Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (31 page)

He stopped as the Gate opened, looking up into the heavens, his eyes going through the darkness and the deadly canopy to a light that shone eternally beyond, a light that was ever in his heart if not in his eyes.

The Master has set you a deadly task this day
, said Sarinian.
Our greatest challenge looms before us.

“Silence, Sword. Do you not feel the eyes of Mirna upon us?” asked Darius, his voice soft with reverence.

I feel nothing but the hostile gaze of our enemies and the doubt filled eyes of our allies
, replied Sarinian.
But this much I will say, Inglorion. If the gods value courage, their eyes will indeed be upon you this day
.

Darius walked slowly forward to stand at the edge of the stone circle, the only figure to walk through the open Wizard’s Gate.

We stand alone
, observed Sarinian.
The woman and the Silver Sword have not come.

“Would that you were right,” replied Darius, a touch of grimness in his voice as he added, “But ever have you misjudged her. Adella comes in her own time, not ours.”

*

The tallest tower in the Third Tier of Jalan’s Drift was the Leatherworker’s Guild, a stoutly built structure that rose above the Wizard’s Gate and gave a dominant view of the entire Second Tier all the way to the Second Wall. The leathermen were not so rich as to command a choice position in higher tiers of the city, but they had built a structure that bestowed the proper respect on their guild and their profession in this lesser locale.

It was here that the Lords of the Southlands gathered before the dawn, gathered, though no one had summoned them and no word of meeting had been spoken the previous night. This was simply the best place to watch the coming contest while retaining a safe and discrete distance, and each in turn for what they thought were their own individual reasons had decided to use their rank to gain this vaunted perch: Thrandar in dark green robes, Georg-Mahl in deep scarlet, Mandrik in the browns that best suited his personality, Feldon in a fine suit of silver and white, Clarissa in a dress of subtle shades of coral, and finally the brooding bulk of Argus in his black cloak that hid a full suit of chain mail.

They had barely spoken to each other as each arrived, spectators now as at some sporting event, their burdens of authority momentarily forgotten. As the time lengthened, however, Clarissa broke the silence.

“I have sent my troops out of the city,” she said calmly. “Whatever the results of this contest, they will no longer be needed here.”

“As have I,” Mandrik rumbled. “The Drift may fall, but the struggle will continue.”

Just then, Darius emerged from the preparation tent and passed alone through the open Wizard’s Gate, and every eye widened and every muscle tightened at the sight of that solitary figure marching bravely forward.

“We have abandoned the Paladin to his death,” said Thrandar heavily.

“We had no choice in that,” countered Georg-Mahl. “Our only choice was whether to live or to die with him.”

“He’s as steady as steel, I give him that,” rumbled Mandrik. “The morning cold by itself would set me ashiver.”

“Courage alone will not sustain him now,” said Clarissa. “Not against what he will face.”

“But courage is still his one and only hope,” replied Thrandar. “A solid core from which to take strength.”

“That is yet to be seen,” Argus said darkly, his eyes locked on the solitary figure.

*

The eldest of the goblin-mages stepped respectfully up to the right hand of the Tyrant and whispered, “The potions have worked as intended, My Lord. All the Dukes are gathered at the appointed place.”

Regnar nodded, feeling the killing urge stirring in his bones. But the Ohric restrained him.

Soon
, the scepter said soothingly.
The time of reckoning draws nigh.

*

Darius looked up at the eastern horizon, his heart telling him the sun was cresting though the green clouds robbed him of the sight of it. Then his ears became aware of a vague humming, deep and dark, like the fell song of some dwarven god down within the bowels of the earth. The song grew, a moaning born of land and wind, and off to the side of the circle, something of blue and green began to grow out of the earth, as if the sound itself were bursting forth. The vibrations grew stronger yet, the notes reverberating in the head and in the chest of the listeners, the sound made palpable until it seemed only the thunder was real and the world naught but shadow. Then the sound seemed to withdraw again, gathering in upon itself, and the blue green form now towered before them all.

