A Paladin's Journey Ch. 09

Taking a deep breath, Elaina summoned her vala and loped forward, slinging Shatter onto her back as she ran through the ranks of Elves until she was leading the small army. Induin and Liaren kept fell in behind her, while Tarien ran alongside.

It shouldn't take more than an hour or two to reach the Chapel, and there she would find out what in the world was going on with Aran.

***BERRIGAN STALLEN: Emerin Forest***

Berrigan seethed with fury, booting Pride's ribs harder than necessary as he rode the dun gelding through the trees. The horse snorted and stepped up to a trot. Berrigan had been woken this morning to find a hundred of his new recruits gone, and several of his sentries knocked unconscious. That left him with four hundred men, and only half of them were dedicated Heralds. He wanted to do more than kick a horse.

No matter. The recruits left standing after this would be worthy of joining his ranks. Many of the remainder were rough sorts, probably vagabonds in their former lives, but the Heralds would iron out those kinks quickly enough.

All that mattered was the Paladins. Berrigan had had the wagon with the cage brought up to the front of the column so he could question the girl regularly about the distance to Kedron. He worried not that she was lying. He had seen broken spirits before, and this girl was in pieces. As she should be. When they got close enough, Berrigan would have her whipped in the hope of drawing Kedron out of wherever he was, and when he did, there would be four hundred spears aimed at his heart.

"Less than three miles, I think," a meek voice mumbled from the cage occupied by the girl. She was filthy, after several days in the cage, only allowed out to empty her bladder or bowels, if time allowed. Sometimes it did not. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her skin was dirty from the dust of travel and reddened from exposure to the sun.

"Speak up, harlot," Berrigan warned. "I will not ask this again." He had ordered her to give him her best guess at distance every half hour, and so far, it had been consistent. About one mile every half hour, slowed by the trees and undergrowth as they were.

It was about midday when Berrigan heard the ululating cry of a stormbird, and then another one further south. He gritted his teeth in frustration. All he needed now was another one of those freak storms rolling through, the wind uprooting trees and tumbling men off their horses. No few villages and farmhouses around Ironshire had been levelled by the furious northerly tempests, and the town's walls were bulging with the homeless.

When the girl gave the distance to the Chapel at one mile, Berrigan reined in atop a small rise. Behind him, the column was crossing something of a wide clearing. Not a bad place to defend. He held a closed fist above his shoulder to signal a halt. "Form up!" He shouted, reining Pride around. "Sunburst formation! Three ranks!

It would be messy in these trees, but the circular formation of three large, concentric ranks would be difficult to penetrate from any direction.

Rohim was on his right, and glanced at Berrigan in surprise. "You expect an ambush, Lord Commander?"

"The Arohim are crafty," was all the explanation he offered the younger captain before putting his hand out toward him, palm up.

"My Lord?" Rohim asked uncertainly.

"Your bow," Berrigan said quietly. "Quickly."

Rohim unlimbered his shortbow from his saddle and passed it to Berrigan, then handed him an arrow. In a lightning motion, Berrigan drew and loosed, sending an arrow into the canopy directly ahead and high above, right in the centre of the sunburst, where long, overlapping branches met.

A second later, a body fell from the branches, tumbling like a rag doll until it hit the earth with an unpleasant thump.

The corpse was maybe thirty feet away, but Berrigan had sharp vision. Silvery eyes a little too large to be Human stared up blankly at the canopy above, and the ears were pointed. A male, the arrow had taken the foul creature in the centre of the chest.

"Elves," he growled. Uncertain murmurs rippled through the ranks, until Berrigan shouted, "Archers, three volleys into the tree tops!" He raised a hand, and bows came up. When he dropped the hand, bowstrings snapped as one, and three more Elves toppled down, peppered with arrows.

Two more volleys were sent, but yielded no more spies. They were scouts for a bigger force, most likely. It was time for Berrigan to force matters.

"Rohim!" He barked. "Bring me one of those fools who got captured in Rostin. I have a task for him."

Rohim trotted down the incline and disappeared into the yellow mass of men. He returned a few moments later with the fellow Berrigan wanted.

Berrigan tried to put a pleasant expression on his face. "Forgive me, son, but I've forgotten your name."

"Eldric, Lord Commander," the fool said, saluting with fist to chest.

