Upon This World of Stone (The Paladin Trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

“Yes!” cried Adella in triumph. “It’s just as I always suspected! The mountain and the base are real enough, but at least some of Llan Praetor itself was made from the clouds!”

“Is it early morn or close to dusk?” asked Shannon peering over the gunnels towards the distant sun. Jhan, however, was keeping his face inboard after a single glance at the mountain tops below them, the winds as wild and as piercing as ever.

“We’re facing north, and the sun’s to our left,” said Adella, getting her bearings. “That means the night will soon be upon us. Let’s see what this thing will do while the light lasts.”

She gentle moved the tiller, and the vessel banked sharply to the left, eliciting a frightened moan from Jhan. Adella eased back, and the craft righted itself, though it seemed to have picked up speed. She released a little of the control rope she held in her left hand, dropping the sail just a little, and instantly, the bow of the vessel pointed downwards.

“That’s the way we wish to go!” Adella said brightly, and played out another tiny length of the control rope.

The result, however, was completely out of line with the small action. The farsail heeled over in a wild nose dive, accelerating at a perilous rate, and when Adella instinctively pulled back on the rope, raising the sail again, it caused the air-boat to fly even faster rather than raising its bow. They were careening downwards at ever increasing speeds, racing towards the craggy sides of the mountains below. Adella turned the tiller hard to the right, sending the vessel flying away from the nearest mountain and gaining a little clearance, but the floor of the valley below was rushing up to greet them.

Shannon was gasping, Jhan was moaning, and Adella was snarling curses at the obstinate thing, but none of it seemed to make the slightest difference. Death was only a matter of a few heartbeats away, when Shannon suddenly noticed another rope attached to the bow that seemed no more than a tow line. Except it was leading back towards the tiller. Without a word, she threw herself back towards Adella and seized the bow rope with both hands. The woman reacted in kind, supporting Shannon’s action without wasting time on debate, and the two of them put enough pressure on the line to pull it taut. Instantly, the bow began to rise in response, pulling slowly away from its impending collision with the ground, though the speed seemed to increase even further. The two women were shouting in their intensity as they put every bit of their weight and strength onto the line, forcing the bow up one maddening inch at a time, fighting the air-boat for their very lives, and losing. Then, without warning, another body flung itself upon the rope, Jhan fighting off his terror to add his weight to the struggle, and then with dreadful slowness and after an eternity of jeopardy, the fates relented and the vessel slowly began to right itself.

They were not yet out of danger. The farsail was now whizzing along just above the floor of the valley at a speed that made the surrounding nothing but a blur, entire mountains flying past them in seconds, and Adella quickly discovered that the tiller needed to be handled with extra care when traveling at such a rate.

“Pull again!” she roared to Shannon and Jhan who obediently threw their weight again on the control line. The bow swung upwards again, beginning a climb, and a little of the craft’s speed fell off as a result. Shannon tugged even harder, hoping to take even more of the way off the wind-boat, but Adella abruptly put a shoulder into her mid-section and sent her sprawling into Jhan. Both of them dropped their hold on the line, and Adella let it play out her own hand, dropping the sail in an instant.

The farsail stopped climbing, leveled off slightly, and began a slow descent even as it continued to race forward. Its speed was decreasing, but it was still moving much faster than its designer had intended for a safe landing. Adella was leaning forward, studying the terrain carefully, and Shannon scrambled up to a kneeling position just in time to see a plateau on the side of one of the mountains rushing at them. She grabbed the gunnels, closed her eyes, braced herself, and an instant later came a bounce as the air-boat hit rock, a second bounce, then a third, and finally the vessel came to a merciful skidding stop. Shannon blinked, peering about, and in the fading light, she could see the view of endless mountains had given way to foothills flattening out to an endless plain beyond. Their short, mad trip had carried them all the way through the Mountains of the Winds.

The next sound she heard was Adella’s laughter.

“By all lightning, storm, and thunder, that was a ride to remember!” she shouted to the rocks. “Not even the eagles could have caught us this day!”

Jhan had staggered up from the bottom of the boat, and he was glaring at the woman.

“You maniac!” he roared at her. “You could have gotten us all killed!”

“You can die just walking into the wrong saloon,” she answered easily. “This was a lot more fun!”

