A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1)

by James A. Hillebrecht

  There was a rustling through the bandits, glances exchanged, feet shifting weight. The gauntlet had clearly been cast, and they were hesitating to pick it up.

  Off to the side, one of the bandits made the slightest of movements, readying his crossbow just a hair, and with one smooth motion, Adella launched a dagger from her boot at the same moment that Darius unleashed the arrow. The arrow was swifter but had farther to fly, and the two points struck the bandit simultaneously, killing him instantly.

  “Who next?” cried Adella, and the bandits looked back to see she held a second dagger and Darius had already notched another shaft.

  She let them chew for a moment before turning back to the leader and adding in a lighter tone, “Now mebbe I know a way to fatten your hen.”

  The leader studied her cautiously. “My ears is clean.”

  “Da fat man don’t come straight out of his tall place no more,” she said. “He walkin’ off too many pounds. So he tryin’ da low way for a time, sleepin’ out in da corn. Maybe your hen can find a few worms in his trail.”

  “Could be,” the leader answered. “Could well be. Fat man still love dat crescent moon?”

  “No. No, he like it dark.” Another pause. “And he like to let his children run free. ‘Specially down in da sweet corn.”

  Darius frowned, quite certain a robbery was being planned right before him. The fat man most likely referred to trade caravans, and the state of the moon clearly indicated time, but he wasn’t sure whether his “tall place” was Jalan’s Drift or Duke’s Hall. Still, he could do nothing against this particular group of bandits, and any warnings he might send to the authorities would be absurdly vague: who didn’t know that there was a danger of bandit attack in the outlands?

  “Dat might well help fix my teeth,” the leader said. “You travel soft, Li’l Gem.”

  “There’s change due,” interjected Adella, forestalling the man’s departure. He frowned, the look both a warning and a question.

  “What news of da mountain winds?” she asked, and the man seemed to relax again.

  “Hard and cold. Dat season never change.”

  “Any new trails on da long road?”

  The man snorted. “None dat make it past High Bridge.”

  “What ’bout holes in da valley floor?”

  The man paused, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Not a one since Ballos. And I hear da clouds have eyes.”

  Adella nodded, apparently satisfied. Without shifting in the saddle, she gave her horse a gentle kick, starting him down the road while keeping her face to the leader.

  “Take good care, Nartave,” she said in farewell. “And see your hen don’t get too fat. Fat hens bring da foxes.”

  “Still be a welcome change from chewin’ rock,” he grinned.

  Darius quickly nudged Andros forward as well, the arrow still notched, his eyes still wary. A moment later, the leader disappeared behind the rocks, and Adella immediately swung around in her seat, spurring her horse into a light canter. Darius followed suit.

  A few minutes later, he reined in and dismounted to free Andros’ legs of the rope remnants, and he saw that they had ripped patches of skin from him, particularly his front forelock. It wouldn’t slow the stallion at all, but they had to be terribly painful. Darius caressed the area around the wounds gently, and Andros neighed his gratitude.

  Adella was looking back at the distant rocks, insuring that they were not being pursued, and she said, half to herself, “That was close. I had no idea that gang had moved westward.”

  “Friends of yours?” Darius asked, climbing back into the saddle.

  “Just old business associates.”

  Darius nodded, letting the issue drop as he studied the woman closely. The chestnut mare showed no hint of sweat, and its beautiful coat suggested long hours of care by someone while the excellence of the trappings clearly indicated a rich stable. He couldn’t help wondering what nobleman was railing right now against the unknown thief who had stolen his favorite mount.

  Finally, he asked, “What are you doing way out here in the outlands?”

  “Heard you were off to find Llan Praetor,” she said. “After watching you bungle that fight against those four ogres, I figured you’d get yourself into a mess.”

  Darius couldn’t help but chuckle a little self-consciously at the reference to his tactics against the third ogre which had almost cost him his life. “They say imitation is the finest of compliments. But how did you catch up with me?”

