“Abra nal Mirna Vok!” cried the old Arch-Bishop of Maganhall, getting ponderously to his feet, the phrase taking every eye. It was the famed incantation invoking the name of Mirna and giving voice to the Church, a voice that over-rode all others, even at the Council of Lords.
“This man should not be allowed to speak,” the Arch-Bishop proclaimed. “He is paladin and therefore suspect, and he will talk heresy to the Lords of the Southlands. This the Church cannot permit.”
“Paladin he is,” spoke up Joshua. “But he has passed the inquiry of Bishop Kal and Monsignor Maldonar. He…”
“Hold your tongue,” the old man commanded sternly. “This is not a matter for youth.”
“This is a place for truth, My Lord,” Joshua answered defiantly. “While I have truth to speak, my tongue shall not be still.”
“Why you insolent young…”
“My Lord Arch-Bishop,” interjected Boltran, reclaiming all attention, “this is not an ecclesiastical court, it is a council for the defense of the Southlands. This man is here to aid us in military, not religious matters.”
The Arch-Bishop brought his staff down upon the stone with a sharp rap. “Take care, Maganhall. For those that you put forth to lead your armies might lead you down the road to damnation. You shall lose terribly if you win a war and forfeit your immortal soul.”
“I see,” Boltran answered patiently. He turned to Darius. “Sir, are you a barbarian?”
Darius smiled. “No, my lord.”
“Do you believe in Mirna?”
“With all my soul.”
“And do you recognize the authority of the Church?”
There was just an instant’s pause before he answered, “I recognize its authority to dispense the Sacrament and to lead in Mirna’s name.”
Eyes were narrowed and looks exchanged at that response. But Boltran turned to the Arch-Bishop and said casually, “I have now confirmed that this man is neither barbarian, heathen, nor heretic. I would now like to continue to examine his abilities as a warrior.”
“That was not a proper acknowledgement of the Church’s authority,” protested the priest. “He…”
“This is not an inquisition,” Boltran responded sharply. “You need to have care also, Arch-Bishop. Whatever your rank in the Church, you are still a subject of Maganhall, and as such, my vassal. This man might well be critical in saving Maganhall from the onslaught of the Northings, and any vassal who blocks my ability to defend my people is a traitor. Now. Have you more to say?”
There was a rumble of agreement through the room, the warriors rallying behind Boltran, and the Arch-Bishop reluctantly resumed his seat. Darius’ eyebrows rose slightly. Many men had the courage to join a charge against a dangerous foe, but there were precious few who would stand with a stranger accused of heresy and challenge the formidable power of the Church.
“Are we to pay heed to any charlatan who comes forward with a bold swagger and a parlor trick?” demanded Ursulan. “Malcolm is not accredited before this Council, so why should we give voice to his messenger?”
“Because this is the man who saved the High Pass from the clutches of the Northings,” declared Joshua instantly. “Were it not for him, the invaders would already be in the Southlands!”
“You have been commanded to silence, Priest,” snapped Ursulan angrily. “You, too, have no voice…”
“And will you command us to silence as well, Chancellor?” demanded Thrandar of Norealm. “We have heard the reports of the battle of the High Pass and know well this man’s service. Norealm would have been the first to suffer had the Highlanders yielded, and we shall not forget the debt thus owed. To this warrior, we give our blessing and our voice. Speak, then, for Norealm.”
There was instant silence throughout the chamber, Ursulan dropping his eyes in acquiescence. Thrandar’s words meant Darius was no longer just a messenger or a witness; now he stood with the full support of one of the Dukes and could address the other members of the Council as virtual equals.
“The attack upon the High Pass holds lessons for us all, My Lords,” Darius began. “The Pass was held, as always, by the courage of the Highlanders. Yet it was almost lost. When I arrived at the High Pass, a spell of fear lay upon the Clans, a spell powerful enough to make even the strongest people forsake their birth-right and broad enough to affect thousands. This is only one of many perils which march with the Silver Horde against you.”