He could only gape at her. In spite of herself, Shannon found herself grinning with sheer exhilaration, her heart in sync with the woman’s. Adella, however, was studying the craft and the craggy plateau on which they had landed.

“We’ve some repairs to make before we launch against,” she said slowly. “Those lines need splicing, and the rocks stove in one of the planks of the hull. A day at least, and that’s only if the winds stay fair.”

“You’re planning to try flying this thing again?!” Jhan cried in disbelief, the echoes adding emphasis to the question.

“Relax, boy,” Adella said, rummaging through the bottom of the craft. “Any adventure that ends with you standing upright is a good one. Now what about some dinner? I’m famished!”

CHAPTER 6

The Paladin and the Juggernaut

Darius looked out at the forces arrayed against them, and his heart sank. The numbers of Northings and rock goblins were simply staggering, for the only other time he had seen such a mass of goblins and humans, they were locked in a battle of annihilation against each other. But the scouts had already warned them of the size of their foes, and that was not the cause of his dismay. The green canopy of death that covered the sky above the army looked like a malignancy that was devouring the heavens themselves, but they had seen the canopy for the last ten leagues. In the forefront marched the solid black shadow that was the titanic form of the Juggernaut, its power tangible even at this great distance, its sheer size an assurance that the walls of the Drift would never stand against it. But he had already beheld the titan in the mirror of Malcolm’s wall and was prepared for the spectacle.

It was not the sight of the enemy that was the cause of the Paladin’s despair, but rather the sight of his allies. It was the second day of their march, and Boltran had pressed forward after only four hours rest with the heavy cavalry of all the principalities and only a few regiments of lighter infantry who could maintain the pace. Forty squadrons of the heavy horse now covered the back of the ridge behind them, invisible to the enemy, but there were only three regiments of infantry in sight. Duke Argus, he knew, had nearly the entire contingent from Corland just behind the farther ridge in reserve, but that knowledge carried no comfort with it.

“My Lord, we must fall back,” he said quietly to Duke Boltran who stood beside him in a magnificent suit of golden armor mounted on a pure white stallion. “The infantry of Gemsbrook and Hathage are still at least two hours behind us, and the heavy regiments of Warhaven must be farther back yet. We have out-run our allies and have only half of our force with us.”

“Speed is the only ally we need, Paladin,” interjected General Oswan, commander of the Maganhall cavalry. “The enemy has not anticipated our arrival. Look. Their forces are still strung out in order of march, not of battle.”

At first glance, the enemy did indeed appear to be divided, the goblins in the front before the Juggernaut, the Northings off on either flank, the dreaded stone giants in the rear helping to drag the carts and the baggage train of the invaders. But Darius saw more.

“We can ride through the goblins and test the titan before the Northings can intervene,” the young Duke said. “Is that not our main purpose here?”

“The goblins will not break, My Lord, regardless of the storm unleashed against them,” Darius answered. “Not with Regnar close at hand, not with the Juggernaut marching right behind them. They will mire your attack and hold you while the Northings sweep around our flanks.”

“Even if the goblins hold and the Northings move fast, the regiments of Coltrus and VanDamme are placed to intervene,” another general said stoutly. “They shall hold back the barbarians long enough to let the heavy horse withdraw.”

Darius knew both the futility of argument and the potential danger of division, but he had to try once more. “And who will cover the retreat of your infantry? Two regiments of tired men, against more than 20,000 Northings. With no heavy infantry in immediate support, the Northings will pursue them to the death.”

A rumble of disagreement answered him, warriors sure of their judgments and their men who had nothing but scorn for words of caution and defeat. With a sigh, Darius shut his mouth and decided to say nothing of the dangers of magics conjured by Regnar or the goblin mages.

“We have come to test the enemy, and test them we shall,” Boltran said, the voice of command and decision. “Whatever your skill at arms, Paladin, it is my generals who know the abilities and limits of this army. They understand what it can and cannot do, and I will be guided by their advice.”

Darius bowed his head deeply in acceptance.

“So,” the Duke said quietly leaning forward so only the Paladin could hear. “Shall we gladden Regnar’s heart by meeting intrigue with cold steel and hot courage?”

