A Rage in the Heavens (The Paladin Trilogy Book 1) (15 page)

As evening began to creep up upon them, Darius eased Andros down to a walk, wanting him to cool down a bit before they stopped for the night, and the quieter pace gave Joshua the chance to ask some of the questions that had bounded around inside his head during the afternoon ride.

“You spoke of a spell of fear that had struck my people,” he began. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before. What is it?”

“I’ve encountered it several times, but never on such a magnitude,” admitted Darius. “It simply increases a person’s natural fears until they overwhelm every other emotion. That’s why your people seemed so glassy-eyed.” He shook his head slowly. “Still, the extent of the spell is alarming. Alacon Regnar is said to be a conjurer, a master of the black arts, but even an arch-mage would be hard pressed to send such power over so large an area.”

“But if it was so strong, how did you counter it so easily?”

“I only needed to shake them lightly to rouse them from that stupor.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Highlanders are a hearty and tightly joined folk, and it goes against their grain to run,” Darius answered with a smile. “More, the Pass bunched them together and led them right to me.” Then the smile faded. “But if such a spell of fear falls upon the mixed forces defending the Drift, the battle might be over before it is ever joined. I, by myself, could never hope to counter it there.”

“But surely the main forces of the Church will be gathered for the defense of the Drift,” Joshua said, a little puzzled by his overlooking the obvious. “It won’t be just a single acolyte trying to contain the fear.”

Darius glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Don’t dismiss that acolyte so easily. It took real courage to stand against both the fear spell and your own people, Lad. Don’t forget, it was more than your two mentors were able to manage.”

Joshua’s frown deepened, however, despite the compliment, and Darius realized he had gone a little too far. The boy seemed to be stepping back, taking a wider look at this strange armored knight who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Where did you come by such a sword?” he asked, eyeing Sarinian in its saddle scabbard.

“The Avenger chose me,” Darius answered simply. “Sometimes I think I am no more than its feet, carrying it from one battle to the next.”

The boy pondered this, the words seeming to raise even more doubts or questions in him. Darius waited patiently.

“Why do you wear such antiquated armor?” the boy continued, now clearly suspicious. “Chain-mail is lighter, far more flexible, and nearly as strong.”

“It is the armor I was given.”

“By whom?”

There was no way to avoid it. “Bilan-Ra, the Messenger of Mirna the Glorious.”

“You’re a Paladin!” the boy cried, aghast.

“Yes.”

“Let me down! Let me down, I say! I’ll not ride with the likes of you!”

The boy began pushing himself off the horse, Andros neighing angrily at this unwarranted behavior. Darius reached behind and grabbed the boy’s shoulder, keeping him from jumping.

“Don’t be stupid,” answered Darius sternly. “You put weight on that leg, and you’ll lose it.”

“I don’t care!” Joshua shouted, still struggling. “Let me down!”

Darius had little choice, but he was able to hold his grip on the boy’s robes as he dismounted, lessening the impact on the wounded leg. Despite the help, Joshua still grunted with pain as he hit the ground, but he stepped out manfully, limping along in the same direction, Alston’s Fey now an infinitely longer distance away.

We have no time for such foolishness
, said Sarinian coldly.
Ride on!

Darius let out a small sigh. “It’s still a little early to make camp, but perhaps we can make it up in the morn.”

With that, he spurred Andros past the boy, going a short distance further down the road before dismounting and starting to make camp. By the time Joshua drew close, Darius had already tended to Andros, started a fire, and was preparing the meal. The boy’s angry eyes were focused farther down the road, ignoring both fire and food, but it was clear that the shock of the tightening wound had already taken a toll on his resolve.

“Come, Lad,” Darius called kindly. “You’ll not get any farther tonight. If you’ll travel no more with me, at least share a last camp.”

The boy paused, but his face still showed his disdain. “I’ll not share a heretic’s fire.”

“Joshua, there’s something you have to bear in mind,” Darius said slowly. “Whatever our differences in religion, we have a common enemy in Regnar. Don’t forget that. The best way to insure his victory is to quarrel among ourselves.”

