Feeling the need to say something, Danner frowned and looked about in sudden realization, then turned to his uncle.
“Where is your dakkan?”
- 4 -
“Go get my brother, Selti,” his paladin said, peering intently at the cat-sized creature on his shoulder. “Bring Hoil here and find me.”
Selti chirped a response, then hopped free of his human perch. He dropped to the stony streets and looked behind him as the paladin sped toward a scuffle in the street. The young man who had fed Selti sausages that morning was lying on the ground with a larger man hovering over him with a spear. Before Selti looked away, he saw his paladin fell the spear-wielder and help the sausage boy to his feet. Then Selti looked away and went about following his paladin’s last request.
Selti dodged nimbly through the legs of the humans and demi-humans of the crowd, most of them taking no notice of his passing. A few who he brushed against looked down and wondered at the streak of gray scales that flashed before their eyes. If anyone raised an outcry at his passing, Selti was long gone before they did so.
This was a time to be serious, and Selti knew that. There were times – whenever possible, actually – when Selti pushed the limits with his paladin, knowing that he would eventually cross the line and be called to task by the human. But Selti shared a strange bond with the man, and could no more disobey a serious, direct command than he could tear out his own heart. His pride rarely allowed him to think of his paladin’s words as commands – Selti preferred to think of them as suggestions with which he deigned to accede.
His instructions clear, Selti made short work of the distance to the building where his paladin’s nest-brother lived. As a dakkan, Selti’s sense of direction and ability to memorize locations were nearly infallible. It had to be, since humans too often suffered from chronic forgetfulness and it was up to their faithful mounts to guide them.
Or at least that’s what the older dakkans had said when Selti had met them. The past year or so had been a period of great learning for the young dakkan, as well as a time of tremendous growth. His first true memories were of tearing himself out of a dark, confined space that he later realized was his mother’s belly.[23] He’d found himself alone in a desolate place, and he’d immediately set out in search of food.
But whatever accursed land he’d been in, there was nothing even resembling life there. Even a blade of grass could have provided Selti sustenance, since dakkans were omnivorous, but there was nothing. Somehow, deep within himself, Selti knew the only reason he hadn’t starved to death was because one did not truly need to eat in the place the humans called Hell. Selti didn’t know how he knew, it was just a part of him, like an echo of knowledge in his mind. But while he didn’t starve, neither did he grow and thrive as he should have, and for years he’d remained near his mother’s corpse, bound by an inexplicable compulsion to remain nearby. More than once he was tempted by the dying flesh of his slain mother, but his hunger, while incessant, was not enough to overpower the instinctive revulsion he felt at the thought of eating one of his own kind, much less the one who had birthed him.
After his paladin had collapsed for the last time, Selti was finally discovered by the other paladins who carried his human to a place of healing. Selti was given his first meal, and the next morning he’d been nearly twice as large. His body ached and his hunger seemed to be insatiable, but as time went by, Selti grew to be a respectably sized dakkan.
He’d also learned to alter into his second shape, that of a drann. When he shifted shape, he was no larger than when he’d been born, and Selti often preferred the diminutive size of the drann to his natural, larger form. Selti also found he could take a third form, but it was a long time before he admitted this to any of the older dakkans. They all seemed to be of the opinion that a dakkan could only shift into one other shape, and it wasn’t until Selti was forced to demonstrate his apparently unique ability that they believed him. He didn’t know where it came from, and sometimes he felt as though even it was too limited, like he should be able to be anything he wanted.
Of course, the older dakkans told him this was foolishness and immature dreaming, but then they were bound by their single alternate form, so how could they know? He already knew he was smarter than they were, for all their experience.
Sometimes he thought he remembered…
…being something else…
Selti let out a squeal of surprise as a dwarf stepped on his tail, and he hissed at the surprised halfling. For a moment Selti considered switching to his dakkan shape, then he realized he was already at his destination. He gave the dwarf one final, baleful glare, then scaled a wall and slipped into the building through a narrow hole in the roof.
