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

by James A. Hillebrecht

  It was Jhan who spoke up again, and Darius blessed the boy for his perception. “If we are the means to complete the hostages’ return, we must not tarry, not an hour, not a moment. With good horses, we can be in Duke’s Hall in two days, maybe less.”

  There was still doubt in Shannon’s eyes, but Darius came to her, hugged her shoulders and gave her a small kiss on the forehead.

  “Go,” he said. “We are stalemated here. You it is who must bring new pressure to bear on the enemy’s rear.”

  “Get them a pair of horses at the Maganhall Gate,” Adella said to the two men who had been standing silently by. “Food you’ll have to provide for yourself.”

  Reluctantly, Shannon nodded in agreement, her face still troubled, but Jhan took her physically by the hand and led her towards the door. His last sight of his daughter was a questioning look as she was hurried out the door.

  The moment she was gone, he dropped into the chair as if shot with an arrow.

  “That was pathetic,” scoffed Adella. “You are the worst liar I ever saw.”

  “I fear like other skills, it requires practice to perfect.”

  She shook her head at him and then said seriously, “You’re a fool, Darius. You think your words can turn that girl’s spirit? There’s too much of her Father in her. She’s on a course none of us can grasp, let alone change. All you can do by opposing her is to poison the relationship between you.”

  “You know nothing of this,” he answered, his voice thick with bitterness. “I know, none better, the road down which her feet would tread, and I will give my honor, my soul, and even the life of the Drift itself to spare her from that journey.”

  Adella merely shrugged at that.

  “There are many who would gladly take your payment,” she said simply, “but none who can deliver what you seek. I know well the give and take of barter where almost everything has its proper price, and trust me when I tell you this item is not for sale. Not for any sum of treasure.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Treacheries

  The Lords of the Southlands were gathered once again in the private hall within the Mayoral Palace, and as before, they were seated at the massive table with their chancellors in immediate attendance and only a single additional trusted aide beyond them. The difference this time was that the Lady Brillis was absent; in fact, she had not been notified the meeting was to take place.

  “It is neither right nor fitting that the Lady Brillis is excluded from this meeting,” Thrandar protested at the very start. “We are in the city at her request, and she should be party to any discussions and any decisions.”

  “We are charged with the defense of the Southlands,” countered Argus. “Holding the Drift is but one aspect of that defense.”

  “Your tone is alarming, Corland,” Clarissa answered. “We do no care for it.”

  “You gave us the authority to direct the armies of the Southlands,” he said. “We would be remiss in that trust not to consider every option available.”

  “What option do you perceive?” asked Georg-Mahl carefully.

  “The city is lost,” said Argus bluntly. “Only the three outer walls extend from mountain to mountain, and when they are all breached, the enemy can sweep around the remaining walls and leave them behind under siege as they break through to the Southlands. That is our peril. This Juggernaut lies barely two hundred paces from the Wizard’s Gate, and it is likely its first act upon its rebirth will be to finish what it began. Even if it does not, once it is out of the way, the force of stone giants and mountain ogres have already shown that they can breach the gates of the Drift.”

  “Not so,” countered Thrandar. “It is true they broke both the Highlander’s and the Merchant’s Gates in the outer wall, but they were not hotly contested by our forces. We made a stout defense of the Second Wall until the titan pounded a breach through the middle. Then we were forced to retire our defenses least they be cut off. What says Warhaven to this?”

  Mandrik looked down at the table, slowly stroking his heavy beard. Finally, he said, “It is true the Wizard’s Gate is better built than either of the outer portals, and it is true as well that our forces are massed in defense of the Third Wall. We should make the enemy pay a heavy toll to break the Wizard’s Gate, that is sure. But I fear it is a price Regnar will pay right willingly.”

