“You’re mad!” exploded Adella. “Why in the demon’s sweet name would Regnar risk personal combat?”
“Actually, he would have no choice,” Darius answered. “Regnar launched a personal attack against me some time ago. It was a magical attack known as the Flaming Rage, and it was similar to the green balls of fire that were unleashed against us in the battle on the prairie. Any individual marked for death by the leader of the Northings and survives may challenge the leader to personal combat. Northing law is very clear on this matter, for they have ever been governed by the belief that only the strong may lead. If he refuses my challenge, the oaths binding the chieftains of the Northing tribes will be broken.”
“All this is quite informative,” replied Tallarand. “But Regnar will never accept such a challenge, regardless of the Northing laws. Why risk death in combat when the Lords of the Southlands have as much as handed him the keys to the Drift?”
Brillis’ eyes had no left him. Now she answered softly, “Because this challenge offers him something the Dukes cannot match,”
There was a great stillness within Darius as if all questions were now being answered, all secrets suddenly revealed. His heart had known this challenge was coming, known it long before he had set foot in the Southlands, and he could now feel the inevitability of it, the simple and perfect symmetry. This is why he had been called.
He nodded slowly, acknowledging the Mayor’s insight. “He knows well the power of the champions of Bilan-Ra and rightfully fears it. If he can kill me, all resistance will crumble and his victory is assured.”
“That’s the point, fool!” Adella shouted at him. “Regnar cannot afford to lose! You’ll be throwing bones with the demon and using his dice! He’ll twist and cheat and play every false lead he has, and in the end, the only thing of which you may be certain is that you’ll be dead!”
Darius almost smiled. He could hear in her voice that Adella recognized the inevitability of this challenge as well.
“I must agree with my associate,” said Tallarand, his voice as calm as ever but the words coming just a little faster than usual. “Regnar will be within his rights to select a champion, so you will be denied even the satisfaction of laying sword to the Tyrant’s own hide.”
“We have ways of holding Regnar to his word,” interjected Colonel Stavis, speaking for the first time. “Champion or not, he will stand the verdict of the contest.”
“Don’t you understand?” Adella said softly, intensely, her eyes burning into him. “She has nothing to lose by hazarding your life!”
“So, Paladin,” said Brillis, ignoring everyone else. “May I make the challenge in your name, with Jalan’s Drift as the prize to the winner?”
“I’ll take your head first, bitch!” cried Adella leaping forward, her hand already on Bloodseeker’s hilts. Tallarand barely caught her right arm in time, and Darius was able to seize the other. But Brillis did not flinch, did not fall back. Instead, she stepped right up to Adella’s angry face.
“If he should fall, my head is yours,” Brillis said coldly. “Upon his sword, all our hopes ride. He is not the only one who must now roll the devil’s dice.”
Darius felt Adella’s arm go slack at the response, all her arguments gone, and he pushed her gently back.
“I shall stand as the champion of the Drift of Jalan,” he said simply. “Make your challenge.”
CHAPTER 24
The Challenge
“You dare to challenge me?” Regnar snarled with soft fury at the image floating before him. Blood and saliva were dripping down his chin, and he could feel the power welling within him, a rage that would obliterate anything and everything before him. His anger was all the hotter that it was a woman who dared to speak such words to him.
Gently, gently now! cautioned the Ohric, speaking for the Tyrant’s ears alone. This woman may be bringing us the opportunity for which we seek. Do not discard it rashly!
“Our armies have fought to a stalemate within the walls of the city,” the woman Brillis was saying through the sending. “When the battle resumes, we shall have more slaughter but no decision. We cannot continue as we are, and yet war will bring us no resolution. So that leaves us the option of personal combat on the field of honor.”
“What weapon shall you chose, old woman?” scoffed Regnar despite the scepter’s warnings. “A broom or mending needles?”
“I shall put forth a champion to stand in my stead,” Brillis answered calmly.
