Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (23 page)

Shannon looked desperately around, the pall of smoke getting thicker every second, the hostages barely holding onto the saddles too sick with the smoke to worry about their lives, the horses close to full panic, their terrified eyes staring at her as if begging for her to heed the woman’s advice.

“No,” she said again, but she turned slightly and headed the horses south and east as Adella had recommended.

“Fool!” the woman snapped at her. “You’re committing suicide!”

“As long as we have life, we have hope,” Shannon answered. “I won’t abandon these people to save myself.”

“So you die for a mumble of fine-sounding words.”

“No,” she replied firmly. “The mirror showed me the hostages. It means I am the one to bring them to freedom, and if I abandon them, they are surely doomed.”

“You freed them from the castle, and that is all the mirror showed you! Use the brain Mirna gave you!”

“Mirna also gave me a heart,” Shannon said. “Jhan had it right. If we trusted our brains, we never would have started. Hope is our only chance, and hope is all we have left.” Then she offered a twisted smile. “So you can certainly outrun me. But will that save you from this bear?”

Adella was about to make a reply when she pulled up sharply and put her hand to the hilt of her sword. Shannon followed the direction of the woman’s glance and was staggered to see the shining presence of a man in sky blue robes standing directly before them, holding a staff of twisted serpents.

“The thief is quite correct, you know,” the man said, addressing Shannon. “The mirror of Llan Praetor shows only what is of importance to the viewer. It has no powers of prophecy, and it is dangerous in the extreme to use it as a guide for any actions beyond the specific scenes it chooses to reveal.”

“How would you know that?” Shannon asked, though her gut already knew the answer.

“Because I use the mirror frequently and have learned its limitations by hard and bitter lesson,” he replied.

“You are the Wizard Malcolm!”

“Arch-Mage, actually,” the man corrected. The rest of column had stopped and gathered around the shining presence that seemed to offer the promise of divine delivery.

“Can…can you save us, good sir?” one of the women cried out to him.

“Please! Please save us!”

“Please!”

“I myself have not the power to move so many,” he answered. There were wails of despair, but he quickly held up his hands. “However, I have brought…friends…with me. They are able to carry you all to safety. But they are fiercesome in appearance, and you will have to be brave of heart and trust their good intentions.”

“Who are these friends?”

“Where are they?”

“Please, we must hurry!”

“They are dragons,” Malcolm replied.

There were gasps and a few cries, people cringing back and searching the skies as if expecting the wyrms to come down upon them breathing fire.

“They will do you no harm, I promise,” Malcolm assured them. “They have agreed to bear you all away to the south of Jalan’s Drift where you will be safe. It is now your only chance.”

There was a buzz of discussion, but even the most reluctant clearly understood the options before them, and heads began to nod in slow agreement.

“The dragons cannot bear the horses, even if they were willing,” Malcolm warned. “The riders yes, but the horses no.”

“We shall trust the speed of the horses once they are free of these burdens,” Zarif answered. “We shall yet cheat the fire.”

“Then the rest of you must dismount and move forward,” Malcolm commanded. “You must move quickly. Come! Step out!”

Hesitantly, the hostages climbed down off of their horses and came to stand around the gleaming presence of the Arch-Mage. They were terrified, but their eyes went from the approaching flames to the green-choked clouds in the sky, unsure which they dreaded more.

When all had gathered around him, Malcolm raised his staff and called to the heavens with a giant’s voice, “Succor is asked and safety assured! Come, now! Come and fulfill the promises made!”

There in the distance, approaching from the south, were three dragons closing upon them with astonishing speed. People barely had time to point upward with a warning cry before the creatures were swooping down upon them, claws outstretched. A score of screams greeted them, but people did not have time even to cringe before they had gathered six bodies in their combined claws and begun to climb again. Shannon stared in amazement at the people flailing their arms and legs helplessly, but it was clear they were safe and unharmed despite the terrible nature of their rescue.