  “By titan, giant, or storming ladder, the Northings will take the Third Wall,” Argus concluded grimly. “And if somehow all of those should falter, trust that Regnar will take a direct hand in the matter. He has not come over three hundred leagues to fail now.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as the Lords and Lady mulled the truth of this, and Argus waited a long moment to let it sink in. As if on cue, Feldon of Palmany spoke up.

  “If this be so, what do you suggest?” the old man asked. “If the Third Wall falls, the entire Southlands are at risk, as you have said.”

  “Negotiations,” Argus replied, and he had to hide a smile at the alarmed expressions around the table. “If you are about to lose a thing in any case, it is wise to sell it first. Or at least to see what it might fetch.”

  “You would sell the Drift?” thundered Thrandar in disbelief. “You would betray Brillis?”

  “Our duty is to our principalities and the Southlands, not to Brillis,” Argus rumbled in reply. “Though we may yet find a way to save her skin as well.”

  Slowly, carefully, Georg-Mahl asked, “How would one go about opening negotiations with a tyrant like Regnar? And without alerting the entire city if nothing were forthcoming?”

  “We have the means already established,” said Argus easily, and he ignored the sharp glances the admission brought. “In our embassy here is a mirror that will permit direct contact with Regnar himself.”

  “Why should Regnar bargain?” asked Clarissa. “If all you say is true, why buy what you are about to take?”

  “Because his forces are not endless,” replied Argus. “He must hold what he takes, and he has already paid a price for the two outer walls. The business of the Drift will continue, regardless of who rules the city, for that is where the money is to be had. We must explain to the Tyrant that slaughtered merchants pay no taxes.”

  Eyebrows were raised around the table, and Argus spotted a tiny smile or two of appreciation. He smiled in answer. “Shall we then adjourn to the embassy of Corland?”

  On the opposite side of the wall, Brillis replaced the small stopper in the listening tube that had permitted her to hear every word of the discussion in the private hall, and she paused briefly to consider her options. She was not angry nor even particularly surprised by what she had just heard, though she hadn’t expected the talk of a separate peace to come so swiftly or so openly.

  After several long minutes, she walked to the end of the secret passage and exited through a bookcase into a small waiting room. One of her most trusted aides had been standing guard here.

  “Bring the Paladin Darius to me,” she instructed the aide. Then, after a moment’s reflection, added, “And the man Tallarand.”

  “Yes, Lady,” said the aide. “And the thief Adella?”

  “No,” she answered. “Though I expect she will be there whether we summon her or not.”

  * * * * *

  The entry into Llan Praetor was neither as slow nor as cautious as the first time. Now it was only Malcolm and Mraxdavar who stood before the entrance, and the dragon did not hesitate to unleash the strange puffs of breaths that caused the main doors to open. Once again, Malcolm noticed the gleaming of the stone as the taloned claws of the dragon stepped upon them, and once again, Mraxdavar led the way down the entrance hall to the remaining stone guardian. Only this time, it was the dragon who blinded and deafened the gargoyle as Malcolm opened the massive doubled doors. Once inside the chamber of stars, the Wizard paused and looked askance at his guest.

  “Can you conjure a containment spell?” the dragon asked.

  “Yes, easily.”

  “Then
conjure it here to a distance of only five of your paces,” said Mraxdavar indicating the very middle of the chamber. “Be very certain you are not caught within its bounds.”

  Puzzled, Malcolm did as he was asked. A containment spell was a moderate magic and not difficult to cast, but it seemed a waste to place it around an empty area. A containment spell was critical for the restraint of a conjured creature or other magical entity, and it could keep the caster safe from certain magical attacks as well. A moment later, however, he had his answer.

  With the slightest of gestures, Mraxdavar produced the small vial that contained the black liquid gathered from the Juggernaut, and he showed remarkable dexterity in his front claws as he delicately removed the stopper and poured a single drop onto the stone of Llan Praetor.