Joshua said nothing, but Darius could feel the turmoil coursing through the boy, a mixture of doubt, prejudice and grudging agreement. The Church spurned the Paladins as heretics, men who claimed to do the bidding of Mirna without the sanction of the Church, and there were even those who taught that Paladins were no more than killers who plied their trade in the name of the God, adding blasphemy to their crime of murder. Yet it had been Darius alone who had turned the tide in the High Pass, he who had swayed the Highlanders as they fled, untouched by Joshua’s own ramblings and ravings.

Finally, the boy nodded once and sat down exactly where he stood, unable to bring himself even to turn towards the fire. Darius sighed again, got up, and lifted the boy off the ground.

“What are you doing?” Joshua yelled, trying to resist. “Let go of me!”

Darius, however, handled him with surprising ease as if he weighed no more than a newborn infant, walking calmly over to the fire and putting him down next to it. Without asking or saying a word, he then began to examine the boy’s bandage.

“I can dress the wound myself!” Joshua snapped.

“The wound’s in the back of the leg where you can’t reach,” Darius answered simply. “If you try to dress it, you’ll be on your back in two days and dead of fever within the week. And no word of the battle and the Highlanders will reach your superiors.”

The boy frowned, mulling this over, and while he considered, Darius quickly peeled off the bandage. A glance showed that the wound was still red and angry, but there was no smell of infection. He nodded, knowing it was on the right road to mending, and he replaced the dressing with the ease of long experience.

The boy watched and said nothing.

After dressing the wound, Darius set about tending their dinner, a piece of venison from a deer he had brought down with bow and arrow two days ago. Joshua’s eyes never left him, as if he were expecting some sort of assault. Darius was content to work in silence, making no attempt at conversation, for he knew the questions were bound to come, knew the unneeded rebukes were souring in the boy’s mouth.

Must be the same age as Shannon, Darius thought to himself. With that same absolute certainty about everything.

Darius handed him a knife when the meat was done but offered no other invitation, merely setting the example by starting to carve himself a portion.

“You didn’t bless the meat,” the boy chided, his hostile eyes boring into him.

Darius glanced at him calmly while continuing to cut away a tender piece of venison. “The Lord hears the gratitude in my heart. If I speak the words aloud, it would only be for your ears, not for His.”

He sat down and began to eat, knowing the dam was now broken and the flood of questions about to strike.

“They call you heretic,” the boy said.

Darius smiled and said nothing.

“They call you renegade and outlaw. They say you reject the sacrament and sing the Great Song openly.”

Darius continued to use his mouth only for the meat, but the smile had lessened.

“They say you profane the Lord and hold the Church in open contempt.”

“And what do you say, Youngster?” Darius asked, turning his eyes on him. “We’ve fought a battle together and ridden near twelve leagues in the same saddle. What’s your opinion?”

“My opinion? But I don’t know anything about you.”

“Neither do they.”

The boy frowned, taken off guard. He considered this for a moment before taking a different approach.

“Still, you have to heed the wisdom of the Church Elders.”

No response. The boy’s frown deepened.

“The Church is our guiding light,” Joshua continued with growing heat. “Though the Propriety Councils, it teaches us how to live a righteous life and remain in the Lord’s favor. The Church is Mirna’s instrument on Earth!”

Darius tossed aside the bone he’d been chewing, his own eyes calm.

“The Church is men, with all the virtues and vices of men,” he answered slowly. “They say I must stand beneath a roof and have a yellow robe in front of me to truly hear the Word of Mirna. I say the God’s voice is not so weak.”

“Blasphemy!” gasped the boy. “The Church is the House of God!”

Darius just shook his head. “If every church were torn down, would Mirna cease to exist?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why do you act as if the Church is indispensable to Mirna?”

It was clear Joshua was trying very hard to find him vile and immoral, to find confirmation of all he had heard of Paladins, and it was also clear he was not having much success.

“Then tell me what you believe,” the boy said.

“No.”

“Why not? Are you ashamed?”

“It is not to me that you should look for answers. It is within yourself.” He reached over and cut a large piece of meat, holding out to the boy. “Come and eat. You’ll never heal if you use your mouth only for words.”

