A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) (19 page)

“These bandits are a problem for all of us, Your Grace,” Argus continued easily. “In fact, their numbers seem to be on the rise. I would suggest that our common interests would be better served by pulling our resources to exterminate them, rather than worrying about some barbarian raid far beyond Jalan’s Drift. Let the plains folk deal with their own problems, I say. We have grist enough for our mills.”

“This seems to me to be far more than a mere raid, Your Grace,” Boltran answered. “Rumor has it that Nargost Castle itself has fallen, and I have heard from Duke Thrandar of Norealm that the Highlander’s Pass is under assault. Such events constitute a very real danger to the Southlands, and I would be remiss in my duty as the head of the Council of Lords if I did not call us together to consider this threat.”

Argus’ eyes narrowed. This was the entire point of the meeting, to dissuade or at least delay Boltran from summoning the Council, and it was clear from the man’s steady glance that he was fully aware of it. Boltran was obviously past the point where argument and persuasion would carry any weight. That left the dangerous area of threats.

“You act too hastily, young Boltran,” Argus said in a low voice that few at the table could hear. “Calling a summit of lions is fraught with danger. You’d be well advised to have a restraining noose around a few necks before putting us all in a room together.”

“A wise counsel, Your Grace,” the young man answered softly. “But it seems to me that the same restraints which have made this dinner possible will be equally effective when all the lords are gathered.”

A snarl began to twist Argus’ lips, but he fought it down, keeping both his voice and his anger under control.

“You have answers for every problem,” Argus continued. “All save one. I do not wish the Council summoned at his time. Corland can be a grateful ally. Or a deadly and vengeful foe.”

“There is no need for such words, my lords,” Fendon of Palmany said in a shaky voice. “We are all friends here.”

Both Boltran and Argus ignored him, their eyes locked, the mollifying disguise of humor gone from both faces.

“We must all do what our duty requires, Lord Argus,” Boltran said evenly. “For my part, it will be a relief to have Corland’s intentions openly declared. One way or the other.”

Before Argus could make any response, Boltran rose to his feet and bowed politely to his host. The entire table was startled, rising to their feet as ceremony required.

“I thank you for a marvelous entertainment, Your Grace,” he said in a voice that addressed the entire table. “You must allow us to return your generosity. Perhaps some time following the meeting of Council of the Lords.”

Old Fendon was on his feet as well, muttering some politeness, making it impossible to focus solely on Boltran. Argus nodded his head stiffly in return, his eyes promising the young Duke that the issues between them were far from resolved. Boltran and Fendon turned and left, the banquet room emptying with amazing speed, leaving only Argus and Ursulan at the table with the guards of the Black Watch standing ready at the walls.

“Brash young fool,” Ursulan said. “He makes things harder. For all of us.”

Argus said nothing at first, his dark eyes glaring at the door through which his young opponent had just left, his brow furrowed. Finally, he said, “We may have to find a solution for young Boltran. It seems unlikely that he can be swayed. Still, holding one’s own mind is a great deal different from swaying others. We shall see which way this Council goes.”

“But if I may make a suggestion, Your Grace?” Ursulan said cautiously.

“What?”

“This boy seems both alert and well schooled. Perhaps we should take a few extra precautions.”

“Such as?”

“This embassy we are expecting from the Northings. Perhaps it would be wiser to receive them in Alston’s Fey rather than Monarch. If Maganhall’s eyes are alert, it will be easier to disclaim responsibility if the meeting occurred at a neutral site.”

Argus nodded absently in agreement, his eyes still on the doors through which Boltran had left.

“We have agents in the Household of Maganhall, have we not?” he asked slowly.

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Ursulan answered with a shrug. “We have several, though none, I fear, are very highly placed.”

“I’m not interested in secrets,” he retorted. “But I want an agent placed close to Boltran. Physically close.”

Ursulan’s eyebrows rose.

“That is certainly possible,” he said slowly, and then added, “Though I must stress that the agent will be no more than a common servant, with no particular skills with weapons or poisons.”

“I require none,” Argus answered. “At least, not yet.”