  The results were instantaneous and alarming. The middle of the chamber where the drop hit burst forth with brilliant light, and a surge of illumination began to spread out through the stone at a startling rate, like a ripple on a lake from the impact of a mighty boulder. The wave hit the containment wall and stopped, but Malcolm could tell immediately that his magic was being instantly eroded by the restricted power and would not last. The dragon made a swirling motion with his claws, and the glow began to rise like a mist or smoke, twisting, turning, resolving itself into images.

  The images were small, not even rising to the level of Malcolm’s chest, but he had the distinct feeling they were miniature versions of gigantic forms. They were changing, shifting, evolving, a bewildering parade of creatures, all of them roughly humanoid, all of them filled with a tangible power that Malcolm could sense rather than see, the images only slowly resolving themselves.

  Giants!

  Malcolm’s heart began pounding at the sight. Giants, here in Llan Praetor! All his research and theories, all his years of careful investigations, all of it suddenly validated in a single instant, the answer staggering in its simple, absolute certainty. And just as he had expected, these beings were not wearing the rough hides and leather jerkins of contemporary giants but rather were dressed in well crafted armor and elaborate togas that spoke of both skills and knowledge. A proud race that rivaled the intellect of dragons and surpassed the building skills of man, now broken and lost, huddling in caves when once they had carved mountains.

  Then, the giants were gone abruptly, and the parade ended with a single black figure with almost no human features at all. The Juggernaut itself! The Wizard watched intently as the figure seemed to melt into a formless mass, yet he recognized it as a type of cocoon, a protection that allowed transition from one form to another. The power of the glow was eating away at his containment spell, threatening to burst free, but they both continued to stare, hoping for another hint before the restriction gave way.

  Slowly, something began to emerge from the black mass, something smaller than the original but filled with all the same power, all the same potent energy. Malcolm’s eyes widened as he began to grasp the significance of what he was seeing, to glimpse the meaning of the issuing shape, but the containment spell was giving way. The dragon leaned forward, opened his jaws, and sent forth a tiny burst of fire that still was enough to make the Wizard jump backwards. But as the fire dissipated, he could see the image within the containment area was gone.

  “Merciful gods!” he cried softly. “What was that?”

  “It is as we feared,” Mraxdavar said heavily. “The Juggernaut is a creation of Surtur, the God of Giants.”

  Malcolm’s jaw dropped open slightly at this, and he did not even make an attempt to hide his amazement at both the words and the dragon’s open admission. Before the ascension of men, many gods had contended for control of the world by putting forth their own species to become the dominant force. Goblins, elves, and dwarves all had their birth at this time, but by far the most powerful of the new races were the dragons and the giants, the children of Oberon and the offspring of Surtur. The tale of that contest between these two titanic powers survived now only in vague myths and legends, but it was said that both achieved the ruin of the other, thus clearing the way for the ascendance of men.

  “You are only now discovering this?” Malcolm asked carefully, but he did not really expect and answer. He had spent a good portion of his adult life seeking to understand the relationship between the major species, particularly the enmity between dragons and giants, and part of his fascination with Llan Praetor was his belief that it was the last remaining citadel of a dead race of giants.

  To his utter astonishment, Mraxdavar not only answered, but offered an explanation far beyond anything he could have hoped.

  “We have known from the first that Bal ensnared the services of the Tyrant of the Northlands by sending forth his scepter known as the Ohric. This appeared to be no more than the attempts by Bal to counter the worship of Mirna in the Southlands, and as a spat between the deities of men, it was a matter of small import to us. But when Regnar chose to release the Juggernaut, our fears grew, for this was a weapon that was threatened of old, though its purpose and power were never clear. We watched closely as the thing marched blindly across the land, and our fears lessened. For while it seemed that Regnar could put the titan in motion, neither he nor the scepter had real control of it. Therein lay our error and our peril.”

  Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in sudden appreciation. “You allowed it to draw closer to Llan Praetor and thought the approach was mere happenstance. But now it is within a few hours flight. And it is even now changing its form.”

  Mraxdavar said nothing, but the Wizard could almost smell the eldest wyrm’s fear.

