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

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A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) Page 34

by James A. Hillebrecht


  “And you, Malcolm,” Darius murmured softly, having no idea whether he was heard or not. The land below him was passing with an incredible speed now, leagues falling in a matter of minutes, though there was no feeling of motion or wind. The morning sun was rising behind him, and he was flying westward into darkness, flying to where Duke’s Hall and the Council of Lords awaited.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Bishop

  Bishop Kal’s heart was hammering in his chest as if trying to escape from the crime the rest of his body was in the act of committing. Never once since being ordained priest had he committed even the slightest infraction, his record and his conscience immaculate, and yet here he was creeping quietly down a stone-flagged corridor in the heart of Corland’s embassy in Alston’s Fey, heading for a secret room where the proof of Argus’ treachery against the Southlands just might be found. Two of his personal guards were walking directly ahead of him, and beyond them was a man named Altmeir who was posing as one of the Bishop’s servants. Altmeir, however, was a man with a troubled past whose special skills with his hands kept getting him into trouble with the authorities, the troubles ending when he had opted to become an acolyte of the Church. Now, for one last night, he was reverting to his old profession, though this time, with the full blessing and approval of his Bishop.

  Kal had left Maldonar behind in the chambers set aside for them, the entire party having retired after a day of fruitless negotiations over the tithe. Whatever his allegiance to Argus, Ursulan was proving as intractable as ever in his defense of Corland’s gold, and even the embassy servants must have been relieved when the Bishop’s entourage had retired after a short, tense meal. No matter. It would only serve to increase the credibility of their mission, and if they found what they hoped in the secret room ahead, the tithe would be the least of their concerns.

  Altmeir had come to a halt in front of a door, the door Ursulan had described in a short conversation after dinner, and Kal followed his lead, watching tensely in the half-light from a single sputtering oil lamp attached to the wall. The man examined the door carefully, running his hands lightly along the edges in search of some trap or alarm, and he paused at one point to work on some obstruction Kal could not see. Once that obstacle had been overcome, Altmeir bent down with a small tool in his hands, and after a few moments of fiddling, there came a welcomed click that resounded down the corridor. The man stood back as Kal pushed forward, taking the lamp from the wall as he unlatched the door and threw it open.

  The last thing Bishop Kal ever saw was a puzzlement. It was the sight of Duke Argus himself along with half a dozen guards waiting behind that locked door as if they fully expected it to be opened by Kal. The next moment, a pair of crossbow bolts slashed into Kal’s chest, knocking him backwards and making all such puzzles meaningless, and he never heard the other crossbow bolts that slew his guards and the man Altmeir who would never now have the chance to become a priest.

  Argus came forward and looked down at the body of his old adversary, the life blood slowly soaking his yellow vestments, the face etched with the blank amazement of death. Around the corner of the corridor came Ursulan with his small group of soldiers who would have intercepted any that might have escaped the ambush.

  “Lieutenant,” Argus called to one of Ursulan’s guards as the Chancellor came slowly forward. “Go and insure the others are dead. Make absolutely certain of it. Then strip them of anything of value, take the bodies out into the alley and place them with the dead thieves. Even the most skeptical eye will admit that the Bishop’s party must have been waylaid by rogues when he left abruptly after we broke of the negotiations.”

  The officer saluted and charged off with his men, knowing his life was dependent on the success of his mission. Ursulan had come to a halt above the body of the Bishop and was staring down at it.

  “Do you believe that betrayers are condemned to the Nether Regions when they die, My Lord?” he asked softly.

  Argus turned and stared hard at the little man, sensing a hint of weakness and therefore potential betrayal in the words. But Ursulan was merely looking down at the dead man, his face thoughtful, not regretful or distressed.

  “I believe a man forges his own destiny, both in this life and the next,” replied Argus.

  “And are we never called to account for our transgressions?”

  Argus’ eyes narrowed. “Do not be blinded by the bishop’s robes, Chancellor. Kal was a cunning and ruthless politician, just the same as any duke, but he used the prestige of the Church as his authority and his force. He sought to destroy me, to pull me from the throne of Corland, and I answered him as I would any secular lord. We are the stronger for our actions this night, and our enemies are the weaker. Hold strong to that, and you will sleep soundly.”

  “I am as always your willing servant, My Lord,” said Ursulan with a small bow. “That is all I require to sustain me through the night.”

  Argus nodded and turned his attention back to the body, and he did not notice Ursulan backing away as he bent over the corpse. A moment later, Argus held up the severed head of the Bishop and grinned at it.

  “My sincerest apologies, Lord Bishop, for such irreverence. But you were the price Regnar demanded in return for his aid. Griffin riders shall bear you to the Northings as proof of my commitment to our pact. I, in turn, shall scour the Fey and purge it of those I deem responsible for your foul murder and that of Father Maldonar, and my fellow Dukes will applaud the swiftness of my retaliation. So you see, a great deal of good shall stem from your demise.”

  He placed the head inside a canvas sack and tossed it to the Captain of the guard who departed without another word.

  “Come,” he commanded as he headed out the door. “We must make for Duke’s Hall with no further delay. The Council of Lords awaits!”

  END OF BOOK I

  Table of Contents

  Titlepage

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: The Greenwood

  Chapter 2: Preparations

  Chapter 3: Hasty Journeys

  Chapter 4: Argus

  Chapter 5: The Bandits and the Peddler

  Chapter 6: Tyrants

  Chapter 7: Songs of the High Pass

  Chapter 8: A Crossing of Swords

  Chapter 9: Madness on the Plains

  Chapter 10: Alston’s Fey

  Chapter 11: A Meeting of Warriors

  Chapter 12: Priests and Ogres

  Chapter 13: The Dead of the Plains

  Chapter 14: The Taxman and the Intruder

  Chapter 15: Dark Plans

  Chapter 16: The Paladin and the Thief

  Chapter 17: City Lessons

  Chapter 18: Flight to the Mountaintop

  Chapter 19: Llan Praetor

  Chapter 20: A Meeting on the Mountain

  Chapter 21: The Arch-Mage

  Chapter 22: The Bishop

 

 

 


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