“You saved my life, Garnet,” he said.
“I helped,” the wiry youth chimed in from the floor.
“So did I,” another said, and Danner recognized the voice of the trainee who’d warned him.
“So you did, and I’m more than a little grateful,” Danner said, smiling. He extended his hand. “Danner de’Valderat.”
“Flasch jo’Keer,” the first man introduced himself. “And this is Marc Tanus.”
Their introductions were cut short by the entrance of the Nightman, a pair of trainees on his heels and a half-dozen guards following them. The paladin guards had their weapons drawn, but the Nightman looked more irritated than alarmed.
“What’s all this now?” he asked. “I’ve got boys screaming that a whole platoon of assassins had just murdered half the trainees in their sleep.”
Marc stepped forward. “Someone attacked trainee de’Valderat. Trainees jo’Garet, jo’Keer, and I subdued and bound the man, who now awaits you, Nightman,” he said respectfully. Marc gestured to each person in turn, then stepped back so the Nightman could see the trussed-up assassin.
The Nightman frowned and muttered something beneath his breath. He knelt by the would-be assassin’s side and snorted in disgust at the sight of a thick white foam dripping from the bound man’s lips.
“Poison,” he spat under his breath, just loud enough for Danner to overhear. Then the Nightman stood and motioned the guards to remove the dead man from the room. Two paladins picked him up and carried him out while the other four made a quick scan of the room for further danger. A moment later, the room was empty except for the Nightman and the trainees.
“Alright, boys, back to sleep all of you,” the Nightman said sternly. “It’s only Heptday tomorrow, and I guarantee there’s a full day scheduled. That includes you who were involved here. Get what rest you can, then I’ll want the lot of you to report to the Dayman first thing after breakfast. I’ll notify your morning instructors so you’re not missed. Understood?”
Danner nodded along with the others, though his expression was a bit distracted. His eyes were riveted on the hilt of a dagger that was half-hidden by the sheets on his bed. The Nightman stayed long enough to ensure they all returned to their beds, then he left.
In the darkness, Danner gripped the dagger and brushed his fingers lightly across the flaws in the crafting. The style was popular in Merishank and therefore manmade rather than of demi-human craftsmanship. Because of their pro-human outlook, Merishank goods were popular with the Men for Mankind Coalition. Danner was no expert, but the man’s attack had lacked a sense of professionalism for an assassin, but the man had been devoted or fanatical enough to take his own life when caught.
It seemed the Coalition had not forgotten Danner.
Chapter 21
For many who knew me, my decision to become a paladin was inexplicable, even insane. But to those who have felt called to serve, no other explanation is necessary.
- Flasch jo’Keer,
“Collected Accounts from the Pandemonium War”
- 1 -
“You know, just once I wish they’d explain why the Hell they have us doing such menial crap. All week, if it’s not one thing it’s another: yesterday it was cutting up cows into steaks, now we’re chasing furry rats. For San’s sake, it’s Niday. We should be in a chapel, or at the very least resting or meditating.”
Danner straightened and looked at the trainee who’d spoken. Marc was standing over a half-dozen holes in the ground, each no larger than his fist, staring at them intently. Before anyone could respond, a small, furry head popped out of the ground. Marc’s hand darted forward and closed over air as the groundpup disappeared again.
“Damn it!” Marc swore, not taking his eyes from the holes. “Do it again, Garnet.”
Garnet was standing to one side hefting an enormous flat-bottomed, steel pylon that normally took two or more men to lift. With a grunt, he dropped the pylon onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
A moment later, two groundpup heads appeared beneath Flasch, two beneath Danner, and Marc’s solitary pup showed his head again. Flasch’s hands shot out and snagged one of the pups but missed his second, Danner caught both of his before they disappeared, and Marc let out a cry of triumph as he finally caught his pup.
“Gotcha, you little sock puppet,” he said, holding it up to his face to gloat. “Not so tough now you small, furry… Ow! Satan’s teeth, that hurt!” Marc rubbed his nose with his free hand where the groundpup had scored three tiny marks down the tip.
