“So you think my brother’s killer might be this immortal? One of The Three?”
“It’s a possibility,” James said, nodding, “and it’s not one we can ignore.”
“Why does it seem my luck in finding you here may turn out to be Thieves’ Luck?” Hoil asked suspiciously.
“Where some men see luck, others see God’s hand, brother,” Birch said with the barest hint of a smile. He ignored Hoil’s grimace and turned to James. “Who are you intending to…”
“Perklet, Nuse, front and center,” James barked. Then he turned to Maran and Hoil. “El’Maran,” James said formally, “with your permission, I would like to send half of my jintaal, under the command of paladin Birch de’Valderat, with you to investigate the nature of your brother’s death. Will you accept our help?”
Maran stared at him speculatively for a moment, then turned his attention to Birch and the other two paladins who were to accompany him. His gaze weighed them individually, then as a group. Finally, he nodded.
“If your suspicions are correct, I would be foolish not to have a holy blade at my side. Very well, I accept your help, with a condition,” Maran said, then he turned to Birch. “When we arrive in the elven lands, your life may hinge on obeying my instructions, which may mean nothing to you at the time. I require your pledge that you will obey me in all matters, unless careful weighing leads you to believe you have acted or will act in a manner against the principles of your Prismatic Order. In such a case, you are free to leave our lands, so long as you do not compromise whatever plans I may have enacted. I also require a pledge of secrecy in certain matters that you may discover, whose nature I will inform you of as it becomes necessary.
“In return,” he said before Birch could open his mouth to object, “you have my pledge that I will do my utmost to keep you informed of all situations, my actions, my decisions, and any other information pertinent to our success and survival. I will never knowingly ask you to violate, or by cause of action violate, any of your principles, and I will look after your safety as my own.”
He drew a thin-bladed sword that had remained all but invisible beneath the folds of his cloak. Maran held the sword resting on his upturned palms, with the hilt on his left hand.
“Are these terms acceptable?” Maran asked intently.
Birch considered the elf’s words carefully. Nowhere had he heard anything that sounded suspicious or convoluted in an attempt to hide some twist of words or secret agenda. If it was carefully worded, it was because of the bizarre nature of the pledges Maran was proffering. Birch stared at the elf’s upturned face, and their eyes nearly met.
Wordlessly, Birch lifted Maran’s sword, reversed it, and gave it back so the elven thief was gripping the hilt with his right hand. While Maran sheathed his sword, Birch drew his own blade and mimicked the elf’s earlier position. Maran in turn copied Birch and returned his sword to him. They had sealed their pledges to each other, and each would die before breaking his oath.
“I accept your help,” Maran said needlessly to James.
Birch sheathed his sword, ignoring the burning sensation he felt in his fingers whenever he held the weapon. Almost from the moment he’d received his blade from the Prismatic Order before starting this quest, he’d had an allergic reaction of some sort when he held the hilt in his bare hands. Since then, it had gotten progressively worse. Now, he felt an intense burning sensation whenever he held the sword, even if he was wearing his gloves or when he was in full armor. The pain was bearable for a while, but eventually he would have to let go of the sword or else go mad with agony. He’d told no one about it, of course. He had enough problems dealing with his cloak and his eyes without adding to it by making people wonder about this latest abnormality.
Nuse and Perklet transferred their goods to Hoil’s ship with a minimum of fuss, and Hoil only smiled when Birch told him Moreen would be accompanying them. Maran nodded in acceptance, but was likewise silent.
James stopped Birch before he boarded the other vessel.
“You realize that if we’re right, and one of The Three is in Nocka masquerading as a member of the Prismatic Council, then most likely only one of us will find a demon on our quest,” James said in a low voice. “If you find that there is and was no demonic activity, finish your business quickly and make for Nocka. If there is no word of us, come to Merishank and conduct your own investigations. God willing, we will meet then or in Nocka. Without an elven escort, we cannot follow, and you’re on your own with no hope for rescue. I leave this to your discretion.”