In the wake of the first wave came three more dragons to grab their share, followed by three more, and finally a single large dragon came forward to grab the remaining two hostages, all the monsters beating their massive wings and vanishing almost as quickly as they had appeared. Left behind were Adella, Shannon, and Jhan with Zarif and his men looking on, now barely controlling their horses.

“You must ride and ride fast, Captain,” Malcolm said. “I can buy you a little time with a burst of wind, but I cannot make any promises. Even an Arch-Mage has limited powers over a prairie fire.”

“Ride!” Zarif bellowed to his company, and riders and horses alike charged off in relief. But even as Malcolm held up his staff and sent a huge gust of wind billowing westward to challenge the fire, Zarif held his charger in check, looking at the three people remaining on the ground.

“What are your intentions with them?” Zarif demanded harshly.

“They have a different destination than the hostages, and I shall carry them there myself,” Malcolm answered calmly. “You need not fear. I will not abandon even thieves to a fiery death on the open plains.”

Still the Captain lingered. “Is this also your will, Matron?”

Adella actually laughed. “A chivalrous man in the face of death is a chivalrous man indeed. Yes, Captain. I’ll take the offered ride. Now be off with you, or you’ll not outrun the flames.”

“Take Mirna’s love with you, Captain,” called Shannon. “For this time you have indeed drawn life from the dying grass.”

Zarif offered the graceful gesture of acknowledgement and then turned and raced after his fleeing troops. Shannon swallowed hard, tears streaking her cheeks, though this time, the smoke was only partially responsible.

“Now if we are all quite ready,” Malcolm said, a wolfish grin on his face. “Join hands all three.”

As they joined a circle, the Arch-Mage came forward and grasped the joined hands of Adella, Jhan, and Shannon. Instantly, the world around them went hazy with a vague white light, unaffected by the thickening black smoke, and they felt themselves floating upwards and southwards, following in the general direction of the dragons.

“Ethereal travel,” Adella sighed appreciably.

“Better than a wind boat, is it not?” Malcolm asked over his shoulder, and both Shannon and Jhan winced.

“That thing nearly killed us,” Adella replied easily. “I think it must have been defective.”

“I’m glad you were spared for a different fate,” Malcolm answered softly, and the four of them began whizzing faster and faster through the ether.

* * * * *

Regnar stood up from the heavy throne the Northings had created for him here in the middle of the Free Lands, his head cocked as if listening to some distant sound. His teeth showed in a snarl or a grin, though his lips had rotted away long ago.

“The fates align,” he said. “The Juggernaut stirs again. The time grows ripe.”

The time is come, indeed
, agreed the Ohric.

Five hundred yards away stood the towering mound of earth and grass that hid the Juggernaut, and Regnar put out his hand towards it, feeling a tremble of life down in its core.

“Alahka Alenze!” he cried, and the Ohric burst into green light that surrounded him with power. With a single gesture of his left hand, the Tyrant sent the power surging forth to impact the tower of earth, the mass suddenly exploding in a rain of dirt and grass and debris. A massive cloud of dust remained in its place, too thick for any eyes to see, and all around, the Northings held up their hands and peered at the cloud.

Then, suddenly, something moved within it, something huge and black. Something with blazing red eyes in its ebony face.

There were shouts and cries of both panic and triumph as a black shape emerged from the cloud and continued its interrupted journey southward, the Juggernaut on the move again, its’ every step taking it closer to the walls of Jalan’s Drift.

It travels now on the last of its power
, the Ohric warned.
When next it stops, it shall form the cocoon.

“When next it stops, I shall have no more need of it,” Regnar answered. Then he raised his arms, and his voice was magnified a hundred fold, rolling out over the three separate armies of Northings, rock goblins, and undead. “March forward! March in the wake of the Juggernaut! March to deadly victory and bloody reward! March! March to Jalan’s Drift!”

