The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War)

by Brian J Moses

  “We’ve got ‘em all,” Flasch said, appearing from the darkness and lugging a huge bundle over his shoulder. Danner followed after with a similarly large bulk, and handed a smaller bundle to Trebor to carry.

  “You’re sure you picked the one from the most recent dates?” Trebor asked. “The blessings on your cloaks might be permanent, but these only last a year, and I don’t fancy falling out of the sky because you grabbed one that’s about to expire.”

  “Relax,” Flasch said with a smile that did nothing to reassure Trebor. “We know what we’re doing.”

  Trebor snorted skeptically, but let it drop.

  “Go ahead down to the buggy then, it should be clear,” Trebor told them. “I’m not familiar enough with Gerard’s thoughts to pinpoint him to tell him we were successful, so I’m going to go find him.”

  “Right.”

  Trebor left his bundle with them and walked through the halls looking for all the world like he had every right to be there, which he technically did. There was nothing to say he could not be there, despite the circumstances of his previous departure, and he was on official business for Gerard Morningham. He was ready to explain his presence at a moment’s notice if running into someone was inevitable.

  Eventually, Trebor picked out Gerard’s mind from the general hum around him and he homed in on the paladin’s location so he could send his thoughts more clearly and without the distraction of so many voices around him. He was somewhat surprised to discover that Gerard’s thoughts were white-hot with rage. They were so jumbled Trebor could make little sense of what he was seeing and hearing, so he hurried down the hall until he was outside the room where he knew Gerard was located. The door was slightly ajar, so Trebor peeked in and saw Gerard leaning over a Yellow paladin’s desk, his face pulsing with fury. The Yellow’s back was to Trebor.

  “And I’m telling you I fully intend on holding you spit-lickers to your promise,” Gerard said, his voice barely controlled. “You said I wouldn’t be beholden to any of the city guard, and I take that to include their quartermaster and supply officers. They can’t stymie me like this, and I won’t allow you to let them.”

  “Gerard, please understand,” the Yellow said consolingly. Trebor recognized the voice and general thoughts of the Yellow paladin who had presided over his hearing and subsequent removal from the Prism. “If he says some items are in limited supply, there’s no reason to suspect…”

  “There’s every reason to suspect he’s a lying, sniveling, worthless excuse for a human who thinks he’s being cute by denying my troops supplies just because they’re denarae!” Gerard shouted. “He had the audacity to tell me they had no chain-and-leather armor and no swords, when I’d heard him give a captain ten dozen of each not ten minutes before without a second thought. He’s lucky I didn’t split his lying face open with my fist.”

  “You didn’t hurt him, did you?” the other paladin asked, concerned.

  “No, Bart, I didn’t, but I’m seriously reconsidering returning and rectifying that oversight,” Gerard growled. “When it became painfully clear exactly what sort of asinine fool I was dealing with, I left to follow these proper channels and procedures you keep telling me about, which is why I’m here now demanding you uphold your promise.”

  “I’ll certainly have someone look into it in the next few weeks…”

  “Damn it, I don’t need my supplies in a few weeks, I need them now!” Gerard thundered, and Trebor saw the desk split in half as the Red paladin’s fist crashed down. Papers and books slid to the ground in a rush and scattered everywhere. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing? You think you can fool me by pretending concern and amiability? You’re just as bloody prejudiced as those idiots out there with their heads up their asses. I don’t give a damn if I’m leading a company of denarae or of dung beetles, they’re my soldiers and I’ll see they’re treated fairly.”

  “Let me be blunt with you, Gerard,” Bart said, his face dropping any pretense at friendliness. He turned his head slightly, and Trebor could see he was slightly paler than usual, and the paladin glanced nervously at the shattered desk on the ground before him. “The Prism will support you in your endeavors to train the denarae, but where the city guard is concerned, we are… reluctant… to intervene. The only reason the city isn’t up in arms at the thought of a denarae army camped outside its walls is because we promised the anti-denarae factions and political groups that they would not be a part of the regular guard, and they would likely be limited to engineering duties.”

  Trebor grimaced. Engineering duties was a euphemism for digging latrines and other menial labor.

  “I think you’re wise to restrict them to that camp you have, rather than letting them run wild here,” Bart went on. “It’s a game of compromise we must play to ensure the backing and support we need when the more dangerous element arrives. You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Yes.”

  “When they arrive, if your denarae haven’t all deserted by then, there’s already talk of putting them on the front lines. You were placed in charge of the denarae because of your rebellious attitude, yes,” Bart said candidly, “but there are some who voted to place you there because you are the best chance they have of surviving what they will be put through. They are sheep, and they will be led to the slaughter, unless you are able to pull off a miracle and save them. That is the unavoidable truth. At least in that, they can be useful.”

  “How and why did you vote, Bart?” Gerard said, his voice low. “Never mind. I don’t need to hear what I already know. You dare call yourself a paladin and have the gall to wear that cloak.” Trebor could feel fury and disgust sizzling off the Red paladin, it was a wonder the room around him didn’t suddenly catch fire.