“Again we hear the words of panic,” Argus rumbled. “Even if this threat be real, the Drift can be adequately manned by its own garrison and a tenth of our power. Let each lord look to his own realm to decide what force he can spare. Jalan’s Drift, as ever, shall be our bulwark.”
“My lords,” continued Darius, “Corland makes the case of the classic general: take the strongest position, and let the foe break himself upon it. But this is no classic situation, and the Northings have marched with ease through many strong positions. Moreover, a spell of fear that can quench the fire of the Highlanders is nothing to take lightly. We…”
“You yourself have proven that this fear can be countered,” interrupted Argus. “And we also have access to spells, spells the Highlanders cannot boast. But we still await an answer to the main issue. What good will be served by manning the walls of the Drift with all our power? If Nargost be taken, what chance has the Drift? And if Nargost stands, then the invaders can do nothing against the Five Walls of Jalan.”
There was another rumble through the room, the point debated until Boltran again called for order.
“A telling point, and one to which we must attend,” agreed Darius. “It is true that the Drift is made of the same stone as Nargost, and common sense would tell us it will suffer a similar fate.”
“What are you saying, then, Paladin?” demanded Mandrik of Warhaven. “That we waste our time by manning the walls of the Drift?”
“No, my lords,” answered Darius. “But in this, I agree with the voice of Corland. I do not think you should gather your power at Jalan’s Drift and simply await the onslaught of the Northing. I say we should march forth from the Drift and strike the enemy before he is within sight of the walls!”
Gasps from around the room, an uproar begun.
“What madness is this?” cried Argus. “Forsake the strongest position in all the land to face the enemy upon the open plains! You are either a fool, Paladin, or in the pay of Regnar!”
“Silence!” Boltran roared, and all noise came to an instant end. “This man speaks with Norealm’s voice, so all ears shall attend!”
“It is not just the Northings who march against you,” proclaimed Darius, addressing the entire council. “Regnar has gathered an army of Rock Goblins as well, and tens of thousands of the creatures march with the Juggernaut beneath its dark canopy.”
“This is the message which I, too, was sent to carry to the Council,” interjected Joshua. “A Rock Goblin messenger was slain in the very streets of Alston’s Fey, and the Bishop has confirmed though prayer and commune that the creature was part of the invading force.”
A rock goblin messenger? A messenger to whom? Frowns on every forehead, but the assurance that the Bishop had invoked the power of commune to receive an answer put all questions at rest. They could be sure that rock goblins did indeed march with the Silver Horde.
“I need not tell you, my lords,” Darius said slowly, “what will happen if that pestilence should reach the Mountains of the Winds.”
Faces turned grim and heads were nodded at that. It had taken generations of warfare to wipe the Rock Goblins out of the Mountains of the Winds and free the Southlands from their constant raids. Goblins were renowned mountain warriors, and it would be a bloody business to once again dig them out of every hole and cave in the mountains.
“The boasted cavalry of the Plains States did little enough against this host,” observed Argus harshly. “Why should we think our horse will fare any better?”
“The power of the Southlands is in the size of i
ts army, the training of its troops, and the skill of its officers,” answered Darius. “You shall show the world what happens when a rabble meets a true army.”
“So many in Nargost and Kargos must have said,” sneered Argus.
“And thus many traitors must have answered,” said Darius. “Brave men are fighting and bleeding and dying out on the plains, Corland, selling their lives to strip some tithe of power from the invaders, while you sit and talk away the precious hours they have bought you.”
Argus bristled and rose involuntarily from the Iron Throne. “I will have blood for such an insult, Paladin. I…”
“Silence, Argus,” Boltran commanded, and all were suddenly aware that having risen from the Iron Throne, Argus had temporarily forfeited his status as the Voice of Corland.
Argus quickly reseated himself, but the lapse gave Darius his chance to press his argument.
