Darius simply watched and waited, knowing that Mirna had answered his prayer and enabled him to somehow touch this lonely man upon the black throne.
“So you come to me for help, eh, Paladin?” Malcolm said slowly, considering him. “I have none to give you. You’ve come through many perils and more than a little pain, and I have nothing but ugly truths to reveal. How much more agony are you prepared to endure in order to face this truth you seek?”
Darius frowned, realizing it was a real question. Finally, he answered, “As much as is needed.”
The Wizard’s eyebrows arched in appreciation, and he said, “We shall see.”
He rose from the black throne, towering over the entire room, and he began to descended the colored marble steps of the dais. Each step brought him closer to the floor, and each seemed to shrink him down, passing him from titan size to giant to ogre size and finally as he reached the floor, to that of a man only a little taller than the average. Darius found himself looking down at the man who moments before had loomed above him like a god.
“Come,” Malcolm said with the pleasant tenor voice of a normal man. He led Darius to the right hand wall that was polished to such a high sheen as to be almost mirror-like, the reflection making the room seem even larger than it was.
“Give me your hand,” the Wizard demanded, and obediently, Darius offered him his right.
Malcolm grabbed the hand and forced it palm down against the mirrored wall. Instantly, a terrible cold such as he had never felt bit Darius’ palm, and at the same time it seemed as if each of his fingers had burst into flames. Instinctively, he flinched backwards, but the wall held him hard and Malcolm added his own weight, keeping the hand pressed to the cruel stone.
Then magically, images began to appear in the mirror.
A small cabin nestled among the high trees, Adella seated on a rock with anger in every line of her bearing, Andros trotting down a mountain trail, a sudden picture of Shannon laughing with her hair streaming in the wind, a wild collage of images that had only him in common. Malcolm bore down even harder on his hand as if to squeeze more from it, and Darius concentrated hard on the mirror, forcing his mind to think of the Northings and the invasion.
The scenes changed abruptly, switching to horrible sights of men dying, houses in flames, women and children fleeing helplessly from barbarians in hides gilded with black and silver. There were other faces looming beside the snarling barbarians, green reptilian faces with sharp teeth and a demonic gleam. So Rock Goblins were indeed part of the Silver Horde! Then, abruptly, castle walls were crumbling, great blocks of stone flying through the air like pebbles, and Darius watched closely, ignoring the crippling pain in his hand. There was a darkness there among the crashing stones, a darkness that seemed as tall as the walls themselves, and suddenly, two red-hot eyes seemed to flash at them out of that darkness.
“Do you see it?” cried Malcolm. “Do you see the face of despair?”
“What is it?” Darius gasped between his teeth, fighting the pain. Arrows, pikes, ballistas were being fired into the thing, to simply vanish in its blackness, the monster continuing on uninjured.
“Juggernaut,” Malcolm said grimly. “A weapon from the ancient wars, before the birth of men, when the Gods themselves fought for possession of the Earth. It has been conjured up from the Nether Regions or found in some hellish vault deep beneath the Earth’s Teeth where the gentle gods intended it to stay for all eternity. Released now to devour everything in its path. How do you fight that, Warrior? Tell me, for I have no idea.” He shook his head as burning oil poured down over the thing, to no effect. “The only people left alive in its wake are those who have sued for peace with Regnar. It would seem that is the only course open to us.”
He released Darius, taking a step back, but Darius did not take his hand from the wall. The cold was creeping up his arm, chilling bone and muscle both, even though the skin felt as if it were being broiled in a hot oven, but he fought the pain and kept his eyes on the mirror. Surprised, Malcolm looked up, seeing the images were continuing.
Armies on the move, men in silver and black and lizard-like creatures in heavy chain mail; horsemen charging across vast plains and archers raining shafts into the air; men armed with crossbows, cutlasses, pikes, and clubs, dressed in a bewildering array of uniforms and armor, charging or fleeing or simply marching over endless distances, a panorama of the turmoil and toil that is war. A face seemed to be emerging over all the images, a cruel face with hot embers for eyes, leering at the death and destruction that it beheld, and beside it was something of terrible power, its shape undefined, but its presence unavoidable, bathing the face in an evil green light. A sound like a gasp escaped from Malcolm, but Darius held his palm against the wall, his entire arm numb now, praying for another hint, another glimmer to guide him.
