The blow never fell.
From out of nowhere, another form came flying over the nearest boulder and caught the wolf in mid-air, knocking it off to the side. The two forms were interlocked, rolling rapidly down the slope, heading towards the brink of the cliff. Stunned, both she and Jhan blinked, staring, but in the darkness, it was hard to make out details. Shannon thought she saw an arm rise and fall, as if making a dagger thrust, and there came a muffled howl of fury from the wolf. The next moment, the two forms vanished, and Shannon gasped in horror, running down the slope in the wild, belated hope of reaching her savior before the cliff took them. There came a long, distant howl, abruptly silenced, as if the wolf was screaming with fear as it plunged to its death, but the sound was somehow odd, lacking that special quality which had filled them both with fear, almost as if it were a mere imitation of the wolf.
Shannon reached the brink and peered over, Jhan a few steps behind her. Even in the dark, the drop made her stomach squirm, and she was both amazed and relieved to see a human figure slowly climbing up the face of the cliff, apparently pausing to sheath a great sword despite the fall. Of the wolf, there was no sign at all.
“Let me help!” she said, leaning down and extending a hand. The figure looked up, and Shannon was stunned to see it was the face of a beautiful woman with gleaming black hair. The woman smiled in answer and began to extend her hand, but then froze, her eyes locked on Shannon’s face.
“Are you hurt?” Shannon asked anxiously. “Jhan, hold my hand so I can reach her!”
Then suddenly, the woman laughed out loud, the power of her mirth echoing down the cliffs and ringing from the peaks, the sound both startling and unnerving. Shannon blinked, not sure how to react, and she was further surprised when the woman lightly and easily climbed those harrowing few feet of bare rock on her own.
“Well met, young friends!” she said, her smile still beaming. “My name is Adella, a common adventurer and an uncommon guide.”
Shannon gaped openly at this woman, bound with leather armor and with the great sword hanging at her side, standing with an open pride and brimming confidence that she had rarely seen before even in men. It was the exact opposite of the quiet wives and gentle homemakers with which she had grown up.
Finally, she managed to say, “I’m Shannon, and this is Jhan. We can’t thank you enough for what you did. I’ve never seen anything like that: snatching a wolf out of the air in mid-leap!”
The woman shrugged, leading them away from the edge. “I had no choice but to try. When I heard the wolf howling, I thought he was hunting me. I spotted him a few minutes ago, and I watched and waited. It never occurred to me that he might be stalking someone else in this desolate wilderness, or I would have called out a warning. When I did see you, it was almost too late.”
“I think your timing was perfect,” Shannon smiled.
“Mmmmm, yes,” Jhan said, and Shannon’s eyebrows rose at the doubting inflection in his voice. “And can we ask what you’re doing way up here?”
“Certainly,” she answered easily. “I was acting as guide and companion for a warrior who wanted to reach Malcolm the Magnificent, the master of Llan Praetor.”
They both blinked at that, and Shannon asked quickly, “What is this warrior’s name?”
“Darius,” the woman answered. “A Paladin of Mirna.” When she saw the reaction on their faces, she asked, “Do you know him?”
“He’s my Father!” Shannon exclaimed. “Oh, please. Can you tell me where his is?”
They were now back to the little gap between the boulders from which the wolf had attacked, and Adella paused in surprise. “Your Father? He never even mentioned a daughter to me.”
“But…but where is he now?” Shannon persisted.
Adella flipped her thumb towards Llan Praetor. “Inside. He went in to meet Malcolm hours ago.”
“And you’re waiting for him?”
Adella shrugged again. “There’s only one way into Llan Praetor, but many ways out. I doubt if Darius will come back this way.”
“And I doubt if Lord Darius had anything to do with you in the first place,” Jhan said suspiciously.
“Jhan!” Shannon said, scandalized. Adella just watched him, a slow, dangerous smile coming to her face.
