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

by James A. Hillebrecht

  Joshua’s eyes rose slightly, but he said, “It seems a rock goblin in disguise did indeed come among us. Though what his purpose might have been, no one is quite sure.”

  Shannon leaned forward and said slowly, “We may have important information, though what it means, I cannot be sure. We have reason to suspect that an army of rock-goblins may be accompanying Regnar’s forces. So you can understand our alarm when we heard of the rock-goblin who came openly into the city, apparently as an emissary or an ambassador. It could only have come from Regnar.”

  Joshua sat up in his chair, alarms going off in his head. If Regnar’s force contained a contingent of rock-goblins, it was far larger than anyone believed. But far worse were the implications of an ambassador from Regnar being sent to the Fey, an embassy to meet with…who?

  And the Council of Lords was only three days off.

  He thought for a moment who he should inform, who he would have to convince, prompt, or provoke to action, his mind brushing over Bishop Kal, the authorities in Alston’s Fey, even those who had direct access to the Dukes. He knew instinctively that the word of a young priest without supporting evidence would carry little weight

  “I have to warn my superiors,” Joshua said slowly. “May I ask you to speak of this matter to them as well?”

  Shannon’s eyes widened and her lips parted, but no sound came from them, competing thoughts battling for control of her voice. Joshua began to sense there was more here than just a daughter’s love for her father; and more than just a vital message that just might help save the Southlands.

  “I…I can’t…” the girl stuttered. “I…”

  “We must get this information to Lord Darius,” Jhan declared flatly. “And he must have it before he confronts this Council.”

  They looked at each other, facing a crossroads, and yet a crossroads where every way seemed blocked.

  “I can see to it that word is waiting for him at Duke’s Hall,” Joshua began, already feeling the words useless.

  “Even if we cannot hope to overtake the speed of Andros,” Jhan countered, “we might still catch him as he returns from Llan Praetor.”

  Joshua could see the hopelessness in their eyes, and he felt the desperation that had only deepened with their arrival in the city. He stood up.

  “I may have a means to help you to catch up with your Father,” he announced. “Come with me.”

  He led the way through the adjoining doors into his private bedroom and headed to the large chest at the foot of the bed.

  “They’ve given me a thousand dinars, all to myself for a house, servants, and furnishings,” he said as he opened the chest. “A thousand dinars! I told them I live with my aunt and uncle in the High Pass, and even a hundred dinars would be more than enough for myself and my acolytes. But they refused to take it back, saying only that was the money set aside for a priest’s household.” He pulled out a large brown sack. “Even if I let my three young charges live in relative luxury, that will still leave 700 dinars for you.”

  “For us?” repeated Shannon, stunned. Joshua carried the bag to his bed and emptied it on the covers, sending a small golden avalanche over the deep green quilt.

  “As you’ve said, your Father has need of this information, and you are the one who must carry it to him,” he answered, quickly separating the coins into two, uneven piles. “Money will give you the speed you need.”

  “But…but it isn’t right,” Shannon stammered. “The Church intended that money for you and your acolytes. Not to help us reach my Father.”

  Joshua heard an even greater, unspoken reluctance in her words: an instinctive revulsion to the gold which had helped to give the Church its pre-eminence and which many believed had contributed to its corruption. He held the coins in his hands for a moment, frowning down at them, sharing the same doubt, then he started putting the bigger pile back in the bag.

  “It was your Father who saved the High Pass and everyone there,” Joshua told her. “Including me. Yet the Church spurned him and honored me instead. These few coins are the poorest token of what is his due. There.” He finished loading the bag.

  He held it out to Shannon, but she still hesitated to take it. He swallowed and said slowly, “If you will not take this money for your sake, then take it for mine. Your Father may well have saved all the Southlands by helping to hold the High Pass, and all he got from me in return were accusations of heresy.” He let out a long sigh. “Whatever his beliefs, it is to the Church’s eternal shame that only one newly-ordained priest will offer even this pittance.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, both coming to understand the other. Then Shannon reached out and took the bag.

