Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2)

by James A. Hillebrecht

  “It is therefore the sentence of this court that you be brought forth before the sun rises on the third day hence,” the grim voice continued, “and that your head shall be sundered from your body to end your vile existence. Your corpse shall then be burned and the ashes scattered in secret so that none may honor your memory. This warrant is given under our hand this fourteenth day of May in the Year of the Blessed seven hundred and forty-six. And may Mirna have mercy on your soul.”

  There was another voice speaking now, an impassioned voice ringing with indignation and tightly controlled fury, a voice that wanted to shout with anger and instead directed that rage in a focused stream of ire at the three judges seated above them.

  “…nothing but the vilest, unsubstantiated slander…not one piece of solid evidence…succumbing to political pressure…the bloody puppets of a cowardly clergy…in defiance of your sacred oaths to dispense justice…”

  Darius actually turned and looked at Adrian, and was surprised to see the same bland expression the man’s face always wore despite the vehemence of the words coming from his mouth. He glanced at the judges and saw that they were maintaining a dignified silence, but the mere fact they were allowing this tirade to continue spoke volumes to their own opinion of the sentence. Their refusal to respond, however, spoke loudest of all.

  Darius reached out and touched the arm of his defender, bringing the speech to an abrupt end. All eyes in the court turned to him.

  “I have entered the Southlands willingly and am therefore subject to its laws,” Darius said quietly to his judges. “I cannot accept the judgment of this court, for I am an innocent man who has committed no crime. But you are the duly appointed guardians of the laws of this land, and I am bound by honor and respect for the law to accept this court’s sentence. And to you, sirs, I offer the same fervent hope that Mirna will find a way to have mercy on your souls as well.”

  Without another word, he turned to his jailers and held out his hands to receive the shackles they held ready, and he then walked calmly out of the courtroom, the clanking of his chains echoing, walking towards the stake that was now only three days before him.

  * * * * *

  Already, it was becoming hard to breathe. The sound of coughing peppered the line of hostages as lungs rejected the smoke-tainted air, and even the scarves and masks wrapped over mouths and noses did little to keep out the choking stench. Shannon was leading two horses near the edge of the ragged column, two boys mounted on one, a young girl on the other, and the animals continuously pulled and threatened to rear as the smell of the fire got stronger. Shannon’s arms were exhausted from battling the animals, her lungs were on fire from exertion and smoke, and her legs muscles were cramping, a residual of too much sweating and not enough water.

  She glanced to the right, and her heart leaped with terror as she thought she saw a tongue of flame peep over the distant ridge as if trying to catch sight of its prey. She dug her legs into the prairie sod, pulled on the reins of the horses, drove them forward just a little bit faster.

  “We’ve no chance,” a quiet voice said beside her.

  Surprised, she looked up to see Adella walking beside her, dragging the reins of another reluctant horse. The woman’s face was streaked with smoke and sweat, but her eyes were as calm and hard as ever.

  “What?” she croaked, blinking, surprised by both the haze around them and the sound of her own voice.

  “The sparks from the fire are being carried forward by the wind,” Adella explained. “It’s leaping forward even faster than we feared, and the horses are feeling the effects of the smoke as well. If we gallop to the south and the east, we still have a chance to outrun the flames. But we must go now.”

  “Gallop?” Shannon repeated thickly as she tried to gather her wits. “But…but we haven’t enough horses.”

  “Two is all we need,” Adella answered evenly. “Three if you want to save that fool, Jhan.”

  Her eyes widened as she grasped the implications. “We…we can’t do that!”

  “I told you at the start that we would have to choose. That time is now. We can still free the hands of the Dukes of the plains states…by bringing them news of the hostages’ deaths.”

  “No!”

  “Stay as we are, and we all die,” Adella snarled softly. “You’re not killing anyone. The Northings and the flames will do that. You are saving a few people who otherwise would perish with the rest.”