“Heed me now, Southland,” he said, not just to the lords but to all within the chamber. “As you value your cities, waste not a day, for this foe comes to smash through all walls and no stone shall hold you safe. As you value your people, waste not an hour, for the life-blood of human hearts is the real treasure this monster seeks from the Southlands. And as you value your lives, waste no more minutes, for every lung full of rhetoric and debate brings the enemy ten yards closer to your throats, and they bring the peace of death to end your argument and contention.”
There was a surge within every heart within the chamber, heads nodding in recognition of the truth.
“What of this castle-breaker, this Juggernaut?” asked Boltran. “What good can fine cavalry and bold hearts do against the likes of that?”
“The Juggernaut is a terrible weapon,” Darius conceded. “But as with all things that move, it, too, must be fed, and should this food, this fuel be removed, the monster will stop. The fuel that propels this horror forward, my lords, is human blood.”
There were gasps throughout the chamber, and every lord, save one, came to the edge of their seat.
“The Free Lands are not rich in people, and so the supplies to feed the titan must be running low,” Darius continued. “If we can disrupt the fueling and force this thing to fight, it may stop before ever it reaches the Drift. But our first hope shall still be in the might of warriors.”
Though he made no move, it seemed as if he had taken a step closer to the lords and his voice had grown in power.
“If you would take my counsel, I would make three answers to the Northing threat. First, I would meet them on the open plains with all the power you can bring to bear. The Northings may have walked through the forces of the Plains States, but they have never faced the concentrated armies of the Southlands. Do not forget: Northings and Rock Goblins are warriors of the mountains and know little of war on the plains. We might well be able to strip the Juggernaut of its protecting army.
“Second, you must send light cavalry around the flanks of the enemy army to rescue the prisoners being led to the Juggernaut. This is not just a matter of compassion and humanity. This is the food Regnar needs to fuel the monster. It has crossed nearly two hundred leagues already, and the supply of blood is not endless.
“Third, there are arms of renown among the lords and champions of the Southlands, enchanted blades that carry more power in every blow than just muscle and sharpened steel. These are the means by which we shall challenge and destroy the Juggernaut itself. And as you have observed, my lord, I am not weaponless.”
With one swift gesture he pulled Sarinian from its scabbard.
“Inglorion et Fele!” he cried, the creed of the paladin, the words echoing through the chamber, through the very halls of the castle, and the sword burst into light, surrounding Darius with a silvery brilliance.
“What say you, Lords of the Southlands?” he demanded. “Who shall stride forth to meet the invader before he reaches the walls of the Drift?”
Boltran pulled his sword in answer. “Maganhall shall go to war!”
“Norealm marches with you!” roared Thrandar
“And Warhaven!”
“And Gemsbrook!”
Four votes, the Council already declared. A moment of hesitation and Duke Georg-Mahl said, “And Hathage.”
“And Palmany,” said Feldon, keeping his eyes on the Paladin.
A long moment of silence followed, and finally, from the Iron Throne, came the reluctant voice of Argus. “And Corland.”
*
As the Council formally closed, little groups formed around the Chamber to discuss what had occurred and what was yet to come. Around the Iron Throne, Argus was joined by Ursulan and General Kaltron, Commander of the Black Watch.
“This paladin grows troublesome,” said Argus darkly.
“He’s but a single man,” answered Kaltron, a thick-set man with a savage scar beneath his left eye. “A single man can easily be disposed of.”
“He is paladin,” countered Ursulan. “I know of no one who would wish to face that gleaming sword.”
“Not all killing blows come from the front,” Kaltron said softly, and both men glanced at Argus.
“No,” replied the Duke. “This problem is not to be solved so easily.” He paused, studying the groups in the hall before continuing, “As a stranger to the Southlands, Lord Darius should have a guide, I think. Someone who can explain our customs and warn him of potential problems. What think you, Chancellor?”
Ursulan smiled, knowing the way his master’s mind worked. “A sensible and considerate idea, my lord. Have you a candidate in mind?”
“I thought Father Rathman might be appropriate.”
“Rathman?” growled Kaltron in surprise. “That prudish, self-righteous fanatic?”
