A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) (27 page)

Adella watched him closely, and she added, almost casually, “I don’t think they have any direct control over this castle-breaker. They may have set it in motion, but now they are simply following, exploiting the destruction it causes. And it needs food. Or fuel. That much was clear. In fact, their only real concern was that it might not last until they reached the Drift.” She tossed the apple towards the grazing horses. “Take away the food, and you’ll stop the monster.”

Darius studied her, thinking hard. “And what does this thing use for food?”

“You expect a lot for your few dinars,” she answered, swinging herself around on her make-shift mattress. “Save some questions for the wizard.”

Darius had to smile. “Do you want the money now?”

“I’ve already taken it,” she said, settling down with her back to him.

Surprised, he reached inside the pockets of his breeches, searching for his money pouch. It was gone. “Why, you…”

“What’s a few coins among friends?” she said sleepily. “Sleep you well, Glory Man.”

Darius shook his head, the smile returning. “And you, Thief.”

He turned back to his food, without appetite. There was too much to think about, too much to mull over, and the night was far too short. He threw a few more sticks on the campfire and forced himself to eat, his eyes staring into the dancing flames as Adella slept and the stars crept silently by overhead.

* * * * *

The first warning came from Andros.

The great stallion lifted his head and sniffed the night air, rumbling uneasily. Darius looked up, and Adella was already rising from her mattress of lake grass, eyeing the darkness warily.

“What is it?” she whispered.

A shadow had fallen across the moon, and the stars had dimmed, almost as if they had retreated from the earth. The wind had picked up, rustling through the grass and the branches as if a storm were approaching, but there was no hint of rain in the air.

“I don’t know…” Darius answered slowly, getting to his feet. He had the eerie feeling that rather than awakening, he had fallen asleep; and now stood on the brink of a nightmare.

The dead. The thought came to him suddenly, overwhelmingly. Sweet Mirna, the dead are in the rustling branches and the galloping leaves.

Dar…

The wind was speaking…haunting words…the voices of the slain finding tongue again…calling to him…calling to him to answer for their deaths…

“Darius…”

He had never heard their voices before, and yet he knew them, knew them as if they were life-long companions. The graybeard, the standard-bearer, the young boy who had reminded him of Shannon…released now from their mortal cares…seeking a final answer for their deaths.

The wind was growing, rising, the herald of some unseen power, and Darius could smell evil on it, like the foul breath of a devil. The small lake was suddenly alive, waves capped with white whipping the surface, the grass sighing and moving as if trying to pull itself from the ground and flee. Andros neighed angrily but held his ground, Adella’s mare sheltering behind him.

“I don’t like this,” Adella said, pulling Bloodseeker from its scabbard.

A light was suddenly visible across the lake, a ball of fire traveling on the wind like a burning leaf, yet it seemed to be moving with a will of its own, skirting around the shore of the lake, making its way towards them. There was motion around the water’s edge, small glowing balls of light leaping into the air, like sparks from the approaching fire carried by the wind. Vaguely, Darius noted that they looked like the hummingbirds, but hummingbirds glowing and changed to the size of crows.

“Darius! Arm yourself!” came Adella’s voice as if from somewhere far away. But he could not pull his eyes from the approaching fire, nor his ears from the voices on the wind.

“Darius…”
the dead called again, like the spirits of every man he had ever killed, coming back to confront him.

Glowing figures were darting through the air before him, flitting forward, backward, to the side, burning with an unholy fire as they closed in upon him. They were moving with an alarming speed, their needle-beaks pressed forward, now seeking something other than nectar, their wings an angry, horrible buzz…

A sword flashed almost in front of his eyes, cutting the leading monster in two, but Darius hardly blinked. The burning cloud was drawing nearer, bearing down upon him, like an inescapable fate.

Something slapped hard against his face, rattling his teeth, making him step back.

“Wake up, you fool!” roared Adella. “We’ve a fight on our hands!”

He blinked as she struck another mutant hummingbird from the air, knocking aside a third that was trying to attach itself to her arm. The bodies of half a dozen of the creatures lay scattered on the ground and twice that number still darted through the air, seeking to get past Adella’s guard. The burning cloud was almost upon them, and the lake grass seemed to be glowing with the same hideous fire as the birds.