  “You can see the effect of even a few drops of the titan’s blood upon the stone of the Castle,” the dragon hissed softly. “We do not dare allow the entity itself to make contact.”

  Malcolm took a quick breath at the thought, his heart a hammer within his chest. The arrival of the Juggernaut would certainly trigger the purpose for which the castle was built. Whatever that might be.

  “We must return to Jalan’s Drift!” he exclaimed. “We must insure this thing never emerges from its cocoon!”

  “No,” the Dragon answered. “Four of my children perished already in such an endeavor, and that was beyond the range of the weapons of Jalan’s Drift. We shall defend the approaches to Llan Praetor, and we shall commit ourselves to battle if the entity approaches these heights. Not before.”

  Malcolm frowned his displeasure, for the strategy seemed hopelessly flawed. “But surely our best hope is to strike while the thing is helpless. Or at least upon the moment when it emerges from the cocoon and is still unaware of its surroundings. It is folly to yield it the initiative.”

  Mraxdavar threw one coil over another and moved his massive head alarmingly close to the Wizard.

  “I did not say it should not be assailed as it emerges,” he said quietly. “Only that it will not be we who assail it. Our agreement calls for a final service from you, one that does not harm your kind or the rock of the Castle of the Winds. I call upon that service now and charge you to use all your power to strike the Juggernaut before it fully emerges from its cocoon!”

  Malcolm eyes widened. So this was the service that was worth the lives of four proud dragons! But even as fear swept up his spine at the thought of assailing the Juggernaut alone before all the power of the Silver Horde and the fury of Regnar and the Ohric, he knew the request was honorable and one he could not refuse.

  He took a deep breath and had to clear his throat before he could answer, “Then let our pact be satisfied at last. It is done.”

  “Done and done,” the dragon agreed softly.

  * * * * *

  “You are certain of this?” asked Darius, though he already knew the answer. The Lady Mayor of Jalan’s Drift would not accuse the Lords of the Southlands of treachery without being very sure of her facts.

  “I heard them with my own ears,” Brillis replied. “The decision was only to open negotiations, but one step onto a muddy slope will put you at the bottom whether y
ou will or no.”

  They were standing in a small meeting room in the back of the MayoralPalace: Darius, Adella, and Tallarand with Brillis, Colonel Stavis, and one of the Mayor’s aides. Darius had been whisked into the building by a servant’s entrance to protect his identity, and Tallarand had already been waiting in the chamber to greet him. A final figure wearing a heavy cloak had slipped into the room just as the door closed, and the intruder had thrown back the hood to reveal Adella’s tight, watchful face.

  Brillis, as was her custom, had wasted no time driving directly to the point.

  Darius let out a hard sigh. With the death of Lord Boltran and the ascension of Argus to head the Council, it was almost inevitable that some treachery would be forthcoming. Still, he had not expected the breach to come so early or so openly.

  “Well I say we kill Argus and be done with him once and for all,” fumed Adella. “I owe the bastard for setting the assassins upon me when I first had word of the castle-breaker to sell. And I believe in settling my debts.”

  “So you discovered it was Argus who placed the target on you?” said Tallarand with the slightest hint of surprise. “I had my suspicions but nothing certain. What was your source, I wonder?”

  “Bloodseeker,” she said coldly, and everyone in the room realized that Adella with the sword in her hand was wont to get the truth she sought.

  “Killing Argus will do nothing to save the Drift,” replied Brillis. “Events have gone too far for that.”

  Darius’ ears pricked up slightly at her tone. “What is it that you propose, Lady?”

  “A challenge,” she answered. “A challenge of personal combat made directly to Regnar.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Adella demanded with icy suspicion, “And just who do you expect to make this challenge?”

  “Me,” answered Darius slowly, the beauty of the situation beginning to dawn upon him.

  “Yes,” said Brillis, her eyes hard on him, offering no plea and no apology.