CHAPTER 20

The Council and the Mayor

The Council of the Lords was met again, only now it was in a simple meeting room inside the Mayoral Palace of Jalan’s Drift. The Dukes sat at an enormous square table with their counselors standing behind them, and they were joined by Brillis, the Lord High Mayor of the Drift. The death of Duke Boltran had left the Council with an even number, and Brillis would be invited to vote only in the case of a tie.

Brillis was breaking the dread news she herself had just received.

“Our scouts report the Juggernaut is once more on the march, and its direction has not changed,” Brillis announced. “In two days, certainly within three, it will be pounding at the first wall of the Drift.”

“And the army that surrounds it?” asked Mandrik of Warhaven.

“Three armies,” Brillis corrected him. “The largest is still the Northing barbarians, and they number perhaps 15,000 strong. The force of rock goblins took the brunt of the battle with Maganhall and Palmany, and there are no more than a few thousands left. But in the vanguard marches the regenerated warriors, and they all close in strength to the Northings themselves.”

“Some thirty thousands then,” mused Argus. He found it amusing that Brillis avoided using the term “undead” and preferred “regenerated warriors”. Either way, Regnar had found a way to effectively double the size of his army without any worries of provisions or disloyalty.

“More than double the troops defending the Drift,” said Clarissa of Gemsbrook, her voice low.

“And the army has stone giants and mountain ogres in their train,” added Thrandar of Norealm. “The gates of the Drift have never been tested by their like.”

“We must decide how we are to proceed,” Brillis said. “We need a plan, and we have little time.”

“Before we can formulate a plan, we must first choose a new leader,” Argus rumbled. “And we must choose with care. Boltran has shown us the danger of following a fool.”

There was a stir around the table, the words not sitting well with several of the Dukes, but Argus ignored them and pushed on, “With no one to occupy the golden throne of Maganhall, the right of command falls to Palmany. Let Palmany now be heard. Does Palmany wish to put forth its claim?”

Right on cue, the aged Feldon said, “We do not wish to pursue our claim at this time. We believe a younger man must step forward during this crisis. But we do not yield the position of the House of Palmany, and our heirs shall be free to put forth their claims in the due course of time.”

“That is understood,” Argus replied and tried hard to keep the sneer out of his voice. “Who would Palmany put forth in your stead?”

“You, My Lord,” Feldon answered. “Palmany would put forward Argus, Duke of Corland, to command the forces of the Southlands at this time.”

“If Palmany does not put forth its claim, the position falls to the next House,” Thrandar of Norealm interjected firmly. “That is the House of Norealm, and we put forth our claim at this time.”

Argus held his silence, and the exchange of glances around the table assured him he need not fight this battle. It was Clarissa of Gemsbrook who spoke up. “The claim of Norealm has never been invoked before the Council in the past. A vote must be taken to determine the next leader of the forces of the Southlands.”

“A vote?” Thrandar repeated in astonishment. “On the seniority of Houses? There is no precedent for this!”

“We do not question the seniority of Houses,” Georg-Mahl of Hathage replied. “The issue is the leader of the forces of the Southlands, and two candidates have been put forth. That is a matter requiring a vote.”

Argus almost laughed at the confusion on Thrandar’s face. In the past, the head of the Council was
always
the leader of the forces of the Southlands, and it took him a minute to realize that the two positions could be separated.

“A vote is called,” Clarissa said simply. “Let those who wish show their support for Argus of Corland as the leader of the forces of the Southlands.”

She and Feldon both promptly raised their hands, and they were joined a moment later by Georg-Mahl. Argus raised his own hand, and finally, Mandrik of Warhaven joined them, making the decision virtually unanimous. Thrandar was left isolated with his mouth slightly ajar, as if seeking for some means of protest and coming up empty.

“Thus is the will of the Council made clear,” Clarissa declared. “Argus of Corland shall direct our forces in defense of Jalan’s Drift.”

