The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade

by Jason Psilopoulos

  “I’m sorry,” Marcus offered. Rebekah shook her head, refusing to look up.

  “I’m just shocked that it happened at all. I didn’t think he’d go like that.”

  “How old was he?” Marcus asked. Rebekah looked up, confused by the question.

  “Ninety-Three. What’s that got to do with it?” Marcus paused. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

  “I was asking because when a man dies, it’s customary to review their life. And Highmaster Troius was very old.” Rebekah wiped at her eyes. Her face wasn’t one of anguish, but a mix of befuddlement and anger.

  “He’s dead Marcus.” Marcus nodded.

  “And I’m trying to be comforting.” Rebekah shook her head.

  “No Marcus. They found him dead. Murdered in his meditation chamber.” It took a moment for the two of them to finally realize what the other was thinking.

  “Who’d be able to kill a man like him?” Marcus asked finally, thinking like a paladin. “Who would want to?” Rebekah shook her head, pressing the button for the lobby.

  “I don’t know. My double mentioned it to me in the Tumbler. Makes me think it wasn’t a coincidence. Something funny was going on in the Holodrome. Once I’m up and around, I’m going to find out for sure.” Marcus paused the lift and frowned.

  “You can’t leave the campus.”

  “The hell I can’t. The Highmaster was like a grandfather to me. If someone killed him, I intend to find out who it was.” Marcus shook his head. “You can’t stop me.” That got a smirk out of him.

  “You think so?” Rebekah looked away, shaking her head.

  “No,” she admitted, disappointed. “But it’s not fair. I should be able to go.” Marcus put a hand on hers and shrugged.

  “That’s our life right now. Remember, I can’t leave either. As much as I want to find Jacob, I can’t go.” Rebekah blew out her breath and sagged. Marcus understood. She’d been hoping that she could get an argument out of him. At least then, he’d be distracted enough that she could slip out without telling him.

  “I still wanna do something.” Marcus agreed.

  “I’ve got class tomorrow, and I’ve got an interview. I’ll see if I can’t get you some Intel to look over. That’s the best I can do for now.” The elevator resumed its course and Rebekah did her best not to look disappointed. She wiped at her eyes again as Marcus stood. He’d seen it, but he didn’t say anything.

  Uther had managed to sneak into the Holodrome that evening, intent on meditating in solace and quiet. His schedule of rumination had been severely disrupted by the Peace Games. He wanted to get a semblance of his normal life back. Fortunately, one of the things he'd mastered before coming to the Academy was the Un'Hok Tol art of stealth. He could shield himself if the need arose, keeping his physical form from being seen. Even Marcus would have trouble detecting him without help.

  The place he usually sat to begin his meditation wasn’t there, having been shifted to accommodate the bleacher seating now within the Holodrome. But he knew approximately where he should be. Most of the Holodrome had been shifted to make room for the seating. With its modular design, the floor plan had been changed dramatically. The floor had sunken downward into the basement and the upper floors had compressed to give the Peace Games crowd enough room to see.

  After a bit of walking, he found himself a nice, quiet spot along the grandstands and closed his eyes. The last few days had been spent in what his father had called, ‘frivolous pursuits’, but it was the first time he had felt normal and accepted since he’d arrived on campus.

  The images of the vision came to his mind again as he left behind the events of the past few days. The pillar of pure light was there. Uther stood in it, and his hands were clasped around something he could not see. Uther focused his mind, forcing it to fill with the other images that Marcus had presented to him. He needed them to fill his vision.

  You’ll die, a voice said in his mind. Uther’s brow furrowed.

  “Who are you?” he asked quietly. The voice seemed to chuckle.

  Your life is forfeit Grrhsrwdzas Wqrtyngenbyhddfr, the voice bellowed. The images around Uther began to move and twist, taking a violent departure. Uther watched himself reaching for the pillar, acting in a manner that seemed unlike him. His face was set with determination, his eyes fixed on something within the light.