  Shannon looked desperately around, the pall of smoke getting thicker every second, the hostages barely holding onto the saddles too sick with the smoke to worry about their lives, the horses close to full panic, their terrified eyes staring at her as if begging for her to heed the woman’s advice.

  “No,” she said again, but she turned slightly and headed the horses south and east as Adella had recommended.

  “Fool!” the woman snapped at her. “You’re committing suicide!”

  “As long as we have life, we have hope,” Shannon answered. “I won’t abandon these people to save myself.”

  “So you die for a mumble of fine-sounding words.”

  “No,” she replied firmly. “The mirror showed me the hostages. It means I am the one to bring them to freedom, and if I abandon them, they are surely doomed.”

  “You freed them from the castle, and that is all the mirror showed you! Use the brain Mirna gave you!”

  “Mirna also gave me a heart,” Shannon said. “Jhan had it right. If we trusted our brains, we never would have started. Hope is our only chance, and hope is all we have left.” Then she offered a twisted smile. “So you can certainly outrun me. But will that save you from this bear?”

  Adella was about to make a reply when she pulled up sharply and put her hand to the hilt of her sword. Shannon followed the direction of the woman’s glance and was staggered to see the shining presence of a man in sky blue robes standing directly before them, holding a staff of twisted serpents.

  “The thief is quite correct, you know,” the man said, addressing Shannon. “The mirror of Llan Praetor shows only what is of importance to the viewer. It has no powers of prophecy, and it is dangerous in the extreme to use it as a guide for any actions beyond the specific scenes it chooses to reveal.”

  “How would you know that?” Shannon asked, though her gut already knew the answer.

  “Because I use the mirror frequently and have learned its limitations by hard and bitter lesson,” he replied.

  “You are the Wizard Malcolm!”

  “Arch-Mage, actually,” the man corrected. The rest of column had stopped and gathered around the shining presence that seemed to offer the promise of divine delivery.

  “Can…can you save us, good sir?” one of the women cried out to him.

  “Please! Please save us!”

  “Please!”

  “I myself have not the power to move so many,” he answered. There were wails of despair, but he quickly held up his hands. “However, I have brought…friends…with me. They are able to carry you all to safety. But they are fiercesome in appearance, and you will have to be brave of heart and trust their good intentions.”

  “Who are these friends?”

  “Where are they?”

  “Please, we must hurry!”

  “They are dragons,” Malcolm replied.

  There were gasps and a few cries, people cringing back and searching the skies as if expecting the wyrms to come down upon them breathing fire.

  “They will do you no harm, I promise,” Malcolm assured them. “They have agreed to bear you all away to the south of Jalan’s Drift where you will be safe. It is now your only chance.”

  There was a buzz of discussion, but even the most reluctant clearly understood the options before them, and heads began to nod in slow agreement.

  “The dragons cannot bear the horses, even if they were willing,” Malcolm warned. “The riders yes, but the horses no.”

  “We shall trust the speed of the horses once they are free of these burd
ens,” Zarif answered. “We shall yet cheat the fire.”

  “Then the rest of you must dismount and move forward,” Malcolm commanded. “You must move quickly. Come! Step out!”

  Hesitantly, the hostages climbed down off of their horses and came to stand around the gleaming presence of the Arch-Mage. They were terrified, but their eyes went from the approaching flames to the green-choked clouds in the sky, unsure which they dreaded more.

  When all had gathered around him, Malcolm raised his staff and called to the heavens with a giant’s voice, “Succor is asked and safety assured! Come, now! Come and fulfill the promises made!”

  There in the distance, approaching from the south, were three dragons closing upon them with astonishing speed. People barely had time to point upward with a warning cry before the creatures were swooping down upon them, claws outstretched. A score of screams greeted them, but people did not have time even to cringe before they had gathered six bodies in their combined claws and begun to climb again. Shannon stared in amazement at the people flailing their arms and legs helplessly, but it was clear they were safe and unharmed despite the terrible nature of their rescue.

