The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade

by Jason Psilopoulos

  “So, do you have any plans I should know about for the evening?” Marcus tried to think. He’d intended to take Jennifer to the Cotillion, and then take her for a walk at Ellen’s Landing. Nothing terribly complicated or strange. Marcus answered honestly. But the look on Gerard’s face spoke of his displeasure.

  “I want my daughter home at ten.” Marcus felt his stomach tighten. Ten o’clock? It's eight thirty now.

  “Oh please Gerry. Leave the boy alone. He’s a paladin student, not a felon. He’s not going to do anything tonight outside his beliefs, right?” Marcus nodded as Daria pointed the question at him. He certainly wasn’t going to do anything as elaborate as Gerard thought he might be capable of. After a moment, Gerard relented, and allowed his body to relax a little. Marcus breathed a quiet sigh of relief, knowing that Lady Daria had just saved his evening.

  That’s when Jennifer appeared at the top of the stairs, her beautiful sky-blue dress drawing out every ounce of beauty she had within her. Marcus cleared his throat, feeling his mouth drying out. He knew from that second, from that very moment that he loved her. He saw his future. He saw the beginning of something more in his life.

  Something more indeed, Marcus thought as he finished with the clasps that held his cloak in place. After a smirk, he sighed. It had been so long ago. And the situation had been so different. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Rebekah and Jennifer were two different people. Sure, they had a similar look to them, but where Rebekah was forceful, Jennifer was mild.

  Jennifer had always tended to lean toward the damsel. Rebekah always wanted to be able to handle things on her own. Both excelled in beauty, but Rebekah’s loveliness came from someplace different. Jennifer had leanings toward glamor and glitz. Rebekah felt more real. She didn’t make herself up to be pretty. She just came by it naturally. And where Jennifer wanted the spotlight, Rebekah shunned it.

  But comparisons were moot. Jennifer was not here to compare to Rebekah. And neither one, he was sure, would appreciate it. In the end, it came down to what did Marcus really want. He loved Jennifer. He knew that in some way, that would always be the case. And his age-old feelings for Rebekah were once again in full swing. Maybe tonight would erase all his doubts. Maybe tomorrow would be different than the last year.

  But then, Marcus hated maybes.

  She said no, Jack thought glumly as he walked the streets of Old Littlefield. Actually, she'd said not in a million years. Sydney Bair had been on Jack's arm constantly for most of the beginning of the year. She had even met his family. His mother had approved, but for whatever reason, Sydney gave Jack’s father reason to pause. That hadn’t stopped them from being together constantly.

  Somehow that was not the case now. She had turned him down without so much as an explanation after agreeing to be his date. He’d bought the dress and the corsage and the transportation. In the end, she was going with Monroe Prit to the Cotillion. And that was a little more than Jack felt he could stomach. Prit had been one of Jack's yes men, following him around and doing whatever he wanted, as though Jack would carry them to the promised land on his name alone.

  Jack never did find a date. He had tried and tried, but in the end, no one seemed to care that he was a Roykirk anymore. His name just didn't have the same heft that it had a few weeks ago. But a good deal of that probably had to do with his attitude. No one followed someone who didn't try to lead.

  It wasn’t a sore point yet, but before he’d started the class with Marcus, he’d had no trouble swinging around the family name and getting his way in one form or another. His reputation as a Roykirk had opened doors and a few other things for him. It occurred to him that Sydney had hung on him because of his name. He didn't matter to her at all. Suddenly, he found himself out of certain circles and away from his old friends.

  Jack had always been the one who lead the group. He was a leader by nature, and a cause of trouble for most people around campus. He was revered and loathed at the same time. Most people were happy to see Jack, so long as he wasn’t going to use them for the butt of some off-color joke.

  But several weeks before, that had all changed. Marcus’s class had already begun to take over a large portion of his free time. His friends, to whom he had dictated policy and activity, seemed to have found themselves better, more interesting things to do rather than waiting around for him to finish up in the Holodrome. For a while, Sydney had been a regular fixture in the Holodrome’s hallways. That wasn’t the case anymore. Jack had made the best of that for a while, until the lessons that Marcus taught began to sink in.

