Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2

by Kade Derricks

  “Lost? I don’t understand.”

  “All but one has gone missing.”

  “And the other?”

  “Destroyed, its goods taken, its people murdered. Even the children,” Neive said.

  Alpere’s expression darkened. “Ambassador, we stay well within our own lands, inside the agreed-upon boundary. Though the boundary is set at the road, our people do not venture even that far south.”

  “Surely you aren’t implying that we had anything to do with your missing caravans,” Kray said.

  “We? I wasn’t aware slaves considered themselves citizens of Mirr. I thought this was a golden elf city,” Dain interjected.

  Now it was Jin’s turn to smile at the troubling elf. Anger flashed in his dark eyes. It deepened when he saw her smirking at him.

  Alpere reached over and clamped his hand over Kray’s. The younger elf had been about to speak but froze, mouth open.

  “No need for harsh words and accusations. As I said, my people no longer venture near the road. I am happy to ask around with some of our hunters and foragers, but there have been no reports of a destroyed or missing caravan,” Alpere said.

  “Of course. We would appreciate it,” Neive replied before anyone else could speak.

  “We do not wish for war with Galena. The last war and its aftermath devastated my people. Half our population perished either in battle or in the starving times afterward. We only wish to live here in peace. More conflict would utterly ruin us.”

  “That may be, but sadly we have some reason to believe at least one golden elf was involved in this attack,” Neive said.

  “Lies! These are—” Kray started again, and Alpere gave him a quelling look that silenced him midsentence.

  “Whatever could that reason be?” the old councilor asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  “An axe,” Dain said, “a special tomahawk, in fact, was…returned to me.”

  There was a hint of anger in her father’s tone, and Jin hoped he’d take his own wise advice to remain calm. They’d have a hard time fighting their way out of here.

  “And how does that implicate us?” Kray asked.

  Us? Again it shocked her to hear that he considered himself a golden elf. Why did he deny his heritage? He could hardly feel at home with those who’d enslaved him.

  “Because I left it buried in Princess Koren’s chest, right before she flew off a hillside and plunged into a churning body of water far below.” Dain’s voice remained calm and low, but Jin recognized the rising danger in that tone. “Then, a few days ago, it was left sunk into a wagon’s side over the head of a gutted child on the gold road. Above the axe, my name was written in that child’s blood. There were almost two-dozen dead, including many women and children, and we found signs of orc activity at the site.”

  “Koren is dead. We have not seen her since she rode off to join King Elam and Gallad in the south,” Alpere said.

  “Besides, as you said, ‘signs of orcs.’ Orcs attacked your caravan,” Kray said, looking self-satisfied. “You’ve seen our troubled lands; we can little afford to be out attacking traders along the gold road. Our people hold the watchtowers along the borders to keep the orcs out. We certainly aren’t in league with them.” His voice rose in anger as he spoke.

  Again, Alpere gestured for calm.

  “Please, forgive Kray. He is young and rash at times, but his words in this instance are true. We have nothing to do with your missing people, and there are no orcs here,” Alpere interjected.

  “What about small warbands? Can the towers keep them out as well, or could they slip through?” Jin asked.

  “Mounted scouts patrol between the towers regularly, and the orcs attack them at times, but they have never shown any inclination in coming closer to Mirr or the interior,” Alpere said.

  “I can’t help but remember a raid that was blamed on orcs long ago,” Dain said. “But in truth, it was a simple robbery made to look like the orcs were to blame.”

  “I assure you that is not the case this time,” Alpere continued. “As you well know, Baron, those responsible for that attack are no longer among the living.”

  Their answers are too ready, practiced, even, Jin thought. Alpere and Kray had planned this. Planned and rehearsed it. Kray played the brash young hothead and Alpere the wise old man. Like performers in a traveling play, each spoke their lines and filled their part, one hostile and the other calm and reasoned. She suspected Neive and Dain saw through the act, as well.

  The Golden knew in advance the ambassador’s purpose, then. That could only mean they had spies of their own near the gold road; or that they were responsible for the missing caravans after all. They had prepared for an ambassador’s visit, but what about an inspection of their kingdom? What about innocent questions from curious visitors posed to an average citizen? They couldn’t possibly prepare everyone. How ready were they, really?

  “I serve my people in the rangers, protecting them from orcs with our mounted patrols, but I have heard much of your famed towers. Tomorrow, may we ride out to see one?” Jin asked Alpere. “Surely you have patrols of your own to resupply them. Perhaps we could travel along with one.”

  Dain clasped her hand under the table and squeezed it. The corners of his mouth hinted at a smile. Kray looked sideways at Alpere with wide eyes. Neive must have picked up on the elf’s expression, as well; she was eying him, brows drawn together.

  “King Baylest would be thrilled and could rest easier if we reported that the Golden’s renowned towers still hold the orcs at bay,” the ambassador added, smoothing out her face into an easy smile.

  Kray twitched and again shifted his gaze over to the councilor. They hadn’t rehearsed this bit.

  “Very well. Anything in the name of peace,” Alpere offered smoothly.