"Yes, Eldric. I have a special task for you, if you will accept it. I could not trust anyone else with it, and seeing as how you've spent more time than most around the Arohim, you are the perfect man for the job."

Eldric nodded eagerly, keen to redeem himself for his recent failures. Berrigan began to deliver instructions, and when he was done, Eldric had a grim smile on his face.

***SMYTHE***

Morning had come and gone, and the sun was no past its zenith, sliding inexorably through the early afternoon. Smythe had not moved since last night, choosing to stay and watch over Aran, wanting to be there when he woke.

Aran's vala had grown weaker through the night, as it if were slowly leaving him. Smythe didn't want to think about what that meant. 'Come on, lad,' he silently urged. 'Whatever it is, fight it!'

For the hundredth time, he rose from his chair to put a hand against Aran's forehead. He still felt cold.

Suddenly a familiar vala appeared in Smythe's awareness, a few miles to the west. Elaina was almost here, and if Aran was right, she had a battalion of Eryn'elda at her back.

*

"What has happened to you, my love?" Elaina whispered as she knelt beside Aran's bed, brushing a strand of hair back from his face. Induin and Liaren stood at the foot of the bed holding hands, looking down at him worriedly.

Elaina, Induin and Liaren had come charging into the Chapel like a whirlwind a few minutes back, leaving the better part of two hundred armed Elves on the front lawn and frightening the villagers no end. Smythe had calmed them down quickly enough, but half of them still believed Elves to be children's stories, the other half thought they'd been extinct for centuries.

Now, Smythe stood by the door, his arms folded across his chest. He hated this. If Aran died... No, thinking that way did not help matters. "I'm not sure, lass," Smythe told Elaina. "He was trying to do something about those Heralds with his vala. He said he wanted to know how many were coming, but I think he tried to do something much bigger."

"It knocked me out," Elaina said quietly, not turning away from Aran. "It felt like... like dying."

Induin and Liaren nodded somberly in agreement. So, it had affected them, too.

"And now I can feel him slipping away," Elaina finished with a barely contained sob.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Induin asked, desperation on her beautiful face. "Nothing at all?"

Smythe grimaced. "I don't think so, lass," he said gently. "Healing others is not one of our abilities."

Induin put her head on her sister's shoulder and began to weep softly. Smythe felt like doing the same. Was this how it ended? Standing around Aran's bed watching him fade away? The man was a walking avalanche of power! To see him like this was inconceivable.

Suddenly the door burst open, bringing every head around. Kedron stood there, leaning heavily against the doorframe, his pace pale and sweaty, his eyes tight.

"They're whipping Imella," he moaned through clenched teeth. "Maybe a mile north."

Smythe growled in his throat. "Berrigan wants us to know he's here, and it's quite plainly a trap."

Kedron grunted three times in quick succession, his back arching as if the whip was falling on his own bare skin, which it no doubt felt like for the poor lad. Pained eyes looked up at Smythe's, and Smythe's heart wrenched.

"Fuck this," he said, bending to scoop up his cloak and sword. "I'm going to Berrigan. I will not hide in this house while that monster has his way."

Elaina stood and turned from the bed, her face like grim death. Her eyes were as hard as Smythe had ever seen them, like cold, polished jade. "I will come too." She looked to Induin and Liaren. "Watch over him."

It was not a request. The twins nodded determinedly. "We will," they said in unison.

"I will come, too," Kedron declared, hobbling into the room. His dark eyes stared down Elaina and Smythe, daring them to tell him otherwise. It was bold, for a par'vala.

As the oldest present, and the strongest, Smythe had the decision. "Aye," he said ruefully. "You've earned it, lad."

Leaving the Elf girls to watch over Aran, the three Arohim left the room silently.

*

Downstairs, the dining room, library and living room were packed with Rostiners. Ari, Lena and Elsa came to meet the Paladins at the foot of the steps. All three rooms were visible from where Smythe, Elaina and Kedron stood in the hallway. Smythe could see the worried faces of three dozen people staring at them.

"Is everything well?" Ari asked tentatively. "Is Master Aran...?"

"He is recovering," Elaina answered quickly, and more fiercely than necessary. Ari flinched back, wincing. "I apologise, sir," she said immediately in a softer tone. "I should not have snapped at you. I am just concerned for him, that is all."

"Nothing to apologise for, good Mistress," Ari returned graciously with a small bow. "I understand well."