CHAPTER 10

Alston’s Fey

The sprawling town of Alston’s Fey was spread around (and over) the juncture of the Ice Flow and Cascade Rivers as they gave birth to the mighty Delmar which then flowed majestically down to Azare and the Southern Ocean. The town extended in all directions, having no set boundaries or fixed walls, but the core of the Fey was situated on one large and two small islands, closely grouped down the middle of the Cascade and the Delmar. Technically, the town lay within the boundaries of Maganhall and did pay a small yearly tribute to Duke’s Hall, but it had received its own charter centuries before and was known as a free town, owing allegiance only to itself and the vast trade which flowed up and down the Delmar.

The various bridges tying the central island to the mainlands were the Fey’s only military defenses, but they had proven more than adequate. Palmany, Maganhall, Corland, and Norealm all watched each other like dogs over a fresh bone, the other three ready to rip at the first to lunge for it, and the town had prospered at the focus of this balance of power. Thus, with others looking to its defense, the town had developed an open code for citizens and travelers alike that was summarized in the old adage “choose your fight carefully, for it may be your last.”

“Alston’s Fey,” said Darius to himself as Andros passed the first few outlying buildings. His woodsman’s nose could already smell the complicated blend of the rivers, the woodsmoke, and the stench from thousands of closely packed humans and animals. “It hasn’t changed much even over all these years.”

Still a haven of thieves, rogues, and river pirates
, said Sarinian.
Would that the rivers rose and washed all this scum down to the sea
.

“They hire wizards each spring to control the floods,” Darius answered with a smile. “So waste your wishes on something else.”

“What say you?” asked Joshua.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” He glanced over his shoulder at the boy. “I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep, Lad. I hadn’t had a question or a lecture from you in the last three leagues.”

“I was thinking,” he replied a little defensively.

“Something we all should do more. But our journey’s nearly over. There are the spires of the Cathedral.”

“Yes,” the youth said distractedly.

Darius’ ears perked slightly at the change in tone. The boy had agreed only with the greatest reluctance to continue traveling with Darius, and he had been confrontational and hostile for nearly all of the twenty leagues which they had covered since he discovered his benefactor was a heretical paladin. Now, with the abrupt appearance of Alston’s Fey, he seemed to be reconsidering all that had passed between them.

Understandable, thought Darius. The few words they had exchanged at the campfire were more than enough for Joshua to denounce him as a heretic, and the boy must be debating where his duty lay. The boy is troubled, I’m in danger, and my whole mission is at risk because of one casual conversation. When am I going to learn to just keep my mouth shut?

He was forced to rein back Andros as the town traffic began to thicken, wagons, foot peddlers, vendors, carriages, housewives, washerwomen, and pedestrians of all kinds congesting the road at this busiest time of day. A short distance further on and the hooves of the great stallion began to clack loudly on the cobblestones, calling attention from everyone who quickly gave way before them, making it a little easier to move.

The street was lined with stores of all sorts, offering a random selection of goods which ranged from grocers and taverns to crafts and light industries. But Darius was struck by the unusually large number of armorers and weapons-makers on this street alone. Clearly, someone had been purchasing large quantities of arms long before Regnar crossed the Earth’s Teeth.

The road took them directly to a great wooden bridge, wide enough for three carriages to pass abreast, and across the expanse was the central island where the Cathedral stood. A group of motley dressed marshals eyed them dubiously as they approached, but Joshua’s yellow robes seemed the best sort of passport, and the men did no more than finger their sword hilts and stare. The small line of people at the bridge made way for them, and even the toll-keeper waved them through without the usual four-penny toll.

“The Church carries weight indeed if a toll-man is willing to yield his fare,” smiled Darius. “I’ve watched them tell old women with only three pennies to swim for it.”

“Only a heathen would take note of such things,” accused Joshua.

“Or a man with precious few pennies in his pockets,” Darius answered.