  The councilor’s eyes flickered past them; he waved a hand, and Jin heard the rattling footsteps of an armored soldier entering the room.

  Dain’s grip tightened on Jin’s hand as he stared past her at the new arrival. Jin turned to better see the newcomer for herself.

  The warrior was not nearly as old as Alpere, but had several years on Kray. He wore a full set of gleaming plate armor and a large sword hilt peeked out from over his shoulder.

  Jin found that she couldn’t breathe.

  In her most vivid nightmares, she relived Prince Haldrin hunting her. In them, he caught her either before or after she’d found Dain, the man who would become her true father. In them, Haldrin killed her alone in the woods, or first he murdered Dain and then her. Always, Haldrin wore the exact set of armor this man did.

  Jin started to rise, but Dain clamped his hand over her leg, holding her fast. He leaned close, eyes still locked on the new arrival.

  “It isn’t him,” he whispered. “You’re safe, Jin. It isn’t him.”

  “Gashan, please sit,” Alpere said. Evidently no one else had noticed her reaction. “This is Ambassador Neive of Galena, Baron Gladstone, and his daughter, Jin. Gashan is head of the Royal Guard.”

  Jin caught the added emphasis on “royal” and noticed Kray and Alpere staring at her, searching her face for a reaction.

  “Are there any royals left?” she asked, thankful for the steadiness of her voice.

  “That…is complicated,” Gashan answered as he drew closer. “Perhaps we should be asking you that question, my lady?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Councilor Alpere fought to control his nerves. It wasn’t yet light out. Kray sat across from him in the carriage, staring out at the grey dawn and trapped in his thoughts. Alpere reminded himself to have a word with the young elf about controlling his temper. It was to be expected, of course; these were the first people he’d ever met who weren’t from Mirr. He was bound to be defensive.

  Last night’s meeting
had not gone well. He stared at his trembling hands—the lines of white scars stood out among time’s predictable wrinkles—then lowered them into his lap.

  He wasn’t prone to unease. He’d thought himself years beyond such feelings, which served only to make the sensation stranger. Trying his best, he mostly succeeded at hiding it. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so shaken.

  Alpere remembered his days in the Great War. He’d been young then, brave and strong and foolish to the secret ways of the world. Serving the king and his people had been an honor. Young men, himself included, lived for honor. That, and glory.

  What a fool I was then. He listened to the carriage’s spinning wheels pulsing and clattering over the road. A fool and worse.

  His mind drifted toward thoughts of his first patrol. His comrades had been, like him, all idealistic and young; they’d thought nothing could ever stand against them. About that and a great many things, they’d been wrong, so very wrong.

  By the Great War’s end, he alone remained alive.

  The Skree had taken them all. Even years removed, the memory of those clicking beasts riled a deep, burning hatred in his gut. Their insectoid warriors had overrun and destroyed his beautiful homeland, and no golden elf magic, no strength of arms, could stop them. Kill one and two more rose up in its place, like the many-headed serpent of the ancient myths.

  Alpere had risen to the rank of colonel when Earl Ulric had decided to take his family and flee.

  He hadn’t gone with Elam, the earl’s son, choosing instead to remain and protect those he could. The army fought a losing war, trading ground and soldiers’ lives for time. Many had fallen, including the general staff, and by the time Elam returned to lead them to a new homeland, Alpere had taken full command of his shattered nation’s defenses.

  Even the passing of so many decades hadn’t dulled his vision of their lush home. The gentle ripple of the canals as they wound through green, fertile fields, the buzz of dragonflies as they dipped and dived from pool to pool. His father, retired from the army, had taken to raising bees. Alpere missed the sweet smell of the cloverfields and the silken taste of golden honey—the fruit of his father’s endless work.

  He remembered too those later days. Though he wished it weren’t so, the years hadn’t dimmed his memory of the desolation left in the Skree’s wake. The feel of the searing, dry winds as they passed over the lifeless fields and the taste of choking dust carried on them, and above it all, the clacking of mandibles and claws.

  For his service, the grateful Ulric had offered him a general’s command, a chance at elevation to the nobility, and whatever else he desired, but the war and the death of so many had aged him beyond simple years. He was already old and bitter and broken when the Golden settled here among the wood elves, and instead of riches he chose the life of a simple tutor for Ulric’s grandchildren.

  Alpere had excelled at his post. He had supported Ulric’s arrangements with his neighbors and the alliance with the wood elves.

  When the earl died by his own son’s hand, he had been horrified. How could anyone, especially the royal heir, murder his own father?

  Only a few had foreseen what Elam had planned, and afterward Alpere could do nothing. He was but an old man.

  In vain, he had hoped to educate and teach the new generation of golden elf rulers—Gallad, Haldrin, and Koren—to seek continued peace and consolation with their fellow elves. As with so many other things, he’d failed completely.

  He’d watched, helpless, as Elam had turned each of the growing children against his teachings, their fellow elves, and eventually their own countrymen.

  Sweet Koren, who used to bring him flowers and fruits from her mother’s garden, changed into a monster before his eyes. Gallad, noble and proud, bought his first wood elf slave at sixteen and abused the poor man daily. Haldrin had shown the most promise until he too became caught up in the trappings of family honor and set out to murder his own niece in its name.

