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

by James A. Hillebrecht

  “A bit late, aren’t you?” Darius asked of Adella, his eyes on the two figures closing upon them.

  “Didn’t like the look of that bug-man, so I thought I’d leave him to you,” she replied as they circled as one. “You don’t happen to have any other tricks like that up your sleeve, do you?”

  “I’m afraid that bag is empty. I’ll take the big fellow, shall I?”

  “And you’re welcome to him.”

  Just then, the giant charged with a deafening roar, both club and sword raised, and they sprang apart. The monster brought the sword sweeping in a long arc aimed at Darius, but it was wide of the mark and sliced nothing but air. Darius planted his feet and rushed in after the blade had passed, striking at the exposed leg, but Ug-Lan-Jo was not only bigger than the other stone giants, he was also swifter. Sarinian inflicted no more than a flesh wound on its thigh, and the giant unexpected countered by thrusting his club down like a blunt spear and sending his attacker sprawling.

  Darius rolled and sprang back to his feet immediately, giving his enemy no opening, but he now realized he was not dealing with some lumbering oaf of a giant but with a skilled warrior. He took the lesson to heart. The next time the thing charged, he did not try to counter after the sword missed and waited for the second blow to fall. The club struck with frightening power, just missing its target and leaving a deep mark in the ground, and Darius swept in again, aiming for the momentarily exposed gut of his foe. But Ug-Lan-Jo was ready for this attack as well. He stepped backward, and Sarinian cleaved nothing but thick leather armor.

  Off to the right, Adella was circling towards the figure of Eltherand who was waiting patiently, his eyes on her, his expression almost contemptuous. Time to dance, she thought.

  She planted her foot as she moved and abruptly launched herself across the intervening distance, her left hand sending a dagger flying before her, aimed with deadly accuracy at the man’s face. But Eltherand was clearly expecting the attack, and with a quick flick of his fingers, he set out some invisible force that knocked the dagger off course. A wizard who can cast without words, groaned Adella even as she closed. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

  She was almost upon him, and even as he readied his short spear, she planted her foot again and spun completely around, swinging Bloodseeker upward in a blind and deadly blow. It was a tactic that had killed many a fine warrior, and it came close to working this time as well. Eltherand barely had time to thrust back his spear and block the blow, Adella pivoting again so that his counterthrust hit nothing.

  Fast, she admitted as she studied him now at close range. But perhaps not quite fast enough.

  Off to the left, Darius was changing tactics once again. After a series of exchanges that had done no damage to either side, he feinted in and invited the wide sweep of the sword, jerked back just in time to avoid it and waited for the club to come whistling down again. The club once more hit nothing but earth, but this time, Darius was ready. He swung Sarinian with all his might, aiming at the exposed arm, but even though Ug-Lan-Jo was fast enough to jerk back, Darius still gained the secondary prize. With a splintering crash, the razored edge of the Avenger crashed through the fire-hardened wood of the club and cut it in two, leaving no more than two feet of worthless stump in the giant’s hand.

  Ug-Lan-Jo roared his fury and hurled the useless remains of the club at his opponent’s head, barely missing, and followed with a two-handed swing with that colossal sword, the stroke coming now with both doubled speed and force. Darius jumped aside and charged in, scoring a telling blow against the giant’s exposed right leg and hearing a heavy grunt of pain from his opponent. Rather than continuing the swing of the sword, the titan stopped abruptly and brought his fist flashing back to send Darius flying across the ring. The Paladin looked down to see a wide dent in the plate armor of his chest, though the skin beneath was only bruised.

  “That’s a lesson to be learned,” he said to the sword as the giant rushed again to the attack.

  So shall you profit from it, said the sword.