  In the wake of the first wave came three more dragons to grab their share, followed by three more, and finally a single large dragon came forward to grab the remaining two hostages, all the monsters beating their massive wings and vanishing almost as quickly as they had appeared. Left behind were Adella, Shannon, and Jhan with Zarif and his men looking on, now barely controlling their horses.

  “You must ride and ride fast, Captain,” Malcolm said. “I can buy you a little time with a burst of wind, but I cannot make any promises. Even an Arch-Mage has limited powers over a prairie fire.”

  “Ride!” Zarif bellowed to his company, and riders and horses alike charged off in relief. But even as Malcolm held up his staff and sent a huge gust of wind billowing westward to challenge the fire, Zarif held his charger in check, looking at the three people remaining on the ground.

  “What are your intentions with them?” Zarif demanded harshly.

  “They have a different destination than the hostages, and I shall carry them there myself,” Malcolm answered calmly. “You need not fear. I will not abandon even thieves to a fiery death on the open plains.”

  Still the Captain lingered. “Is this also your will, Matron?”

  Adella actually laughed. “A chivalrous man in the face of death is a chivalrous man indeed. Yes, Captain. I’ll take the offered ride. Now be off with you, or you’ll not outrun the flames.”

  “Take Mirna’s love with you, Captain,” called Shannon. “For this time you have indeed drawn life from the dying grass.”

  Zarif offered the graceful gesture of acknowledgement and then turned and raced after his fleeing troops. Shannon swallowed hard, tears streaking her cheeks, though this time, the smoke was only partially responsible.

  “Now if we are all quite ready,” Malcolm said, a wolfish grin on his face. “Join hands all three.”

  As they joined a circle, the Arch-Mage came forward and grasped the joined hands of Adella, Jhan, and Shannon. Instantly, the world around them went hazy with a vague white light, unaffected by the thickening black smoke, and they felt themselves floating upwards and southwards, following in the general direction of the dragons.

  “Ethereal travel,” Adella sighed appreciably.

  “Better than a wind boat, is it not?” Malcolm asked over his shoulder, and both Shannon and Jhan winced.

  “That thing nearly killed us,” Adella replied easily. “I think it must have been defective.”

  “I’m glad you were spared for a different fate,” Malcolm answered softly, and the four of them began whizzing faster and faster through the ether.

  * * * * *

  Regnar stood up from the heavy throne the Northings had created for him here in the middle of the Free Lands, his head cocked as if listening to some distant sound. His teeth showed in a snarl or a grin, though his lips had rotted away long ago.

  “The fates align,” he said. “The Juggernaut stirs again. The time grows ripe.”

  The time is come, indeed, agreed the Ohric.

  Five hundred yards away stood the towering mound of earth and grass that hid the Juggernaut, and Regnar put out his hand towards it, feeling a tremble of life down in its core.

  “Alahka Alenze!” he cried, and the Ohric burst into green light that surrounded him with power. With a single gesture of his left hand, the Tyrant sent the power surging forth to impact the tower of earth, the mass suddenly exploding in a rain of dirt and grass and debris. A massive cloud of dust remained in its place, too thick for any eyes to see, and all around, the Northings held up their hands and peered at the cloud.

  Then, suddenly, something moved within it, something huge and black. Something with blazing red eyes in its ebony face.

  There were shouts and cries of both panic and triumph as a black shape emerged from the cloud and continued its interrupted journey southward, the Juggernaut on the move again, its’ every step taking it closer to the walls of Jalan’s Drift.

  It travels now on the last of its power, the Ohric warned. When next it stops, it shall form the cocoon.

  “When next it stops, I shall have no more need of it,” Regnar answered. Then he raised his arms, and his voice was magnified a hundred fold, rolling out over the three separate armies of Northings, rock goblins, and undead. “March forward! March in the wake of the Juggernaut! March to deadly victory and bloody reward! March! March to Jalan’s Drift!”