“You know your Father,” Jhan said to her. “Is he the type to abandon even a stranger in a place like this, let alone a companion and one who claims to have been of such service?”
Shannon’s eyebrows rose slightly, and she looked back at Adella, a hint of doubt in her eyes.
“You’re sharp, Young One,” she said. “And cautious. Those are the keys to a long life. But Darius left me here because he did not want to put me in even greater danger by entering Llan Praetor. I begged him to let me come, but he refused.” She glanced at Shannon and smiled. “And your Father is not a man who argues when he’s made up his mind.”
Shannon found herself nodding at that, but Jhan’s words had struck a cautious note inside her. “If you traveled very far with my Father, I’m surprised you didn’t see him in my face. I’m said to favor him a great deal.”
“I can see it now in the rising light,” Adella said.
“Liar,” said Jhan.
The woman’s eyes flashed at that, and her hand touched the hilts of the sword at her side.
“Those sorts of words get people killed, boy,” she said in a low hard voice that made Jhan blanch. “But if you doubt me, I can offer proof.”
She pulled a small golden band out from her armor and offered it for them to see.
“My mother’s ring!” cried Shannon.
“I saved your Father’s life on the journey here,” said Adella. “And he left me this as a token of the debt. Is that enough for you?”
Jhan blinked, not sure what to say, but Shannon immediately said, “I apologize if we’ve given you any offense. If my Father left you with this ring, it is the strongest sign of obligation that he could offer. I will honor it as he would.”
Adella’s eyes, however, were still locked on Jhan, and she asked in the same hard voice, “And you, boy?”
Jhan met her gaze steadily, but both he and Shannon knew that the next words he spoke would determine whether he lived or died.
“I apologize as well,” he said. “I still feel there is much left untold in your story, but I will honor this token, too.”
Adella nodded slowly, her hand leaving her sword. “Smart, cautious, with a steady eye and a ready tongue. You might be the only one of the three of us who dies in his bed, my friend.”
Shannon let out a sigh of relief. “Well, dangers or no, I’m going in to find him.” She started walking towards the door now visible in the dawn light. “I haven’t come all this way to turn around and go back.”
She walked right towards the door, though she felt the faintest tingling on her skin as she approached, almost as if she had passed through a thin patch of cold morning mist. She was about to grab one of the handles when she heard a gasp of surprise from Adella. She turned back to see the woman staring at her in complete shock.
“What’s wrong?”
“You are indeed your Father’s daughter,” she breathed softly to herself.
“Beg pardon?”
The woman blinked, coming back to herself, and then said, “Ah, I…I think I might have twisted my ankle in that tussle with the wolf. Do you think you two might lend me your shoulders?”
“Certainly,” Shannon said, coming back to her. Jhan took one side and she the other, and they helped to carry the woman up to the door, the strange tingling striking Shannon again. Cold, yet oddly refreshing, and…almost…welcoming…
“This will do nicely,” Adella said, pausing to quickly wrap a scarf around her ankle for support. “Why don’t you try the door, Shannon?”
Shannon paused to look back at her companions, wondering if they had felt that welcoming tingle, perhaps might even have felt resistance, and she was suddenly certain that the power, whatever it was, co
uld easily have blocked either or both of them, regardless of how physically close they were. It was as if the power recognized they were now all tied to a single destiny…to her destiny…
She turned back to the door and was a little daunted by all the locks and handles, but she fearlessly reached out and grabbed the closest one. To her immense relief, the door opened readily for her.
She frowned a little. “Isn’t this…well, a little too easy? I mean an unlocked door for a castle such as this…”
“Darius must have left it open when he entered,” Adella answered with a slow smile. “Come along. I can’t wait to see his face when we catch up with him.”
CHAPTER 21
The Arch-Mage
The heart of the castle lies beyond these doors, Sarinian said at last. Within lies a mighty power.