  Adella’s action, also, had taken a bad turn. As they circled each other, Eltherand thrust out his hand again, and the same force that had deflected her dagger hit Adella fully on her front and knocked her down, but she was on her feet an instant later, Bloodseeker defying the Northing to exploit the advantage. Next, the man slowly drew his scimitar from its scabbard, and Adella was at first encouraged, preferring to face two weapons than the magic from an opened hand. But a moment later, Eltherand threw the short spear at her, a pathetic gesture that seemed more like a toss than a deadly assault, and Adella readied to knock it aside. The next instant, however, the spear transformed into a bolt of pure black power that exploded right into her body, sending her sprawling again. Bloodseeker had managed to absorb some portion of the energy or the battle would have ended right then. Adella felt as if an angry mule had kicked her in the chest with both hind legs, and she fell back, giving ground to her advancing enemy.

  He caught me that time, she admitted to herself. He caught me good.

  Darius saw the lightning stroke and the charging Northing, and he knew Adella was in trouble. There was no time for further maneuverings, no time for caution. He strode right into the giant’s kill zone, the point where the sweeping sword would do the most damage, and Ug-Lan-Jo took immediate advantage, swinging the sword with all his might in a killing blow. There was no time for Darius to duck or jump or evade the stroke, and he made no attempt to do so. At the last possible moment, he swung Sarinian up to parry the blow, a ridiculous gesture for such a swing from a giant would shatter any sword and crush the bones of any human arm that dared hold it. But the Avenger was a sword in form only, and when the power of Ug-Lan-Jo fell upon it, it met it with a surge of energy that stopped the blade dead in its sweep and jarred the giant’s arm as if it had struck a stone wall. Even so, no being as small as man could absorb the shock of that exchange unharmed, and Darius was nearly driven to his knees by the blow, his entire body shuttering from it.

  He had known the impact was coming, however, and he was prepared for it. For this one moment, the giant’s momentum had been stopped, and there was no chance for a counterstroke. Snarling, he forced his knees out of the buckling and drove forward, focused entirely on the exposed belly of the monster. He thrust Sarinian forward in a feeble blow, his arm half-numb from the explosion of power, but the edge of the Avenger was not driven by strength alone. It pierced the leather armor with ease, and with a cry, Darius stumbled forward and drove it all the way home to the hilts, black blood gushing forth in a hideous flood.

  Ug-Lan-Jo jerked upright, momentarily blinded by the searing pain from the gleaming power of the sword, but he had a warrior’s training and a giant’s heart. His great strength was leaving him as death neared, but he backed off one leg to come crashing down on his right knee, the bone shattering from the impact of his massive weight, but it enabled him to bring the sword down in a final stroke, propelled not by his strength but the sheer weight of his size.

  Darius was just able to rip Sarinian free of the monster’s belly before the blow fell, and while he was able to pull back, the stroke caught his shoulder, ripping open the armor, and opening a cruel wound just beside his neck. The entire body of the creature was falling forward, the dying giant seeking to crush him as its last act, but Darius ignored the pain and staggered free, the body crashing harmlessly to the ground.

  The roar of the crowd told Adella that Darius had finished his opponent, but she had no illusions about what aid he could bring to her. The battle had lasted a long time, and no one could permit a giant like Ug-Lan-Jo those many blows without suffering grievous harm in turn. They were two wounded champions facing a single unharmed opponent, worse, one who had not yet shown all his power, and she knew they had to find a way to counter Eltherand’s advantages if they were to have any chance.

  Glancing outside the ring, she suddenly understood what she had to do.

  *

  The Lords of the
Southlands had cheered like commoners when Beezelarb had been slain, and they roared their approval again when the massive figure of the stone giant fell.

  “Such a pretty group,” came a voice from off to the side, and Argus turned to see a near skeletal figure surrounded by two massive mountain ogres standing in the door way that led down to the main body of the building…down where they had stupidly left their various bodyguards. Regnar! his mind screamed and fear flooded into him. In an instant, his mind grasped it all, the unexpected appearance of all the lords, the common choice of a prominent place to watch a struggle they had condemned, even leaving their bodyguards to watch the lower floors and giving no thought to the roof.

  Yet even the terror of that revelation could not tear his eyes away from the gleaming green scepter the Tyrant carried in his hands.