  She shrugged lightly. “In my profession, it pays to be able to move swiftly at need. Though I must admit, I barely caught you. That nag of yours runs like a black prairie wind.”

  Darius nodded thoughtfully, his eye going again to her well-rested horse. She might well have some magical means of moving faster than him; or she may have started earlier. “And why do you care if I get myself into a mess?”

  “We’ve a debt to settle,” she said evenly. “I can’t have it said that Adella reneged on a deal; even one to a rock-headed paladin.”

  “Well, this rock-headed paladin thanks you,” Darius said, bowing gracefully from the saddle. “That was a dangerous ambush, and Andros was almost injured by that trap.”

  “Almost injured!” she answered in open amazement. “I’ve seen horses quartered by such a rope-pull, leaving nothing but their tails and a few guts on the road. He gets away with a couple of rope burns. Of course, you might still be plucking crossbow bolts out of your hide while trying to cut that last rope, if I hadn’t intervened.”

  “Perhaps,” Darius smiled slightly. “But I believe our deal was for information, not help. Or are we back to bargaining over my seven dinars?”

  Adella stared at him, her eyes sparking. “Never have I seen such ingratitude! I just saved your stony ass back there!”

  “And for that you have my deep and honest thanks,” Darius said openly. Then he added softly, “But do you think I’d have ridden off and left you if they’d been marshals rather than bandits?”

  They looked hard at each other, two sets of blue eyes blending, the meaning of the words seeping deep into both of them. Adella looked ahead, ignoring the subject and thus making her most eloquent reply.

  “We’ve nearly twenty leagues to go before we reach even the foothills,” she said. “That nag of yours still have some travel left in him today?”

  Darius’ smile broadened. “Certainly.”

  “Prove it,” she shouted, spurring her mare forward. Darius touched Andros, and the great stallion leaped ahead, rushing down the road beside her.

  * * * * *

  Dusk found them weary and five leagues closer to the mountains, the white-tipped peaks just visible above the horizon in the dying light.

  “Enough, Paladin,” Adella called, reining back her sweating mare. “This nag is strong, but she’s no match for yours. Never have I seen such a horse.”

  Darius smiled and patted the stallion fondly. “And never shall you see his like again. Andros comes from an ancient line, a line more heart and spirit than horse.”

  “Would you consider selling him?” she asked shrewdly, and Darius looked at her in surprise. “With my contacts, I could get a fortune for him, a fortune that will take you much further than his legs and your seven dinars.”

  Darius threw back his head and laughed out loud. “I’m afraid there are some things which are not for sale. Besides, Andros would never accept a new master. The moment I was out of sight, he’d break free and come after me, no matter the bonds.”

  Adella’s eyes widened. “Take my eyes, what a game! We get the fortune and the horse, too! Think of it! We could sell him a dozen times and be richer than a pair of dukes!”

  Darius could only shake his head. “You’re surely jesting.”

  “All right,” she relented. “So we’ll only sell him to bandit chiefs and blackguards. You don’t have any objection to robbing thieves, do you?”

  “I don’t believe in robbing anyone. And I’d never subject
Andros to such an ordeal.”

  “Why not?” she persisted. “You can think of it as taking stolen money from bandits and returning it to the victims. I…”

  “Enough,” Darius said, his face growing stern. “Andros is not for sale to anyone for any price. That’s an end to it. Now, shall we make camp here?”

  Adella let out a sigh, shaking her head with heavy regret.

  “No,” she said. “There’s a better spot a little further on. We’ve still light enough to reach it.”

  She led the way, hurrying on for a short distance before cutting off the road into a small stand of pine and birch, the shadows beneath the trees already stretching into night. They emerged from the thicket to a small, sky-blue lake with a tiny, pristine waterfall cascading down into it, the dying light still showing the sparkling purity of the water. The shore of the lake was bordered by flowering fruit trees which filled the air with a delicate fragrance, and there was a low humming sound, audible even over the noise of the waterfall, that seemed to grow as they drew nearer. Peering up at the flowers of the trees, Darius could make out literally hundreds of tiny hummingbirds darting from flower to flower, the sound coming from the beating of their many wings. He smiled, struck by the wonder of the sight.

