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

He wished he could steal a glance at Clarissa of Gemsbrook to see how she was reacting to his words, for Gemsbrook was beset not only by bandits but by the river pirates as well. With Feldon of Palmany and Georg-Mahl of Hathage behind him, he had only three sure votes and still needed one more to sway the Council.

“Carthix Castle may indeed have fallen,” Argus conceded, his tone becoming conciliatory, “taken by surprise and broken by stone giants, though even for that we have no real evidence. But the layered power of Nargost Castle, destroyed by a bunch of raiding barbarians? Cut off by the invaders, yes; under siege, possibly; but do any here really credit the thought that the strongest fortress in all the Plains of Alencia could fall to disorganized raiders without siege equipment?”

He could see the doubt striking home in the eyes of his fellow lords. Even the stony-face of Mandrik of Warhaven showed a hint of doubt, for The Hold of Warhaven had stood for centuries against the savage raids of the tribes of the Painted Plains. It was time to drive the point home.

“I put it to you clearly, Southland,” Argus said, staring around at the thrones. “If this danger is of such a terrible magnitude that the Drift itself is in jeopardy, would not all the witnesses be of one accord? Would the power of the Northings not be so overwhelming as to give all who beheld it a single voice? Yet we have heard only debate and dispute from the witnesses presented before this Council. And some of them clearly have their own reasons for coming forth.”

There was an angry murmur from the audience as Argus’ words were debated, and it required Lord Boltran to rap a mailed hand sharply on the arm of the golden throne to bring order again to the hall. When the crowd had grown quiet again, it was Thrandar of Norealm who spoke, his deep voice filling the room.

“You raise doubts, Corland, yet you ignore the most important signs of our danger,” he rumbled. “A force of Northings has assailed the High Pass and came near to breaking the Highlanders. Mere raiders would never dream of facing such renowned warriors unless their true goal were the Southlands itself. And all witnesses agree that the main force of the Northings is south of Nargost Castle, whether it be taken or not, and moving towards the Drift. We would be fools not to man the battlements when such a foe approaches.”

“My sources tell me that the losses at the High Pass were hardly more than two hundred men on both sides,” replied Argus coolly. “That is a minor skirmish, an accidental meeting between a wandering band of raiders and the Highlanders. Certainly it is no serious attempt to gain the Southlands.”

Thrandar opened his mouth to argue the point, but he reluctantly shut it again with the words unspoken. Argus nearly smiled, knowing what the man would have said. It was true that barely a third of the Highlanders had stayed to face the Northings, but that was due to a powerful Fear Spell which had moved before the invaders and was the real force which had nearly captured the Pass. Such a Fear Spell, however, was unheard of, far more powerful than anything encountered before, and any claims about it would only undermine Thrandar’s credibility with the Council.

“As for these tales of a Northing main force led by a titan beneath a canopy of death,” Argus continued, “we say they are a report of fear, and we reject them completely. We have no proof that any castle of the Plains has fallen, and yet some would have us fear for the greatest citadel in all the world which no invader has ever dared to assail!”

Silence answered him, the silence of doubt, and Argus paused for only a moment before driving to a finish.

“Are we, then, to march tens of thousands of seasoned troops northward to face an impotent foe and give the bandits a free hand with our caravans, our villages, perhaps even our cities? Do not forget, Southland, that our soldiers must eat, and the Drift’s winter stores must be strained already by the fugitives streaming down from The Free Lands. Brillis will hardly welcome troops which bring a famine in their train that kills a dozen times more of her people than the Northings ever could. Yet we still sit here and ponder at the whim of a half-grown boy who sent forth the red feather simply for the glamour of lording over the Dukes of the Southlands at some imagined emergency!”

Boltran leaped to his feet, forsaking the golden throne, the bull responding to the goads at last, and Argus’ hopes leaped with him. The young man’s temper had betrayed him, and he had abandoned the authority of the seat of power to respond to a personal insult. His eyes were blazing, his teeth clenched, but even in the throes of his rage, it was clear that caution was still tugging at him, warning him of his precarious position, keeping him from stepping further down any of the treacherous paths before him. Argus waited, relishing the thrashings of his prey within the trap.