“Serves you right,” another trainee said, walking over from his holes. Trebor Dok smiled at the tiny scratches, then held open a rough sack already half-full of groundpups. Danner and the others dropped their pups in; Marc glared balefully as he did so. The pups struggled faintly in the sack, but the soporific herbs in the burlap wrapping knocked them out after a moment.
“Here, hold still,” Trebor said, then reached out a finger to Marc’s nose. Trebor half-closed his eyes and muttered under his breath and when he took his finger away, the scratches were gone. “I should have let you keep those. Teach you to taunt a defenseless little groundpup.”
“Not so defenseless,” Marc said, crossing his eyes to see the tip of his nose. “Say, how’d you do that? I haven’t managed to learn any healing yet. Not that they’ve done more than talk to us about the basics.”
“Some people learn quicker if they have an aptitude, right Trebor?” said another trainee by the name of Michael Semnriak. He was adjusting the knot on another sack the group had already filled. When he stood, he towered over them all, and his fair hair practically gleamed in the sun.
“I suppose,” Trebor said with a shrug. “I was able to do that before I came here. Oh, and to answer your question, there’s probably a good reason we’re stuck doing menial crap like this.”
Probably to test our coordination and reflexes, Danner thought to himself. Perhaps teamwork, too.
“It’s a good way for them to observe teamwork and maybe test our reflexes,” Trebor was saying on the heels of Danner’s silent thoughts. Danner started and glanced at Trebor, but the other trainee was looking elsewhere. Danner started to speak, then stopped.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said instead. Great minds think alike, I guess.
The six trainees had been working together inseparably for the past three days since the attack on Danner. Michael and Trebor were the two who had gone to fetch the Nightman and the guards. Trebor was about the same height as Danner, but with a bit more meat on his bones. Michael was the tallest of them all and well-muscled, even taller than Garnet, but he was still nowhere near Garnet’s body mass. None of them were. Danner was certain there were oxen that envied Garnet’s solid physique.
Garnet, Marc, and Flasch had known each other for many years and were already friends, but Trebor, Michael, and Danner were quickly added to the group. Already it was as if the six of them had been friends for years, instead of mere days.
Both Marc and Trebor had dark hair; the former’s was brown while the other’s was almost black. Marc was heavily tanned from working on a farm for several years ─ this on top of his naturally brown skin ─ and every time Danner looked at him, something about Marc tugged at his mind as familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Trebor, by contrast, was abnormally pale, and stayed that way no matter how much the sun beat down on them during their hours of working and training outdoors. His skin didn’t even seem to burn.
“Well, come on then,” Danner said, slapping Trebor and Michael on the shoulder, “let’s get back to the barracks. I think we’ve depopulated enough of this area for one day. Besides, everyone else is already heading in.”
Danner pointed to the thirty or so other trainees already walking back toward the city. The six trainees shrugged and followed Danner’s lead.
“We’ll have to hurry to be cleaned up in time for chapel,” Flasch commented, looking at the sky.
As they started back, Tr
ebor hurried to walk beside Danner.
Trebor was silent a moment, then he asked, “So did they ever decide why the Coalition wanted you dead?” Danner nearly stopped as he stared at his new friend.
“I saw the dagger,” Trebor said in answer to Danner’s unvoiced question, “and I heard some of the instructors talking. So do you know?”
Danner shook his head to clear it, then replied, “Well, I used to work for them. Accounting, that sort of thing. And I…”
“They caught you dipping into the books did they?” Flasch said teasingly from behind them.
“No, they didn’t,” Danner said in affront. Then he grinned. “That’s not to say I didn’t do any dipping, but rather they never caught me.”
“So what do they want you for, Danner?” Garnet asked. The others were all walking as close as possible without tripping on each other.
“Well, since it seems everyone is so interested in my life, they found out I was living with a gnomish friend named Faldergash,” Danner said, shrugging. Then he glanced around. “None of you are mankind-only fanatics, are you?”
“Well, if we are, it’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” Flasch said dryly. “But no, I can’t say I’ve ever thought any of the lesser races were any inferior to humans.” Garnet cuffed him upside the head, not hard, but enough to make it sting.