  “How beautiful!” he said. “I’ve only seen a few hummingbirds in my life. To see so many at once is amazing!”

  Adella glanced up, looking at the little birds and shrugged. “I suppose. They’re certainly better than the plague of fruit bats that come in the summer.”

  She casually began unharnessing her horse, paying no attention to the beauty of the setting, but Darius climbed down off of Andros and stood still, drinking in the panorama, knowing the gathering darkness would steal the vision from him soon enough. How many times have I camped upon a rocky road, he wondered, when glories such as this lay just beyond a grove of trees?

  The sun dipped below the horizon, taking the colors of the lake with it, and soon the sound of the hummingbirds’ wings was gone as well.

  “Are you going to stand there in your tin suit all night?” Adella asked wryly. But he noted she had waited until the sun had set before speaking.

  “Thank you for this camp,” he said slowly. “I’ve spent too little time among the flowering trees.”

  She paused for a moment and then shrugged again. “It’s the only fresh water for two leagues. And the grasses make a comfortable bed.”

  Darius smiled again, returning to Andros to free him of bridle and saddle. The stallion moved over to graze on the lush grasses with Adella’s mare.

  Adella was busying herself with tucking her great cloak over a bundle of grass, patting it down to make a mattress, while Darius unbuckled the straps of his armor and set it aside.

  “I’ll start a campfire,” he offered, “if you want to scout for food.”

  “I’ve food enough,” she answered. “But I’ll make a quick scout all the same.”

  He nodded and started gathering some dry driftwood near the shore.

  “Don’t build the fire there,” she said, forestalling him.

  “Why not?”

  “The smoke will drift over the lake.”

  He looked out over the surface, seeing nothing. “And so?”

  “The hummingbirds…,” she began a little awkwardly. “Well…they build their nests next to the water.”

  He smiled softly at both her knowledge and her concern. She frowned in answer, as if a confession had been pulled from her, and headed off into the wood. Darius stared after her, the smile lingering on his face, glimpsing a hint of gentleness beneath that hard and flinty exterior. Then he dragged the wood across the little clearing and began preparing the campfire away from the water.

  Soon the fire was burning brightly, and he tossed two thick pieces of salted pork in a skillet and set it off to the side, then rummaged around in his sack until he found two aging but still sound potatoes. He picked up a small pot and went over to the lake to draw some water, and he paused to enjoy the scene once again, the rising half-moon bringing a silvery beauty to the setting.

  He looked up at the small summit from which the waterfall fell and caught his breath. There, standing in the moonlight, was a slender feminine form, naked save for the darkness, arms at the side, poised and perfect. Suddenly, the arms rose over her head, and the figure launched herself off the rock, out into space, a flawless dive into the dark water below.

  A moment later, a head broke the surface of the lake, and Adella’s voice called out, “Now that you’re out of that tin, why don’t you come in for a swim? The water’s perfect.”

  Darius smiled. “I think I’ll just tend to the fire.”

  “Leave your breeches on, if you’re shy,” she laughed. “You may not have another chance to bathe for a week.”

  “I can take a towel bath, thank you.”

  “Coward,” she called with another laugh, kicking back out into the center of the tiny lake, the water silver around her.

  He carried the pot back over to the campfire and set it down in the middle of the flames. The water was soon boiling, and he put in the potatoes, then added a few more sticks to the fire. Satisfied, he picked up two towels and went back to the water. Adella was nowhere to be seen. He casually stripped off his shirt, soaked one of the towels in the water, and began washing himself with it, cleaning off the dirt and sweat from two days of hard riding. The water felt fine, helping to cleanse his mind as well as his body.

  “So only your top half ever stinks?”

