A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) (14 page)

“Andros can bear us both easily enough,” he answered.

He turned and let out a loud, piercing whistle, and moments later, the white stallion came into sight at the southern end of the pass. He waited patiently, making no attempt to walk across the body-strewn road.

“Come, Joshua,” he said, but then paused for a moment to look down at the body of Siras McGiver. He turned to the other Highlanders standing beside Joshua. “Grant me a boon, if you will, my friends. Gather the body of this blacksmith and bear him with honor to the Council Lodge.”

“Aye, My Lord,” answered one. “We’ll take that charge gladly.”

With that, Darius and Joshua picked their way to where Andros waited, and quickly mounted the horse together. They headed back down the pass to where the Council Lodge stood, and all along the way, Highlanders came out to greet them and wish them well. The battle and the losses could still be read on every face, but their honest gratitude helped to lift still more of the shadow off of Darius’ heart.

As they approached the great Council Lodge, the doors opened and nine of the Lairds of the Ten Clans came out to pay him tribute, their number lessened by a single terrible loss. The noble Laird McCullen had perished holding the center of the Highlander Line.

Darius raised his hand in a salute, acknowledging their gesture, but he did not dismount.

“I thank you for this honor, My Lords,” he said, “but I fear I cannot tarry. There is still much work to be done.”

“Will you not even stay the night, Warrior?” Sinclair asked, bandages around his head and shield arm. “You’ll travel the better for it.”

“No, the sun will still see me through many miles yet. I am in haste.”

“I give you my hand, Warrior, if you’ll take it,” Cairnsmore said coming forward. “You saved my honor as well as the Pass.”

Darius smiled and took the proffered hand gladly. “I did no more than help break a magic that was sent against you. As it has always been, it was the courage and strength of the Highlanders which held the Pass.”

“Then take a meal with us,” Cairnsmore said. “If only in token of our gratitude.”

“I must wait for that feast,” Darius answered. “But I would beg of you another token, if you will.”

“Anything.”

“Behind me, men are bearing the body of a blacksmith who perished fighting beside me in the battle,” Darius said, swallowing. “I would ask that you bury him beside his forge, with a stone to mark his bravery.”

“You have my word, Warrior,” Cairnsmore answered, and Darius nodded, satisfied.

“But will you not wait long enough even to give us your counsel?” Sinclair asked. “We need to decide what steps to take now.”

“You know well enough, My Lord, how events will go, whatever you and I might plan,” Darius said slowly. “The invaders are no threat in the Northern Approaches, but their presence won’t be endured for long. One Laird or another will seethe and chafe at the nearness of the enemy, and they’ll bring hot and furious words with them to the council. The next day, the clans will gather and sweep down out of the High Pass like a mountain storm, and the Northings will be destroyed. And men will die on both sides for nothing.”

“Nothing?” repeated the old Laird with a touch of anger. “You call defending our homes nothing?”

Darius shook his head. “The Drift is where the real battle will be decided. This is no more than a skirmish by comparison. If the Drift should fall, no place, however strong, will endure for long.”

His eyes narrowed, and he looked back towards the north as if trying to see through the distance. “Nothing seems to stand against the enemy’s main force, nothing even slows their progress. Yet they move with a strange slowness, strolling almost leisurely across the plains.” He shook his head slowly. “There is a vital piece to this puzzle that has yet to be seen.”

He turned back to the Lairds.

“Fare you well, Highlanders!” he said. “May your courage today spare you future tests!”

“Fare you well, Warrior,” Cairnsmore replied for them all. “Our hearths and hearts shall always be opened to you.”

With that, Darius, Joshua clutching his shoulders, turned Andros southward, and the great steed rushed down the mountain road, heading towards the Southlands.

CHAPTER 8

A Crossing of Swords

Adella walked confidently around the corner of The Green Dragon Inn, the heels of her boots clocking steadily on the wooden sidewalk, and then, the instant she was around the corner, she froze, her ears alert. There it was again, the merest half-step in the darkness behind her as her silent pursuer was forced to match her speed and took that one incautious step that told Adella all she wanted to know. She immediately continued walking, the steady sound of her footfalls reassuring her unseen enemy, as she headed for the main entrance of the Inn. No need to worry about the one behind, she told herself. He’s no more than the watchdog. The real killer is waiting somewhere up ahead.

She pushed through the carved wooden doors of the Inn (each showing a curling dragon with the head forming the doorknob) and entered the loud, boisterous atmosphere of the Green Dragon, the roughest and most entertaining barroom in all of Alston’s Fey. The Fey was an open town, and unlike Jalan’s Drift, it had only a few marshals to help keep order, leaving most of the citizens to protect themselves. The crowd inside the Green Dragon reflected that code, for nearly all were armed and armored, their weapons an open warning to any who might antagonize them.

Adella paused for a moment, looking over the crowd and giving them a chance to notice her. Tonight, she was openly wearing her leather armor with Bloodseeker scabbarded at her side, and more than a few heads were raised at her appearance, an appreciation of both her beauty and her evident power. She ignored the upturned faces, knowing their interest was only casual. Somewhere in the crowded room was a person watching only out of the corner of his eye, but she could be sure he would miss no gesture or detail. For that was the man who was here to kill her.