Darius’ eyebrows rose as he looked at the young man, his face calm from a decision taken, his eyes bright with the challenge of battle. So even at his young age, Boltran understood that battles are decided by warriors, not generals.

Darius smiled in answer. “Aye, my lord. Let us not disappoint.”

“Andler, take your squadrons to the left flank, Langar, take yours to the right,” directed Boltran. “I shall lead the main body in the center. Messenger! Raise the warning flags to tell Feldon of Palmany we are about to attack!”

The massed horse behind them dispersed with disciplined precision, spreading out as their lord dictated, and they made no attempt now to hide their movements. The Silver Horde was so close that they could not alter their formation even if they had wished, and Boltran planned to draw their eyes to the advancing cavalry and away from the infantry in the shadow of the hills.

Darius rode beside Boltran as he moved forward with his personal guard, a score of young men drawn from the best families of Maganhall, but Darius noted that he had wisely seasoned the body with several grizzled veterans from the ranks of the army. Such household guards, Darius knew, tended to become merely a show force over time, outfitted and trained for ceremonies rather than war, and he hoped they had spent as much time putting an edge on their swords as they did polishing their gold armor. He actually shrugged at the thought. As part of their task was to draw the eye of friend and foe alike, putting an extra shine on their armor would not be amiss.

Still, he was grateful for the hard silent figure of Eldoran riding on Boltran’s right. The Duke’s Champion could be counted on to stand by his lord, regardless of the actions of the rest of the household, but Darius still found himself slowly shaking his head. There were memories here, dark memories of previous wars and previous battles, and he shivered slightly at the sheer futility of all. Goblins and cavalrymen, Southland champions and Northing chieftains, all the madness of death and battle, when the only thing that mattered was matching the power of Sarinian against the horror that lead the Silver Horde. Warriors on both sides would find their graves this day in order for the Avenger to make this one, vital test.

Boltran came to a sudden halt, and Darius realized they had reached the crest of the final ridge between them and the enemy. The front rank of the rock goblins was barely two thousand paces away, and even in the shadow of the Juggernaut, the foremost of the creatures flinched as the power of Maganhall appeared before them.

Boltran looked left and then right to assure that the flanking squadrons were in position, and at a nod and a word from him, the flags of the signalmen were raised, gathering every eye on the field. Breaths were taken and shoulders braced, but Darius took the moment to holster his lance and draw Sarinian instead. Despite the surprise planned for the Northings, Darius knew well that Regnar would recover quickly, and their only real chance was to break through the goblins as quickly as possible. To that end, there was only one weapon that would break the spirit of goblins.

“For Maganhall and the Southlands! For your wives and your children! For your sacred oaths of honor! To war!” cried Boltran. Lances and flags came down as one, and five thousand throats echoed his cry: “To war!”

The line of heavy horse moved forward in unison, starting at only a walk as the riders held themselves and their mounts in check, and from various points on the line came the harsh warning of “Steady!” as officers strove to restrain their troop. At 1500 paces, the officers began to ease their restraint, and the horses broke into a cantor, the line still holding remarkably close, the long training and discipline of horse and rider showing through. At 1000 paces, the first of the goblin arrows came showering down upon them, hundreds of feathered shafts arching down from above as the archers let loose at extreme range, but not a single horse fell. For this was the heavy cavalry of the Southlands, rider and horse armored from hoof to head, and the arrows broke on them like soft rain.

At 500 hundred paces, the buglers let loose their fanfare, and the line now broke into a full charge, five thousand horses rushing forward in a single wall of armor and flesh, the most renowned heavy cavalry in all the world going to war. Captains spurred their mounts to edge a little ahead of their troopers, Boltran forcing his horse, Elwing, out even farther, but ahead of all rushed Andros with Darius wielding Sarinian.

“
Goblins
,” the sword whispered hungrily as it sensed the prey, and a dark smile touched Darius’ lips in answer. The slightest of pressures from his legs sent Andros surging ahead even faster, leaving the rest of the line behind and focusing the eyes of every goblin on the white horse as his rider held forth the gleaming sword like a promise of death.

Another volley of arrows, this one fired at close range with a more practiced aim, and a few of the missiles now found their mark, perhaps a score of horses going down with another hundred feeling the wound. But nothing could save the goblins from the full impact of the charge.