Suddenly, the entire wall seemed to be drenched with blood, the red stain pouring down from above, covering everything, and starting to sizzle and boil before their very eyes. Shocked, Darius flinched back, his hand left the wall, and the images vanished, leaving them staring only at their own reflections. Darius shook his arm, but it was completely numb, jerking like the limb of a rag doll.
He turned to the Wizard and saw the man’s face was ashen.
“You saw more than I did in those images,” Darius said slowly. “Come! Tell me what your wizard’s eye beheld.”
“I…I’m not sure…” the man answered, his voice quavering slightly.
Darius pondered for a moment, trying to piece the puzzle together himself. “With red flame and green orb. That could almost describe the face we saw. The face of Alacon Regnar?”
Malcolm nodded reluctantly.
“So it is Regnar who comes with your death in his hands,” Darius said grimly, flexing his numb arm. “And Llan Praetor itself is warning you that no defenses can ward you from him.”
The Wizard stood staring at the mirrored wall for a long time, his face growing hard. “So it would seem.”
“And the blood?” demanded Darius. “What was the meaning of the blood? A prediction of what is yet to come?”
Malcolm sighed heavily and slowly shook his head. “No. We weren’t looking into the future but into the present.”
“The present? But where?”
“The blackness you saw wasn’t just a void,” Malcolm replied. “It was the skin of the Juggernaut. The blood came from the veins of prisoners, drenching it, feeding it. Giving it the power to go on.”
“The fuel!” Darius said, remembering Adella’s words. “By Mirna’s Thunder, this hellish thing marches on human blood!”
Malcolm nodded in agreement. “Yes, but what good does that do us? An entire army defends the Juggernaut, so we can hardly stop it from being refueled. And once it breaks through the walls of the Drift, there will be an ocean of blood to feed it. Nothing will stop it then.”
Darius shook his head and said, “Then we must stop it before it reaches the Drift!”
“You miss the main point, warrior,” said Malcolm, his tone showing his annoyance. He was not accustomed to explaining himself, let alone arguing. “The Juggernaut has lain for countless centuries beneath the earth, till even its very existence was forgotten. Why is it summoned forth now? Regnar is no more than a barbarian lord, powerful though he may be, and he could never command such incredible power by himself. Something has given him this power. Something has directed him. Something is using him.”
“I don’t understand.”
Malcolm let out a small sigh. “It is true Regnar seeks to break the walls of the Drift. But that cannot be the intention of the force behind him.”
“Why?”
“Because such power could break the walls of the Drift without resorting to the Juggernaut!” he said, his impatience brimming over. He took several steps away as if uncomfortable to be so close to another person, his eyes still studying the blank wall of the mirror. “There are details here that are not yet revealed. To act without full understan
ding is to invite disaster.”
“And to wait for all knowledge before acting is a stupidity we cannot afford,” replied Darius. “This thing comes to break Jalan’s Drift! Whatever its hidden purposes, that much is clear, and we must do whatever we can to stop it!”
The man shook his head and turned away, his mind focusing on the past, on the future, ignoring the present. With one swift motion, Darius pulled Sarinian from its scabbard and raised it high into the air, and the room exploded with sudden light. Instantly, he felt an answering power rising within Malcolm, a terrible response. Here was the challenge Darius had refused to meet when he had first entered the throne room, the matching of strength. Now, there was no choice.
“You dare unleash power in my presence?” snarled Malcolm. “Take, then, the consequences of your arrogance!”
“You are tied up in these events, Wizard, whether you wish it or not,” Darius said, forestalling the retribution. “I must see what the Mirror has to say of you.”