  It has already been decided. And despite this, you will fail. You will fail your people and your destiny. You are no hero. Uther tried to shut out the voice. He continued to focus his mind. The images were warping beyond his comprehension, but he gritted his teeth and forced his mind to see. He opened his mind’s eye and watched as the things around him unfolded.

  Marcus was on the ground in front of him. His face was one of shock. Others were about, standing or lying or other things that Uther couldn’t discern. Marcus lifted someone from the floor and ran, and Uther was left with his pillar of light. In a sweeping instant, all went dark.

  Don’t fight destiny Grrhsrwdzas. Embrace your worthlessness and die! Uther snapped his eyes open, looking at the surrounding darkness. He could feel his heartbeat thundering against his ribs. He’d never felt anything like that before. The presence was so vile, so malevolent that he couldn’t fathom it.

  Marcus, he thought. He needed to know. He needed to hear and understand. Uther needed his help.

  Chapter 20

  Searching

  I'm not sure why, nor am I sure why I'm writing this, but Marina has become increasingly agitated lately, refusing both help and company. Not that I expected that she would want much help. But she has never been one to refuse my company. The last time that happened was before we were engaged.

  Today, I suggested that I make her breakfast, and that she stay in bed. I spent the next hour wondering what had possessed my wife to speak to me so. She was so vicious and foul-mouthed, I could hardly listen to her. But then, the doctors did say a certain amount of rage and unfocused anger was to be expected after a trauma to the head like Marina's.

  She snapped at Marcus yesterday, when he asked if she could fix Steiner. He ran away crying, and Marina didn't even seem stricken. I could swear I saw a smile on her face. Marcus blew it off about an hour later, but it was sufficiently frightening for him.

  I'm not sure what is really happening here, but I want my wife back.

  Marcus closed the journal and frowned. He was sitting up on Strebor's Rock, tucked deep into the pit of the stone, just out of sight of anyone who happened to wander past. He figured if the press wasn't camped out on the rock, it was probably safe to assume they didn't know he was there. The morning air was cold and stiff, perfect for keeping oneself awake.

  The tone of the journal had changed since the accident that had injured his mother. He still didn't recall the incident, or the other things that apparently happened afterward. His mother had only yelled at him once that he could recall. And that had been just after his father had died. She hadn't said anything spiteful, and she had not spoken in the spirit that his father suggested in his entries. It had been a desperate and lonely cry, which ended in a tearful embrace.

  Marcus listened to the surf for a moment, trying to determine what was happening in his life all of the sudden. Rebekah was his, finally after so many years. He couldn't have imagined anything better. And yet, a year ago, he wouldn't have wanted it. Rebekah had been history. It didn't matter then. He was in love with Jennifer.

  Jennifer, he thought. Just the thought of her name was wearying. She had come out of nowhere, disrupted his entire life, and brought with her a whole slew of more annoying problems. Not only did she want to renew their relationship, but she was a target of someone who controlled powerful magics. And anyone who could conjure up a sand demon like that was involved in some pretty nasty business.

  Marcus had done some checking after the incident. There weren’t any magicians or known sorcerers on the loose. And anyone with an unhealthy fixation on Jennifer had been dealt with in quiet and unconventiona
l means. Marcus had to give credit to Drew on that one. No matter what he thought of the man, it was clear he had the means to handle things in the pop culture arena. That left the Innova. But Marcus couldn’t figure the connection. It wasn't unusual for someone to get overly infatuated with a popular icon. But the Innova were not known to attempt to attack anyone without reason. It was dangerous and drew far too much attention to their existence. And Marcus knew an attempt like that on his own life was futile. It didn't add up.

  Then, there was the Green Grimoire. Jennifer’s book was selling like lemonade during a heat wave. Marcus hadn’t actually picked up a copy. Something told him he didn’t need to. He had a hunch about what it said. But that didn’t explain why people were buying it so ravenously. There was scarcely a place on the campus that didn’t have a small display or kiosk somewhere. Fall Memoria Publishing was pressing the book so fervently, to Marcus, it felt pushy.