“No, Danner, we’re all of your mind on this,” Garnet said, and the others nodded. Trebor had a vacant look on his face, as though he was paying attention to something else. Danner glanced to where the pale trainee’s eyes were fixed, but saw nothing of interest. Trebor saw his glance.
“Huh? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about how brave that was to live with a gnome while working for the Coalition,” he said lamely.
“Stupid is more like it.” Danner didn’t have to look to know Flasch had said that, nor did he have to look to know it was Garnet’s hand that smacked Flasch upside the head again.
“So he’s the one you go to see at night?” Trebor said vacantly, then stopped dead in his tracks. “I…, uh, I mean…”
“Yes, Trebor, it is,” Danner answered, glancing irritably at his new friend.
“So you’re the one who almost got me caught,” Flasch said. He glared at Danner, then a poorly-hidden smile broke through when he saw his friend’s reaction. “Hey, you worked the balance books, I worked the not-so-secure homes of the rich and prosperous.”
Garnet rolled his eyes, but nodded to affirm his friend’s statement.
“He tried to get Garnet and me to help a few times, but we both know better,” Marc said.
“They both have family in the Prism and didn’t want to get caught, is what they mean,” Flasch corrected him impudently. “Too bad, too. I could have just had Garnet haul off a safe or two instead of having to break into them every time.”
“So what are you doing here?” Michael asked.
“Well, let’s just say I’m not overly fond of dogs that are too faithful to their owners,” Flasch said darkly. “Damn fool animal didn’t keep his end of the bargain. He gets a steak, I get the jewels, and we all stay happy, right? But nooo.”
Flasch continued to rant while the others laughed good-naturedly. Danner only paid half attention, though, his thoughts elsewhere. Beside him, Trebor’s smile looked a bit forced.
- 2 -
Moreen pushed a charred board out of her way and collapsed to a sitting position. The Dragoenix Inn was a smoking heap of rubble around her, a victim of its namesake. Three days before, a creature everyone thought to be no more than legend soared over the town with a single-minded determination. The dragoenix had illuminated the sky, scales and feathers ablaze with the flames that surrounded its body. With a human-like scream it had landed on top of the inn.
Moreen knew that sight and the following days would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her life.
Moreen and a few others had been outside cleaning the wall where some children had splattered it with mud the night before, probably the only thing that had saved their lives. The roof collapsed under the weight of the fiery creature, and it was only Brit’s determined strength that kept Moreen from rushing into the fire.
When the inn was completely destroyed, the dragoenix flew away without a backward glance.
Now there was nothing left of Moreen’s inn except charred wood and a small part of the fireplace that hadn’t been crushed by falling timbers. The last of the embers had only cooled late the night before, and smoke still drifted from the ashes.
“Donna dwell on it, lass,” Brit rumbled from behind her. Moreen turned at the sound of his gravelly voice and saw tears streaking his ash-covered face. She knew her own face was practically a mirror of the dwarf’s, as were the faces of Alicia and Deeta, the only others to survive the inferno. Three guests and most of the housekeeping staff had been trapped inside the blaze. Moreen had heard their screams, and she had heard their screams abruptly stop. “There wasn’ nothin’ ye coulda done. So some mythy monster did take it in its beastly head to hammer down yer inn. Rebuild yer forge and hammer out a new blade,” Brit said gruffly. “Just some stupid beast did take a wrong turn about and did no have the sense to stay the myth we all did think it to be.”
Moreen shook her head, unwilling to correct him. She’d seen the dragoenix for herself. More importantly, she’d seen its face and the white scar there. It was the same shapeshifting creature that had impersonated Birch the month before, Moreen was sure of it. She knew of no animal capable of such a feat, much less one of intelligence that could imitate a man’s speech, so she assumed it was a demon of some sort. Her instinctive attack had no doubt saved her life and her sanctity the night it had appeared – demons were hurt by the holy symbol, she knew.