  The lords began to scatter before this apparition, some falling back, some trying to slip around towards the staircase, everyone shouting for their guards, for help, for rescue. All save Argus, who felt his feet had been welded to the stone. He watched as one ogre swung his ax at Clarissa who showed remarkable skills ducking beneath it and making for the stairs, while on the other side, the other ogre brought his ax down on the ancient head of Feldon of Palmany, cleaving the old man in two. Georg-Mahl was falling back, putting Argus between himself and the assailants, while Mandrik twisted a ring on his right hand, spoke some obscure words, and vanished even as the ogre came to cleave him as well.

  Only Thrandar kept his head and his courage. He feinted to the left as if to follow Clarissa to the stairs, and the ogre lunged to cut him off, but that gave him the opening he wanted. With a cry, he lunged with his sword at the Tyrant, but rather than burying it deep within his chest, the tempered steel of the blade dissolved against the green glow surrounding the Tyrant. As Thrandar gaped, Regnar struck a feeble blow with the scepter against his assailant and caught the Duke with a glancing blow on the shoulder. The man screamed in horror and pain as the arm literally exploded off his body, blood and fragments of flesh flying wildly, and as he fell backwards, the ogre put a quick and merciful end to his screams.

  “And now for Argus,” Regnar said, coming forward with the Ohric raised.

  The sound of his name seemed to release Argus from the power that had frozen him in place. His great ax was against the back wall, and he lunged for it, knowing he was far, far too late. His hands touched the haft just as the shadow of Regnar came over him, and he lifted it just as the head of the Ohric came down and struck his back.

  Nothing happened.

  Surprised, Argus straightened, but the look on his face was nothing compared to the utter consternation on the face of the Tyrant. He looked from the scepter back to Argus, and he thrust outwards again, trying to strike the Duke. But Argus’ heart was suddenly hammering as if to make up for the beats it had missed earlier, and he leaped back and brought the ax flying over his head with all his considerable strength.

  Regnar made no attempt to dodge or block the blow, confident it had no more chance of striking than had Thrandar’s sword. So he never understood what happened when the green glow vanished at the last second and allowed Argus’ ax to smash the weakened collection of bones that had once been a great warrior into a rotting mass of flesh.

  The mountain ogres hesitated, not sure what the totally unexpected death of the Tyrant meant. And Argus gave them no chance to reconsider.

  He reached down and picked up the Ohric.

  Suddenly, he was encased in the gleaming green glow.

  Both ogres bowed down to him.

  He turned to the terrified Georg-Mahl who had been gibbering in the corner as the terrible spectacle unfolded. Frantically, the Duke spun around and bowed down low with the ogres.

  All hail to the new King of the Southlands, said the Ohric.

  *

  Adella had to get to the opposite side of the circle, and she had to do it now. The lightning strike to her chest was making it hard to breathe, and she would need all her speed if she was to reach the other side alive. But speed was not the only tool that Adella possessed.

  When the giant fell, she felt Eltherand’s eyes pulled towards it, an instinctive reaction to behold the extent of the devastation and check on the status of the other champion, but he held his head straight, resisting the tug. She smiled inwardly, recognizing the opportunity.

  She, too, gave a little jerk of her head to look at the fallen giant, pulled it back, and then with perfect timing, seemed to surrender to the overwhelming impulse and turned to look. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eltherand following suit, and that was when she acted.

  She flung herself sideways away from the direction the man was looking, and that bought her the additional half-second she needed. A direct approach would have gotten an instinctive reaction, but a move to the side made him want to look before acting. Even as she was moving, Adella’s left hand was gathering a small pouch from a hidden pocket, and as she closed, she flung it before her at Eltherand’s face. The pouch exploded into a cloud of fine, choking powder, and while the Northing was smart enough to jump aside, a little of the dust found his eyes. He was blinking, trying to clear his sight, and Adella exploited the moment to swing Bloodseeker as she passed. The man grunted with pain, and there was a sudden thrill of power in the hilts of the sword, but he slashed out with his scimitar and forced her back.