  “I will carry the news of your generosity to my Father,” she told him. “Is there any message you wish to send him?”

  Joshua’s jaw hardened, his eyes going to the door which led back to the chess master dressed in the robes of a bishop. Finally, he said, “Yes. Tell him that for my part, I shall never again brand him heretic.”

  * * * * *

  They bid a hasty good-bye to Father Joshua at the gates of the Cathedral, and they needed to be pointed back into the direction of the bazaar, their sense of direction having completely deserted them in the city. As they hurried back down one street and then another, the sun was already setting, and the weariness of the day was eclipsed by the need to reach their quarry before all the shops were closed. The crowds around the booths had thinned, most people moving towards home and supper, leaving bargaining for another day, and when they found the familiar booth, Raulea was slowly clearing her trade goods off the counter.

  “What is the fastest form of travel for two people that you know, Raulea?” Shannon asked without preamble.

  The woman let out a slow sigh, a sign her patience was nearing its end, and she said, “The day is closing down, and so am I. Come back tomorrow. I’ll be better at riddles in the morning.”

  “But we can’t afford the wait!”

  “And I can’t afford the rush.”

  Shannon reached into the bag they carried and produced half a dozen gold coins that she placed down on the counter, getting the woman’s instant attention. “Will that be enough to pay for your time?”

  Raulea quickly gathered the coins, glanced at them briefly before slipping them into a pocket, and then studied the two young people before her, clearly wondering at their change in fortunes.

  “A winged pegasus,” she responded finally. “Even the eagles envy their speed.”

  Shannon blinked, the answer taking her by surprise. “And do you know how we might reach such a creature?”

  The woman shrugged her massive shoulders, her eyes on the bag that had produced the golden bounty. “Aye, I might be able help you there. But a pegasus will want a richer fare than one of Peddler Jack’s tokens. Especially if it must bear two riders.”

  “Will this be enough?” Shannon asked as she set the bag on the counter before her. Raulea looked inside and gasped. “If you can insure our passage, we will leave you with enough gold to pay for your time.”

  As she slowly raised her head, her eyes were narrow and thoughtful, and for a moment, Shannon feared the woman was going to drive a harder bargain. But Raulea simply said, “I’ll leave my fee to you. But this gold alone will not be enough to buy you passage.”

  “But it must be enough,” Jhan insisted. “It’s all we have!”

  The woman held up a hand. “Peace. Gold by itself has small value to a pegasus. But with a bag such as this, we should be able to buy a few items which they do hold precious. Come.” She threw down her apron and waddled around the edge of the booth. “We’ve some hard bargaining to do before nightfall.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Flight to the Mountaintop

  By morning’s end, Darius and Adella had raced through the central highlands and entered the green, rolling hills which were the vanguard of the mountains, each little valley with a stream running through it, the woodlands growing thi
cker. Adella was leading the way, keeping to a rough lane through the hills that led both north and east, and Darius was beginning to worry about their progress. It seemed Llan Praetor was even farther east than he had anticipated, and each league traveled meant another added to his journey back to Duke’s Hall.

  Andros was still straining at the bit, the morning run hardly more than a warm-up, but Adella’s mare was blowing hard, clearly in need of a rest. They slowed to a walk, giving the horse time to catch her breath, both of them drinking in the patches of noon sun that made its way through the leaves.

  “This is First Day, isn’t it?” Adella asked. “Aren’t you holy folk supposed to take the day off or something?”

  Darius chuckled. “It’s the Lord-Father’s Day, which means you lay folk get the day off. But usually, His servants work even harder.”

  “A paladin,” said Adella thoughtfully. “What is a paladin, anyway?”

  Darius’ eyebrows rose slightly at the question.

  “We are the sword of Mirna, the God’s weapon on earth,” he answered. “The priests are the means by which Mirna dispenses His Grace. We are the means by which He delivers His Vengeance.”

  “Vengeance on who?”