  CHAPTER 20

  The Council and the Mayor

  The Council of the Lords was met again, only now it was in a simple meeting room inside the Mayoral Palace of Jalan’s Drift. The Dukes sat at an enormous square table with their counselors standing behind them, and they were joined by Brillis, the Lord High Mayor of the Drift. The death of Duke Boltran had left the Council with an even number, and Brillis would be invited to vote only in the case of a tie.

  Brillis was breaking the dread news she herself had just received.

  “Our scouts report the Juggernaut is once more on the march, and its direction has not changed,” Brillis announced. “In two days, certainly within three, it will be pounding at the first wall of the Drift.”

  “And the army that surrounds it?” asked Mandrik of Warhaven.

  “Three armies,” Brillis corrected him. “The largest is still the Northing barbarians, and they number perhaps 15,000 strong. The force of rock goblins took the brunt of the battle with Maganhall and Palmany, and there are no more than a few thousands left. But in the vanguard marches the regenerated warriors, and they all close in strength to the Northings themselves.”

  “Some thirty thousands then,” mused Argus. He found it amusing that Brillis avoided using the term “undead” and preferred “regenerated warriors”. Either way, Regnar had found a way to effectively double the size of his army without any worries of provisions or disloyalty.

  “More than double the troops defending the Drift,” said Clarissa of Gemsbrook, her voice low.

  “And the army has stone giants and mountain ogres in their train,” added Thrandar of Norealm. “The gates of the Drift have never been tested by their like.”

  “We must decide how we are to proceed,” Brillis said. “We need a plan, and we have little time.”

  “Before we can formulate a plan, we must first choose a new leader,” Argus rumbled. “And we must choose with care. Boltran has shown us the danger of following a fool.”

  There was a stir around the table, the words not sitting well with several of the Dukes, but Argus ignored them and pushed on, “With no one to occupy the golden throne of Maganhall, the right of command falls to Palmany. Let Palmany now be heard. Does Palmany wish to put forth its claim?”

  Right on cue, the aged Feldon said, “We do not wish to pursue our claim at this time. We believe a younger man must step forward during this crisis. But we do not yield the position of the House of Palm
any, and our heirs shall be free to put forth their claims in the due course of time.”

  “That is understood,” Argus replied and tried hard to keep the sneer out of his voice. “Who would Palmany put forth in your stead?”

  “You, My Lord,” Feldon answered. “Palmany would put forward Argus, Duke of Corland, to command the forces of the Southlands at this time.”

  “If Palmany does not put forth its claim, the position falls to the next House,” Thrandar of Norealm interjected firmly. “That is the House of Norealm, and we put forth our claim at this time.”

  Argus held his silence, and the exchange of glances around the table assured him he need not fight this battle. It was Clarissa of Gemsbrook who spoke up. “The claim of Norealm has never been invoked before the Council in the past. A vote must be taken to determine the next leader of the forces of the Southlands.”

  “A vote?” Thrandar repeated in astonishment. “On the seniority of Houses? There is no precedent for this!”

  “We do not question the seniority of Houses,” Georg-Mahl of Hathage replied. “The issue is the leader of the forces of the Southlands, and two candidates have been put forth. That is a matter requiring a vote.”

  Argus almost laughed at the confusion on Thrandar’s face. In the past, the head of the Council was always the leader of the forces of the Southlands, and it took him a minute to realize that the two positions could be separated.

  “A vote is called,” Clarissa said simply. “Let those who wish show their support for Argus of Corland as the leader of the forces of the Southlands.”

  She and Feldon both promptly raised their hands, and they were joined a moment later by Georg-Mahl. Argus raised his own hand, and finally, Mandrik of Warhaven joined them, making the decision virtually unanimous. Thrandar was left isolated with his mouth slightly ajar, as if seeking for some means of protest and coming up empty.