  She grinned openly now, for not only had she reached the side she sought, but she knew her opponent was thinking her sole purpose was to force him to present his back to Darius. He was in for a surprise, but she had to keep him from spotting his peril.

  “Not so good when it comes to real fighting, are you, boy?” she taunted him. “Wounded by a woman in front of all your peoples. You wield a scimitar the way a child swings a toy!”

  She could see the barb go home, wounding his pride, for the Northings did not permit their women to be warriors. He would come for her, but he was no fool, would not completely surrender to his anger. He threw his hand backwards in the direction of Darius and unleashed power towards him. Then with a battle cry, he charged the baiting woman before him.

  Darius was rushing towards the fight when the Northing flung back his hand, and he abruptly found himself slowed as if pushing against an invisible hand. The magic had not been directed at him, could not have been from the casual way it had been cast, and that was the root of the problem. Sarinian would have dispelled any direct magic with ease, the gesture wasted, but by cunning or by luck, Eltherand had elected to affect the air before him, thickening it in some manner to resist any passage.

  Furious, Darius slashed out with the Avenger, and he felt the heavy air parting with the sword’s passing, the spell giving way. But it was still entangling him, keeping him from intervening.

  There was only a little power in the hilts of Bloodseeker, for the blow had been hardly more than a good flesh wound. But even as Eltherand charged, Adella directed that power towards her wounded chest, and she felt a small burst of relief, a little less pressure, a little easier to breathe.

  She knew she would need every breath.

  She gave ground before the Northing’s onslaught, parrying the flashing scimitar and putting an expression of surprise and alarm on her face that simply fed the man’s rage. Closer, closer, the timing now a matter of life and death, a deadly attack to her front while her real focus was off to the side, both of them now very close to the boundary of the circle.

  The first warning was in the almost comic surprise in Eltherand’s face, and Adella wasted no time in checking the area behind her. She threw herself upwards in a backwards somersault just as a black coil from the Juggernaut shot across the distance between them, knowing nothing of champions and challenges, simply responding to the nearness of living flesh. Eltherand threw out his hand again, and that was what saved him. Not that it could even slow the striking tentacle, but he formed the power as a solid rod that propelled him backwards as it hit the coil.

  Fire and damnation! c
ursed Adella to herself as she landed safely away from the strike. She had hoped the one attack would be enough, and now she knew she was in for an interesting game of slap-and-tickle with the Northing among the slashing coils of the Juggernaut.

  A moment later and half a dozen arms sprang forth, far more than she had ever seen the thing deploy before, and she barely eluded the press, though one of them knocked her off balance. The next instant, she saw Darius with sword raised charging right into the middle of the fray.

  “No, you fool!” she screamed, but it was too late.

  Sarinian slashed down and severed one of the tentacles outright, but Darius used the short respite to strike at Eltherand who was likewise trying to deal with the tentacles. The blow landed, and as the Northing flinched, he laid himself open to the black coils. But so did Darius.

  The severed tentacle brought three more in its place, one wrapping around Darius’ legs, another around his chest that also muffled his mouth, and the third around his sword arm, the blow knocking Sarinian loose. The sword fell to the ground and could not heed the muffled cries from the Paladin.

  *

  Shannon and Jhan emerged from the blocked sewer grating at the end of the street Adella had called Sherman’s Lane, only to find the exit from the street blocked by a throng of Northings, all of them with their backs turned to them, clearly intent on some spectacle immediately in front. People were massed on the Third Wall directly above them, and there were periodic cries and cheers from both groups as the tide of some hidden contest swayed first this way and then that.

  Shannon took a deep breath, knowing there was no alternative. Something had led her here, something had promised she would find her Father, and now she felt the same certainty that he was the focus of all this attention. With Jhan trying to catch her, she pushed boldly into the crowd of Northings, and the surprised barbarians gave way, too distracted by events to their front to challenge their passage.