“Sarinian en aval!” he called, and the great sword whistled instantly through the air, heeding the summons.

The voices of the dead began to falter, for the Avenger was ever the bane of evil, but Darius knew well the spirits also recognized the instrument of their deaths. The voices were all growing fainter, drifting away, the spell which held them faltering in the sword’s blinding light, and Darius’ head began to clear. But the burning cloud showed no slacking of speed. It was hurling down upon him like a meteor, and within in was the dark image of a man, raising a weapon, preparing to strike.

For a crucial instant, Darius turned from the cloud, held up Sarinian and concentrated on the great blade, the light blazing forth brilliantly, engulfing the entire area. Immediately, the dread light surrounding the hummingbirds was extinguished, and they fell to the ground, dead. The fire around the grass also subsided, the stalks returning to normal.

But the fireball was upon him, and the dark warrior’s blow was already falling. Darius threw himself to the side, trying to elude the stroke, but a flaming axe cleaved through the flesh of his arm. And the wound took fire.

Never had Darius experienced such agony, not even when Bloodseeker had wounded him. The flesh burned without charring, the fire feeding not off the skin, but off his living spirit, and in that moment, Darius understood his peril. That wound alone might prove fatal, one or two more would surely drive him mad with pain, and a telling blow would encase him in the same endless fire that now tormented his foe.

The axe flashed down again, Darius rolling hard to the right to avoid it, and then he braced himself and struck back. The blow from Sarinian slashed through the flame, and where it passed the fire was extinguished, but the smoky form within was untouched, the warrior springing after him. The pain, the pain in his arm! Darius gave ground, forcing himself to ignore the agony of that first wound, watching closely. This time when the blow began to fall, he thrust Sarinian forward, meeting the axe. There was an explosion of sparks and the flame around the axe was momentarily extinguished. But when the warrior drew the weapon back within the blazing sphere, it took fire again.

Suddenly, there was a flash of silver off to the side. Adella had launched herself forward, striking with Bloodseeker at the man’s exposed flank, and the silver sword passed cleanly through the flames. Whether she did harm or not, the figure whirled to meet the attack, slashing down with his dreadful axe. Adella nimbly ducked out of the way, but her charge had given Darius his one chance.

Gritting his teeth, he thrust Sarinian deep into the flaming sphere, heedless of the fire. His hands, his wrists, his arms all began to burn, but the blow was true, and the gleaming point of the blade pierced the smoky form within. There was a distant, terrible bellow, and the figure jerked in agony, trying, even in its death agony, to turn upon its foe and deliver that one, final blow. Darius swung the Avenger upwards, the sword’s light blazing brighter now than the fire, and this time when it met the warrior’s weapon, the axe exploded in a rain of flames. The figure within was withering, its flesh finally consumed by the inferno, and as it crumpled, the fiery sphere flashed and went out, its hellish light gone forever. The smoke seemed to hesitate for a moment, almost as if it tried even now to resist defeat, and then it dissipated upon the wind.

Darius whirled around, dropping Sarinian, desperately pounding his arms together, the flames devouring them. Suddenly, something struck into him from behind, propelling him forward, and he stumbled into the lake, submerging his arms. There was a deafening hissing and a mass of steam seemed to rise around him, the flames continuing to burn even under the dark water. Then there was a flash of silver as Bloodseeker slashed down right between his hands, and he could feel the ravenous soul of the sword seeking, reaching for him, but pulling at the living flames instead. The fire seemed to be drawn right off his arms, leaping across to the sword that hungrily feed on the magic and the living energy; a dreadful sight, but the flames began to flicker, then finally went out. And mercifully, the pain stopped.

Darius shook his head and stared down at his arms. Aside from a minor scratch from the first axe blow, they looked fine.

“A killing magic,” Adella observed with a shrug, and he turned to find her standing in the lake with him. “Terrible enough, but if it doesn’t kill you, the wounds simply vanish.”

“Thank you,” he said, his breath still coming with difficulty. “You drew me up from the depths of hell.”

“You gave the warrior first blow to save me from the hummingbirds,” she countered. “I call that even. But what in the Demon’s name was that thing, anyhow?”