Why do we play these games?
Bloodseeker asked from her side.
Turn to await the enemy behind, and make their number the less by one. The others may well come to his aid
.

No, my lovely, Adella answered silently. These are not warriors with a code or even thieves who share a common bond. To kill the one would only warn the others that I know I am hunted. Our first blow must be against the leader, not the follower. She began walking casually into the crowd, relaxed yet watchful, letting no hint of her tension show.

Three, her source had warned. A trio of Slayers coming to hunt her, find her, and kill her. The Slayers were professional assassins skilled in weapons, stealth, and deception, and their most effective and dangerous tool was poison. Poison sprinkled delicately over food, coated heavily on a hidden needle, or dripping from the blade of a sword or dagger as it flashed from a sudden ambush. Adella forced down both the anger and the fear that the thought of poison roused in her and concentrated on her plan. She had been the target of these human (or non-human) vipers before, and she regularly paid a goodly sum of money to a minor member of the Slayer’s Guild for a small advanced warning, a few whispered words which now just might save her life. It only remained to identify who among this mob had been sent to kill her.

She stepped to the bar and summoned the barkeep with a glance.

“Evening, Junal,” she said with a smile. “I’ll take a glass of your best wine.”

She had to force herself to order her usual drink. Around Slayers, any predictability could well be fatal, but she had to pretend to be blissfully ignorant of her peril.

“Certainly,” he answered, producing a glass and a bottle. But there was something the tiniest bit shifty in his eyes, something that lingered on her, that told her he knew she was in mortal danger. So Junal knew; might even be in the pay of the assassins.

She smiled again as he set the glass before her. “I’ve some business here tonight, with a man named Halran. Has he arrived?”

The barkeep nodded. “Room Number Three. Got in an hour ago and ordered a cold supper. He should be ready for you by now.”

Adella nodded and pretended to take a sip of her wine, hoping to lull the watching Slayer into a false confidence; even if the drink itself wasn’t poisoned, the assassin was bound to be heartened at the sight of a target drinking wine. Then she headed casually for the back rooms where meetings could be arranged, free from curious eyes and ears.

No one seemed to be paying her any particular attention, but she was certain the heart of her opponent must be racing with anticipation as he watched his prey walking quietly into the trap. By sheer necessity, Adella had learned all she could about the ways of the Slayers, and on more than one occasion, that knowledge had saved her life. She knew very well that in order to arrange a killing, an assassin had to have a place and a time where he could be sure of finding his target, and the place chosen for her was the Green Dragon Inn; and the time was now.

The lure dangled before her had been another buyer, anxious to learn whatever he could of the Northing invasion, a perfectly reasonable situation with the rich promise of a hefty commission to bring her out into the open. She had come gladly, for the only way to flush out the Slayers was to give them their chance; then switch the tables at the critical moment.

Who is paying for the attempt? she wondered as she neared the back corridor. Her source said the money had come from the agents of Dralbax, the head of the Guild of Thieves in Alston’s Fey, but she doubted if he were acting alone. It was true she was one of the few thieves who refused to pay dues or commissions to the Guild, but they had learned long ago that it simply wasn’t profitable to press the issue in her case. Adella was a lone wolf who hunted where she pleased, and any who tried to block her were likely to come into contact with the wrong end of Bloodseeker.

She put the thought firmly aside as she turned the corner and left the view of the barroom. These next few seconds while she was out of sight of her pursuer were vital, the time which would determine whether she lived or died. Just down the hall was the door to Number Three, and Adella was quite certain that the second assassin was awaiting her there, whether in the persona of the supposed buyer Halran or hidden in some recess. But the main assassin would be moving even now towards the corridor, sealing her escape and her fate.

Adella quickly laid a tiny dagger down on the floor, just off to one side, and then silently opened the door to Room Number One directly beside her and slipped inside. She had no need to check to be sure the room was empty, for she had reserved it under another name as soon as tonight’s appointment had been made. Then she drew Bloodseeker quietly from its scabbard and held it against the door.

For what seemed like an eternity there was no sound from the corridor save the distance babble from the barroom, and Adella had to take a grip on herself, forcing herself to stay calm and quiet.

Then, just as she expected and hoped, Bloodseeker announced,
Someone enters the corridor
.

She took a breath, readying herself, but the sword had another surprise for her.

It is a woman
, it said.
One of the serving maids
.

Adella gritted her teeth in annoyance at the thought that by evil chance, one of the maids had blundered into the killing zone at just the wrong moment. An unwanted witness, quite possibly one who would scream and alert the second assassin in the other room, or who might rouse the entire barroom and make it impossible to catch the Slayer if he should choose to flee. For a moment, she considered just abandoning the plan, slipping quietly out through the room’s locked and shuttered window, but the sword suddenly spoke again and changed everything.

She is moving towards the dagger. She is right outside the door
.

Right outside the door, yet Adella’s fine ears could hear not a sound. And the girl was moving towards the tiny dagger that an innocent serving wench would hardly notice, but which was the universal sign among thieves and Slayers of a message or a warning. In that fleeting instant, Adella understood.