*

Out in the antechamber, Darius from the shrouds of the ethereal plane beheld the drama that was unfolding within.

The young Duke falters
, said Sarinian, and Darius knew the time had come to act. He had watched the interplay closely, learning what he could of the members of the Council and hoping they might come to the right decision on their own. Now there was no more time. He walked directly towards the towering double doors, emerging from the ether as he approached. The pair of golden-armored guards started at his sudden appearance in complete shock, a ghost materializing before their very eyes.

“Hold!” shouted the young Captain from off to one side, and the two guards instantly crossed their pole-arms, the spears denying access to the doors. But Darius did not even slow. He put his hand out to grasp the point where the two spears crossed, and Sarinian surged with sudden energy. A burst of white fire flew along Darius’ arm, and both spears burst into flames, the guards falling back from the explosion.

“I bear a message from the Arch-Wizard Malcolm to the Council of Lords,” Darius announced, forestalling any action by the Captain. “My apologies, Captain, but that missive cannot wait upon ceremony.”

The man stared at him, not sure how to respond, and Darius saved him the problem. He reached out and threw open the huge doors.

“Come, Joshua,” Darius said, glancing back at the ragged priest. Joshua hesitated for only a second, a host of warring issues resolved in that fraction of time, and he stepped forward to stand by the Paladin’s side. Darius smiled, and together they walked boldly into the chamber.

*

Suddenly, both doors at the end of the hall were thrown open, a serious violation of protocol when the Council was in session, and all eyes were pulled towards them. A strange entourage entered, a contingent of guards dressed in the golden chain-mail of Maganhall with weapons drawn, and striding forward in the midst was a young priest of Mirna and a tall warrior dressed in gleaming silver armor, the heavy plate mail of a bygone age, making the man look like an ancient hero conjured from the distant past. A great two-handed sword hung on his back, and even from the scabbard, it seemed to emanate power.

Boltran took advantage of the distraction to settle himself back on the throne and address the intrusion.

“Who dares to enter the Council of Lords unbidden?” he barked. “Captain, who is this man?”

The captain of the guards swung around, and his face showed his confusion. “My Lord, he appeared suddenly in the hall, floating down out of the very ether! He claims to be an embassy sent from the Arch-Mage Malcolm, and he would not stay at my command. I held my force, thinking he might speak the truth.”

An embassy from Malcolm! Argus should have been seething, outraged that just when he had maneuvered this young pup into a false position, an embassy from the feared and legendary Malcolm should appear and save him. But Argus had momentarily forgotten Malcolm. Had forgotten Boltran. Had forgotten the entire Council. All his attention was locked on the shining warrior who had so abruptly entered the room.

*

Darius, too, found his eyes drawn to the brooding figure on the Iron Throne, the glance like a crossing of swords, and though Sarinian made no sign, he could sense the darkness within the man, a stain of evil. But he could not stay focused on Argus. Darius had a sense of power around him, a mantle of energy that had nothing to do with Malcolm’s magic, and he felt as if he were walking in the midst of spring sunshine. He knew with a surge of warmth within his soul that he entered the room as the emissary from much more than an arch-mage.

“Your pardon, Southland, for this unseemly intrusion,” he said with a courtly bow. “But my information is vital, and it would seem that the Council might end before I gained an audience.”

“No man may bear arms in the presence of the Council,” said Boltran.

“I realize I break an ancient custom by bearing weapons into the presence of the Voices of the Southlands,” Darius said. “But even so, I do not ask the pardon of the Council. For the times are black, and an enemy draws down upon you the like of which your realms have never seen. There is a greater need for swords than lining the corridors of Duke’s Hall.”

“You have spoken with the Wizard Malcolm?” interjected Thrandar of Norealm. “He has knowledge of the Northings?”

“Yes,” Darius answered. “I traveled the long leagues to Llan Praetor and managed to gain access to the castle. There, Lord Malcolm showed me the horror that marches at the head of the Northing army, an evil with a giant’s shape and a demon’s power. Juggernaut he named it, a weapon from the Ancient Wars which Regnar has found and unleashed. This is the warning of the Arch-Mage: put your doubts aside and set your armies in motion, for the Drift and all the Southlands are in mortal danger.”