Darius shook his head slowly. “Some kind of terrible sending, though I think the warrior within was real enough. It may be that I have attracted the notice of Alacon Regnar.”

Adella frowned, clearly not liking the thought.

“I feel I could eat a full banquet and sleep for a month,” Darius said wearily. “That fire took a great deal out of me.”

“You’ll have to make do with the remains of your pork and potatoes and a few hours of the night,” Adella answered. Then she grinned. “But at least you got a bath after all.”

Darius could only offer her a wan smile as they both climbed slowly out of the lake.

CHAPTER 17

City Lessons

Alston’s Fey was so much bigger, louder, smellier, and more congested than either of them had ever expected.

Shannon and Jhan were making their way down one of the major roads leading into the Fey, eyes wide, mouths dry, trying hard not to look as frightened and lost as they felt. The smell of woodsmoke from a thousand fires was suffocating to their unaccustomed lungs, and even at this distance, their noses wrinkled from the particularly offensive stench of the river. They had drawn closer to each other as the crowd thickened around them, and their hands had become intertwined, partly to prevent being separated and partly for mutual support.

Only a few minutes before, they had climbed down from the hay wagon which had carried them the last six leagues of their journey, both of them feeling much the better for the ride. They had survived the Green Cliffs and the battle with the tax collectors of Corland, crossing the endless miles to finally reach their goal: Alston’s Fey. But that sense of accomplishment was vanishing as the city swept around them. There were easily four times as many people visible on this single street than in the whole of their village, dressed in a bewildering variety of working clothes, costumes, and uniforms, all of them surging and bumping past each other on purposes of their own, sharing nothing but an occasional grunt or curse. The rudeness and indifference were even more chilling than the size of the mob, and Shannon in particular was shaken by this subtle, underlying hostility that seemed to permeate everyone on the street.

“So where do we start?” Jhan asked, trying not to sound bewildered.

“Well, I…I suppose we should start with the center of town first,” Shannon answered dubiously. They looked towards the lofty spires of the cathedral still quite some distance away which marked the center of the Fey, and both of their hearts sank. The crowds would get only thicker as they went along, and their minds balked at the sheer numbers of people they faced.

“Give way!” barked a voice behind, making them both jump. Two men carrying a slaughtered pig between them were making their way down the street, and the leader roughly shoved Shannon off to the side.

Jhan pulled her close, and his hand went immediately to his backpack where the Widow lay in its black cover, but Shannon reached out and restrained him.

“I was just going to teach them some manners,” Jhan growled as the men continued down the street, quite oblivious to the offense they had given. “Break the spit they were carrying and make them drag the pig by hand. Maybe others might profit from the lesson as well.”

Shannon understood the feeling perfectly as still more people pushed past them, but she said simply, “If you pull sword at every affront in this town, we’ll spend all our time fighting. And don’t forget, you’ve little enough use left on that blade.”

Jhan nodded reluctantly. While lounging in the hay on the trip into town on the farmer’s wagon, he had studied the Widow carefully, noting that the black material covering the blade was actually pliable, like a very stiff putty. He had discovered that by steadily pulling and working the material which had not chipped away, he could get it to slowly cover the naked metal, making it whole once more. The coating on the sword was much thinner after being worked, of course, but at least it was now even and could be counted on to deliver a few more effective blows.

“I don’t think I’m going to like this city,” he muttered.

“We have to find patience,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “In the forest, people are few and thus precious, so we give each proper attention and respect. But here, people are plentiful and cheap. You can see it in their eyes.”

Jhan looked at the unseeing stares of the people pushing past, and he nodded again in appreciation. “You have the same sight as your Father. Come on. Let’s at least get out of the middle of this crowd.”

They shouldered their way over to the store fronts at the side of the street, both of them feeling a little better with the crowd only on three sides of them. Shannon took the lead from there, making good progress close to the line of stores, quickly learning the city-talent of deflecting people streaming by them with a pointed shoulder or a shuffle of the feet. They reached a cross-street, and they glanced down it to see a long line of cluttered, open booths with an even thicker mob of people milling around them.

“Trading booths,” Jhan said, nodding towards them. “Let’s see if we can get something to eat there.”