With one motion, she leveled Bloodseeker and thrust it unerringly right through the door, the sharp blade piercing the wood as easily as the air. There was a tightly controlled gasp of pain from beyond, and Adella felt the terrible tingling in the hilts that told her the sword had found blood. But the next instant, the door burst in upon her, and she barely had time to retract the sword before the girl, bleeding from the side, was charging at her with a dagger in either hand.

There was no chance to level Bloodseeker again, for the foe expertly rushed to the right to crowd her sword-hand. Adella ducked and rolled, trying to buy space in which to swing, but the girl was lithe and quick, turning and slashing despite her wound. Adella felt the sharp pain of a dagger cutting through the light leather on her legs and into her calf, and she knew she now had only minutes to live. She swung behind her in a wide sweep, forcing the girl back and gaining an instant of time.

Two daggers. Complimentary poisons. The thought flashed through her head like a scream of warning. Each dagger coated with a deadly substance, either of which could kill, but when both were injected into the bloodstream of a victim, they combined to freeze the heart instantly. The first poison was already working its way through her blood, but the slightest prick with the second dagger would mean immediate death.

There was only one chance: lure her opponent into a premature thrust. She scrambled to her feet and charged for the door, then grimaced with pain as she pretended the wounded leg was buckling beneath her. The Slayer was almost directly behind her, and she knew the second dagger would quickly be coming to finish the job. Bloodseeker was in her right hand, and with one motion, she swiftly tucked the blade up under her left arm and thrust back blindly with both hands, aiming with a sixth sense that told her where the killing thrust would be made. The deadly point of the second dagger was just piercing the thick leather guarding her torso when Bloodseeker struck home, and the sudden surge in the hilts assured Adella that she need never fear this foe again.

The sound of the breaking door was bound to attract attention, the second assassin was undoubtedly aware that something was going wrong, and she had no idea what the third assassin might be up to, but none of that matter at the moment. Bloodseeker was pulsing with the kill, the sword gleaming with heat and energy, and Adella turned and placed the flat of the hot blade directly against the knife wound in her calf. There was a horrible sizzling sound, a smell of charred flesh, and Adella gritted her teeth against the agony. But she held the blade steady, enduring the pain, knowing that she must use the power of the sword to draw the poison from the Slayer’s dagger out of her blood before it completed its deadly work.

An endless instant later, and she knew she had destroyed enough of the venom to save her life. She moved quickly to the window but paused long enough to glance down at the dead girl on the floor behind her. Tough, fierce, and fanatic, wielding two daggers with complimentary poisons, she clearly had been no common Slayer. Someone must have paid a huge sum of money for her services and those of her accomplices, an indication of just how important Adella’s death had apparently become.

To someone.

The next moment, she had unlatched the window and was slipping out into the dark alley, knowing her two remaining opponents would be equally dangerous and equally fanatic. And they now knew she was alert to them.

* * * * *

Speed made discussion between Darius and his companion difficult or impossible during the day and evening following the battle at the High Pass. Andros raced against the approaching night, his pace excluding even minor conversation, and as they made camp, Joshua found that the strains of the day, the battle, and the wound made it hard to even keep his eyes open for long. The best he could manage was to exchange a few words while Darius changed his bandage.

“Whither are we bound, Warrior?” he asked. “To Jalan’s Drift?”

“No,” Darius answered thoughtfully. “At least, not immediately. I think I should meet someone in Alston’s Fey first.”

“Who?”

“A woman who claims to have information about the invaders,” he said. “There are too many pieces missing from this puzzle, and I need whatever information I can gather. I trust the Fey will serve your needs also?”

Joshua yawned widely and nodded. “Right well. It’s closer than the Drift, so I can make my report all the quicker. I wouldn’t have to rush at all if Father Michan hadn’t taken all the carrier pigeons with him.”

“Took the pigeons and left the acolyte behind,” observed Darius softly.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. There. The bandage is finished. Now rest while you can, Lad.”

Joshua, however, was already snoring softly.

Darius let the boy sleep right up till dawn when Andros was saddled, the breakfast cooked, and the camp already broken. Joshua barely had time to clear his eyes, answer the call of nature, and wolf down his breakfast before he found himself back on the warhorse, tearing southward again.

The Mountains of the Winds were already melting away behind them, the High Pass nothing but a powerful memory, and the land had changed from rocky bones to the rich soil of the Southlands. They were riding across the vibrant countryside of Norealm, passing orchards sprouting their spring flowers and fields just turned by the plow for planting. Occasionally, they passed hands working in the fields, the men squinting and wondering at the great charger galloping past.

They paused only a short time for the noon meal, chewing down salted pork and unleavened bread from Darius’ stores and drinking from a small stream. They talked mainly about the Northings, Joshua wondering how such a force could have assailed the High Pass when the main body was apparently still many days from the Drift.

“The Northings are basically raiders,” Darius explained. “They live off the land and travel fast and light. The question is not so much how this party reached the Pass so quickly as why the main body moves so slow.”

Joshua considered this, but before he could even pose another question, they were mounted again and closing the gap between themselves and Alston’s Fey.