  Of course, he wasn’t going to let on that he was listening. He was entirely too ego-centric for that to be the case. But many of Marcus’s lessons had started to cut to his very center. He wanted to follow the man. He wanted to learn all that he knew. He wanted to be like him in so many ways. And yet, his ego would not allow him to show the same.

  The need to be better as a paladin, to really believe in what he did, had caused a peculiar shift in his priorities. Where most of his time had been spent doing his own particular brand of nothing when he was out of class, Jack found himself engaged in thoughtful ponderings and aggressive training, all geared toward making himself and his situation better. He would find what it was his family had known, and he would follow what he learned from here on out.

  Noble and correct as that was, it had left him without a date. So here he stood, on the front step of the Wyllder household, knocking timidly. He waited a moment, and thought to knock again, just in case no one heard. But as he reached up to do so, the door opened. He straightened up, and did his best to look composed.

  “Hello,” a kindly old voice said to him. Jack had to glance downward to see the little old woman opening the door. “Is there something I can do for you young man?” Jack breathed a little. He needed to remind himself to do that. He’d pass out otherwise.

  “Hi. My name's Jack Roykirk." Jack waited for some sign of recognition from the elderly woman. She just blinked at him for a second, waiting for his next sentence. "My father is Dillon Roykirk." Still, he just stared in his direction. "He’s a paladin."

  "I know a Dillon Raymond. We used to call him Dilly. Some of the girls called him Sir Pickle-Puss because-" Jack shook his head, hoping to stall what he knew was going to be a very long story.

  "No. No. I'm a friend of Mary's. Can I talk to her please?” The elderly woman nodded and motioned for him to come inside.

  “Have a seat Jim. I’ll go fetch her.” Jack frowned a little at the back of the woman's head. My name's not Jim, he thought.

  Jack assumed the withered old woman was Mary’s grandmother. She fit the description that Mary had given. Teeny-tiny and slow, but sharp as a spire. It occurred to him that she might have been messing with him, pretending to be just a shade senile while having a good internal chuckle at his expense. Jack set himself down on the couch and waited. It took a while, since Mary’s grandmother took stairs at a much slower pace than Jack expected.

  The room was quiet all of the sudden. Mary’s grandmother obviously didn’t believe in raising her voice, and so there wasn’t even a muffled conversation coming from upstairs. Instead, all Jack could hear was the constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. He glanced about the space, noting the collection of small porcelain puppy dogs in a bookshelf at the opposite end of the room. Grandma Wyllder was obviously a dog lover. Jack didn’t see any signs of an actual dog in the house, so her favorite breed, he concluded, was probably miniature collectible.

  The entire room had that lived-in feeling. And as Jack had surmised, it smelled like a grandmother. Not that he could readily identify why it smelled that way. But his own grandmother’s home had a similar scent. Kind of sweet and stale at the same time. It was something that he’d grown accustomed to over the years. And it brought out a slight nostalgia in him.

  “Jack?” Mary asked, looking up from her book as she came down the stairs. Jack took that to mean he’d surprised her. “Thought you�
�d be out to dinner with Sydney by now.” Jack cleared his throat nervously as he stood.

  “Yeah, well.” Mary pursed her lips.

  “So that whole story about having a date was a lie.” It wasn’t a question. Jack sat himself back down.

  “No. I did have a date when I said that. She backed out.” Mary shook her head.

  “She backed out huh?” She didn’t sound convinced. Jack nodded.

  “Yep. Went and backed right on out on me.” He paused, shrugging. “Three weeks ago. I’ve been scrounging for a date ever since.” Mary looked down at her book and sat herself in a chair. She wasn’t going to let Jack interrupt her reading.

  “And I’m your last hope?” she said nonchalantly. Jack grimaced.

  “You’re the last person I know who isn’t on their way there now.” Mary didn’t look up, turning a page absently. “I assume you didn’t get asked?” Mary shook her head.

  “No. Ellis asked me. I said I didn’t date guys with weak beliefs.” That threw Jack. Mary wasn’t usually that blunt when it came to answering questions. Jack wondered if she thought that of him. He rubbed his hands together and tried not to sound stupid.