It only took him a moment to find his paladin’s nest-brother, for the man was quite a bit larger than any of the others around him and smelled of authority. Selti screeched raucously to gain his attention, then swooped down to settle on the table.
“What the Hell?” the man cried. “You’re Birch’s little beastie, aren’t you?”
Selti’s understanding of the human tongue was considerable, though by no means as complete as that of an older dakkan, and he understood enough of the man’s words to bob his head in affirmation.
“Well, I do say, it looks like he understands me,” the man said. Selti glared at him for stating the obvious.
Selti chirped in a tone that would have instantly told his paladin that something was wrong, but which apparently meant nothing to his nest-brother. The human simply stared at him in astonishment, not quite knowing what to make of the scaled form that was practically in his lap. Selti nearly screeched in frustration.
With a strangled chirp, Selti hopped onto the man’s shoulder and beat his wings, dragging the material with him in an attempt to guide the human.
“Hey now, quit that,” the human said, batting at Selti with his hands. Selti hissed and bit one of the hands that flailed at him.
“Ouch! I like that, here I’m the one being tugged at, and he bites me!”
“If he’s tugging at you, maybe he’s trying to lead you somewhere,” a soft voice said. Selti turned toward what was apparently the only intelligent voice in the room and saw that it came from a one-eared elf. Selti released the human’s shirt and darted toward the elf. He landed lightly on his thin shoulder, careful not to damage his flesh.
“I think the elf’s got it, boss,” another human said.
“Alright, let’s say he does. Maran, gather a half-dozen men and meet me outside in two minutes,” said the man Selti had come for. “If Birch sent this little beastie that means he can’t come himself, and that means something’s wrong.” He paused, then said darkly, “Better not have anything to do with my boy, though.”
Chapter 8
The mistakes made in life are not so important as the lessons learned from them. Nothing new ever works on the first try.
- Gnomish Proverb
- 1 -
Danner’s head jerked up and he stared intently into the hallway.
“What is it?” Birch asked.
Danner didn’t answer immediately. He cocked his head and listened, trying to pinpoint what had awakened him. It wasn’t a loud sound, or else Birch would have heard it, too. Rather, it seemed like something Danner felt in the back of his mind. His eyes quickly adjusted to the light, and Danner moved silently to the iron bars of their cell and looked down the corridor as far as the cell would allow.
“I don’t know, uncle,” Danner said thoughtfully. “I thought I heard something.”
They both remained silent for a moment, and Danner strained his ears for the faintest sound. For the moment, all was silent.
“It’s nothing, I guess,” Danner said at last.
He turned back toward his wooden pallet.
Just then a harsh boom! sounded from down the corridor, and shouts erupted into the echoing confines of the basement of cells. Voices swirled about each other, and Danner struggled to make out individual w
ords.
“Watch your back!”
“It’s an elf! Kill it!”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s a denarae raid! Where’s the captain?”
“Guard the prisoners!”
There was a confused clash of blades, and men screamed and bellowed coarse battle cries. Danner looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon, then realized that the only thing that would serve as such was Birch’s wooden sword. If the guards decided to kill their prisoners, Danner knew they would be virtually helpless.
Danner tucked himself into the corner between the steel bars and the stone wall, where the torches’ light shone the least.
“Biltan, Jerink, get the torches, then leave them to me,” a voice called, and Danner sighed in relief when he recognized it as Maran’s.
“It’s my dad, uncle,” Danner whispered in excitement.
“I know,” Birch replied calmly. Danner glanced at him in surprise, then exasperation. Before he could comment, he heard the buzzing of crossbow bolts and the light abruptly dimmed.
Across the hallway, Danner saw one torch lying on the ground with a crossbow bolt embedded in the upper section. The torch sputtered a moment, then went out. On Danner’s side of the hallway, on the floor just outside the cell, he saw another torch impaled by a bolt. Danner quickly reached out and grabbed it, just barely beating the hand of a guard.