  Uther had mentioned that Ellis had a copy. That didn’t worry Marcus so much. It was the tone of debate around the campus. Eventually, Marcus would be drawn into one of those conversations. And he knew, when that happened, he’d finally know what was up with Jenny’s book.

  To top off all the revivalist fervor, the life Marcus had known as a child was suddenly being replayed for him in the words of his father. But he still didn't understand why his memory of those things was so vague. His mother with a broken arm and a head injury. Her violent tendencies. All things that he knew he should remember, and didn't. But then, Marcus was about six when it all happened. He really didn’t think he’d remember everything about what happened back then. But any memory would have been preferable to no memory. Marcus just had no recollection at all of his mother being injured in any way.

  “That can’t be all that interesting,” Jennifer’s voice said from the beach. Marcus frowned. Jennifer was motioning toward the journal, oblivious as to its contents. He closed the journal slowly. He didn’t want to do this now.

  “Thought you were in the hospital?” he asked, slipping the journal into his bag and stepping down from Strebor’s Rock. Jennifer looked at him quietly as he landed in the sand and started toward the woods. Marcus obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk.

  “I snuck out,” she said as she followed. “Part of the perks of being a celebrity. You learn how to make discreet exits.” Marcus knew she was going to follow him. He wasn’t trying to lose her, so much as get her to stop. Jennifer followed at his side, keeping a comfortable distance from him.

  “My exits aren’t that discreet,” Marcus kept going. “But I’m trying to exit anyway.” Jennifer continued, undaunted.

  “Marcus, wait.” He slowed a little, but kept moving. “I just wanted to thank you for saving me Marcus. I really appreciated it.” Marcus shook his head, quickening his pace slightly. Jenny matched him, undaunted.

  “That’s my job,” Marcus said with cold sarcasm. Jennifer slowed for a second. Marcus didn’t ever refer to it as his job. He continued walking, seeming not to notice that she wasn’t right next to him.

  “You mean-” Marcus stopped, turning. He didn’t look happy.

  “I did it because it was the right thing to do,” he said, his tone hollow. “Not because of any feelings I may or may not have for you.” Jennifer looked a little taken aback. Marcus watched her for a moment, trying to gauge her response. Jennifer looked around in confusion. She didn’t seem to understand.

  “But I’m the love of your life, aren’t I?” Marcus didn’t move. He didn’t want to say it. He wanted to let her come to her own conclusions.

  “I love Rebekah,” he said finally. “Us is over. We’ve been over for more than a year.” Marcus half expected Jennifer to start crying. But she still looked confused. Almost as though she were trying to put the facts together. “You can’t just insert yourself into my life again.”

  “This can’t be right,” she muttered. Marcus’s frown deepened. “You were supposed to love me. You were supposed to marry me and we were supposed to run away together and be happy forever. All I had to do was get rid of that tomboy and it would all work out. I was promised.” Marcus could see the concern growing on her face. She was still confused. He didn’t know exactly what to say.

  “It’s all I can tell you,” he offered. “You shouldn’t have come back.” Marcus turned to walk away, and felt a hand on his arm. He turned and Jennifer was there, trying to pull him back.

  “You are supposed to love me!” she screamed. Her face was panicked as she yanked on his elbow.

  “What the-” Jennifer pulled him around to face her, her face red with alarm. It was Marcus’s turn to be confused.

  “You WILL love me! YOU HAVE TO!” Jennifer grabbed him around the middle and refused to let go. Marcus did his best, but she wouldn’t be budged.

  “Jennifer,” he muttered as he struggled. Jennifer’s grip got tighter. Marcus fought but he couldn’t seem to get away. “Let go!” Marcus gave Jennifer a hard shove, separating her from him. She looked at him, stricken.

  “I’ll die if you don’t love me!” she pleaded. Marcus straightened himself and picked up his bag. Jennifer went to grab him again but Marcus moved away.

  “No. You’ll get over it. Now leave me alone.” Marcus headed off into the woods, making sure to stay off the walking path. Jennifer didn’t follow. Marcus glanced back at her only once. To his surprise, she was talking to herself.