Malcolm’s eyes flashed, and Darius knew they had reached the moment of truth when the wizard must declare himself one way or the other. He felt the room surging with magic, as if threatening to burst free even from the will of the arch-mage, an overwhelming energy that required only a single, focused thought to send it blazing down upon him, and he knew his very life swung in the balance. Yet Malcolm hesitated. His eyes were on Sarinian, not the impudent warrior, held by the gleaming sword, some part of his soul answering the brilliance of the light, and Darius saw the truth, saw the purity of the Avenger reflected in Malcolm’s face.
He had the help he had come here to find.
A moment longer, Darius let the light of Sarinian dazzle the room, and then he whirled suddenly and struck Sarinian bodily against the wall, pulling the startled Wizard’s focus with it.
And the mirror burst again into images.
The first pictures were as confused and random as Darius’ initial attempt, pictures of high walls within a city, of shelves with endless books, of a stern looking man with a flowing white beard, and a young woman with a sad and yearning face. Matters of concern only to Malcolm, a breach of his past.
“Think of the Juggernaut!” Darius demanded. “Think!”
In any trial of power, Malcolm could break the feeble hold of Sarinian in an instant. But the light of the Avenger burned away all deceptions, all masks, leaving a man naked before his own image. Malcolm looked upon himself, upon his world, and he chose to help. The images gleamed forth again with a green mass of clouds like a monstrous gale coming into view, dark lightning flashing within, and Darius frowned, wondering at the meaning of the storm.
“Think!”
The picture seemed to move backwards, and they realized they were staring at a scene from the Plains of Alencia, with mobs of Northings fanning out in advance of the storm and shadowy figures of other soldiers lurking beneath its shadow. And there, clearly visible beneath the clouds was a huge darkness shaped vaguely as a man, moving slowly, steadily, inexorably forward: the Juggernaut.
“No walls can stand against a thing like that,” breathed Darius, the image showing the monster in its true form and laying any doubts to rest. “But we need a weapon, some way to fight it. You have the power, Malcolm! Find us a weapon!”
Malcolm grimaced, but Sarinian’s light held him to his purpose. The flawless view of the Northing army faltered and vanished, dissolving into a mass of reds and golds, a strange yet somehow compelling mosaic, and both men frowned, trying to discern something from amongst the colors.
Then, abruptly, the red and gold moved of one accord, and a monstrous face with cold green eyes filled all the mirror, making them both flinch.
“Mraxdavar,” cried Malcolm softly. Abruptly, he broke away, and the mirror went clear again. Yet his eyes returned to that mirrored surface, troubled by the memory of those images.
“A dragon,” Darius said softly, grimly. “And one you call by name. Wizard, you’ve had truck with a monster.”
“No worse a monster than you, Warrior, with your blood-soaked sword,” Malcolm shot back. “The dragons are a noble race, and if on occasion they have brought death raining down upon some village or town, it is usually because they were pushed to it by the incursions of men.”
“Or by a blind lust for treasure,” Darius countered.
“That may be, too,” the Wizard admitted, coming forward slowly. “There are evil dragons just as there are evil men. Now, both races walk in mortal fear of each other, and it is that fear rather than evil which contributes most to the killing on both sides.”
Darius frowned at the words and stared hard at the Arch-Mage. It seemed likely that Malcolm had been seduced by the dragon-speech, for any dealings with such creatures were filled with peril. Yet Sarinian was silent, giving no hint that Malcolm lay beneath the power of an evil spell. He looked into Malcolm’s cold blue eyes, searching him, and he saw only an angry conviction, an honest belief in what he was saying. Whatever errors of wisdom might lie in his judgment, no magics had twisted his mind.
“So this dragon…this Mraxdavar,” Darius said slowly. “He might be willing to give us aid against the Northings?”
Malcolm hesitated as he pondered the idea, and his eyes went back to the mirror as if remembering the face that had filled it moments before. He shook his head slightly.