Darius looked up at the emblazoned insignia of a pentagram on the great stone doors which stood before them, an emblem that seemed to have risen out of the very stone itself. He could just barely make out the thin line which marked the juncture of the two doors, exactly bisecting the pentagram, and he could actually feel the potent magic that stood before him, a sensation like heat radiating on his face and arms.
He let out a long, low sigh. Sarinian had led him swiftly and unerringly through the bewildering maze of Llan Praetor’s corridors, and Darius knew that on more than one occasion, the great sword had staved off the castle’s magic, quelling the restive stone just as it had the gargoyle statues which guarded the main entrance. These doors, however, were not to be evaded so easily. Well, at least this will be the last test, he told himself.
Slowly, he lowered the blade of Sarinian towards the center of the insignia, and immediately, white bolts of electricity began to crackle between the two, the air sizzling with power. Desperately, Darius held onto the hilts, though the resistance was growing as he forced the sword closer and closer to the center of the door, each bolt like the hammerblow from an ogre. The electricity was swelling, flying wildly in all directions as if all the mountain storms of the last year were being released in this one short moment, and Darius was shaken and blinded by the intensity of the power, the hair springing up all over his body, his nose wrinkling with the smell of burning, his ears deafened and useless. His eyes blinked and rolled back in his head, his legs buckling as the power overcame him, ripping consciousness from his grasp. Something seemed to strike him, and he blinked feebly, willing his eyes to see. Slowly, his senses returned, and he found himself lying on the floor, Sarinian still clutched in his hands. And the great doors stood open before him.
He struggled to his feet, fighting down the weakness in his limbs, taking a deep breath. Then he stepped through the doors.
A giant awaited him within. A massive dais of colored marble rose thirty feet above the floor, ending in a huge chair of black obsidian, its base solid, its arms black claws, its back surmounted by a five pointed star like the insignia upon the doors. And on this throne, dressed in flowing blue robes, sat a man nearly three times the size of Darius with long black hair beneath a silver miter. His jaw was firm, his nose sharp and narrow like the beak of a bird of prey, and his eyes were bright and clear, the exact same blue as his robes. He seemed surprisingly young for one of such power and experience, looking hardly more than a man of thirty years, and Darius wondered what his true age was.
Two words only passed the giant’s lips.
“Pain, Warrior.”
Instantly, three rings of fire sprang up around Darius no more than an arm’s length away, burning him from all directions as if he had just been dropped into the middle of a furnace. He tightened his teeth to bite back a scream of pain, but the rings were tightening, closing in, the heat rising as they neared, promising to incinerate him when they touched. Sarinian surged in response, ready to break the spell, but though the fire and the pain were growing in tandem, searing all the skin on his body, Darius fought the desire to break the magic and so invite a further display of power. An endless moment longer the torture lasted, making Darius fear that the very hair on his head might ignite, the flames getting closer and closer still. Just as the agony was growing unendurable, the giant spoke again.
“Enough.”
The flames vanished immediately and with it, the pain. Darius stared down at his hands, half-expecting to see blisters or charring, but there was no sign of damage. The fire had only been in his mind.
“Never before has anyone gained access to Llan Praetor, let alone walked through my defenses and those of the castle with such impunity,” the giant said slowly. “Yet now you cannot break even a simple fire ring. You are either very weak, Warrior, or very wise, and in either case, you are no threat to me. Now why have you invaded my home? There are no heads here for you to chop with your great sword.”
“It is not my intent to intrude,” Darius answered, sheathing Sarinian as a token of peace. “I come seeking an audience with the master of this castle, who is said to be Malcolm the Mage.”
“And what would you wish of him?”
“To beg from him whatever help he might see fit to bestow,” said Darius. “A terrible force bears down upon the Southlands, and…”
“I know well the progress of Regnar’s Silver Horde,” the Wizard calmly interrupted. “Even now, death walks steadily towards Jalan’s Drift, and no force stirs to oppose it. What of it?”
Darius frowned slightly. “Does the fall of the Drift mean nothing to you?”