  Rebekah got on her feet and tried to walk around her quarters a bit. Her legs were still a little sore, but nothing she wasn’t used to. It was the dull ache in her back and the numbness in her knees that was bothering her. She wanted to be walking. She wanted to be well. But the doctor had prescribed at least a week of downtime and a bit of physical therapy after that. Rebekah sat back down in her wheelchair and scowled. She hated this. She hated being unable to do the things she was used to. Marcus had been by earlier, with Ian as usual. He’d offered to help her, but she’d refused.

  Marcus had brought the information that Rebekah had requested. Highmaster Troius had been killed by blunt force trauma to the spine. The spine itself was intact, but the force of the blow had shocked his nervous system into a full shutdown. Other than the cause of death, no other clues were present. No forced entry, no typical signs of struggle. Just a broken staff and a dead Highmaster. As though his staff had splintered beneath him and he had landed a little too hard for his frail body to handle.

  Rebekah didn’t believe that was the case. In fact, she could almost tell by the way things were written in the report that something was purposely left out. She’d already surmised one thing. The type of blow was similar to the one she’d received in the Tumbler. The only difference was the severity of the trauma.

  “Princess Norik?” a voice said through the door. Rebekah rolled herself toward the entry and let the door slide aside. Behind it, Darius stood with a grim look on his face.

  “Hey old timer.” Darius’s pale face wrinkled a bit at the nickname. “What brings you to my convalescence?” Darius stepped into the room, not bothering to ask for permission. Rebekah spun her chair around to face him as he paced the room.

  “I’m heading out tonight to see if I can figure out what happened to the Highmaster,” he said gravely. Rebekah nodded.

  “Give my regards to my mother.” Rebekah’s voice was not very resolute. In fact, she sounded resigned. Almost defeated. Darius pinched his face together a little.

  “You’re not coming then?” he asked. Rebekah didn’t look at him. Instead, she looked at her armor hanging in the corner. The jade colored metal gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window, bouncing light all across the room. She wanted to go. But she kept thinking of the promise she had made. She needed to stay. It was too dangerous. Without Marcus, injured and uncertain of what was out there, Rebekah was far too vulnerable.

  “I can’t go like this,” she said, motioning to the wheelchair. “I’m in no shape for fieldwork right now.”

  “Is that you or your paladin talking?” Reb
ekah looked up in alarm.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Darius stepped over by the armor on the mannequin and glanced out the window. Rebekah could see the muscles in his jaw shift as he thought of how to explain.

  “It means that you should make the choice. Not him.” Rebekah folded her arms across her chest and scowled at Darius. Despite the resolute face, Darius’s countenance didn’t falter.

  “I don’t have a choice,” she said finally. “I can’t go. Doc Terrold's orders. I can’t even ride a horse right now.” Darius walked up and put a hand on the back of the wheelchair. He leaned down so close Rebekah could feel his breath on her ear. When Darius spoke, his voice was a mere whisper.

  “But you can walk.” Rebekah looked down at her legs, not sure what to think. Darius started for the door, not waiting for a response. He stopped short, but didn’t turn to face her.

  "This isn't a sprained ankle Darius. I could end up paralyze if I push myself too hard." Darius shook his head. His posture spoke of his disappointment. "I didn't make this decision lightly Old Man. I have to be careful outside these grounds."

  “The Highmaster was like family. Don’t let a little injury keep you from finding out what happened to him. And as for the danger. Well, you were never afraid before you came back here. Marcus has turned you into a coward.” Darius let the door shush aside and started out.

  “Darius,” Rebekah called, her voice biting with anger. Darius stopped, but still didn’t turn. “I can’t go without Marcus.” Darius seemed to deflate a little.

  “You can. You choose not to.” The door swished closed behind him, leaving Rebekah to herself. She glanced again at her armor. It sat there silently, awaiting her decision.

  Donavan knew something was wrong the minute he stepped onto the bridge of the Triumphant. Every few seconds, a slight tremor would pass through the ship, followed by the dull thrum of the engines as they tried their best to self-correct. Donavan could feel the soles of his boots shuddering on the deck plates.