Birch nodded and gripped James’s shoulder.
“Go with God, brother,” he said.
Together they recited, “For God and for man. For life.”
Then Birch leapt to his brother’s ship and they curved away to the north while the dwarven ships sailed south. Long after the ship was out of sight, Birch stared at the horizon where he’d last seen the gleam of James’s armor as the Yellow paladin stared after him.
Chapter 5
Men are not created equal, nor are they treated as such. Of these, only the latter should be true.
- Blue Paladin Samuth Weiderkin,
lecture given at the Chapterhouse (405 AM)
- 1 -
“Danner, I need help!”
Trebor’s frantic mental cry broke Danner’s concentration and a hole opened in his defense. The Red paladin he was sparring against immediately went for the opening, and Danner spent the next few frantic moments keeping the paladin’s bowkur away from him. Finally he beat the Red back and disarmed him with a swift stroke, then simulated running the man through in the same motion. The Red paladin smiled in approval, lifted his bowkur, and saluted Danner. Danner returned the salute, then went in search of water.
“What’s wrong, Trebor?” he replied, hoping his friend was listening.
“My group got drafted to help clean up after a group of paladins experimenting with incendiary warfare, and they were burning elven oak.” Trebor’s voice was near frantic.
“I don’t see the problem…” Danner began.
“That will ruin my fake skin coloration,” Trebor replied, now terrified. “Oh, Hell, the floor is covered with this stuff. There’s no way I can avoid it.”
“Think of a way out of it, damn it,” Danner said, trying to put some confidence into his friend. Trebor was too frightened to think clearly. He was so confused, he kythed Danner his thoughts even as he was saying them aloud.
“But sir, I’m allergic to elven oak,” Danner heard in his head. “I’ll start coughing. I’ll itch.”
Danner could tell that Trebor was just babbling now, and he started running toward where he knew Trebor’s squad would be. His thoughts raced, trying to think of an excuse to pull Trebor away that would not only be plausible, but would be verifiable later. Perhaps Jon had asked for Trebor for some extra training in healing.
That’s it, he thought. Perfect. Jon will help us out, I’m sure. Or Trebor could just work carefully and wear gloves. Maybe a mask.
Danner turned down a covered promenade and heard raised voices arguing ahead. As he raced closer, he picked out the voices and what was being said.
Trebor was pleading with their instructor to let him out of the work, while Ashfen Diermark was arguing much more loudly that Trebor should have to work just like everyone else.
“Look, Dok,” the instructor said, “I understand about an allergy, but that’s what the Greens are for, to heal little things like that. I understand you’re no mean healer yourself, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But, sir…”
Danner rounded the corner and opened his mouth to call out to the instructor. Trebor and Ashfen were standing in front of the Blue paladin. Behind them, a layer of white ash at least an inch thick blanketed the open courtyard from wall to wall. Several other trainees were already crouching over the ash and shoveling it into buckets. The recent personal attacks against Danner’s friends had influenced many of the other trainees
against them, and several of those present were glowering in Trebor’s direction, no doubt thinking he was trying to get out of work.
“Don’t argue,” the Blue said.
He gripped Trebor’s shoulders, turned him around, and gave him a gentle shove toward the ash. From Danner’s vantage, he saw Ashfen surreptitiously stick out a foot, and Danner’s breath caught in his throat. Off balance from the paladin’s shove, Trebor tripped over Ashfen’s foot and went sprawling into the white powder. His hands flew forward to brace his fall, but he still got a face full of ash.
Trebor pushed himself to his knees and instinctively began to wipe the powder away from his eyes, then he stopped. Too late. Dark gray streaks ran down his face where his hands had been, and it was all too obvious something abnormal was occurring.
“What in Heaven’s name is wrong with your face, Dok?” the Blue asked. “Elven oak ash isn’t that dark. San, you weren’t kidding about that allergy. Get out of there.”
