The Paladins - James M. Ward [6]
General Raachaak glared at the servile creatures before him. "Shaakat, Rejik, Morbaat, obey or die as larvae in a swarm of ravenous chasme!" he bellowed into their sinister brains. "See the city and its place on that world as I picture it in my mind, and go! Discover a way into that city and return to me with the answer! A portal to Toril awaits on the third strand of Lolth's Web, on the next layer! Now go!"
"Shall we not capture this bloodforge… and bring it to you, General?" thought Morbaat, impulsively.
In a blur, Raachaak seized the vrock by the throat and lifted her over his head. "You dare turn stag on me?" he roared. He hurled Morbaat to the ground with crushing force, scattering Shaakat and Rejik, and drew forth his whip. With facile and wicked grace he unfurled the scourge, twirled it over his head with a long sweep of his burly arm, and brought its glistening, obsidian-laden strands down like tenebrous lightning. They rent the air and sliced through the lesser fiend's feathers, driving deep into her wretched body. Morbaat went rigid, convulsing in torment. She began to screech again and again, in an ever-rising pitch, dragging herself along the ground toward Raachaak's taloned feet as the whip rose and cracked. At last she crawled and screamed no more.
General Raachaak looked up for the other two vrocks, but they were already gone, probably through Lolth's Web and halfway to the Prime by now. The balor threw back his head and howled in potent self-exultation as he deftly coiled his leather and hung it at his hip.
Chapter 2
Fret not if you fall, yet lie in disgrace if you choose not to rise again.
"Before we all rode together to the wedding of Lord Piegeiron and Lady Eidola, we did not know well these other good followers of Tyr, who came with us from Phlan, m'lady," explained Miltiades as he introduced her to them.
"We know Able best," said Kern, presenting a warrior-cleric with iron-black hair, deep chocolate eyes, and a clean-shaven jaw that remained shadowed despite the daily razor. "He's revered in Phlan for both his puissant skill with the warhammer and his great clerical war magic."
The massive fighter in sturdy banded armor bowed gravely, eyes focused on the floor, and said nothing. But Aleena detected within him a great sadness, that of someone who has begun to question the precepts by which he has lived all his life, and who now feels himself adrift in a hostile world.
"If I am not mistaken, you have already made Jacob's acquaintance," continued Miltiades. "He has often quested in the Western Heartlands and, I understand, has occasionally gone monster hunting with Lord Paladinson."
"And Piegeiron slays dragons with the best of 'em!" said Jacob, capturing and kissing the wizard's slender hand with a wink and a grin. "It's good to see you again, Aleena, and it's great to serve Tyr, Piegeiron, and these two paladins of legend, all at the same time!"
Aleena grinned down at the charming, curly-haired blond. I see you're still carrying that two-handed sword," she observed.
"Aye," said Miltiades sourly. "And not a warhammer, though that is the true weapon of the followers of Tyr. I will say, though," he conceded, "Jacob has demonstrated nimble adroitness with the blade in a joust. Both Kern and I have challenged Jacob to spar. Not only has he acquitted himself well in swordsmanship, but he often quotes Tyr's proverbs between blows."
The paladin gestured and Trandon, a leather-clad fighter of some fifty winters stepped forward. His long silver-streaked hair was tied behind him, and he leaned upon a fat, ashen quarterstaff.
"I'm not bad with a staff, myself," Aleena told him as they shook hands.
"I would prefer to wield the warhammer as befits a warrior of Tyr," the man answered. "But I've seen many battles and haven't always emerged unscathed." Tran-don held up his right arm. "A close encounter with a vampire permanently drained the vitality from this arm, normal as it might appear to