The traffic on the island was remarkably similar to what they had encountered in the outlying area, for Alston’s Fey was a working town. Hundreds of river barges came up and down the Delmar River every day, demanding to be loaded and unloaded, the goods counted, transported, and stored along the endless quays which lined the river front. The closer to the rivers, the heavier the traffic, and there was no room for great homes or fine stores. Many of the richer members of the community kept their houses on the bluffs above the city on the Maganhall side of the river, standing clear of the stench, the noise, and the thieves.

They turned the corner of the street to where the great Cathedral stood directly before them, and they both started in surprise, Andros neighing and stomping his feet. For there, gathered in the great square of the Cathedral, were more than a hundred priests, the Congregation of the Church in row after proper row, all their yellow robes reflecting the noon sun to brighten the entire area. The doors of the Cathedral were open, and standing directly before them was a bishop with miter and croix, his attendants displayed around him.

“Welcome, Brother Joshua!” the Bishop proclaimed as they came into sight. “All hail to the hero of the High Pass!”

There was a roar from the Congregation, smiles on every face, a wave of warmth and approval encompassing him. Joshua blinked, certain he must have misunderstood.

“I beg your pardon, Eminence?” he called across the square, a confused frown on his face.

“We have come to do honor to the savior of the Highlands, Brother Joshua,” the Bishop smiled. “The news reached Father Michan at a small village not far from the Pass, and he sent word to us by carrier pigeon. The Lairds are loud with your praise, and all the Church echoes their acclaim.”

“But…but there must be a mistake, Eminence,” Joshua stammered, glancing at Darius. “It…it wasn’t me. I did no more than stand and rave upon a rock as the people fled around me.”

The Bishop’s expression did not change, and he continued to look only at Joshua. “You are far too modest, my son. Your bravery came forth at a crucial moment, saving your homeland and perhaps all the Southlands. For that service a great debt is owed you, and I promise it shall not be overlooked.”

He turned his attention to the Congregation as a whole. “For let it be known that a new priest has come among us, a priest sanctified by the mercy of Mirna Himself. As an acolyte he stood before the invaders, yet it was with the voice of a true priest that he stemmed the flood of fear that was draining the High Pass. Tomorrow we shall give formal recognition to what has already transpired. Tomorrow, Brother Joshua shall be rightly invested into the body of the Church and become Father Joshua!”

Another roar of approval from the crowd, every mind in agreement. But Darius felt the turmoil in the soul of the young man behind him.

“You are mistaken, Your Eminence,” Joshua repeated more forcibly. “This is the Lord Darius, and it was he who swung the tide of battle and saved the Highlands. It is he to whom you owe this debt.”

“Careful, Lad,” Darius whispered softly.

The smile faded from the Bishop’s lips, but his face remained impassive.

“Did you not stand and entreat your people even as the black fear chased them from the Pass?” he asked.

“Yes, but…”

“And did you not lead them back to battle with song?”

“That may be…”

“And were you not in the front rank that smashed into the invaders and sent them reeling backwards?”

“I was there for a moment,” Joshua sputtered. “But the rest washed past me, and…”

“Then clearly you were the instrument that turned the tide,” the Bishop concluded.

“I cannot take credit for another man’s achievement,” Joshua said, the truth giving strength to his voice. “I did no more than walk beside Lord Darius and do as he bid. I tell you again, he is the savior of the Highlanders, not me.”

Neither the Bishop nor the Congregation made any sign, all merely watching and waiting, as if expecting some additional claim or denial.

“Easy, Lad,” Darius said softly. “They wish to honor your courage, and that is right and proper. For no heart beat braver in that Pass than yours.”

“But the Highlanders followed you, not me!”

“They followed us both,” Darius replied. “Courage, like fear, is contagious, and you spread yours freely among your people.”

“But…but…” Joshua stuttered, trying to unravel the puzzle before him.

“Watch what you say, Joshua,” Darius warned him with the tiniest of smiles. “Are you claiming that your people were more swayed by a stranger and a heretic than by a sanctified son of Mother Church?”

Joshua blinked, stung by the words. Heresy had been the very theme he had been singing in Darius’ ear these last score of leagues, and now he found himself forced to defend the heretic.

“Now perhaps you can appreciate the Bishop’s position,” Darius added.

