnant to him. “How long must we wait, think you?”

The cocoon should last for a full week, but you have driven the Juggernaut far beyond its appointed transformation time. The power so long held back is now accelerating, but it has also mutated. The new being will emerge not as it was originally intended. No one can predict the course it will then take.

Regnar frowned in annoyance. Was the scepter actually gloating over these last words? He snarled and demanded again, “How long before it comes forth, I say!”