  A niece who’d escaped her father’s family’s wrath and grown up with her mother’s kin and a human stepfather. A niece who’d slept in Mirr’s castle last night.

  What would Elam, the old bastard, think of that?

  That, at least, made Alpere smile. His mind wandered off into the long, peaceful years of his youth.

  The carriage slowed and the coachmen let them out near the castle’s main entrance. Yalla waited for them there.

  “Do our guests sleep still?” Alpere asked him.

  “They are behind the castle, near the stables,” Yalla said.

  “Near the stables…what could they be doing there? Are they leaving already?” If they were leaving, all his purpose was come to nothing. He had to convince them to stay.

  “Not exactly. You will have to see for yourself.”

  Without another word, Yalla led them around the castle. They entered a courtyard to the sounds of striking steel. For one terrible moment, Alpere feared that an overzealous guardsman fought against their guests.

  Instead, the human, Dain, sparred with Elam’s granddaughter.

  Jin, he admonished himself. Best to think of her not as Elam’s grandchild, and certainly not Gallad’s bastard. A young woman of royal wood elf and golden elf blood. A woman raised to hate our kind, he thought in sorrow.

  He and Kray leaned against a low stone wall to watch the match. Ambassador Neive crossed over to stand beside them.

  “She’s already beaten all my guards this morning, including my son. Blacked his poor eye.”

  Alpere nodded absently, too absorbed in the sparring to reply.

  How like Koren she appeared. The same face, eyes, height, and build, even. Her movements mimicked his former student. Only the hair was different. Koren’s had been almost white, but wide wisps of midnight black streaked through Jin’s.

  Upon closer inspection, he noticed her fighting style also differed from Koren’s. In fact, it differed from any he had seen before. It wasn’t a perfect copy of the Paladin’s, either, though there were similarities.

  He watched them battle back and forth for almost half an hour. The old warrior in him admired a good duel, and this one exceeded any he had seen in years. Twice, the flat of Dain’s spellclothed blade tapped Jin’s side, and once she managed to tap his.

  A crowd had gathered to watch and, soldiers being soldiers, they began wagering on who would score the next hit.

  On and on they parried and blocked, weaving around each other, darting over tables, training targets, and other obstacles.

  Finally, it ended as most duels do—in a misstep.

  The Baron intentionally left an opening on his right and Jin overextended to reach it. His blade whistled down as she realized her error. She tried to withdraw, managing to get her own weapon up to block, but he kicked her planted leg out from under her and placed the sword at her neck where she fell.

  “Patience,” he said before offering her a hand up.

  “Yes, Father,” Jin answered, panting but smiling.

  “Finish your exercises or see if you can get one of these others to duel you some more.”

  He gestured to the gathered crowd with his sword.

  “Primitive,” Kray muttered beside Alpere. “With one spell I could destroy any warrior.”

  “Many mages have believed that. Most who do end up cleaved in half by a sharp sword,” Alpere replied. Neive laughed softly at the comment.

  “I’ll duel,” a voice answered. “But I want to try the Baron.”

  Gashan stepped from the crowd. He wasn’t wearing the full armor today; just leathers, Alpere was relieved to see. When he’d stepped into the audience chamber last night, Jin had almost attacked him.

  Dain looked mildly amused, but didn’t speak.

  Desperately, Alpere hoped that the proud guardsman
wasn’t about to do something foolish. For years he and Gashan had worked together, first to end the succession war and then to govern and defend the city. They had planned and prepared for the task at hand for over a decade, and now nothing could be allowed to interfere with its success.

  “Are you willing?” Gashan asked.

  “Very well,” Dain said. “First tap, head or chest, wins. Jin, will you wager for me?”

  The Paladin certainly seemed confident; the Golden regarded Gashan as one of their finest swordsmen, and he’d wager that Dain knew it.

  In the war’s aftermath, Gashan felt that he had failed in his duty to protect the royal family, and to atone for what he viewed as his mistake he had pushed himself relentlessly, mastering a variety of weapons. Axe, spear, or sword, he had trained against every fighter he could find, practicing and perfecting his technique until he could defeat two or three opponents at once. Alpere had witnessed many of those grueling training sessions.

  As expected, the Golden soldiers bet heavily on their own. They knew well of Gashan’s prowess.

  “Here,” Kray called. “Two gold on Gashan,” he told Jin as he handed the coins over. He was oblivious to the cold daggers she stared at him. Jin then turned her gaze to Alpere, her expression softening ever so slightly.

  “And you, Councilor?”

  She expected him to back Gashan, of course. A clever test.

  “Five gold on your father.” Alpere emphasized the last two words. He turned to Kray. “Will you take a side bet for the same amount?”

  “It’s your loss,” Kray said and handed another five gold to Jin. “I’ll feel guilty spending your gold since the human is already tired and Gashan is fresh.”

  Gashan handed over his sword and it was carefully wrapped in spellcloth, and then one of the soldiers rang a bronze gong to start the match.