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

by James A. Hillebrecht

  “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.

  “I was told to ask for her by a man named Tallarand,” he said quietly, and again he noted the instant response in the woman’s face. “He thought she would be eager to meet with me.”

  The woman shook her head, her eyebrows arched.

  “That may well be,” she said. “But you should be careful what you wish for, Stranger. You just might get it. Still, I’ll see the word goes out.”

  * * * * *

  Bishop Kal sat back in the comfort chair of his private apartments in the Cathedral of Alston’s Fey and took a deep drink of the fine red wine from the south which was his particular favorite. The vintage, he knew, was expensive, three times the cost of the local wine which most of his parishioners were inclined to drink, but the bishop was no longer troubled by such matters, just as he wasn’t troubled by the plush suite set aside for him, filled with feather pillows and fine art.

  In his younger days as acolyte and priest, the Bishop had considered such luxuries an embarrassing indulgence, even a sign of the Church’s decadence, but years and experience had brought him wisdom. An older man who had forgone the joys of family for all the cares that beset a bishop had need of a few creature comforts to ease the strains of a trying day.

  And Kal had seldom had a more trying day than this one.

  There was a light knock at the door, and a moment later, it opened to admit one of the few people who had the privilege of immediate access to the Bishop any time of the day: Father Maldonar, Inquisitor for the Propriety Council and special envoy of His Blessedness, the Patriarch Innocent IV.

  Kal smiled at his visitor, welcoming the company. “Have some wine, Father. You look as if you could use a drink.”

  “No thank you, Eminence,” Maldonar said, his face showing the same earnest intensity it always bore. “Has any news come from Monarch?”

  Kal let out a sigh. He liked Maldonar and had a sincere respect for his dedication, but he wished the young man would learn to relax. The fire always burns hottest in the young, he reminded himself.

  “No news from Monarch,” he answered. “But I fear we may have an even more pressing problem at hand.”

  Maldonar frowned. “What could be more pressing than the possibility that one of the Dukes of the Southlands might be a devil-worshiper?”

  “A Paladin has come among us again.”

  Maldonar’s frown deepened, but his silence said he recognized the significance of the event.

  Kal let out another sigh. “Young Joshua must have known he was riding with a heretic, and yet he stayed silent before the Congregation. The message from Father Michan says the Lairds are convinced this man single-handedly turned the tide at the High Pass, and their voices are loud with his praises. Even from the brief encounter with him in the Square today, I could tell he is no mere butcher. This man will sway others.”

  “But should we allow this to take us from our watch over Argus?” the priest asked, the question not quite rhetorical.

  Kal took a long drink from his wine goblet as he studied the young man before him. So confident, so determined, so full of hope. Perhaps it is time to bring him a cold dose of reality, Kal decided.

  “Even if our darkest fears about Argus are true, I doubt if we will ever be able to bring him to justice,” he said slowly. “I know Argus well, and I must tell you that he is too clever and too cautious to be caught by us, far less by the likes of Father Rathman.” He shook his head. “Even if we were to prove the charges in a court of the Inquisition, there would be a ter
rible bloodbath before we dragged Argus from the throne of Corland.”

  The Priest blinked, and a touch of anger came to his fine face. “If this is your opinion, then why did you request my presence here?”

  Kal could not keep his shoulders from shrugging in answer. “Because it is our duty. If Argus is guilty, he must be brought to justice regardless of the cost, and close scrutiny might at least make him more cautious. But now a greater danger looms before us. Argus is only one more monster in the world, and there is a limit to the amount of harm he can do. But this Paladin brings with him a heresy that strikes at the very foundations of our Church. We cannot permit him to spread his poison freely.”

  “I’m not certain I share your alarm, Eminence,” Maldonar said slowly. “Certainly any man who claims contact with Mirna outside the sanction of the Church is a heretic and must be loudly denounced. But this man seems to be holding his tongue. And if he can rally the forces of the Southlands against the invaders, he may be our salvation.”

  “That is the very point, Father,” Kal shot back. “The man does not need to open his mouth. His actions, his presence, his very being is a rebuke to the Church. The Church has been Mirna’s instrument on Earth for thousands of years, and it is we who have guided and instructed the people in His ways, shielding them from the voices of the devils, the corrupt, and the confused. What good is there to survive the onslaught of Regnar if people suddenly decide they hear the voice of Mirna in every whispered breeze or huckster’s cry? We are facing an assault on the very institution of the Church, and from that battle we cannot flinch.”

  Maldonar’s eyebrows were raised now, the danger much clearer to him. Finally, he asked, “But what can we do, then, Eminence?”

  “Perhaps no more than watch and wait,” Kal answered. “Tomorrow, I’ll make the position of the Church clear to this man, and hopefully, that will help to keep him in check. We need to keep him away from people, chase him out of the cities, for that is where he might do the greatest damage. But he shines with a brilliant light, and I fear to try to hide it.” He looked down at his goblet before adding, “Or to try to quench it.”