It was Ashfen, of course, who saw the truth.
“He’s a denarae!”
The courtyard went silent. The paladin stopped with one hand outstretched toward Trebor to help him out of the ash. Ashfen’s hand and finger were thrust toward Trebor in accusation. The other trainees stood or crouched statue-like, frozen in whatever act of cleaning they’d been doing before Ashfen’s denunciation. Trebor’s face was a twisted mixture of fear and loss.
Invisible behind the doorway, Danner slumped to the ground and cursed silently into his hands.
- 2 -
That quickly, all of Trebor’s care and precaution was sliced to pieces. Within minutes, Gerard Morningham and a handful of other instructors were at the scene. They hauled Trebor off and dispersed the rest of the trainees from his group. Danner had disappeared back to his own training group and pretended he’d merely gone in search of a toilet. An hour after he’d halfheartedly resumed his weapons training, a Blue paladin appeared and instructed him to report to Morningham’s office. Danner saw Michael and Marc already moving that direction, so it wasn’t hard to figure out why they were being summoned.
“Did you know?” Morningham asked as soon as they were all assembled, with the exception of Trebor.
“Know what?” Michael began.
“Yes, sir,” Danner said evenly.
Morningham’s office was a severe place, a perfect fit for the man they had all finally grown to respect even more than they hated him. One of the dark stone walls was covered up by a bookcase filled with volumes on history, battle, swordsmanship, dakkan care, and an assortment of other topics. The wall behind them had the thick oaken door, flanked by a painting of a red-cloaked paladin riding on a blue dakkan and confronting a flying demon straight out of someone’s nightmares. The wall to their right was dominated by an enormous tapestry that showed the skyline of Nocka as it appeared centuries ago, before the Barrier had been erected. The sky was darkened by clouds of winged creatures, and the ground was split evenly between armies of black-scaled demons and armor-plated paladins; the two armies were on the verge of colliding on the open plains before Nocka. The last wall, behind Morningham’s desk, was little more than a gigantic window overlooking the training courtyards below.
The desk was perfectly organized and had no clutter or knickknacks. It was utilitarian, and served as nothing more than a writing- and workspace for the Red paladin. Danner felt strangely cozy, even as he felt uneasy about being in their instructor’s private office.
Morningham glared at them, the red scars on his face pulsing slightly. Danner was sure that wasn’t a good sign.
“Your friend Trebor Dok was revealed today to be a denarae,” he said after a moment. He studied their expressions. “Judging by your faces, de’Valderat is right and you already knew. I’m assuming you were there?” he asked Danner.
“Yes, sir. I was passing by on my way to the toilet and saw the incident,” Danner lied.
“Do you boys realize how grievous an incident this is?” he asked. “People don’t much like the denarae, especially around here, and now it will seem they have reason. The stories are already beginning that the denarae were trying to infiltrate the Prismatic Order to learn our secrets.”
“For what purpose, sir?” Marc asked.
“It doesn’t bloody matter, you idiot!” Morningham exploded, rocking them all back on their heels. “I don’t like or dislike denarae any more than I do any other man, but this is the last damn thing we need right now, and I know I don’t have to explain that to you, of all people. People won’t stop to think and wonder why the blasted denarae were infiltrating the paladins; they’ll see it as an invasion of something they consider holy by a people more despised than any in history, and it won’t matter that there’s no basis for it. It will bring chaos we can ill afford. They’ll grab their Sin-accursed torches and pitchforks and start a denarae hunt that won’t stop ‘til there’s blood!”
Morningham’s face pulsed and his scars burned with the rage he felt within, and Danner knew he was holding some of that anger back. The sheer ferocity of their instructor frightened him, and he was suddenly glad the brunt of that anger was not actually directed at them.
Strange I should think of that and see it even as I’m standing here with his breath hot in my face, Danner thought to himself.
“We need this Prism and this city in one piece, not splintered and divided,” Morningham continued hotly. “If you had told me or one of the others something we bloody well should have known from the start, maybe something could have been done. We could have handled the damn situation.”