“And this champion would be…?”
“Darius Inglorion, Paladin of Mirna, one of the Chosen of Bilan-Ra.”
So she dangles the Paladin before us, said the Ohric, a note of satisfaction in that cold voice. It is good. Hear, then, what you must say in answer…
As Regnar listened, his teeth gritted slowly in a lipless smile, and even through the filter of the sending, Brillis blanched at the sight. But she went whiter still when she heard the full terms of the contest.
“What say you?” demanded Regnar. “I will have these terms and none other. Refuse, and I shall bring the walls of the Drift down around your ears.”
Brillis swallowed and nearly choked, but she had known before the sending was conjured that she must accept whatever terms were offered.
“Done,” she said. “When shall the champions meet?”
“Done and done,” growled Regnar in reply. “I shall be ready at first light before the Wizard’s Gate. There shall our business be concluded.”
* * *
“You had no right to make such an offer!” snapped Argus angrily.
“I am charged with the defense of Jalan’s Drift, My Lord Duke,” Brillis shot back. “You are naught but a guest within this city, whatever troops you might command. I was and am well within my rights, and I shall tell you only this once to keep a civil tongue in your mouth when you address me.”
Brillis was seated on the mayoral chair in the Hall of Audiences within her palace, and she was resplendid in a formal white gown and mantle that gave her all the authority of her office. She had summoned the lords of the Southlands into her presence, an action well within her rightful power but a pronounced breach of etiquette by treating the Dukes in the same manner as she would treat a common merchant or tradesman. Darius stood by her side, and it felt right to stand as this woman’s champion.
Argus was seething, his teeth grinding, and Clarissa stepped forward to forestall a nasty exchange. “We do not challenge your right, Lady. But we do question the wisdom of this decision. We have ever been steady allies, and this contravention comes at a dangerous time.”
“Yes, I can understand your distress to find that my bargaining forestalled your own,” Brillis replied cuttingly, and several of the Dukes exchanged guilty glances.
“This monstrosity, this Juggernaut,” Clarissa said steadily. “It is far from dead. It is going through a metamorphosis of some kind and will soon achieve an even deadlier form. While it may hold no allegiance to Regnar, it will fall upon the city, and the destruction it visits upon us shall be terrible. We must withdraw, regardless of the outcome of this contest.”
“The future form of the titan is a grave concern, it is true,” allowed Brillis. “But while it may breach both gate and wall, without the Northings to pour through, they are nothing but holes.”
“But you would yield the entire city to the invaders!”
“As you would have.”
Again, the Lords exchanged uncomfortable looks, the accusation stealing much of their indignation. It was not easy to stand before Brillis and admit they had planned to exchange the Drift for a small advantage for the Southlands.
“We believe Regnar would be willing to turn on the remaining rock goblins in his army and destroy them,” Thrandar said, his voice heavy. “Otherwise, he will release them to again infest the Mountains of the Winds. There are only a few hundreds remaining, so they would make no difference to his force, but they would be a nightmare is they began to breed again in our mountains.”
Darius made no sign, but he felt a pang of real sympathy with Thrandar and his dilemma. Norealm was abutted against the southern wall of the Mountains of the Winds, and his people would bear the brunt of the ravishes of the rock goblins. It had been so for many centuries, before the concerted effort by all the Southlands had finally driven them from their mountain holds.
Brillis merely shook her head. “Rock goblins are hardly more than stinging fleas. As long as the Drift stands, the Southlands shall be safe.”
“Yet you put all our efforts at risk in the hands of this outlaw?” Argus demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Darius.
There was a pregnant pause, Brillis not countering Argus’ words, and there were frowns throughout the hall. Darius steadied himself, knowing what was to come.
“The fate of the Drift is not in the hands of Lord Darius alone,” Brillis answered. “Regnar claims lordship of three armies, and thus he puts forth three champions. I seek two more champions to stand with the Paladin in the name of the Drift.”