Moreen snorted. How could she not know, loving the paragon of paladins as she did? One didn’t spend that much time around a holy warrior and not learn something of the dangerous battles he fought.
“Birch,” she said softly. “I need to find Birch.”
“Now what nonsense did ye just utter?” Brit grumbled a bit sharply. “Speak up, lass.”
“That thing was here because of Birch,” she said with a sudden conviction. “He’s in danger.”
Brit looked at her face and sighed. “I’ll not ask how ye know, I’ll just accept it. The heart knows what it knows,” he said. “Yer goin’ after him, aren’t ye?”
Moreen nodded.
“Well, then I’ll be goin’ with ye, and I’ll hear no word against,” Brit said firmly. “Ye do be needin’ a strong arm at yer side if ye do think to go wherever that addled lad be, as sure as I do be a dwarf.”
“Thank you, Brit,” Moreen said, embracing him. The dwarf batted her off awkwardly with his thick fingers. “Now I just need to find Alicia and Deeta and see they’re taken care of.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t hard to find Alicia. The young girl was sitting amidst the ruins of the inn where her room had been. Moreen sighed at the sight of her.
Alicia was clad in her usual garb of tunic and trousers, now coated with black and gray ash. Her hair was matted and hung wildly about her head, and her face was nearly as grimy as her clothing. Her jaw was clenched woodenly, but there was fear in her eyes. Somewhere nearby, Moreen heard the sound of weeping and knew Deeta still hadn’t gotten over her latest fit of tears.
When Alicia heard Moreen pushing through the rubble toward her, she glanced up but didn’t stand. She’d been withdrawn for the last few weeks, ever since Birch and his nephew had left with the elf. Moreen wondered that the young man had made such an impact on the normally standoffish barmaid, but then she remembered her own instant attraction to Birch. Alicia had never mentioned Danner since then, but Moreen was certain that’s who she was thinking about. Well, enough was enough.
“Alicia, I’m leaving soon,” Moreen said without preamble. “Brit and I are going in search of Birch. I can’t say how I know, but he’s in trouble and I have to warn him, or at least be sure he’s safe. I won’t pretend I know what’s b
een going on with you for the last few weeks, but I do know you need to stand up and get a move on with your life. I can’t take you with me, but I need to know you and Deeta are going to be all right without me here.”
Alicia was silent a moment after Moreen finished speaking, then she pushed herself up, using the blackened remains of her nightstand to help her to her feet. She faced Moreen and stared at her intently. Moreen was never this abrupt with her, and to Alicia’s mind, it revealed how concerned she was about Birch. She never read it as a sign of how concerned Moreen was about Alicia’s lackluster attitude.
“I’m going to Nocka,” Alicia said. From the grim tone of her voice, Moreen gathered she’d just come to a conclusion of some sort. “There’s something I…” She stopped. “I’m going to Nocka,” she repeated firmly.
“Will someone be there to take you in?” Moreen asked. “I need to know you’ll be safe.”
“I’ve family there. I’ll be fine, Mo.”
“You’re going to Nocka?” Deeta asked, suddenly appearing where Alicia’s doorway had once been. Her face was smudged with ash, broken by remnants of recently shed tears. “Did I hear you right, Alicia?”
“Yes, Deeta.”
“Do you think, well, I might go with you?” Deeta asked timidly. “I’ve got a cousin there I can go to, but I don’t want to go alone. Can I please go with you? I think… I think that’s where Danner said he was going, too.”
Moreen saw Alicia’s already-tight jaw clench and the muscles rippled with suppressed emotion along the side of her face. Moreen wasn’t sure what the girl was feeling, but Alicia was a strong girl and could handle it.
“Would you, Alicia?” Moreen asked. “I’m worried about both of you, and I’d feel better if you were helping each other. And let’s be honest, you’re better able to take care of yourself on the road than Deeta, no offense, dear,” she said apologetically to the blonde girl.
“Fine,” Alicia said, not ungraciously. She hesitated, then asked, “What survived in the way of money, Moreen?” Alicia winced as she spoke, but Moreen knew she wasn’t being greedy or callous, just realistic.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 25