  “On those who would slay or enslave His Children.”

  She laughed out loud. “That must pit you against half the human race.”

  “So you can see why I can’t afford a day’s rest,” he said with a smile.

  She smiled back, her eyes moving slowly over his horse, his armor, coming to rest on the hilts of Sarinian in its scabbard.

  “You’ve shown some slight skill with that great hacking sword of yours,” she continued wryly. “Where did you learn it?”

  “From Bilan-Ra, the Messenger of Mirna and the Lord of the Chosen. He gave me the weapons and taught me enough to survive. The rest I learned in battle.”

  “So this Bilan-Ra is your master?”

  “My master is Mirna,” Darius said simply. “Bilan-Ra brings me word of His Will.”

  “You’ve never seen Mirna?”

  “I’ve never actually set eyes upon Him, if that’s your meaning.”

  “What kind of life is that?” scoffed Adella. “Spending your days as the servant of someone you never see, measuring your success in terms of things that don’t happen? Death would be a welcomed relief from such a life.”

  Darius shrugged lightly. “Someone I never see, yet who is with me always. But what of you? How is your success measured?”

  “In golden dinars, my friend,” she answered with a grin. “The more the coins, the greater the glory. Silver is fine, gems are better, and magic is best of all. If you wish to judge the quality of a thief, check her money cache.”

  “Is that all?” he asked. “There is no credit given for friendship, for generosity, for caring? Money is the beginning and the end of your life?”

  “When you start life poor, you give money a high place,” she said shrugging in turn. “I’ll never hear my stomach rumble with hunger again or feel cold rain on my homeless back, and it’s my sword, not your god, that did that.”

  He let out a sigh. “The God has tried to care for such pain. That’s why He sent us priests.”

  “The only thing I ever got from the yellow robes was a cry of ‘Stop, thief!’. I can do well enough without them.”

  “Something else we have in common,” Darius muttered to himself.

  Adella’s ears perked at that, and she studied him closely.

  “The Church seems less than pleased by your presence,” she said. “You’d best take care. Those fine folk are out to roast your bacon.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “They’re going to tie you to a stake one day and set fire to you,” she said distinctly, as if speaking to a simpleton. “I trust you’ve heard of the Ritual of Purification?”

  “Certainly I know it,” he answered. “And I know the road that leads to that stake. They must first condemn me, bring me to trial, and then find me guilty. And that is all far more difficult than you might think.”

  Adella snorted in answer. “You’re much too innocent, my friend. You have no idea of the capacity of honest people for the vilest treachery.”

  The words struck home, but Darius said nothing, merely looking out at the green woodlands. They were beautiful and peaceful, and for a moment, he was heartsick for the forests of Delberaine. Adella followed his lead.

  “Hold!” she cried suddenly. Alarmed, Darius pulled Andros to a halt.

  She jumped lightly off her mount and headed towards the forest. “Rest the horses awhile. There’s something I want here.”

  “I’ve no time to tarry,” he warned.

  “A few moments now will shorten our road,” she called back over her shoulder as she vanished into the wood.

  He sighed and dismounted, giving the horses a chance to walk a little among the trees. This part of the wood seemed perfect for fruit trees, the wild blossoms of spring attracting people and insects alike, and Darius heard a steady drone of bees as he walked through the blossoms. There was a very wide variety of species, the color of the flowers ranging from white to deep burgundy, and the mixture of the fragrances was enough to make him a little light-headed. He rubbed his nose, shook his head, and began to make his way back to the road.

  “Lend a hand!”

  He looked up to see Adella coming back through the woods, dragging a heavy sack behind her. The sack was bouncing on the ground and leaving a small smear of green liquid behind it

  “What in the name of Goodness…?” he wondered.

  “Have a care,” she said. “I’ve lost too many already.”

  An acrid smell assailed his nose, the scent even harsher after the sweetness of the flowers, and he actually took a step back.