The massed cavalry swept away the front rank of goblins like a scythe through wheat, goblin spears shattering on the steel barding of the horses, and the front ranks found themselves crushed between enemy and the press of goblins behind. But as Darius had warned, the goblins stood their ground grimly, knowing their deaths were all the more certain if they were to flee, and scimitar and spear began to find the mark. The second wave of cavalry smashed into the confusion of goblins, spears and bodies flying from the impact, but still the goblin center held, refusing to break. Boltran found his charge blunted and his men entangled in a wild melee.

Through them all Andros charged, his hooves mired in goblin blood, a dozen cuts about his body, but the enemy gave way before him, unable to withstand the gleaming fury of the Avenger, and Darius alone broke through the goblin ranks. Looming up before them now was the dark mass of the Juggernaut, striding relentlessly forward, heedless of the battle raging around it.

“Now we shall test it, my friend,” Darius called to Andros. He drew forth the gleaming lance of Maganhall, and a single pat on the neck was all the encouragement the charger needed. With a furious neigh, he leaped forward, rushing down upon the dark titan, the golden lance leveled before him. Faster he charged, putting all the weight of horse and rider behind that first, telling blow, and Darius braced himself for the impact as he aimed for the giant’s upper thigh. A pounding of hooves, a hard breath, and the lance smashed against the Juggernaut’s skin. And shattered into a hundred pieces.

Andros stumbled from the impact, nearly driven to his knees, but he gallantly fought himself back up, refusing to throw his rider. Darius, however, was already jumping from the saddle, certain now that force alone could not stop the monster. He held forth Sarinian, and the Avenger gleamed with a hungry light, waiting to test its brilliance against the darkness before it. Darius rushed forward and struck hard against the Juggernaut’s leg.

There was a deep, distant howl, like men burning alive in some far-off canyon, and a crimson flood burst from the wound. Blood, a sea of blood, drained from the hearts of the people of the plains, the fuel that powered the monstrosity, and Darius jerked back involuntarily, aghast. Never in all his battles had he seen so much blood in one moment, the ground turning into red mud, and yet he realized in sudden horror it was no more than a drop of all the hideous fuel that energized the monster. Worse, far worse, he knew immediately that even if he were to drain every drop from the thing, it might slow, but it would not die.

Then, for the first time in its long march across the mountains and the plains, the Juggernaut stopped and turned towards it assailant.

*

Regnar watched with furious disbelief as the Juggernaut turned from its course to face this single warrior. For three hundred leagues, the thing had been oblivious to its surroundings, pausing only to hammer its way through the castle walls that had blocked its path, and it had ignored every spear, bolt, and sword launched against it.

The changlings!
the Ohric cried.
You must unleash the changlings now!

A moment only did Regnar hesitate, reluctant to unleash one of his most powerful reserves so early in the battle, but he knew immediately that the scepter was right. There was no choice. Every blow the Paladin landed upon the titan might be stealing a league from its ultimate distance. He opened the leather pouch he held and scattered dozens of the fiery green marbles before him.

“Shuna Ar Melbur Eb!”
he roared, and the marbles began to grow, returning to their original size. As they grew, inside each sphere could be seen some dark and shadowy form.
“Thel Bru na Ortax!”

At that cry, the balls began hurtling themselves towards the titan and the sole warrior at its feet.

*

Darius stepped back, readying himself, his heart trembling as he awaited the blow from the Juggernaut, the reward for his arrogance and audacity. The fist rose, the fist that had crumpled the fabled walls of castles that had stood for hundreds of years, and it fell like lightning from the heavens to squash this impudent ant at its feet. Darius had timed the blow well, but even then, he was barely able to throw himself out of the way, landing closer and to the right of the monster. The Juggernaut was moving with him, almost as if it sensed him with more than its burning eyes, and it moved its leg before Darius could score again.

A second blow, and this time, Darius jumped a little to the left, and he struck back at the arm and fist, making a small wound that released only a little captive blood. The thing swatted at him with the back of its fist, the slightest of glancing blows that sent Darius flying a dozen feet to crash to the ground. The monster made to crush him with its foot, but he was too quick, scrambling out of the way just in the nick of time. It’s anticipating my moves, he realized. Now that it knows I can hurt it, it’s focusing all its energies on me.