“What will be done, sir?” Michael asked. His voice was cool and calm, and it served to quiet Morningham’s rage at least a bit. The Red paladin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I don’t know, Semnriak,” he replied to Michael. “Dok is resting in your barracks for now. You’re to be given leave this weekend, and I expect the six of you will disappear together as usual. But I can’t say that I would blame him if only the five of you returned. I know I wouldn’t want to face the kind of prejudice he’s sure to encounter.”
“Then he won’t be kicked out?” Danner asked, his voice filled with hope.
Morningham shook his head.
“Not yet. The Prismatic Council will review the matter, as will my training staff,” Morningham said calmly. His rage seemed to have subsided completely. “Lying to gain entrance to the Prismatic Order is not something to be taken lightly, but I wish I could honestly say that’s all. I wouldn’t kick the boy out because he’s a denarae, and I wouldn’t vote to hold him in because of some equality-of-the-races crap. I’ll make my recommendation based on his character and his training, and that’s all you need know.
“The decision could be made this weekend while you’re away, or it could be made a month from now,” he said. “There’s just no telling. In the meantime, I think it best if he keeps himself light with that oil, or whatever it is he said he did. Everyone here will know the truth, I’m sure, but let’s not invite disaster by having him walk around the rest of the city in his, um, natural color.”
Marc opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, unsure.
“Say it, Tanus,” Morningham barked.
“Sir, I just thought I should point out that Trebor never actually lied,” he said, gaining confidence as he spoke. “There has never been a question asking what race a potential trainee is, so he never would have had to actually lie and say he was a human.”
“Just color up and let us dumb old farts come to our own conclusions, eh?” Morningham said, and Danner could have sworn their instructor was hiding a chuckle. “Well, Tanus, that could very well be a telling point in your friend’s favor. I’ll make sure it gets brought up appropriately. Anyone else have some little gem of insight for me?”
They stood rock-still in front of him.
“It’s the end of the day now, so get your friend and assemble with the rest of the trainees in the courtyard. You’ve got a short weekend to do whatever
mischief and stupidity you young idiots do these days. I won’t need you for extra duty, so take advantage of the rest. Dismissed.”
The door shut behind Danner with an ominous thud.
- 3 -
Instead of Faldergash, it was Alicia who picked them up at the gate to the Prism’s headquarters. Danner’s chest tightened slightly when he saw her chestnut hair and olive skin, but he forced himself to walk forward smoothly, showing none of his inner trepidation. She drove the gnome’s custom-built buggy, a vehicle that at first glance appeared just like any other of its kind. The metal frame rose off the shoulders of the front seats in a sturdy roll bar, and the metal cage extended forward to cradle the complex engine. The back seat was more like a bench and was likewise surrounded by a metal frame, but it was barely big enough to fit three normal-sized people, so things got cramped when Garnet was along for the ride. There was some minimal cargo room behind the seats, more of a flat cradle hanging off the back than anything else. Visually, nothing about the buggy set it apart from anything regularly available, and it would probably take an expert mechanic to deduce anything special about the engine without intense scrutiny. But Faldergash took a special pride in his work, and his customized buggy was probably one of the fastest contraptions ever built.
They loaded Trebor into the back of the buggy, and Marc took the front seat next to his sister. Garnet sat in the middle of the back – spreading his vast arms across the rear seat like a patriarch cradling his family in a church pew – and Michael sat opposite of Trebor on Garnet’s right. Danner and Flasch twined themselves into the metal ribs on the outside.
“I didn’t know you could drive a buggy, sis,” Marc said. She revved the engine and drove off into the city. She handled the wheel with skill, but without the ease of extensive experience.
“Faldergash has been teaching me during the week while you’re all locked up in there beating each other with wooden swords, or whatever it is they have you doing,” Alicia said. “There’s not much else for me to do besides look for another job.”
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 7