  “Well, I need a date.” Mary smirked behind her book.

  “Fine. Grandma needs to be home by eleven. She’s got a bad left knee, so no dipping.” Jack looked up in surprise. It took a moment, but he realized that behind the book, Mary was giggling. That made Jack feel a little better. He let the color come back into his face before he spoke again.

  “She’s probably too much for me anyway.” Mary shook her head and continued reading. Jack scooted toward her a little. “I actually thought I’d ask you to go with me.” Mary turned a paged nonchalantly. Jack frowned. She was purposely ignoring him. “Do you even own an evening gown?” That’s when she looked up, her eyes a shade darker than they had been a moment ago.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means . . . well, you can’t go in blue jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater. It’s a formal dance you know.” Mary looked at her clothing and shrugged.

  “Take what you can get. I go, I go like this. If you’d given me a little notice, I might have picked up a dress.” Jack looked at his feet in exasperation, and then stood. Mary only glanced up from her book.

  “I didn’t have more notice to give.” Mary shook her head.

  “You had three weeks Jack.” Jack could see he wasn’t going to win this part of the deal. He put out his hand to her.

  “All right then. Let’s go.” Mary looked full up at him now.

  “You’re serious?” Jack nodded.

  “Deadly,” he said solidly. “I’ve got to have an escort. I don't want to show up stag. It’s bad for the family image." Mary frowned. "I’ll get you a corsage on the way. Assuming I can still swing the old Roykirk name around a little.” Jack headed for the door. Mary closed her book slowly, not sure what to think. Jack, realizing she wasn’t following, turned and waited.

  “You are serious.” Jack nodded again.

  “As I said. Deadly.” Mary sat still a moment, pondering. “Look, let’s just say I’ll owe you one, okay?” Mary stood, wondering what she should do. It took her a moment to decide, but she made a quick move toward the stairs and disappeared. “Wait. Where’re you going?”

  “You may be deadly serious, but I was kidding,” she said, leaning over the banister. “If we’re going, I need a minute to get ready. Grandma! Break out the sewing machine! We've got an emergency here!” Jack watched her take the stairs three at a time and allowed himself a short smile.

  I’ll have a date at least, he thought. Now I won’t have to hang around Ian all night.

  Marcus walked up quietly to the women’s dormitory and tried to look like he belonged there. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever been there. He frequented the place, seeing Rebekah at any opportunity. But it was never formal, and the girls liked to make their entrances down that long, majestic staircase leading down from the sleeping quarters. As such, at least a dozen paladin men stood in the common room, all waiting for their dates to finally decide if they were going to show or not. Marcus said a few simple hellos, and found a spot along the wall to stand. He ran over the checklist of things he needed to remember for the fiftieth time.

  Meet Ian in Nikko Park. Take up all of Rebekah’s time. Keep an eye on the press. Take a moment to talk to Cecil about Ellis. Compliment Rebekah on her dress. Don’t say the J word.

  It wasn’t that Marcus figured he’d mention Jennifer’s name. He wasn’t even sure he’d think it when he was in the moment. But there was no sense in being unprepared. The fact that Jennifer was going to be back in a few months meant that he’d have to face facts soon. But tonight, Marcus intended it to be a J free evening. Hence the rule.

  The common room of the dorm was large, taking up most of the lower level of the building. It was meant to be a social area, and was furnished with recreation tables, couches and chairs, and a variety of group activities. A few of the paladins who had taken their place on the couches were engaged in a rousing debate on who had manlier facial hair.

  “Making sure that wall doesn’t fly up, eh?” Marcus looked around, seeing Cecil Stonebraker there, a pleased smirk on his face.

  “We all have to do our part you know.” Cecil clapped Marcus on the shoulder and leaned against the space beside him.

  “You’re waiting for your princess I assume.” Marcus nodded, not looking right at Cecil. The sandy brown-haired paladin straightened his tunic as he spoke. “Rumor has it she had seven separate specialists come in to work on her for this. Hair, makeup, nails, the whole nine. I really hope you’re worth all the trouble.” Marcus looked over at him, half annoyed, half amused.