Shannon hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she studied the mob. They seemed almost like human flies swarming around mounds of offal, but she put the notion aside. They had only a few coppers left between them, and this seemed like the place to make them go the farthest. Besides, they might be able to barter for a meal here.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly and veered onto the side street, moving cautiously into the mass of people.

At first glance, the booths all seemed identical in their variation, each offering an endless selection of goods from tooth powders to baked goods to full suits of armor. But as she studied them closer, Shannon was able to detect some specialization, one booth having a larger number of a given type of goods for sale than its fellows. Finally, she selected one that seemed to offer quite a few wood crafts, and she smiled at the heavy-set woman seated on a stool behind the counter.

“And what might be your pleasure, Fair One?” the woman asked with a beaming grin. “I’ve some fine ear-studs just made for a beauty like you.”

Shannon blushed slightly and said, “No, thank you. We were wondering if we might barter for some of your bread.”

“Then let’s see your wares,” the woman said easily, coming forward. Shannon immediately dug out the fine marsden-oak carving of a mountain lion which she had received as a gift on her last birthday. The woman looked it over casually, a skeptical look on her face.

“I’ll give you a full loaf for it,” she said, “and one of the honey rolls.”

“But the carving is of marsden-oak,” Shannon explained. “It’s the finest wood in all the forest and the hardest to work. I’ve seen none in any of the booths.”

“A wood carving is worth a shilling, no matter the tree,” the woman answered indifferently.

“But it comes from the hand of the best carver in all the woodlands…” persisted Shannon, and the woman held up her hand.

“Alright, alright, my heart is broken,” she said. “I’ll give you two full loaves and a honey roll. That’s the best I can do.”

Shannon hesitated, glancing at Jhan who shook his head. She considered trying another merchant and rejected the idea, for they had seen no carvings in the other booths, which was why they had stopped here first. Besides, they couldn’t waste the day trying to squeeze a few more coppers out of the carving.

“Done,” she said, handing over the little statue. The woman smiled and put the loaves and the roll down in front of them.

“We’ll need more than a couple loaves of bread,” Jhan muttered in her ear.

“We’ll make do,” she answered, gathering up the baked goods.

“We have something else for sale,” Jhan said to the woman in a quiet tone. “Something of great value.”

“I’m sure,” the woman laughed, eyeing their home-spun clothes. “And what might this great treasure be?”

“A sword,” he answered. “A sword of magic.”

“Jhan!” Shannon whispered, appalled. The old woman’s eyes shot to her and then went back quickly to Jhan.

“Let us see this renowned blade,” she scoffed, though they could both see the small glint of greed in her eyes.

Jhan glanced warily around at the crowd, then cocked his head towards the alleyway. “Over there. Away from the throng.”

The woman eyed him suspiciously, looking both of them over carefully. Finally she said, “Fair enough. You look smart enough not to try anything stupid.”

The matron glanced at a young woman in the back who immediately came forward to watch the booth while her employer made her ponderous way over towards the alley.

Shannon took advantage of the pause to grab Jhan by the arm.

“We can’t sell the sword,” she warned him. “Remember what almost happened to us!”

“We’ve got all our money tied up in this thing,” he replied, glancing over his shoulder. “We can’t afford not to sell it.”

“Someone could get killed!” she whispered angrily.

“No chance of that. The coating will last only a few more blows. The tin will show through in the first practice session.”

Shannon was prevented from saying more by the approach of the merchant. In desperation, she faced the woman and said firmly, “I’m afraid my companion is trying to deceive you. This sword is nothing but a fake.”

“Shannon!”

The old woman looked from one to the other, a sly smile curving her lips. Then she pushed her way past Shannon saying, “Come, boy. Show me what you’ve got.”

Shannon blinked in surprise. The woman thought it was she who was lying in a desperate effort to keep the sword! Jhan quickly pulled out the black cloth which hid the blade and laid it out on the ground, glanced around once to be sure they were unobserved and then drew back the cover with a dramatic sweep. The sword lay there as bright and enticing as when the Peddler had first showed it to them, but the woman’s reaction was entirely different from their own. She burst out laughing.

“A Widow!” she roared. “You had my juices starting to flow, all for a Widow! Well, take me for a starving hay-seed!” She laughed again, as much at herself as them, heading back towards her booth.