The armies of both sides gaped at the apparition. It stood as tall as the Third Wall of the Drift, and though it appeared slender and graceful, it was still thicker than the torso of any giant in Regnar’s train and its roots were welded to the rock as if the earth itself had taken a humanoid form. It had no neck, but there were eyes where a face should be, eyes black within the blue-green skin that radiated a power felt even a thousand paces off. The being opened a great maul of a mouth and spoke with gentle thunder to all gathered in attendance.

“The Median am I, summoned to attend this dawn by the fell power of the weldmort forged. Death is the bond of the weldmort, and death shall it have, either by the seconds here gathered or by the principals deep pledged. What weregild is laid upon the weldmort’s end?”

Then Brillis stood forth upon the Third Wall and cried down to the entity and to all the gathered throngs, “The city of Jalan’s Drift shall be yielded if my champions fall.”

From far across the second tier of the city up on the Second Wall came the answering voice of Regnar, and it echoed in every ear. “The armies of the Silver Horde shall be yielded if my champions fall.”

“Thus so is the weregild lain,” the Median intoned, and Darius suddenly felt as if some giant force had descended over the entire city. “Send forth the champions that they be known.”

Instantly a beam of green power burst forth from the second wall where Regnar stood and struck the ground inside the circle, making the earth boil and twist and give forth a fountain of steam. When the steam began to subside, the watchers could discern a shape within the smoke, a shape that might be a man, might be…something else…

The monster that sprang forth out of the cloud had arms and legs, but that was the only resemblance it had to a human. Its skin was the shiny black of an insect’s shell, it had short wings extending out of its back, and it had huge eyes in a demonic face that bulged out and stared at the world without pupils. It had claws for hands and feet, and it carried a short black weapon with an ax-head on one end and sword point at the other, a weapon it twirled with an easy dexterity.

“Be it known that Beezelarb has come forth,” the thing sang in an insect’s voice, its forked tongue tasting the air like a serpent’s. “I am summoned to kill…I am to be the first champion…the champion of the Ohric and the army it has created. I glory in the undead whose ranks will swell with the coming slaughter.”

It seemed as if every human watching, Northing and Southlander alike, took a half-step back in common revulsion, for the demon had come from the Nether Regions to feed upon the living essence of man and cared not at all for the conflicts between its prey. It represented a far more ancient and primal conflict than this minor struggle between men.

But the eyes of the crowds were swiftly pulled from the insect man as something else stepped forward from the tangle and wreckage of the bazaars, something that towered above everything about it and made the very ground tremble with its passing. Even men accustomed to terrible foes shrank back before this gigantic form with face and body in a stretched and distorted parody of men.

The thing stood more than three times the height of a tall man, and its arms and legs were thicker than the body of a warhorse. It wore a thick leather jerkin with rings of steel that stretched from its throat down to the middle of its thighs, and in one hand it carried a massive wooded club while the other grasped a sword twice as long as Sarinian itself. It came to a stop once it had entered the circle and rested the knob of the club on the ground with the sword slung on its shoulder.

“I am Ug-Lan-Jo,” the monster intoned. “Lord of Stone Giants. I am second of champions of Silver Horde.”

Finally, a rather plain looking barbarian stepped forward into the circle to stand like a midget at the side of Ug-Lan-Jo. He was no more than of average height, and while he was clearly young and strong, his arms showed no more than their fair share of muscle. He was dressed in the common leather armor of the Northings with a few bands of loose fitting metal around his torso, and he carried a short spear in his hands with a scimitar scabbarded at his side. He carried no other obvious weapons.

“My name is Eltherand,” he announced to the crowd. “I stand forth for the Northing peoples, and I am the third champion of the Tyrant Regnar.”

There was an instant buzz from the surrounding crowds as each felt the need to comment on this fellow to his neighbor, the gist of which reaching Darius’ ears was that this was a poor champion for even a minor lord let alone for all the Northings. But while Darius could look at giant and demon without a tremor, he felt an uneasiness as he stared at his third opponent. Only a fool would put forth a common warrior in such a contest. And Regnar was no fool…

The clamor had subsided, the voices stilled, and Darius knew his time had come. He stepped calmly into the circle, but he felt a tingle of power as he crossed it, a warning that he was now contained within its boundary.