  “You’re being a sentimental fool, Gerard,” Bart replied condescendingly.

  “Go to Hell, Bart,” Gerard growled, “and I mean that in every way possible.”

  Gerard strode angrily past him to the door. Trebor ducked out of sight, lest he be visible when Gerard opened the door. He wasn’t worried about Gerard’s knowing about his presence, but he’d rather the Yellow paladin remained ignorant.

  “What are you going to do, Gerard? We still need to talk. Where are you going?”

  Gerard turned slowly.

  “Sheep need their shepherd, and I’m going back to my flock,” he said, his voice icily calm. “I find their presence more pleasant than some others I could name offhand.”

  Gerard jerked the door open and slammed it shut behind him. He showed no visible sign of surprise at seeing Trebor crouched in the shadows nearby. Gerard motioned for Trebor to fall in beside him.

  “You heard?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your thoughts?”

  Trebor paused. “I think you’re right in your assessment of the quartermaster and of your friend there. And I agree with your next plan of action.”

  “You promised you wouldn’t spy,” Gerard said warningly.

  “I haven’t, sir,” Trebor replied, “but I know you well enough to know that I wouldn’t want to be that quartermaster for anything in the world.”

  Gerard glanced at him, then suddenly broke into a rare smile.

  “When you return to camp, I’ll trust your judgment on what to tell your people,” he said. “They’ll likely pick parts of it up anyway, so you may as well give it some official weight and perspective. I expect you to inform me of what’s common knowledge and what’s not yet known, however.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now go back to your friends and enjoy your weekend,” Gerard said. “I assume there were no problems in locating those other supplies? Good. Take as many of the bowkurs and padding back with you on your buggy as you can manage, then bring them to camp when you return. They should disguise your other cargo.”

  They walked another dozen steps together before Trebor peeled off down a different hallway.

  “If you forget those cloaks, I’ll skin the th
ree of you and use your hides instead,” Gerard said by way of parting and treated Trebor to one of his baleful glares that had caused innumerable trainees to tremble. Now that Trebor had come to know the Red paladin better as a person rather than as his trainer, the look no longer held the same gut-twisting power it once had.

  Chapter 12

  Temperance – from the dwarven word tempatiir, which is a self-imposed delay between the desire for a thing and the act of reaching out to grasp it.

  - “An Examination of Prismatic Virtue” (801 AM)

  - 1 -

  When they returned to Faldergash’s house, Gabruella and Alicia had both returned, but everyone was already asleep. The three friends moved quietly through the house and turned in for the night without waking anyone. Danner breathed an inner sigh of relief that he wouldn’t yet have to face Alicia. Instead, he lay awake in his bed for over an hour, straining to hear even the lightest of footsteps in the hallway outside.

  The painful pleasure of seeing Alicia was postponed until the morning, when she approached Danner and asked him to teach her how to wield a sword. Alicia said she never wanted to feel helpless again, and he agreed without question or comment.

  Danner rummaged through the equipment they had brought from the chapterhouse and found a suit of practice padding that fit her adequately, then they chose a bowkur that was more or less equal to the wooden weapon he normally wielded. Faldergash provided a pair of battered shields he had intended to melt down as scrap metal, then the pair moved outside to start the first lesson. Alicia already knew the basics of how to hold the sword and how to stand ─ she had observed that much on her own by watching them during Garnet’s impromptu training sessions on their free weekends ─ but she knew little to nothing about how to actually swing the weapon or put proper force behind the blow.

  Sometime during the night, the snow Marc had promised had arrived, and now a thick layer of snow blanketed the ground in a dazzling layer of crystalline whiteness. It wasn’t the most ideal of environments to begin swordsmanship training, but they had to make do. Neither was heavily bundled; they were counting on their exertions to warm their bodies once they started.

  “First, try adjusting your grip like this,” Danner said, observing her form. “Put your forefinger on top of the hilt, inside the small arc there and against the unsharpened ricasso of the blade. That’s called fingering the cross-guard. It will give you a bit more agility and control, but it’ll take a little off your power.” Danner paused. The mist from his breath made a brief cloud in front of his eyes, then dissipated. “No offense, but I don’t think strength is going to be your strongest asset, Alicia. You’re much stronger than you look, but you’re never going to overpower a strong swordsman, so don’t try. Your technique is going to be skill and dexterity.”

  Alicia nodded, smiling at Danner in a way that made his knees go weak. Danner shook his head to clear his thoughts and focused on correcting her grip and stance.

  “Good. Now, from here you can move to various attack and defense positions as necessary, like so.”

  Danner demonstrated in slow motion the changes from high to low guard, then to middle guard, and the variations of moving from one to another. Alicia mimicked him as best she could, watching him carefully.

  “The high and low guards are used for swinging and cutting blows, since the blade is coming around from behind you,” Danner explained as he shifted to a low guard. His bowkur was an extension of his arm behind him and angled toward the ground, then he raised and bent his arm, bringing the sword tip above his head and into the high guard position. Without warning, he slashed the sword forward toward an imaginary opponent.