“You’ve seen this sword before?” Jhan demanded, gathering it quickly back into its cover.

“Boy, I’ve seen dozens like it,” she retorted. “Even sold one or two myself, damn my eyes. But I’ll grant you nobody makes ’em better than Peddler Jack.”

“How do you know this came from Peddler Jack?” he asked.

“Red hilts, straight blade, and that special black shine,” she replied. “Those are Peddler Jack’s trademarks and no mistake.”

Shannon and Jhan exchanged stunned glances. So the man had sold many of these swords!

“Doesn’t this weapon have some value?” Jhan asked. “Even though it’s only coated, it still has two or three magical blows left. That should command at least a small price.”

The woman shrugged. “If you really want to be rid of it, I can give you five dinars for it. Though I’ll be lucky to get even that out of it myself.” She pushed around behind the booth, adding, “You might check the other booths down the way, but I’ll warn you fair, they know Jack’s handiwork as well as I do.”

Again the exchange of glances, Jhan shrugging a little helplessly. Five dinars were better than nothing. On impulse, Shannon reached inside her pocket and found the small green coin with the red rune carved into it which the Peddler had given them.

“And does this have any value?” she asked.

The woman’s eyes widened as she took the coin and studied it carefully.

“A peddler’s token,” she said softly. “From someone carrying a Widow. You must have done Jack a good turn.”

“We did,” Jhan said quickly.

“Yet he sold you a Widow.”

“I’m afraid we insisted,” Shannon explained ruefully. “He didn’t want to sell, and that only made us the more eager. I think you can understand that.”

The woman chuckled appreciably. “And then he gave you the token as a way of making some amends. Fair enough. I’ll double my offer for the sword to ten dinars. That’s as straight as I can be.”

“Wonderful!” said Shannon, both of them smiling. Jhan put the wrapped sword on the counter while the woman produced a handful of golden coins as if by magic.

While she counted out the money, Shannon asked, “I was wondering if you might be able to give us some information also.”

“…eight, nine, and half a score,” the woman finished. She put the sword beneath the counter, saying, “Words are cheap enough. What d’you need?”

“We’re looking for a man, a mighty warrior in full armor, riding a white charger and carrying a great sword.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose. “You mean the Paladin?”

Shannon’s face sparked with hope. “You’ve seen him?”

“Aye. He came into town two-three days ago with a rag-tag acolyte tied to his saddle straps, and he’s caused some shaking, I can tell you!” the woman chuckled. “Gutted four mountain ogres in the main square and fed a rock-goblin to the hungry crowd while the badge-boys and the yellow cloaks stood and gawked.”

“A rock-goblin?” Shannon repeated, her eyes widening.

“Aye, and a magic-worker by the talk. Didn’t see the show myself, but I snuck a peek at the leavings. Four mountain ogres they were, near a story tall each, and the warrior took ‘em all down by himself.”

Shannon frowned, trying to puzzle the pieces together. A rock-goblin, in Alston’s Fey itself? She looked at the rough crowd moving past the booths, and though they were all humans, she wondered uneasily if monsters might not be unheard of in their midst.

“And do you know where the warrior is now?” she asked.

“Gone, gone east,” the woman said. “Left yestermorn or the eve before. Travelin’ fast, by all accounts.”

Shannon’s expression dropped in despair. All their haste, the sore feet, the aching back and legs, even facing the peril of the Green Cliffs, all for nothing. Their shortcut had helped, but not enough, and now Andros was racing across the Southlands with the speed of ill-news.

“This acolyte that the warrior arrived in town with,” Jhan asked the woman. “Is he still here?”

“Aye, but he’s acolyte no longer,” the woman said. “A full priest they made him, with the Paladin smilin’ at his side.”

Shannon looked at the woman, startled. Her Father attending the investiture of a priest?

“Do you know where we might find this priest?”

“Where do you find any of the yellow robes?” the woman answered with a toss of her head. “In the cathedral.”

Shannon turned immediately, already bound for the spires of the distant cathedral, but she paused to look back at the old woman. “Thank you for all your kindness. You may tell Peddler Jack that you have settled any score which may have lain between us.”