Joshua let out a long sigh. “What…what do I do, then?”

“Accept the honest tribute being bestowed upon you,” he answered. “And see in this the Hand of Mirna. The Church has need of men like you, my friend, men who will make priests of courage and compassion. It will need you even more in the days ahead.”

Joshua said nothing, indecision holding his tongue.

“Come, don’t scorn the honor which they do you,” Darius chided him softly. “If you wish to do me a good turn, then introduce me to the Bishop.”

Joshua nodded slowly and said, “Your Eminence, I should like to present to you Lord Darius. He…” He hesitated, conflicting words balancing on his tongue, condemnation but a breath away. “He is a mighty warrior who fought gallantly against the invaders and brought me swiftly here to offer my report to you.”

The Bishop’s eyes went warily to the great armored knight for the first time, reluctantly acknowledging his existence.

Darius smiled and bowed gracefully from the saddle. “Greetings, Your Eminence. All men should rejoice to see bravery so swiftly rewarded.”

The Bishop, however, only nodded coolly. “Word reached us of you, too, Lord Darius. I would welcome the chance to speak with you and learn your intentions.”

“The interests of the Church are the same as mine, Your Eminence,” Darius assured him. “The storm comes, and we must all draw together. But I must ask your leave to hold off our talk until another time. I have business here which I fear cannot wait.”

“Tomorrow, then,” the Bishop responded. “Here at the Cathedral.”

Darius said nothing but bowed again. He reached behind him and gave Joshua his arm, helping to swing him down from Andros and spare his healing leg. But the youth paused, looking up at him with cold eyes.

“I…I take back none of the words which have passed between us, Warrior,” Joshua said quietly. “But I will not condemn the man who saved my people. Get you gone, and take your heresies with you.”

“I will, Lad,” Darius smiled. “Right after I witness your investiture into the priesthood.”

“What?”

“I wish to bear witness at the birth of a true priest to Mother Church.” His smile widened. “So fare you well until the morrow.”

With that Darius spurred Andros, leaving Joshua to the acclaim of the Congregation, and only two sets of eyes followed him: the boy’s and the Bishop’s.

He turned the corner, making his way slowly down towards the river, watching the signs on the stores as he passed. A few streets down, he came across a large sign of a huge charging female lion with gleaming yellow eyes and blood dripping from her jaws, the lurid colors still clear despite the weathering.

“The Hungry Lioness,” read Darius. “A likely enough place to find our quarry.”

A den of thieves and cutthroats
, rumbled Sarinian.

“Exactly what we’re looking for,” he said, getting down from Andros and patting him absently on his neck. He made no effort to loop the reins around any of the hitching posts, however; the stallion would go and come at his master’s need, and neither traffic nor reins would interfere with that.

Inside, the barroom was nearly deserted at this time of the day, only a dozen or so patrons scattered around the room with a barkeep and a single waitress to pander to their needs, and every eye immediately locked on this shining armored knight calmly entering a saloon. Darius strode to the bar, but the barkeep stayed at the far end, warily polishing glasses. Finally, the waitress sauntered slowly towards him, her eyes considering, a smile caught between approval and amusement on her lips.

“What can I get you?” she asked cautiously.

“First, a beer to cut the taste of the road,” he answered. “Then perhaps a little information.”

“The first is easy enough,” she said, glancing at the barkeep who was already moving to fill the order. “I’m not so sure about the second.”

“I’m looking for someone,” Darius said, dropping his voice so that only the waitress could hear.

The waitress’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“A woman named Adella.”

Her face flashed open in shock as if he had just asked to see the Devil himself. Darius noted the reaction and quietly tucked the knowledge away.

“What could you possibly want with the likes of Adella?” she asked skeptically, though she too kept her voice low.

“She has information I’m interested in acquiring. I was told I might be able to reach her through the taverns of Alston’s Fey.”

“Could be,” the woman said slowly.

The mug of beer came sliding down the bar, the barkeep making no effort to come closer. Darius caught the mug easily and drained almost half its contents in one swig. Then he turned his eyes back to the waitress.