"Ari," Smythe began. "We are going to the Heralds. Lock up the Chapel. We will leave the Elves here to defend you if the Heralds come."

"What do you mean?" Lena demanded. She was talking to Kedron, but she included all of them in her stare. "And what's wrong with you?" she asked, now sounding concerned. "Are you sick, too?"

One look at Kedron showed that the lad was not doing well. Whatever they were doing to the girl, he was feeling every blow.

"We'll explain later," Smythe interjected, leading Kedron toward the back door at the other end of the wide hallway. "Lock up the Chapel, and don't come out for anybody. You'll be in safe hands with the Elves until we return."

The door opened before Smythe reached it, and a dark-haired Elf poked his head in. "There is a Herald messenger here. He is asking for Henley Smythe and Kedron Stallen."

With a curse, Smythe followed the Elf outside. The rear door to the Chapel led out onto the huge lawn that ran all the way to the stone wall that surrounded the grounds. A cobbled path led from the door straight out to the training yard. The hard-packed circle of earth was starting to grow over with weeds from lack of use.

Ranks of Elves lined either side of the path as Smythe strode forward. The front rank had arrows knocked and aimed at the lone Herald standing smugly in the centre of the training yard, his yellow cloak shifting in the breeze.

The Herald's cowl was pulled back, and Smythe recognised him instantly. "I see you found your way back to your master," he said to the Herald as he passed the front line of Elves.

Elaina darted to one side to whisper in the ear of Tarien, the Elf captain, who quickly issued orders to some of his troops using complex hand gestures. Smythe didn't look back, but he sensed some of the rear ranks of Eryn'elda peeling off to circle the Chapel.

Stopping a few feet away, Smythe planted his feet squarely and crossed his arms. Elaina and Kedron came up on either side of him. Elaina felt like a coiled spring on his left, ready to do violence at the shift of an eyelash. Smythe hoped this Herald could see danger when it was in front of him.

Elaina was digging fully into her vala, no longer attempting to hide it. Smythe did the same, opening himself and allowing Aros' power to flow into him. He suppressed a sigh of satisfaction at the joy of it. From here, he could feel everything for a two-mile radius, but when he sensed the Heralds, he wished he couldn't.

Most souls appeared as a bright light in one's mind when using the vala, but this group was different. Anger, rage and hate had tainted many of these poor men and women, but the worst was Berrigan. He was like a vacuum, drinking up the light around him. Smythe silently cursed himself again for never seeing the man's true nature, but then, he had shut himself off from his vala for a long time before Aran first arrived in Ironshire.

Kedron's vala flickered to life, too, and to Smythe's surprise, the lad held it steady, for the most part. Even through the pain. Smythe was quickly coming to respect the young par'vala.

"I see the Lord Commander was right," the Herald announced piously, his nose upturned. "The Arohim are here, hiding in the forest like creatures of shadow, and with filthy Elves, no less."

There was a shifting from behind, and Smythe could tell not a few Elves were tempted to loose arrows. "You have brass balls, Herald, coming here alone and throwing insults," Smythe retorted.

The man appeared to ignore Smythe's words. "Where is the other one?" He demanded. "I was told there are three Arohim here, all men, and I see one man, one boy, and a woman."

Kedron took a step forward at the word 'boy,' but Smythe put a hand on his shoulder.

"Ha!" The Herald jeered. "Keep a leash on him, yet. His father will want to deal with him personally. Isn't that right, Kedron?"

Kedron spat at the ground, but remained still.

"Would you like them to stop beating her?" The Herald sneered. "I'll bet it's getting painful, ey? Imagine how she feels."

"Just tell us what you want!" Kedron shouted. "It's me he wants, is it not? Tell him to let her go, and I'll come quietly."

Smythe clicked his tongue in frustration. He hadn't been ready to agree to that, yet, but now it was done.

"You won't need to, boy," the Herald said menacingly. "We'll come to you." He whistled through his teeth, and the whistle was answered by another, back behind the wall. Smythe heard still another further north, and suddenly he could sense the mass of Heralds moving forward.

Kedron breathed a sigh of relief just as Smythe felt the whips stop flaying poor Imella's back. If the girl wasn't broken for good after this ordeal, it would be a miracle.

When the Elves made to change position, the Herald flung up a hand. "One step forward, and the girl dies! Anything happens to me, and she dies!"