  “The middle guard is used for thrusting motions and to recover from an attack or defensive block,” he continued, bringing the sword back in front of him and angled forward past his extended shield. “It’s a fairly neutral position where many people shift after they attack.”

  The lesson continued, with Danner explaining the various uses of each position and why certain techniques were important to practice and others important to avoid. Most of the basics he was showing her went back to his original training under Maran in his youth, though they had quickly moved beyond simple forms. Danner’s training in the Prism had been much more intense and built on the foundation he already had. Alicia was starting from scratch. She was a quick study, but every now and then Danner had to reach over and correct something in her stance, or else her grip shifted on the blade and he adjusted her fingers. Whenever their skin touched, Danner felt a tingle in his body, sometimes starting at the point of contact and sometimes from the back of his neck. He didn’t think he showed any outward sign of it, and if he did, he hoped she took it as a reaction to the cold.

  They practiced for more than an hour before Alicia was too tired to keep her sword aloft properly. While her hands were well-calloused from some of the heavier work she’d done at the Dragoenix Inn and since, there were just enough differences in grip to leave her hands rough and tender in places. Her muscles weren’t used to the exertion and sensation of the sword training, much as Danner’s hadn’t been when he first started his paladin training. Danner smiled slightly as he came to appreciate anew some of the training techniques Gerard had inflicted upon him and the other trainees. He didn’t think he could bring himself to force Alicia to run laps around the building with her sword over her head or hold it at arms’ length while screaming the answers to questions.

  When they were finished, they started back toward Faldergash’s house. Halfway there, Danner realized he only heard one set of footsteps crunching through the snow. He turned just in time to dodge a snowball hurtling toward him from a grinning Alicia. She giggled at his reaction, then turned and ran as Danner dropped his equipment and made his own snowy weapon. He chased after her, throwing a few badly aimed snowballs to prevent her from feeling safe enough to stop and make another missile to strike back at him.

  Danner chased Alicia through the streets in a circle back toward Faldergash’s house. Alicia rounded the corner of the neighboring building, and Danner grinned as he realized he was closing in on her. He stooped in his run and gathered more snow, quickly forming it into a ball as he rounded the corner.

  He looked eagerly to see where she had gone, and saw that instead of running away, Alicia had turned and was waiting for him, two snowballs in hand and ready to throw. Danner tried to stop to avoid the inevitable, but his foot slipped on a patch of ice and his ankle twisted out from under him. His body contorting wildly, Danner was well on his way to crashing face-first into a snow bank when the two snowballs hit him in the face and his groin.

  Danner twisted at the last second and avoided a face-plant, but he was still doubled over in pain when Alicia came to stand over him, concern etched on her face.

  “I’m sorry, Danner,” she apologized, “I didn’t mean to hit you, um, there.”

  “Don’t worry, that’s not what hurts, Alicia,” Danner said through clenched teeth. “I twisted my ankle on the ice.”

  “I thought you couldn’t be hurt like that,” she said, then immediately snapped her lips shut like she had said something wrong.

  “What?” Danner asked, trying to focus on healing his leg. He grimaced as he gripped the injured ankle, then gritted a healing prayer through clenched teeth and sighed as relief flooded through his leg. The hardest part about healing yourself, he’d discovered, was visualizing the damage that needed repairing while simultaneously suffering from varying degrees of agony from the injury. He rotated his ankle a few times to be sure he’d completely healed it, then looked back up at Alicia. “What?” he repeated. “Why would you say that?”

  “Well,” she said, hesitating. “It’s just… I overheard you all talking and that you’re part angel or something. Part immortal.”

  Danner stared at her dumbfounded.

  “You mean you know?” he managed, and Danner thought he had never sounded so stupid before in his life.

  “Well, yeah.” S
he stared at him. “So it’s true?”

  “We think so,” he said, controlling himself at last. “It’s kind of hard to be sure.”

  “And do you really have… wings?” she said, barely breathing the last word.

  Danner nodded.

  “Can I see them?”

  “Not now, okay? I’m a little tired,” he said, not exactly lying. He knew this wouldn’t be the end of her curiosity, but he just didn’t feel like dealing with it at the moment. “And I’m hungry, too. Let’s go warm up and get some food.”

  Alicia nodded slowly, then helped him to his feet. She pulled him upright, and Danner nearly blundered into her as he steadied his balance. Danner gripped her shoulders and Alicia braced her hands against his chest to help, and for a moment the two of them stood perfectly still. Alicia turned her head upward slowly, her misty breath steaming across Danner’s shoulder, then his face. Danner looked down at her, and their eyes met.

  Then Alicia turned away and the moment was broken. Danner swallowed a sudden heaviness in his throat, then shook his head slightly and moved to pick up the training gear he’d dropped earlier.

  - 2 -

  On the front door of the house was a note saying that the others had all gone to help Faldergash find and load a supply of scrap metal for the gnome to melt down and use. A pot of stew was still warm for the two of them, and they ate together in silence. When they cleared the table, Danner went to sit in front of the living room fire. He had recovered from their time outside in the frigid air, but the allure of the roaring fire was too much for him.