There were startled exchanges of glances as people expressed their shock and sought the opinions of others, and it seemed as if a consensus were silently formed.
“Then you must do away with this nonsense straight away,” Argus rumbled. “Three champions? Do you know the sorts of horrors that Regnar can put forth? You must rescind the challenge. I shall risk none of my men.”
“Nor I,” echoed Feldon of Palmany.
“We have no choice,” Brillis answered. “The weldmort is already forged.”
“A weldmort?’ exclaimed Clarissa. “Regnar agreed to a weldmort?”
“Yes,” Brillis answered. “So you see we are already staked upon the cast.”
There was an instant rumble of discussion throughout the room, and Darius readily understood both the surprise and the concern. A weldmort was an ancient bond that held any creature to its sworn word, using the power of the being itself to force compliance. Its origins were lost in antiquity, and it was seldom if ever used now, but it had lost none of its weight and significance with time. It was said that the gods themselves could be held to account by a weldmort into which they willingly entered, and with a weldmort forged, there could be no further question about avoiding the confrontation.
“The devil take you and your arrogance, Brillis!” growled Argus. “I shall not be bound by the chains you forged! Look to your own ranks for champions!”
“My people took the brunt of the enemy assault upon the second wall,” Brillis reminded them. “Chavar and Durmont both fell there, and Andamas took grievous hurt. I have none that can now stand forth in my name.”
“That is none of our fault,” said Georg-Mahl. “I will need every man I have when the Drift falls.”
“As will I,” replied Clarissa, and they both turned their backs and walked away.
“Surely the men of Norealm and Warhaven are quarried from stronger stone,” said Brillis anxiously to Thrandar and Mandrik. “Will you not each put forth your champions?”
It was Mandrik who shook his head first. “Regnar can conjure demons out of the very Pit to do his bidding. I would do no more than send a worthy man to his death.”
Brillis’ eye then fell on Thrandar alone, and the man stood tall beneath her glance. But he too shook his head. “I fear you have spoken the grim truth, Lady. You are charged with the defense of the Drift, and need spare no thought for the Southlands. Yet our oaths and duties are to our people and our realms.” He then looked at Darius and said, “Leave off this foolishness, Paladin. We yet may win the war even if the city be lost. Come and make your stand with us.”
Darius, however, just shook his own head in turn. “I have pledged my word and therefore my honor. I shall stand forth at dawn as the champion of the Drift.”
The room went dead silent, heads turning, faces blank with amaze.
“You…you can’t be serious,” Thrandar said. “The terms allow Regnar to field three warriors, regardless of the number who might stand for Brillis. You will be overmatched three to one against the most deadly champions Regnar can muster.”
“That, I think, was Regnar’s intent from the first,” Darius answered simply. “It will be my task to prove him wrong.”
* * * * *
Shannon and Jhan were traveling southward on the road to Maganhall, their horses tiring from a long day’s travel, and Jhan was starting to watch the woods around them for a clearing where they might make camp for the night. They had run to the edge of the noxious green cloud bank overhead, and he was all in favor of putting a few more miles behind them in order to sleep at last under the stars and a clear sky.
For the last few miles, however, Shannon seemed more concerned with the road directly in front of her than the sky or the woods.
Finally, she brought her horse to an abrupt stop.
“It can’t be,” she said to the road. Then she turned as Jhan drew closer and repeated, “It can’t be.”
“What can’t be?” he asked cautiously.
“The hostages,” she answered with growing conviction. “They simply can’t be the reason I set out from the Greenwood.”
“But you yourself said that your mission was more than just finding and tending to your Father,” Jhan retorted. “It was in pursuit of him that led you to Llan Praetor, to the mirror, and finally to the hostages.”
“It was but one step on the road,” she said, her words filled with the soft wonder of self-discovery. “Not the end. Not the reason for the journey.”
“But your Father said you must complete a task you have willingly undertaken,” he countered.