The Eryn'elda halted under a signal from Tarien. "I don't suppose my scouts are still alive?" The Elf captain asked, his voice hard.

"What do you think?" The Herald replied nonchalantly, though his eyes bored into Tarien's.

"You have made a terrible mistake, Herald," Tarien told him quietly, fingering his sword hilt.

A long silence stretched out while the Herald force approached. Smythe racked his brain for a way out of this mess. Imella was important, but so was Aran, asleep and vulnerable inside. As the first Heralds reached the wall, something changed in what Smythe was sensing, and he felt Elaina tense.

"Take cover!" Smythe roared as a volley of arrows came sailing over the back wall, arcing high into the afternoon sky before turning back toward the ground. Beneath the arrows, men came pouring over the wall like water spilling from a dam. Screaming, they raced up the gentle incline, protected by a second volley of arrows from behind them.

Eldric had turned and dashed back toward the wall as soon as the first bowstrings had snapped, running beneath the hail of arrows as they arced above.

There was nowhere to hide from that rain of steel-tipped shafts. A few Elves loosed answering shots, but most charged forward, trying to run underneath the falling death before it reached the ground. Smythe did the same, his vala lending him speed that could beat any Elf. He dragged Kedron with him, but found the lad keeping his own feet just fine, so Smythe let him go.

Elaina kept pace beside Smythe, shouting wordlessly at the top of her lungs as she threw herself at the first man she reached, knocking him down with a shoulder to plant her boot in the face of the next. Arrows flashed through the fighting from both sides, though the Elves were the better marksmen by far. Several times, an arrow struck a Herald in the eye or throat before Smythe could put him down.

Strangely, not all the Heralds were wearing their customary cloaks. Some of these men and women were dressed plainly, as if they'd been scooped up from some village or town, but when Smythe looked into their hearts, he saw why they'd taken up with the Heralds. They carried darkness with them, just like the zealots they fought for.

Lightbringer did not glow as she did before Ulunn, but she shone more brightly than the afternoon sun could account for as he spun her back and forth. Evil was evil, be it man or darkspawn. Where Lightbringer flashed, Heralds fell, but Smythe was not ready for so many. They continued flooding over the wall without quarter.

Nearby, Elaina was surrounded, blades stabbing at her from all angles. She was swinging Shatter ruthlessly, a rictus snarl on her face as the mace decimated steel and flesh alike. Kedron was fighting bravely, but the lad was still not trained. He almost went down to a nasty spear thrust from behind, but Smythe made it to him in time, vaulting backwards into the air and landing behind the Herald before chopping him down.

"Stay close," Smythe told him, not having the heart to send him away. He was trying to save his girl, after all. "And stay alive," he added.

The fighting went on, and Smythe lost count of how many men and women he felled. It wasn't enough, however. Heralds continued to leap the wall. There were too many Elves down, scattered around the small battlefield.

Tarien was still up, leaping and spinning, his blade flickering like a viper. The Elf captain was bleeding, though. His green tunic was darkly wet across his ribs, and another slash marked his thigh.

Elaina was like death incarnate, fighting like a woman possessed, her mace crushing skulls, ribs, legs. But she had taken wounds, too. She had a gash under one eye, and several on her arms and legs. A particularly nasty one ran across her stomach and it looked to be bleeding heavily. Her white shirt was almost all red, now.

Gritting his teeth, Smythe ignored his own burning cuts and pushed forward toward the wall, keeping Kedron within the circle he carved with Lightbringer. He didn't know how long the fight had gone on, thus far. Twenty minutes? Thirty? Dozens upon dozens of Herald bodies littered the ground, and still they came.

Smythe's vala was now concentrated into keeping his body strong, so it was difficult to sense very far around him. Two hundred Elves and three Arohim against how many Heralds? Four hundred? He thought he might have sensed that many before they attacked. Worse odds had been fought.

He was almost at the wall, panting with the effort when he felt the blade enter his back, just beneath his right shoulder blade. With a roar of pain, he turned, the motion pulling the blade free but tearing the wound. He felt hot blood gush beneath his shirt. He felt weak, suddenly, as if his strength was draining from the wound.

A pretty, golden-haired woman stood there, smiling, though her eyes were bereft of emotion. Cold eyes in such a pretty face. Her knife went in again, this time into his stomach. She moved so fast he could barely follow her.