Silence at the table, as if the Dukes were stunned by their own actions, and Argus allowed himself a tight smile as he said, “I formally accept the charge laid upon me by the Council, and I swear I shall do my outmost to defeat the invaders and defend the Drift of Jalan. I…”

He came to a stop as Brillis got abruptly to her feet, a violation of protocol that went beyond rudeness.

“My Lords and Lady, I trust you will accept my apologies, but the defenses of the Drift require my immediate attention.”

She turned and walked right out of the meeting without another word. Argus was boiling with rage at the undisguised insult. Going to attend to the defenses of the Drift without so much as a word to the Council’s chosen leader of their armies. This bitch will pay, he promised himself darkly.

The rest of the Council was still attending upon him, and it seemed as if some could read the words in his mind and were already questioning their decision. He steadied himself and offered a thick smile.

“We have the best troops available to defend the strongest fortress in all the world,” he told them. “We shall prepare a proper welcome for Regnar and his folk.”

* * * * *

Shannon gaped at the city spreading out below, for even at night and with the veil of the ethereal mists about them, she could see this metropolis made Alston’s Fey look like a forest village. The outer wall was a massive structure that stretched from one mountain side to the next, and she could just make out the second wall that followed the same curved course as the first. She could not make out the details of the sleeping city even as they passed directly above it, but she saw wall after wall extending past the second, each one slightly higher than the one before.

“Jalan’s Drift,” Adella told them. “The greatest city in all the Southlands, perhaps in all the world.”

“And the ultimate prize sought by Regnar and the Silver Horde,” added Malcolm.

They were slowing and gradual descending at the same time, and Jhan stiffened beside her. Never a good flyer, he was even worse with landings. She gave his hand a small reassuring squeeze and got a hard constant pressure in return.

“The fourth tier,” Adella observed as they passed the fourth wall and began to descend into the city proper. “What are you planning, Wizard?”

“We have a little meeting to attend,” he answered. “Just a casual gathering of old friends and new.”

“Will the small matter of our uninvited visit to Llan Praetor come up?” she asked.

“Oh, I expect it will be one of the central subjects of conversation.”

Shannon swallowed hard, not liking the reply, and Jhan’s grip tightened painfully on her hand, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the Wizard’s words or the rapidly approaching ground.

They stepped out of the ether into a small, unremarkable city square with only two arched exits at either end, the shops all closed for the night. The square itself, however, was well lighted to show at least a score of heavily armed warriors and a small carriage with two miniature horses to pull it. Shannon stared at the carriage, wondering if it were the toy of some noble’s child, for clearly the small horses could not pull the carriage any great distance. Then she noticed the tight arched exits from the square, and her eyebrows rose in appreciation. The carriage wasn’t intended for the open roads and vast distances of the country but rather the narrow streets of Jalan’s Drift where smaller size might well mean greater speed.

As if to confirm her thought, a footman reached forward and opened the door of the coach, and a woman stepped down without assistance. She was short and stout with a mass of blonde hair, and while her face was still largely free of wrinkles, she was clearly on the verge of leaving middle-age behind. She wore trousers with legs baggy enough to suggest a skirt and a simple blouse with a leather vest over top, the effect one of efficiency without denying her gender. She came towards them, her manner direct to the point of brusqueness, and she carried some kind of short cane or riding crop in her gloved hands. When she came to a stop, she cracked the crop against one glove as if warming up for some real blows.

“Madam Mayor, may I have the honor to present the woman Adella?” Malcolm said with a small bow. “Her companions are named Shannon and Jhan, and they accompanied her on her unannounced visit to my home.” He glanced back to the three of them and added, “This is the Lady Brillis who is Mayor of Jalan’s Drift and Designated Defender of the City.”

Adella nodded once. “I know you well by reputation, Lady. The Drift has prospered under your guidance.”

“I know of your reputation as well,” the woman replied, her manner unfriendly. “And that the Drift is less prosperous because of it.”

Adella actually smiled in answer, and there was a momentary plateau, the two women taking the measure of each other. Shannon suddenly realized this was like a cat finally confronting the biggest rat in the house and not being allowed to kill it.