But Ursulan’s smile widened immediately. “A superb choice, Your Grace! Father Rathman has constantly showed his knowledge of such areas as cultural tradition and local law. And of course, he is very well versed in the Church’s Immaculate Code.”
Kaltron’s face suddenly lit up in understanding. “Put the heretic in the keeping of the heretic-hunter! And get the sniveling little cur out of our hair as well! Excellent!”
“See to it, Chancellor,” Argus said softly. But his eyes were now on the group of men gathered around Boltran of Maganhall and Mandrik of Warhaven. “Still, I must commend you for your insight, Lord General. It is very true that a killing blow need not be delivered to the front.”
*
Many people had gathered around Darius at the end of the Council, drawn to the man who had swayed the Lords to fight, and it was many minutes before Joshua had the chance for a quiet moment alone with him.
“It is good to see you, Joshua,” Darius said, shaking the young Priest’s hand warmly.
Joshua smiled in answer and softly muttered. “It is good to see you safe as well, My Lord. You must have passed through many trials since last we met.”
“And you,” Darius replied. “Standing up to the Arch-Bishop of Maganhall in front of the Council of Lords takes more sand than most have. They say that old man eats acolytes for lunch and young priests for dinner.”
“Then I shall make him a fine meal one day,” Joshua said lightly. He added with sudden earnest, “Did your daughter reach you, My Lord?”
“My daughter?” repeated Darius in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Your daughter Shannon followed behind you into Alston’s Fey by only a few days, and she carried news of the Rock Goblins to you,” the young man said.
“Shannon here? In the Southlands? Surely…surely not!”
“Or in the Mountains of the Winds,” said Joshua, clearly distressed at bearing such evil tidings. “She was traveling with a young man named Jhan, and they were very anxious to reach you. I…I fear I gave them monies that might help them in their quest.”
Shannon?!? What madness was this? Darius swallowed, fear threatening to freeze his heart, and he looked involuntarily over at Argus who was speaking quietly with other lords of the Council. Shannon daring the heights of th
e Mountains of the Winds, the power of Llan Praetor…
He turned away, struggling against the emotions surging within him. Decision Rock, the Green Cliffs, the thief-infested city of Alston’s Fey, his mind pictured his inexperienced daughter and her friend Jhan blundering along after him, fresh prey for every type of predator. They had walked right into the Church where he had barely avoided a charge of heresy, they had crossed over the same roads where he had been ambushed by a score of bandits, and if they reached the heights of the mountain, they would have found Adella waiting for them…
Adella! In that one instant, his fear and hope leaped to a new level, a collision that left him momentarily stunned, the woman’s angry face and furious curses coming back like vengeance itself. Yet out of that stillness, his faith stirred, a sudden sense that this could be no mere accident, a first faint glimpse of destiny at work.
Then despite the fear, the endless dangers, the obvious threats, the tension within him broke, and Darius threw back his head and laughed out loud. Nearly everyone still within the chamber turned to stare at him.
“My Lord,” asked Joshua in shock, “do you no fear for her?”
“Yes, Joshua,” he answered, still smiling. “More than I have ever feared for myself. But I see in this the hand of Mirna, sending my daughter after me with a message I already had. In my heart I feel while she walks that road, no harm shall befall her, whatever the perils.”
His eyes went again to Argus who was now staring darkly at him, and despite his faith, his heart again fluttered. He could only wonder where Shannon’s road would lead her.
CHAPTER 2
Llan Praetor
Adella ran her fingers lightly over the arcane tracings on the floor of the entrance hall of Llan Praetor, studying the pattern carefully. The design was not just traced but actually carved into the floor, a marvelous labor to get every line to the exact same depth in the swirling, intricate motif, and Bloodseeker (which was also supplying light) was detecting a vague magic, too faint to determine its nature or purpose. Some residual power from the original carving of the floor, perhaps, or maybe just a minor, mundane enchantment such as eliminating dust or mud. The only other possibility was that the entire floor was some sort of gigantic magical device, and that was a little too staggering to accept.
Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) Page 3
