Madness! cried Sarinian. Madness and treachery! You not only let the criminal escape, you return that accursed blade to her!
“Silence,” Darius commanded, his patience at an end. He started coughing on the pall of smoke filling the room and quickly followed the woman out onto the street. Three wagons of the fire brigade were already on the scene, the firemen manning the manual pumps and starting a steady spray of water on the flames. More wagons were hurrying down the street, and Darius quickly saw that the brigade had the situation well in hand.
Speak, Inglorion, the sword persisted, and Darius felt an angry quiver in the hilts. You have unleashed a killer back upon the world. Why?
“The killer is the sword, not the woman,” he answered. “Can the silver blade be destroyed?”
No, admitted Sarinian. Not unless one of the gods themselves broke it between their hands.
“And we have no time to hide such a weapon beyond human reach,” Darius said. “So killing the woman would not solve the problem, for the sword would quickly find another partner. And most likely one with even less restraint.”
The Avenger was silent, struggling with the concept that killing the criminal would not stop the crime. Finally, it said, But if there is no answer, why not hide the sword for at least a time? And why return it to a warrior of such dreadful skill?
“You cannot destroy evil by hacking it in twain, Sword,” he growled. “But you can weaken its grip with trust and honor and a generous act. The woman is the guardian of the sword, and now she bears a little less maliciousness within her. That, I think, is the only true blow we can strike against the Silver Blade.”
A wild hope, replied the sword, but Darius no longer felt the hostility in the hilts.
Glancing back, he saw that the fire was already under control, the fire brigade of Alston’s Fey living up to its reputation for swift and effective action. There was nothing more to do than to return to his room at the Inn and await the morrow, to meet with a bishop and perhaps with a thief.
CHAPTER 12
Priests and Ogres
The Bishop had selected one of the small anterooms to the main chapel as the site for their meeting with Darius, an intimate setting perfect for a quiet exchange of ideas; or threats. The three men sat tensely, their postures erect, their faces composed, their voices calm and reasonable, carefully hiding the passions which surged just beneath. On the small table around which they sat was a bowl of fruit and a bottle of wine with three goblets, all untouched and unnoticed.
The young priest, Father Maldonar, had been pressing a series of questions on Darius, trying to establish the beliefs of this suspect. His questions were sharp and concise, going right to the core issues which were of concern to the Church, and Darius quickly realized the man was an Inquisitor, one of the carefully trained experts charged with smelling out a heretic. Yet he never hesitated as he answered the man’s early questions about the power and significance of Mirna, and he spoke with real sincerity both of the God’s benevolence and his own dedication to Him. The tension in the room seemed to ease slightly as the two priests felt themselves stirred by this simple, honest declaration of faith and devotion.
The problems, however, began when the priest switched from questions concerning the God to questions concerning the Church.
“And how do you see the role of priests in the dispensing of Mirna’s blessings?” Maldonar began.
Darius shook his head.
“I believe it would be a serious mistake to delve into questions of Church doctrine when we are faced by an imminent invasion,” he answered. “Such an inquiry can only be divisive at a time when we must all stand firmly together. After the Northing threat has been removed, I’ll submit to any inquiry you may see fit to make.”
The two priests exchanged glances, and Maldonar almost shrugged his shoulders as he said, “There are always dangers and emergencies in the secular world, and they cannot be allowed to divert an ecclesiastical inquest. The purity of the faith must be maintained at all times.”
Kal shot a glance at Darius, giving him a chance to respond.
“I intend no harm to the Church, My Lord Bishop,” Darius assured him. “And certainly not to your authority here.”
“The question is not one of your intentions,” the tall priest interjected, “but rather of your effect. A man may intend no harm and still do untold damage.”
Darius locked his eyes on the Bishop and said slowly, “I say again, an inquest at this time would be very detrimental to our joint cause.”
There was a flicker on the Bishop’s face as he heard the unspoken threat. Darius would not submit silently or privately to an inquest, and after the whispers about his role at the Battle of the High Pass, he might gain a considerable audience.
Kal thought carefully for a moment before saying, “I would have no objection to delaying the inquest until the defeat of the Northings…,” Maldonar looked at the older man in open surprise, “…provided you limited your activities to areas north of Jalan’s Drift. I fear these little ‘misunderstandings’ might become more pronounced in the cities of the Southlands.”
A simple deal, simply put: leave us at peace and we will leave you at peace. But Darius shook his head. “I fear I cannot limit myself in such a fashion. There is much which must be done before the armies of the Southlands begin to gather.”
Again, the two priests exchanged glances, silent sentences passing between them, and then Maldonar turned back to Darius.
“It’s possible we may be able to resolve this impasse very easily,” he said. “I should like to put a single question to you, a general philosophical question. If you answer honestly, it will enable me to gauge the extent of our differences.”
Darius saw the trap opening before him, knew the question which would be asked, knew the answer he would give. He let out a low sigh, hating these avoidances and half-truths, wanting to be done with it. Now or later, what did it matter? These priests clearly would not be denied.
Slowly he said, “You may trust me to answer honestly.”
“Do you believe that the Church is Mirna’s sole instrument for making His will known on earth?” Maldonar demanded.