  He glanced around to see Adella emerging from the shadow of the fruit trees, her black hair wet and tousled, her body covered with only a thin, long blouse which barely reached the top of her bare legs. A towel was draped around her shoulders, the ends just reaching her breasts where the damp blouse was almost transparent.

  Darius kept his eyes rigidly on her face, not letting himself discover what the towel hid or failed to hide.

  “In the middle of a long ride,” he answered, “this will suffice.”

  “In my profession, you can’t afford to have even the hint of a scent around you,” said Adella, coming slowly forward. “A familiar smell can give away even the best disguise.”

  “I’ve never had that problem,” he smiled. He turned and picked up the dry towel, and Adella suddenly caught her breath. He glanced at her and saw she was staring at the old scar which ran the length of his torso. Her hand reached out, close but not touching, slowly following the contour of that massive wound, and Darius could almost feel her fingers upon him. He turned sharply away.

  “That’s not my work,” she said. “Such a blow from Bloodseeker would mean the end of any man.”

  “A trophy from an old opponent,” he answered, putting his shirt on again. “The blow came when it was not yet my time to die.”

  “Your time to die,” she repeated quietly. “You spout a strange poetry, Paladin.”

  She came up behind him, laid gentle hands on his shoulders, caressing the hard muscle.

  He winced, moved away, saying, “Your touch tears me. You were kinder with your sword.”

  She watched him for a moment, then followed slowly, and he turned as if to face an enemy.

  “Are you such steel and purity that you do not feel the heat between us?” she breathed.

  “Aye, I feel the heat. It’s seared me every night and day since we’ve met,” he said heavily. “But there is a darkness within that heat, a black and unholy tie. The thirsty edge of your silver sword.”

  She nodded in understanding.

  “It dreams of you,” she whispered softly. “You are the only man it has ever tasted. And been denied.”

  “A strange wound,” mused Darius, “that festers both ways.”

  She was close to him, her warm breath upon his cheek, all armor gone, open to each other, and she raised a hand to caress him again. He caught the wrist, held back the hand, his body trembling in rebellion to his resistance.

  “Your skills are great indeed, Thief,” he s
aid, his voice uneven. “Your fingers brush even against my heart. But I cannot let you steal that.”

  “I offer an even exchange,” she answered. “This is much more than just a wound from a hungry sword. You know that.”

  “I know,” he said, the words thick with regret. “In another time and another place…” The breath shuddered out of him. He took a fresh grip. “But this is here and now. You are a thief and I one of the Chosen. Those paths lie too far apart.”

  Adella pulled back hard, her eyes flashing momentarily. But then the old smile tugged at her lips, and she said softly, “Take care, Glory Man. My heart is all that stands between you and the unquenched thirst of Bloodseeker. I’d treat it gently, were I you.”

  Darius smiled it turn. “That shadow threatens us both. For the pounding of my heart is all that holds back the cold justice of The Avenger. Shall we let the swords have their way, then?”

  Adella simply stared at him, a puzzled look in her eyes, not quite able to solve the riddle of the man before her.

  “No, Adella. We are friends that the world has cast as foes,” he said gently. “Sarinian wants you dead, but I will not be its instrument. And I will gladly use your heart as my only shield against the Silver Sword. My life is yours if you choose to take it.”

  Her jaw tightened with a hint of anger, staring at him hard, and then she turned away, both of them knowing her choice was made. At least, for now. She walked to where her gear was laid out and pulled an apple out of her pack. She took a bite, ignoring him.

  “What was it that destroyed Carthix Castle?” he asked, sitting down beside the campfire and tending to his own meal.

  She said nothing at first, concentrating on her apple. Then she said, “Does it really matter what it was? It walked through stone walls with hardly a pause, immune to shaft and blade, and quite indifferent to the little creatures dying around its feet. It crushed everything before it and moved on without a glance back at the slaughter. Just as must have happened at Nargost Castle.” She paused. “Just as will happen at Jalan’s Drift.”