He rapped the torch against the guard’s knuckles, then into his face as the guard recoiled. Danner cursed as the man rolled away, taking valuable weapons out of his reach.
Danner backed into the room, holding the torch high.
“Danner, douse the light,” Birch said from behind him.
Danner turned, his lips forming a question as he inadvertently caught his uncle’s direct gaze. He immediately flinched away and held the torch between them to block his uncle’s Hell-filled eyes.
“Do it,” Birch barked.
“I hope you’re right,” Danner muttered, then obeyed his uncle. He ground the torch into the stone floor and plunged their cell – and the entire basement – into complete darkness.
It was only after Danner’s eyes adjusted that he realized the darkness was not complete. Their cell was lit by an eerie orange glow, and it took Danner a moment to realize the light was coming from his uncle’s eyes.
“Uncle!” Danner hissed, indicating that the paladin should shield his eyes and their unnatural glow. The light was brighter than it should have been, as though the fires within the paladin’s eyes had intensified in response to the sudden descent of darkness. Birch nodded in understanding and held one hand over his eyes, leaving only a crack between his fingers through which he could still see. To Danner, it looked as though he was seeing a crack from which shone the fires of Hell.
Maybe that’s what it is, Danner mused, then banished the thought. The base of his spine tingled, and Danner’s hands twitched as though desperate for a weapon.
The corridor outside their cell, meanwhile, had gone abruptly silent. Heavy breathing filled the air, and a few fear-filled, hoarse comments were whispered by nervous guards. Danner went back to the iron bars, hoping that some dim light would reveal what was happening. He saw only darkness.
A gurgling scream split the hallway, echoing hauntingly for a moment before it was abruptly cut off. Danner heard steel slice through flesh and bone.
“Dink? Jimmy? Berin? Someone answer me,” a frightened voice whispered somewhere near Danner’s cell. Only silence greeted his voice.
“Dink? Come on, somebody,” the voice said.
“Shut up, Heff,” a voice said. “He’ll hear where you are…” the second voice choked off, and Danner heard the unmistakable sound of bones snapping as someone screamed in agony, then abruptly fell silent.
“Dink? Oh crap,” the first voice said on the edge of tears. “Please, God, please, don’t let me die here. Please don’t kill me, I only work here. I have a family to feed. I’ve got…”
The voice fell silent, and Danner listened for the telltale signs of another death. Instead, he heard stumbling footsteps that echoed in the black silence.
“I don’t have the keys,” the blubbering voice said suddenly, and Danner jumped back in spite of himself. They were right outside the cell.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have them. Only the captain has the keys.”
“Traitor,” a voice yelled from somewhere in the room.
Danner just barely heard a whispered voice say, “Stay. Move, and I’ll kill you.”
Steel rang on steel, but Danner had already figured out what Maran’s tactic was. Maran had often demonstrated an unparalleled ability to see in pitch blackness, and Danner knew the human guards didn’t have a chance. Predictably, there came a choking sob of acquiescence, then the jingle of keys coming closer to the cell. Maran’s voice was too low for Danner to make out, but the guard replied, “I don’t know which one it is. Please, you’ve got to believe me. Don’t kill me.”
“Too slow. I’ll use my own keys,” a new voice said.
“Dad,” Danner breathed silently in relief.
“Why didn’t you just pick the lock yourself, Maran?” Hoil asked irritably.
“I was busy.”
“Damn it, you would have to have doused all the lights in here,” Hoil said brusquely, “and me without so much as a thieves’ lantern. Wait, here’s the lock. Alright, if we give it one of these here, and a little twist there, and quick as you can say ‘Hoil’s a genius,’ we’re…” Hoil’s voice stopped short, followed by a leaden moment of silence.