Carefully, Darius replied, “I believe it is Mirna’s most important instrument.”
“But not the only one?” pressed the priest.
Darius felt the words welling up within him, a geyser of truth he simply could not repress. “Mirna speaks as His need and wishes dictate, and He is not limited to the voices of priests, however pure and sanctified they may be. He speaks clearest within each human heart, and the Church does a grave disservice by denying that sacred link between God and Man. For such a dogma is fraught with danger.”
“And what do you see as the end result of that dogma?” Kal asked quietly.
Darius met his eyes steadily. “That it is the Church which is revered, rather than Mirna.”
There was a moment of silence, all three men knowing that a line had been crossed, a final stand taken. Kal straightened his shoulders, realizing there was no room for compromise, no way to accommodate the views of the man before him.
“We cannot condone such opinions…” the Bishop began formally.
Evil, whispered Sarinian suddenly from its scabbard.
Darius was startled, but strove to keep his face clear, his ears torn between two voices. Evil? What evil?
“I must warn you directly, Lord Darius,” Kal was continuing. “Your beliefs make you suspect…”
There is evil, repeated the great sword like a bloodhound winding its prey.
Darius frowned, his eyes shooting to one side and then the next, trying to fathom what the sword meant. Yet there seemed nothing amiss in the room.
“…may be forced to convene a formal inquest into your views…”
For an instant, Darius wondered if the sword could mean the clerics, and then he immediately rejected the notion. The two priests might be misguided, but Sarinian knew nothing of religious dogma and was quit
e indifferent to it. The silver sword, then? Adella? Darius actually rose to his feet at that thought, feeling his body readying itself, but he quickly rejected that idea as well. Though Sarinian’s mutterings had continued unabated since that encounter, showing its vague awareness of the presence of the evil weapon somewhere in the city, there was now none of the fury and outrage which had taken it at the first appearance of the silver sword.
“Are you well, Lord Darius?” the Bishop asked.
“There is evil close at hand,” Darius answered softly. “Come. Let us seek it out.”
He opened the door and headed out into the chapel.
“What, by the Faith…?” he heard the Bishop begin angrily.
“A typical Paladin trick!” denounced Maldonar. “He searches for evil to escape from judgment!”
Darius, however, was concentrating on the sword, and he soon realized that the evil it sensed was not within the Church itself, but out on the street. He strode beneath the great doorway of the chapel, across the grand foyer, and pushed through the gilded main doors to look out over the busy square before the Cathedral. Yet there seemed nothing out of the ordinary here either.
To the right, Inglorion, the sword said, its voice stronger, more certain.
Obediently, Darius headed down the steps and out towards the same main street along which he had first arrived, moving past the usual crowd of peddlers, workers, and goodwives. He could feel a tingling from Sarinian, a deadly response to the evil it sensed, and he quickened his pace in turn.
He turned the corner of the square and saw before him a strange procession making its way through the street folk. At its center was a huge litter of dark wood and black cloth, its curtains pulled to hide its occupant, and it was being carried on the shoulders of four huge mountain ogres, shocking to see such monsters within the borders of the town. Around the litter, a force of a dozen of the town marshals were clearing a path, though they had little to do as the crowd shrank back before the dreadful approach of the ogres.
The litter, Inglorion said Sarinian coldly. The evil comes from within.
Darius’ eyes narrowed. The ogres alone would have been enough to attract the attention of the Avenger, yet Sarinian seemed almost oblivious to them, the occupant of the litter quite eclipsing their power. He stepped out into the center of the street, through the shredding crowd, and found himself confronting a gruff looking marshal with the insignia of a sergeant on his uniform.
“Stand aside, there,” the sergeant snapped. “Stand aside, I say!”
The entire procession came to an uneasy halt as Darius made no move.
“Who sits within that litter?” Darius asked, his eyes locked on the black curtains.
“An ambassador,” barked the sergeant. “One who has been granted the protection of the city. Now stand aside or take the consequences!”
Darius’ eyes moved from the litter to the face of the sergeant, and the man blinked before that cold blue stare.
“What embassy employs mountain ogres as its guards?” asked Darius, and the sergeant frowned uneasily, having clearly asked the same question of himself.
“That is no concern of yours or mine,” the man answered. “My duty is…”
“Your duty is to protect the people of the Fey,” Darius shot back. “Not to shelter deadly monsters like these.”
“My duty is to make a path for this litter,” the sergeant said, putting a hand on Darius’ shoulder to move him aside. Darius grabbed the man’s wrist with fingers of steel.
“Are you a worthy servant of the city, sergeant?” Darius asked softly.
The man was wincing, trying uselessly to free his wrist, but he managed to grunt, “Yes, I am.”
“Then stand aside now,” said Darius, “that you may continue to serve for years yet to come.”
The man’s eyes widened as Sarinian, sensing battle, began glowing with a cold brilliance, the light slowly enveloping its master. The sergeant saw death in that dread light, and he didn’t resist any longer as Darius forced him off to the side, the rest of the marshals immediately following suit, clearly glad to be away from the ogres and the black litter. Confronted with the gleaming warrior, the ogres set down their burden and moved forward, grasping their huge battle axes as they came, and Darius’ only answer was a whisper of steel as he drew Sarinian from its scabbard.