“Not at the price of my true quest,” she answered. “Not when my heart falters with every mile we put between us and the Drift.”
There was a sound of a loud neighing, and startled, they looked up to see a huge white stallion standing on a small hill off to the left and watching them intently. The horse reared, beating the air with its hooves, and then it charged back northward with breathtaking speed.
“Andros!” Shannon cried. “He is telling us we are needed! We must go back!”
Without another word, she swung the horse around and started pounding back down the road they had just come, charging northward. Towards the Drift.
“Shannon!” he cried, but he spoke to nothing but the dust trail of her galloping horse. He let out an oath, turned his own horse, and galloped after her.
* * * * *
Darius was seated at the wooden table in the small, high-ceilinged house which had been set aside for him, a simple structure that seemed more like a well built barn than a place for people. He had asked for a place where he could pass the night quietly, and he was well satisfied with their selection. He knew there were at least a dozen guards placed around the building, though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure if they were to keep others out or him in. He had a feeling the guards themselves were not sure either.
He stomach rumbled once again, breaking in on his meditations, but he paid it no heed. Fasting was one of the best ways to gather one’s thoughts and purify the body, and it was a ritual he deeply cherished, a cleansing of the spirit. He tried to remember the last day he had spent in fasting and quiet contemplation. The Greenwood, he supposed. A shame that at the time, he did not understand it would be one of his last opportunities.
There was a tiny sound somewhere above him, and Darius glanced up into the criss-crossing rafters of the high ceiling. He stared, blinked, then stared again, for he could not convince himself that he saw a female figure perched easily among the beams.
“Adella?” he asked, though his heart already knew it was she.
“Come, Darius,” she said softly. “I’ve horses saddled and waiting for us. We’ve many leagues to travel before the sun finds us.”
Darius frowned, honestly puzzled. “Where is it that we are going?”
“To freedom. And to life.”
The Paladin leaned back against the table, a small smile playing across his lips. “An
d where do you expect to find such a wondrous place?”
“In a land as far from Jalan’s Drift as we can get.”
“You will never find these things in some distant retreat, no matter how far you travel,” Darius said with a slow shake of his head. “If you leave the Drift, you will be fleeing from them, not to them.”
“Enough with the fine speeches,” Adella answered with a groan. “The sun is set, the crowds are gone, and the scribes have put away their quills. This is now the cold reality of night when the choice is simple. Stay and die or leave and live. No other options remain.”
“Your choices are confused, Adella. If we run from Regnar now, he will triumph over all the land. Over all the world. Over every living human soul.”
Adella let out a patient sigh. “I know for a fact that Brillis has released you from your oath, for even she is not mad enough to match one against three. There is nothing more to bind you here. We’ll ride south and pick up Shannon on the way, and you can even bring along that idiot Jhan if you’ve a mind.”
“I am not held by my word to Brillis. I am held by duty to my quest.”
Adella bristled at that. “You thick-headed fool! You’re blundering right into their trap! Are you so blind you can’t see that?”
“A strange trap, if trap it be,” he mused. “For the only way to fall victim is by trying to avoid it. All the paths to safety you see are nothing but illusion. The only road to the place you seek goes through the field of combat tomorrow.”
“Then you will die and fail.”
“No. The only way I can fail is by not emerging from the preparation tent to face the enemy at dawn. That would tell one and all that my convictions are shallow and my promises are lies. That would fail in my purpose at the very last.”
He stood now, taking a half step forward, seeking to be closer. “Do not give in to despair, Adella. Whatever the outcome of the battle tomorrow, I cannot fail. And therefore I cannot truly die.”
Adella closed her eyes and looked away, as if the words had inflicted a grave wound.
“Damn you,” she said softly, hopelessly. “Damn you for who you are and what you have done. I’ve valued my freedom above all things, my one true and lasting treasure. Now you have taken it from me. Damn you for that.”
Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) Page 31