“It is a regrettable loss, as were the fall of Carthix and Nargost Castles and the other lands of the plains,” Malcolm said with a shrug. “Yet it is no more than a distraction on the edge of my world and holds no real significance for me.”
“Do the deaths of thousands of innocents hold no significance?” Darius demanded.
“People die all the time,” he answered coolly. “By plague or famine if not by war. It is a natural and necessary part of life. Would you have me feed and cure humanity as well as shelter it from the wrath of the Northings?”
“Every single human life has value,” Darius began. “Every person is…”
“I do not take well to lectures in my own hall, Warrior,” Malcolm said sternly, his voice rolling thunder. “I came to these mountains to escape from people, to forge my own community of one, and for many years, I have lived apart from them. Why now should I return to the treacherous, vicious world of men?”
The words, however, were not quite rhetorical, telling Darius that these issues were not new to the man before him, suggesting that he had been searching for answers ever since he first learned of Regnar’s approach. The task was to find that answer for him.
“Because all the peoples of the Southlands, men, women, and children, are reaching out and begging for your aid. The society that gave you birth and nurture now looks to you for salvation.”
That gave him pause, but his expression remained untouched. “They would make me a slave to their need.”
“If neither the past nor the present can sway you, think to the future,” countered Darius. “All people, from the least peddler to the greatest mage, must return home in the end, must leave their wanderings or their hermitage for a sight of their own kind. Will you return to the Southlands of your youth, or to the new iron-fisted realm of the Northings?”
The smallest of frowns touched the Wizard’s forehead, and Darius knew he had struck a nerve, a thought that had walked with this man through many long hours. But he answered only, “That future is still a long way off.”
“Then act in your immediate defense,” growled Darius, switching tacks. “The Southlands are no threat to you. Can the same be said of Regnar? Will he be content to leave a powerful wizard to work his crafts on the edges of his realm? Or will he seek to control you as he seeks to control the Southlands, to take your bounty as he seeks to take theirs? And if you sit idly and watch those around you fall, who will rise and come to your aid when the rams of the Northings thunder against the walls of Llan Praetor? Are your powers strong enough to wi
thstand the force that can break Jalan’s Drift? Can you defeat the army that conquers the Southlands?”
Again, there was silence, and Darius knew his words had struck home once more. Malcolm glanced down for a moment, his face troubled, but when he glanced up again, there was a glint of grim acceptance in his blue eyes.
“My enemies are who I choose as enemies,” he said slowly.
Darius felt his jaw clenching as he understood. Malcolm’s lonely search for an answer had lead him to the brink of capitulation, of suing for terms from the tyrant, perhaps even allying himself with him. His mind had found no other solution, and the Wizard had long grown deaf to the voice within his own heart. Yet it was this voice which now put the troubled frown upon his face.
Darius closed his eyes, striving to open himself, to let an answer enter him. Great Mirna, he prayed. Give me some lead, some hope that I might offer, some way to touch the man before me. Slowly, a feeling came, dark and powerful, bringing words with it.
Darius opened his mouth, his eyes still closed.
“He comes like an icy wind out of darkness.
“He with red flame and green orb.
“He comes with power, the lightning and the fire.
“Ward thyself as thy will, no armor shall protect thee.
“For he comes with thy death in his hands.”
“What?” asked the Wizard, his voice low. “What say you, Paladin?”
Darius opened his eyes.
“…with thy death in his hands…” he mused, pondering the phrase. “These are no words of mine. They are an echo bounding within these walls. Perhaps from your own mouth. Or from your dreams.”
“Or my nightmares,” Malcolm answered heavily. He looked down at the floor, breathing hard for a moment, and said, “Llan Praetor gives such dark, rich dreams, as if living other lives in the passing of a single night. Those words you spoke come from those dreams. If dreams they be.” He looked up at Darius, his face at last showing a glimmer of his humanity. “When one spends his days alone, it sometimes becomes difficult to distinguish between dreams and the real world.”
A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) Page 32