  “What…what is that?” he asked with a gasp, but he reluctantly took hold of his half of the sack and helped lift it from the ground

  “They’re called Yonga Fruit,” Adella grinned. “They’re far from being ripe, and that’s the reason for the smell. Later, they’ll sweeten some, but they always have that tart flavor.”

  “You plan to eat these?”

  “Not me,” she answered. “But there are some creatures that find Yonga Fruit irresistible.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’ll see.” She paused as they neared the road and eyed the two horses dubiously.

  “Just how well behaved is that nag of yours?” she asked.

  Darius frowned. “That depends on what you’re planning to subject him to.”

  She grinned again. “Call him over.”

  Reluctantly, Darius called to Andros who came immediately and stood patiently beside him while Adella carefully looped the sack over his back. But even Andros shied a little at the strange smell of the raw fruit, and Darius had to reassure him by patting his neck. A few moments later, she had the sack secured behind the saddle.

  “There,” she said with obvious satisfaction. “Now they’ll know you’re coming a mile off.”

  “Is there some purpose to this other than your amusement?” Darius asked.

  Adella answered by leaping back into the saddle of her mare and said, “Follow me, and you’ll find out!”

  Darius mounted Andros and charged in pursuit down the forest lane, both horses running better for their short rest. The small bundle did nothing to slow Andros, though Darius quickly learned to keep him behind Adella’s mare to spare her the stench of the fruit. The snow-capped mountains in the distance had been looming ever closer, the green hills now giving way to a rockier terrain, and oddly, the forest lane which they had been following began to emerge as a full road again, even though there seemed no traffic in this deserted region.

  Adella was hardly pausing at all during the afternoon, pushing both horses to the limit of their endurance, and on the packed earth of the road, they made excellent time. Long before dusk, they entered the shadow of the mountains and began the long climb as the road now wound its way around the peaks. The temperat
ure here fell noticeably, bringing with it a chill like foreboding, and the winds were already whistling as they were funneled between the great crags.

  “Easy!” called Darius at last. “These horses need a blow, or they’ll drop before they go another league.”

  “With luck, we’ll need them for even less than that,” Adella said, though she slowed the mare to a walk.

  Surprised, Darius looked up at the craggy summits standing high above them and frowned. Aside from the road, there was no sign of any habitation, let alone a great mountain fortress, and it certainly seemed as if it would take days to follow the winding road up to the peak.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “I though Llan Praetor stood at the pinnacle of one of these mountains.”

  “True enough. In fact, it’s the entire mountaintop,” she answered. She, too, looked upward, but she seemed to be studying the waning daylight rather than the heights around them. She nodded slowly to herself. “We’ve made excellent time. We should be ready.”

  “Ready for what?”

  “You’ll see,” she said again with a mysterious grin.

  Darius sighed, annoyed, but he knew he would get nothing further from her. He tried a different topic.

  “What is this road?” he asked. “It seems in excellent shape for the little traffic it must bear.”

  “It’s Llan Praetor’s Road,” she replied. “Or Malcolm’s. The two have come to mean the same thing over the past decade or so.”

  “You mean Malcolm has not always lived at Llan Praetor?”

  She looked at him in some surprise. “Of course not. Llan Praetor is ancient, going back to a time even before the founding of the Southlands. Nobody’s too sure who actually built it, though everybody seems to have a guess. Few people could even reach the castle, and none could figure out how to enter. Until Malcolm, that is. About a dozen years ago, he managed to gain access to the citadel, and he has stayed there all this time, exploring its secrets, its powers, and its treasures.”

  She paused and looked at him sideways as if fearing she had said too much. Darius gave no sign of particular interest, though his ears were burning in warning. Secrets, powers, treasures, the words and the tone in which they had been spoken opened an entire new perspective for him, a perspective filled with an ugly doubt. Her sudden appearance in the outlands where no horse could have overtaken him, her flawless knowledge of the road to Llan Praetor, her willingness to stand by him against the bandits. I measure success in golden dinars, he remembered her saying. Am I being played for a fool?