  “Hey, at least I have a legitimate date. Remember the last Cotillion we attended? You came with a thirteen-year old.” Cecil frowned.

  “It was my cousin, and that’s not fair. Besides, this’s a little like coming home again, isn’t it?” Marcus looked back over at the stairs and sighed.

  “Four years ago, this would’ve been our first official date,” Marcus said distantly. “I so wanted to bring her to the Cotillion.” Cecil nodded.

  “Well, now you make up for lost time.” Marcus agreed. He was getting emotional. He decided it was time to change the subject.

  “Hey, listen. I need to-” Cecil put up a hand. He knew what was coming.

  “If it’s about Ellis, save it.” Marcus looked grim.

  “Listen Cecil, we’ve been friends a long time. And I figure you know what it means to have at least a professional courtesy. I need to know about him. I can’t just fly blind through this.” Cecil made a sour face, as though he were ready to deny him again.

  “The hell with it. I’ll tell you what I do know.” Marcus straightened up a little, his attention full on Cecil. “What I’m telling you is in strictest confidence. Nothing I tell you is allowed to be known outside of myself, Sir Forsch and Sovereign Raven.” Marcus nodded. He’d find out why only them later.

  “Sure,” Marcus offered. Cecil took a long breath.

  “Ellis is conflicted about his studies with the paladins, because of his family.” He paused, trying to order his words properly. “Ellis’s father was a paladin. A very good one. Died when he was two or three. He doesn’t know who. And before you ask, neither do I.” Marcus stifled his question quickly.

  “Sounds fairly common so far.” Cecil tilted his head a little.

  “Well, this’s the part of the story that’s not so simple. Ellis’s mother was a Dread. And not just any Dread. She was the head of the Innovan Order of the Silent Knife. A Manticore.” Marcus was surprised at first, and then it suddenly hit him. He leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. It all made perfect sense now.

  “That explains it.” Cecil nodded. All the anger and rage toward the paladins. All the comments about Dreads being people. All the spite and the venom. Ellis was upset because his mother had been a Dread Paladin. And apparently, one of note.

  “Ellis
was originally the younger of a pair of twins. His sister and mother used to live here on campus with him. His father was trying to rehabilitate her, but it didn’t take.” Marcus nodded at that.

  “Rarely ever does unfortunately.” Cecil continued.

  “Rowena Burke became wild and uncontrollable when she learned that their father had died. The party line is she was still in love with him, and she lost it when she learned he’d died.” Cecil paused for just a moment. “She tried to stage an escape, and stole a small aircraft to get her away from the campus. Sovereign Raven managed to wrestle Ellis out of her hands, but Rowena got away with the girl.

  “Problem is,” Cecil continued, “she’d stolen a ship that was still under maintenance. They got near the Wastes when the craft went down.” Marcus frowned. “The official report says they were both killed on impact.” Marcus figured Ellis’s mother and sister had been killed or hurt in some way. It couldn’t be as simple as them just being a family of Innova. Ellis’s anger seemed stronger than that.

  “Have you tried talking to him about it?” Cecil nodded.

  “Constantly. I was the one who had to break the news to him. The Council only unsealed the report on it eight months ago. Ellis was doing fine until then.” Cecil paused slightly. “But he doesn’t trust me anymore. And from what I hear, he doesn’t think very highly of you either.” Marcus shrugged.

  “Yeah, well I get that every so often from people. Comes with the job.” Cecil couldn’t really argue with that. It was a part of what the paladins dealt with in their lives. “Is that all you know?” Cecil looked around a little and nodded.

  “All they’ll tell me anyway. I tried dragging it out of them at first. But after six months, I just stopped trying. Jacob was real inflexible about the whole thing. Kept saying that there was a time for it, and that this wasn’t it.” Marcus smirked a little. That sounded like Jacob. Always trying to keep things in their proper context and perspective. “You want the whole story, talk to Sir Forsch. Not that he’ll volunteer anything. He won’t talk to any of the paladins anymore after his dismissal.”