A heavy silence followed, the people in the room hearing the truth in the words, the veils of Argus seeming to vanish like mist.

“An embassy from Malcolm would be most unusual,” observed Clarissa of Gemsbrook. “Who are you, Warrior, and what proof have you of the truth of your claim?”

“My name is Darius, and I come to stand with the Southlands against the invaders,” he said. “As to the proof of my claim, I can offer this.”

He held out the talisman that Malcolm had given him, letting it flash in the light of the hall, and he was surprised when the item began to glow with a soft radiance. An instant later, there was an explosion of light, momentarily blinding everyone in the room, and as their vision cleared, Malcolm himself appeared to be floating in the air before the Council, staff in hand, nearly as large as he had looked at first in the colossal Audience Hall of Llan Praetor.

“Greetings, Lords of the Southlands!” the image proclaimed, the voice filling the chamber. “I regret that I cannot come before you in person, but urgent business requires my presence elsewhere. The bearer of this item is Darius Inglorion, a Paladin of Mirna, and he carries my words to you regarding the invasion by the Silver Horde. Danger marches down upon us all, and if you would take my counsel, place you trust in him and heed his words. For he is a light that may guide us through this darkness. Fare you all well ’til next we speak!”

With that, the image faded, leaving everyone to stare at this envoy of the power they had just beheld. Darius himself could only blink, startled by both the magnitude of the apparition and the words it had spoken. Malcolm had had no time to prepare such a message, so how had the image been able to call Darius by name?

“Abra nal Mirna Vok!”
cried the old Arch-Bishop of Maganhall, getting ponderously to his feet, the phrase taking every eye. It was the famed incantation invoking the name of Mirna and giving voice to the Church, a voice that over-rode all others, even at the Council of Lords.

“This man should not be allowed to speak,” the Arch-Bishop proclaimed. “He is paladin and therefore suspect, and he will talk heresy to the Lords of the Southlands. This the Church cannot permit.”

“Paladin he is,” spoke up Joshua. “But he has passed the inquiry of Bishop Kal and Monsignor Maldonar. He…”

“Hold your tongue,” the old man commanded sternly. “This is not a matter for youth.”

“This is a place for truth, My Lord,” Joshua answered defiantly. “While I have truth to speak, my tongue shall not be still.”

“Why you insolent young…”

“My Lord Arch-Bishop,” interjected Boltran, reclaiming all attention, “this is not an ecclesiastical court, it is a council for the defense of the Southlands. This man is here to aid us in military, not religious matters.”

The Arch-Bishop brought his staff down upon the stone with a sharp rap. “Take care, Maganhall. For those that you put forth to lead your armies might lead you down the road to damnation. You shall lose terribly if you win a war and forfeit your immortal soul.”

“I see,” Boltran answered patiently. He turned to Darius. “Sir, are you a barbarian?”

Darius smiled. “No, my lord.”

“Do you believe in Mirna?”

“With all my soul.”

“And do you recognize the authority of the Church?”

There was just an instant’s pause before he answered, “I recognize its authority to dispense the Sacrament and to lead in Mirna’s name.”

Eyes were narrowed and looks exchanged at that response. But Boltran turned to the Arch-Bishop and said casually, “I have now confirmed that this man is neither barbarian, heathen, nor heretic. I would now like to continue to examine his abilities as a warrior.”

“That was not a proper acknowledgement of the Church’s authority,” protested the priest. “He…”

“This is not an inquisition,” Boltran responded sharply. “You need to have care also, Arch-Bishop. Whatever your rank in the Church, you are still a subject of Maganhall, and as such, my vassal. This man might well be critical in saving Maganhall from the onslaught of the Northings, and any vassal who blocks my ability to defend my people is a traitor. Now. Have you more to say?”

There was a rumble of agreement through the room, the warriors rallying behind Boltran, and the Arch-Bishop reluctantly resumed his seat. Darius’ eyebrows rose slightly. Many men had the courage to join a charge against a dangerous foe, but there were precious few who would stand with a stranger accused of heresy and challenge the formidable power of the Church.