The battle was short and sharp, for the ogres were mere beasts whose power lay in strength and savagery. Darius moved swiftly to the left to spread out his opponents, and the first one obediently charged him, not bothering to await his comrades. Darius easily ducked beneath the initial blow and slashed Sarinian across the foe’s exposed torso, the ogre’s black blood spilling out like a mountain stream. He pivoted quickly as the creature fell, slipping out from before its bulk and taking the next creature by surprise, the monster dying before it could manage even a single blow.
The third ogre, however, leaped directly onto the corpse of it dead brother and brought its axe down with murderous fury, Darius barely having a chance to fling Sarinian upward in defense. The blow knocked aside the gleaming sword and drove Darius backward, the remaining force cleaving into leather armor but not flesh. The monster jumped down from the corpse, its axe flashing again, and the fourth ogre was charging from the side, its weapon at the ready.
To his own surprise, Darius found himself launching himself forward, ducking under the axe blow to strike one-handed at the ogres exposed legs. The off-balance blow was relatively feeble, but Sarinian’s edge sliced like a giant razor through the ogre’s thick hide, the monster howling in agony and beginning to crumple. Darius braced himself and struck backwards, the sword cutting into the creature’s back and ending its screams abruptly.
A thief’s trick and very effective, yet Darius quickly learned the problem with the tactic. He was out of position to receive the attack of the fourth ogre, and he possessed none of the blinding speed which would have saved Adella. The monster was upon him, the axe falling, and he could do nothing but thrust Sarinian upward in a wild hope of dispatching the thing before it could strike its killing blow. The great sword drove upward through the ogre’s skin and pierced its heart, but nothing could completely stop the momentum of its final blow. Darius threw himself vainly to the left, but the axe cut through the armor and sliced into his left side.
Darius gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as he pulled Sarinian loose, ready to face another attack. But the creature heaved once, its severed heart pumping a huge flow of black blood out onto the street, and then it, too, lay still.
Darius moved immediately towards the litter, his hand checking his wound as he went. No more than a deep flesh wound, he realized, putting it out of his mind. But that’s the last time I use a thief’s tactics. His attention was abruptly called back to the litter by a harsh voice speaking in an unknown tongue, and it was the tone rather than the words which warned Darius of magics being conjured. He barely had time to thrust Sarinian in front of him before a bolt of red lightning came streaking out of the litter directly at him. The bolt struck the sword with a deafening explosion, knocking Darius to the ground, but the Avenger had absorbed most of the energy, leaving only a light scorching on Darius’s gauntlets and armor.
He jumped back to his feet and rushed the litter, determined to reach it before the occupant could cast more spells. He was about to rip aside the curtains when there came a cautioning tingle from Sarinian, a warning that there were protections around the litter. He thrust the sword against the curtains and was answered by a sudden blinding flash of energy, the curtains taking fire followed be a scream from inside. Darius struck aside the burning cloth, grabbed the ambassador within, and pulled him out into the daylight.
At first glance, the individual appeared to be a small dark man with a curved back, dressed in flowing purple robes adorned with silver chains. He cringed from Darius’ grip, keeping his eyes averted from the sunlight, but Darius shook him once and caught sight of yellow eyes filled with hatred.
&
nbsp; “Unhand me!” the man hissed through red-stained teeth. “Unhand me! I am ambassador and immune from assault!”
The crowd was drawing a little closer now, staring at the dead monsters with morbid eyes and wanting to get a closer look at the master of the ogres. The little ambassador looked left, then right, trying to judge the crowd.
“Beware, you people of Alston’s Fey!” he cried. “To slay the embassy of a mighty power shall lay you open to a terrible retribution! My master shall descend upon you with fire and sword and not a child shall be spared his wrath! This warrior has nothing to lose, for he can simply flee. It is you who will take the consequences of his actions! Beware!”
The crowd flinched, stung by the words. But Darius merely shook the creature again, forcing it to stand erect and revealing those deadly yellow eyes.
“Whoever your master may be, he will slay us all whether you live or die,” Darius answered. “This thing takes a human shape, but do not be deceived. It ever lusts for human blood and will take even a babe from its cradle. Behold!”
He pulled aside his own armor to reveal the fresh axe wound, and the creature in his hands froze at the sight. Its eyes locked on the flowing blood and a snake’s tongue flashed out from between its red teeth, tasting the air. The crowd gasped as the thing’s skin changed before their very eyes to green scales, its hair vanished, and its face became hideously reptilian.
“A rock-goblin!” cried one of the crowd, and there was a roar of fury as the others now saw the creature clearly.
“If the Fey must take the consequences,” said Darius, “then let the people be your judge and jury. Give this ambassador his answer!”
With that, he threw the goblin forward towards the crowd, the thing cringing with fear. It lashed out to the side and tried to dart towards an alley, but one of the marshals struck out with his sword and wounded the thing in the leg. It screamed in pain, but the next moment, the crowd surrounded it, and within seconds, there was no sound but the angry growls of the mob.
A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) Page 20
