The Paladins - James M. Ward [2]
Laskar started back. His chins waggled in distress. "Surely you must know the Merchant's Guild is loyal to the Nine Lords, and no member would dream of subverting the will of the Open Lord himself!"
"Get out of my way, Nesher, or every gold piece you touch turns to lead…"
Laskar blinked at Khelben, considered how serious the mage might be, then hastily moved aside.
Chapter 1
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.
"Lords, you now know all Aleena and I know. I would appreciate your thoughts on the matter," said Khelben in his private council chamber, walled from its circular floor to its domed ceiling with overcrowded bookstacks. He sat at the apex of a large, triangular table of thick mahogany. The table's glossy surface swirled with curls of thick burgundy inlays flaring to crimson here and there and then dimming, as though fireflies crawled beneath the veneer. The inlays' enchantment rendered all languages into a tongue easily understood by those around the table. To Khelben's trained ears, lies spoken over the design resonated like tin.
To the High Mage's left and right sat Kern and Mil-tiades, while Aleena Paladinstar occupied an overstuffed chair at the base of the triangle, opposite Khelben.
The wizard settled back in his high-backed drag-onhide chair and mentally activated its arcane ability. In extradimensional space, he saw peoples' auras glow and churn in patterns and colors. His eyes subtly shimmered as the magic took effect. Both paladins noted the reddish sparkle behind the wizard's pupils, but they said nothing. Just the same, Kern couldn't help but wonder if maybe glowing red eyes were an effrontery to Tyr.
Khelben's gleaming eyes first studied Miltiades and blinked against the blinding white essence of purity bathing the paladin, who sat ramrod straight in his chair. Even his graceful plate mail of ancient craft shone as brilliant as quicksilver in the sun. Here was a titanic force of order and law, with a presence of will capable of deflecting magic as a shield fends off blows. Although he appeared to be a man of about forty winters, Miltiades was 1,000 years old. Khelben's friend Elminster had once spoken of this knight, who died in the service of Tyr, was raised as a skeleton to quest for centuries, and was at last rewarded with mortality and love.
"You will need to send out a rescue party immediately. The enemy must not complete their plans," remarked Miltiades, a rolling burr in his speech. Unusually insightful if a bit cocky, this paladin had come to Khelben's conclusion without hesitation or pause. The tone of his voice carried the wisdom of many lifetimes and the brash confidence of affirmed heroism.
Tyr loathes the injustice of personal attacks for political gain, and we shall be his tools on Faerun," added the paladin.
"Praise be to Tyr," Kern intoned.
Blackstaff s eyes squinted as he scanned Kern. His bushy brow cocked. Kern had no aura! Where was the unmistakable glow of a paladin? Where was his life force, his lawful illumination, his shimmer of holy magic, his shining truthfulness? When Khelben faced other null individuals in the past, they usually turned out to be baatezu or tanar'ri fiends.
Khelben kept his surprise to himself There could be several good reasons why the young paladin thwarted his detection magic: He might possess a magical item that gave proof against scrying devices, or he might be deflecting the magic. On the other hand, there were plenty of bad reasons, too. Kern, he observed suspiciously, was completely different from Miltiades. Where the elder wasted no motion and presented himself in few words, Kern was the opposite-always moving, even when seated. Oh, the youthful knight spoke like a paladin, yet not with the solemn depth of his comrade. He was too likable to be a paladin.
Like Miltiades, Kern carried his age well; he had passed at least thirty years but appeared to have lived only nineteen of them. Elminster had mentioned this one as well, saying he fought hordes of fiends to recover