“Turn it to the left, not the right, Hoil,” Maran said, and Danner thought he detected a note of humor in the elf’s voice.
“Ah, Hoil’s a genius, and we’re in,” Danner’s father said, undaunted by his earlier failure.
As the door swung open, Birch removed the hand from his eyes and orange light filled their cell.
“Satan’s teeth!” Hoil stared in astonishment at his brother, then immediately recovered his composure. He held out his arms expansively, as though welcoming guests to a home.
“Sorry it took me so long, brother,” Hoil said. “I got here just as quick as I could.”
“Good,” Birch answered. “Now get us out of here quicker.”
Someone handed Danner a sword and he quickly tested the balance and grip in his hand. Danner had studied various forms of combat under Maran and was skilled with a blade, though badly out of practice. If nothing else, the blade assuaged his feelings of helplessness, and he walked out of his cell with only a slight tremor as he passed through the metal door.
- 2 -
“Lord, I fear I may kill men today,” Birch whispered to himself as they slipped from the cell. “May their souls find forgiveness for their misdeeds and misguided influence, and may I find forgiveness for my own soul for having taken their lives. Protect us and guide us.”
He saw Danner staring at him inquisitively, but Birch didn’t bother to explain. Not all paladins followed the practice of the altiara, but Birch had done so since his first days as a novice – and he would continue to do so until his final breath. Paladins were sworn to never take the life of another mortal save in self-defense or other special cases, and the altiara was a sort of personal, pre-fight prayer of forgiveness. For Birch and many others, it also served as a reminder of his vows – a repeated stricture of discipline.
“Let’s go,” Birch said, leading the way with Maran at his side. Through his fiery gaze, the room was revealed in stark relief. It was as if all color had been leeched from the world except shades of reddish-orange, which now blanketed and revealed every contour of every lightless corner. The elf had already demonstrated an ability to see in the pitch blackness, and Birch accepted his newly discovered night-vision with the unquestioning resolve of necessity. The others following behind relied mostly on whispered comments and their trust in the two men who led them.
During their intrusion, Maran and Hoil had split into two teams to seek
the thief’s son, and the elf had doused all the lights along his route to put the guards at a disadvantage. Now that darkness would cover them on their escape.
Birch had his bowkur[24] drawn and held low before him, the tip of the wooden blade weaving slightly back and forth before him like a snake sniffing the air for its prey. Birch regretted the lack of his shield, but he could fight equally well without it. In fact here, in the dark hallways of the Coalition, it might have proved more of a hindrance than a benefit.
“This way,” Maran whispered, his voice nearly inside Birch’s ear. He resisted the impulse to jerk away from the uncomfortably close noise. The walls were already close enough around Birch without the elf adding to the cramped effect. Outwardly, Birch remained stoically calm, even as his skin crawled with the thought of being in such a confined space.
Birch nodded and led the others down the hallway. They were nearly to the other side when torchlight came bobbing down a stairwell ahead of them and a handful of guards poured into the hallway.
“It’s them,” a guard shouted. “Torches to the back. Charge!”
The guard directing the others fell a second later, a crossbow bolt through his throat. His sword clattered to the ground, and he fell in a heap on top of it.
“Stay back,” Birch ordered the others with him as he and Maran stepped forward to deal with the guards.
Two guards charged each of them, and Birch watched their motions carefully. The first held his sword high, and the second low. In response, Birch shifted to hold his bowkur with both hands, with the blade extended out from his chest. He dodged the first attack of the man on his left, then parried the sword of the other man.
Birch was careful to deflect the blows rather than meet them head on. His bowkur could fracture under a direct block of a metal blade, and with enough blows would eventually shatter.
As the first guard recovered from his swing and moved to attack again, Birch spun past his sword and smashed his elbow into the man’s face. He ignored the feeling shattering cartilage and kept his eyes on his second opponent. Birch shifted his gaze from the man’s chest to his face and locked eyes with the guard.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 9