“I am Darius Inglorion, Paladin of Mirna, one of the Chosen of Bilan-Ra,” he announced to the multitude, and it gave him joy to openly claim those titles at last. “I stand as the champion of all those who oppose the power of Regnar and the evil he brings in his wake!”

Cheers greeted him from the Third Wall, and he smiled in answer. They had no hope for him, saw no chance for victory against this fell trio, and they knew that his defeat would mean the loss of their city. Yet still they cheered, their hearts swelling to see one man unbowed by fear and danger, one man who stood in defiance against all the power that Regnar could muster, a courageous soul who stood for them all, a man they would call hero.

“Who else stands forth for the woman Brillis and the City of Jalan’s Drift?” the Median asked, his voice quelling the crowd. “Who else?”

“I alone have taken up the challenge,” Darius said, and it seemed as if even the Median paused in surprise.

“As you are the only champion to stand forth for the woman Brillis,” the dark being pronounced, “you shall face all three of the Northing Champions, each in turn. By the ancient rules, you shall face the first for twelve beats of the hammer before the second shall be free to attack you as well. Then shall come twelve more beats of the hammer before the third moves forth to engage. There shall be no other restraints upon them, and each is free to act immediately upon the elimination of the former or if they themselves be threatened with attack. This battle is to the death, and no quarter shall be granted.”

“A question, Median,” Darius said loudly.

“Speak,” the entity replied.

“What if others should yet stand forth for the woman Brillis and the city of Jalan’s Drift? Will they be accorded the title of Champion?”

“While life remains within you, the contest continues,” the Median said. “So long as the issue is undecided, two others and only two others may stand forth. By crossing into the Circle of Decision, they will announce both their presence and their intent, and so shall they be known. But be you slain, the circle is broken and the contest ended.”

*

“You’re mad!” Jhan cried softly, his voice echoing alarmingly through the sewer tunnel. Shannon had come to a fork in the passage, glanced at the secret mark Adella had taught them to read, and run off to the right without a pause.

“Shannon!” he whispered again even as he rushed to keep up with her. “Remember what Adella said! There are traps of all kinds down here!”

“The real guardian is fear of the traps,” Shannon shot back over her shoulder. “When she first pushed us down here to save us from the goblins, we went a mile at least on our own without trouble, and that was when the invaders were entering the city.”

That was true, he realized. They had encountered several thieves at the time who took them to a place of safety, and the only trap they had seen had been on the narrow side-passage that actually lead to the safe house.

“But surely there are some traps still in place,” he protested, doubting the words even as he said them.

“I think not,” she answered. “When the thieves mobilized, they needed to move swiftly and without fear. I think the main passes are all clear.”

“You mean you hope.”

“I mean we have no choice. Come on! We are drawing close!”

*

“Let the challenge begin!” the Median announced to the city and the champions alike and thus began the battle to the death.

Darius instantly charged the insect-like creature standing opposite him, and just as he feared, the thing promptly lifted itself off the ground, propelled upwards on its wings. It was clearly not a strong flyer, but it did not need to be. After it was some twenty feet in the air, it hovered for a moment and seemed to place its weapon on its back. It then calmly pointed its claws downwards, and suddenly two small arrow-like missiles were launched from its hands. One Darius was able to parry with Sarinian, but the second struck home, the magical bolt passing even through his armor to impact on his upper torso. No sign of the missile remained, only a black mark on the armor and a small wound on Darius’ chest.

Even as Darius grimaced from the pain, the thing swerved to the left, seemed to find a position it liked, and launched two more missiles at him, both scoring. A third time, a fourth, a fifth it struck, some times one missile getting through, some times both, and while the damage from a single bolt was minor, they quickly began to take a toll upon him.

There came a distant thud, like half formed thunder. The first beat of the Median’s drum, Darius realized. Eleven more before I am faced with the second monster as well.