Malcolm interceded and said calmly, “The march of events has presented us with a new list of priorities. Lady Brillis has suggested that we consider past transgressions in light of future actions, and she has asked that I weigh the needs of the Drift before addressing the matter of the invasion of my home.”

“And what is this new list of priorities?” Adella asked.

“An enemy is approaching our gates,” Brillis said, her voice steady and stern. “An enemy that will sack this city and kill every man, woman, and child within if it should fall. We are in need of every ally and every sword if we are to survive, let alone triumph.”

There was a momentary silence as Adella appeared to weigh both the words that had been said, and those that remained unspoken.

“You have the armies of the Southlands gathered in your defense,” she said carefully. “Thousands of troops, the best generals to lead them, and the strongest walls in the world. Yet you make a special request of the Wizard Malcolm to bring me here. Why?”

Shannon felt the words touch on some hidden issue, the tension of the group rising almost imperceptibly, but Brillis let no more than a single heartbeat pass before saying, “You value the Drift as highly as the rest of us. The city is now in need. Will you flee or will you stand?”

“I ask again. What help can a single woman be in the midst of such powers?”

“One very special woman with one very special sword,” said an individual stepping out from the shadows. He was a slender man of medium height wearing a dark green cloak with a raking hat slanting down over his eyes, and while Shannon could not tell his age, she guessed he was in his late thirties, perhaps early forties.

“Tallarand,” smiled Adella and offered a small nod of the head. Her voice showed no inflection, but Shannon had traveled with the woman long enough to recognize a hint of surprise. Whatever she may or may not have been expecting, the presence of this man was unforeseen. “How are your interests involved here?”

“It has been clear to me for some time that a change in the governance of Jalan’s Drift would be bad for business,” he explained with a small shrug. “Therefore, I have offered my services to the present administration for the duration of the crisis. They, in turn, have agreed to overlook certain outstanding complaints that have been unfairly lodged against me by members of the Merchant’s Guild.”

Adella’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch, and she shot a glance at Brillis. The Mayor nodded. “There are at least three such…complaints…lodged against you as well. Should your service in this crisis be deemed of value, I am reluctantly prepared to quash those also. The matter with Malcolm, of course, falls outside my jurisdiction, but he has already assured me he would consider any such service when determining proper remuneration.”

After a moment of consideration, Adella asked, “What would you consider valuable service?”

Brillis and Tallarand both looked to a man in military uniform who had been standing in the background. He was tall and strongly built with a fierce black beard shot with gray and a savage scar on one cheek that ran into his facial hair, making the observed grateful for the beard. He didn’t seem to be of a particularly high rank judging by the ribbons and frills on his uniform, but he carried himself with a confidence that was accustomed to being obeyed.

“This is Colonel Stavis, Commander of the Garrison of the Drift,” introduced Brillis. “He will help explain what is needed.”

The man nodded once in acknowledgement, then addressed himself to Adella.

“When the enemy launches a determined attack on the city, we will not be able to hold the outer wall.” The man’s voice was calm and level, almost as if he were merely speaking of the weather, but his words made the hairs rise on the back of Shannon’s neck. “With stone giants pounding the gates, and 30,000 troops scaling the ramparts, we haven’t the resources to hold such a wide perimeter, regardless of what this castle-breaking titan can or cannot do. We will make a stand, of course, and we will make the enemy pay some small price for their aggression, but once we know we are facing a serious assault, we will fall back to the second wall.”

Watching closely, Shannon felt a tension in the air as this man spoke casually of surrendering a sizable portion of the city.

“And how is the second wall different from the first?” Adella asked.

“It may not be,” Stavis admitted. “It has a shorter perimeter and only two gates to three for the outer wall. Here, we will make our first real stand and test the enemy’s metal. Extra ballistas and catapults have been installed, and we should be able to deal with the giants and the scaling ladders of the Northings.”