“I can’t believe that he would actually offer aid,” he replied, clearly troubled. “It is true there’s an understanding between us, perhaps even a grudging respect. But he would no more put himself at risk to save humans than I would to save dragons. I’m not sure what his image in the mirror means.”
“It means this dragon somehow holds a key to the power of the Juggernaut,” Darius said bluntly. A wizard’s subtlety, he knew, often blinded him to the obvious. “Perhaps he has some knowledge that we lack, perhaps he keeps some vital item in his treasure horde that we will need, or perhaps he might be induced or persuaded to intervene directly on our behalf. Whatever the answer, it seems a visit would be well worth our while.”
“But not with you,” Malcolm replied instantly. “One sight of an armored knight with a great hacking sword would mean a fight for certain. If an emissary must be sent to Mraxdavar, I shall go alone.”
Darius studied the man carefully, feeling sure this was not the wisest course. Yet it was true that Sarinian would not bear to enter a dragon’s lair to barter for help, and a dragon was not likely to endure the presence of a Paladin of Mirna.
“Very well,” he agreed reluctantly. “I have no time for further adventure in any case. The Council of Lords meets in two days time, and many leagues lay between me and Duke’s Hall.”
“That is easily dealt with,” Malcolm answered. “I can send you there through the ether in a matter of only a few hours if you wish.”
“Through the ether?” he repeated dubiously. “You mean by magic?”
That made Malcolm laugh. “You have the courage to walk through the defenses of the mightiest castle in the world and face down an arch-mage, yet you flinch to profit from a simple spell.”
His face sobered as his returned the mirror wall, remembering all he had seen there, all that it implied. Finally, he said, “You may trust me, Paladin. I know not what fates await us, but this much at least you have proven to me. My path lies with you and not with Regnar.”
Darius’ face warmed slowly into a smile, and he offered the Wizard a half-bow. “It is good to welcome you back to the community of men, Lord Malcolm.”
Malcolm’s face darkened for a moment, and then it, too, warmed. “I had a premonition of this when Llan Praetor let you walk freely through its defenses, for the castle opens its own doors to those of great purity of spirit. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps the time has come to deal with my own kind and not just with the living rock of Llan Praetor.”
He paused, pulling a small amulet which he wore around his neck from beneath his robe. He studied it for a moment, then took it off and handed it to Darius. “Take this wi
th you. To those who know me, it is a token of my trust.”
The Wizard stopped abruptly, looking up at the mirror wall with a small frown, clearly seeing more than was readily apparent.
“It would seem that you are not alone, Lord Darius,” Malcolm said, his eyes narrowing. “Llan Praetor is breached again.”
Adella! So she had found a way to enter the castle after all. Darius could only marvel at the woman’s bottomless resourcefulness, even while he wondered what terrible retribution Malcolm would call down upon this intruder; and how he might be able to stop him.
“Time might well be of the essence,” Darius said. “I…”
Malcolm smiled and held up a hand. “Your companions need not fear my wrath. Intruders must deal with Llan Praetor’s power, not mine.”
Companions? wondered Darius. Apparently, the wizard could not actually see the intruder.
“But if one should make it past the castle’s guards…”
“It is of no consequence,” Malcolm answered with a shrug. “My treasures guard themselves.”
To that, Darius made no reply, though he felt sure that Malcolm’s defenses would be fully tested by the time this invader left.
The Wizard took a step back.
“Come, then. As you say, neither of us has time to waste.” He held up his arms and began an incantation, “Altro mir sanctar dey! Cal tralis vox!”
The great pentagram upon the black throne burst suddenly into light, and Darius found himself staring at it, his eyes held.
“Bendra mal aldro kir!” cried Malcolm, and Darius found that the glowing pentagram had become the sun, the dawn gleaming full over the edge of the world. Both of them were high, impossibly high up in the sky, far above the tops of the mountains, and he was moving, moving at a tremendous speed.
“We shall meet again soon, Paladin,” came Malcolm’s voice from a great distance as he moved off in the opposite direction. “Though we both have long paths to travel. Take good care!”
A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) Page 33