Joshua took the meat absently, but his eyes were still hard on the man before him. Finally, he said with a touch of defiance, “I think they’re right. I think you are a heretic.”

Darius got slowly to his feet, but paused to look down at the boy.

“A man speaks the truth as he sees it, and they call him heretic,” he mused aloud. “Another man mouths their senseless oaths, and they call him pious. When my time is done, I’ll stand and answer for my actions, and neither the words of priest nor man will make any difference then. If heretic is your word for such a view, then I’ll bear it gladly. Now eat the venison before it grows cold.”

Darius began preparing his bedroll, paying no more attention to the young man. But as he started to drift off to sleep, he noticed that Joshua was only beginning to gnaw thoughtfully on the meat in his hand.

* * * * *

“Has the forest scrambled your wits?” demanded Jhan. “We can’t go down there!”

“Of course we can,” Shannon countered. “This is our one chance to really gain on Andros and catch up with my father.”

Jhan looked down the jagged side of the cliff, scattered plants and bushes clinging tenuously to the sides which suggested loose dirt rather than solid stone, and many of the rocks were coated with a spongy-looking moss that promised to slide like mud beneath the first foot. He shook his head.

“I see now why they call them the Green Cliffs,” he said. “But we won’t gain at all on your father if one of us tumbles and breaks their head.”

“No one’s going to break their head if we’re careful,” she answered. “Andros will have to take the long way along the Forest Road down to the Southlands. We can reach them simply by climbing down over a few rocks.”

“A few rocks,” snorted Jhan. It was hard for forest folk to measure such a height, but he knew it would be certain death to fall from even a fraction of that distance. As he peered down, he felt just the slightest bit queasy and quickly stepped back from the edge.

“That drop must be the equal of a hundred tall trees standing upon each other,” he stated.

“No more than half that.”

“But falling out of a single tree can still kill you,” he argued.

“I was always prepared to climb down the cliffs myself without a rope,” Shannon told him. “Now with you here and the rope from the Peddler, we should have no problem.”

“No problem,” he snorted again. “The way a corpse has no problems.”

“Then walk around if you’re that afraid,” Shannon snapped. “We both knew there were going to be dangers along the way. This is just one of them.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Alright. But if I’m the one killed, I’d just like to say in advance, ‘I warned you fair!’”

Shannon had to smile. The encounter with the Peddler was two days behind them, the rain had vanished completely, and they were in better shape and better humor than they had been since starting out. Despite Jhan’s complaints, they had both been immensely heartened when they had emerged from the endless trees to look out over the great rolling quilt of the Southlands, clear proof they had finally arrived on the edge of their precious map.

“Fair enough,” she said. “Now let’s get started.”

Jhan sighed and produced the rope, tying the one end into a loop to make a rough seat. They then peered down over the cliff, trying to judge the best spot.

“There,” said Shannon, pointing to a place to the right. “The bushes and trees are much less of a problem. Looks like there’s even a couple of ridges further down.”

“Almost looks like others have used it,” agreed Jhan. “Still, I’m going first.”

“It’s my idea. I’m going first.”

“Don’t argue. The rope is barely the length of a pair of trees, so we’ll have to take a dozen turns to reach the bottom. If you’re above me and you slip, I might be strong enough to hold the rope. But if I’m above and slip, I’m bound to pull both of us off the cliff.”

Shannon grimaced a little, but it was hard to argue with his reasoning. She accepted the one end of the rope and wrapped it a half-turn around a solid outcrop of rock, holding hard and bracing with her feet. Even with such precautions, she was hard put to hold on as Jhan began to work his way down the slippery cliff. She took a heavy breath, closed her eyes, and in her mind, she quietly sang a verse of the Great Song of Mirna, drawing strength from it just as her Father had taught her. Before she began a second verse, Jhan called out to her from below.

“I’ve got good footing here,” he said. “Tie the rope round yourself well and take real care. The moss is very treacherous.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, tying her end into a similar loop. She slipped it over her head and under her arms, making sure it was snug. Then she cautiously began the climb down to where Jhan waited.