“Good afternoon, trainees,” Morningham said loudly. “For some of you, that will be the last time you ever hear me call you that.”
Voices began to murmur.
“That does not mean you’re allowed to speak, you log-witted sacks of dakkan dung!” he bellowed. Immediate silence followed his outburst. “I said some of you. This is your first chance to wear a real paladin’s cloak and find out if you’re suitable to be paladins. A true soldier of God, when he dons his cloak, will find the reflection of his soul displayed vividly for all to see. The cloaks will turn from a dingy, sheep-wool white to one of the pure colors that represents the Facets of the Prism, sealing your admission to the Prismatic Order. Most of you will have your souls read today, but only some of you will become members of this holy brotherhood. Those who do not pass will continue to wear their cloaks until such time as their cloaks change or they opt to seek their fortunes elsewhere.
“Lest you think this is the end of your training,” the Red paladin continued balefully, “I should remind you that until they day you die, a paladin is expected to train and learn to better himself so he may better serve God and his fellow man. It’s no secret your training has been more rushed than is the norm, so those of you who join us today will be expected to put forth extra effort to make up the difference on your own. I may not be your instructor after today, but I reserve the right to stick my boot up the ass of any of you who don’t measure up.”
A few trainees smothered laughs in spite of Morningham’s grim gaze. Danner knew their instructor well enough to know he really meant what he was saying. The Red paladin probably would continue to monitor everyone’s progress and wouldn’t hesitate to come down on any of his former trainees he felt weren’t measuring up as paladins.
“When your name is called, step forward and take a cloak from one of the paladins on the stage. When ordered, don the cloak and pray as the need takes you.”
Trainees names were called and, one by one, they stepped forward to one of a dozen paladins on the platform.
“Jacob Halloway. Draiya Corlotta.”
“Garnet jo’Garet.”
“Marc Tanus.”
Danner listened and watched, his heart pounding as his friends were called to the stage. When Garnet put on his cloak, Danner watched him closely, anxious to see what happened. It started as a spot between Garnet’s shoulder blades. Then, like a spreading bloodstain, Garnet’s whole cloak shifted to the brilliant crimson color worn by the Red Facet.
Danner glanced to Marc and saw his cloak completing the transformation to a bright orange color. Danner wasn’t really surprised, and he joined a spontaneous eruption of applause with great enthusiasm.
“Trebor Dok.”
Danner’s eyes whipped to where Trebor was mounting the stairs. He held his breath, hoping. Then he saw movement in the corner of his eye and his heart fell. Two paladins from the Prismatic Council, one Yellow and one Orange, were quickly gliding down through the air on an intercept course. They landed, one in front of Trebor and one beside Morningham.
“The Prismatic Council has made its decision regarding the trainee Trebor Dok,” the Yellow paladin of the pair said without preamble. “Dok has been found guilty of submitting falsifications during his admittance process and has been summarily ejected from this order’s training. Dok, you will gather your things and present yourself before the Council in one hour’s time.”
Danner’s face went crimson with rage, and it wasn’t until he felt Michael’s restraining hand on his shoulder that he realized he’d taken a step toward the stage, his fist clenched.
“That won’t help Trebor,” Michael said in a low voice, “or you.”
Danner jerked his shoulder free and glared at Michael. His friend returned the stare calmly until Danner was forced to drop his gaze and nod slowly.
During the interchange, the two paladins had disappeared, leaving Trebor humiliated on the stage. He looked out into the crowd and caught Danner’s eye, and he smiled sadly. Then without a word, he walked back down the steps and through the crowd. The trainees parted for him silently. In fact, the whole world seemed to have gone silent. Trebor’s boots didn’t even seem to make noise as he crossed the grass of the courtyard.
All eyes were on his retreating back until Morningham called for their attention, but the luster and excitement of the ceremony had faded. Danner watched with scant interest as Michael was called forward and became a paladin of the Yellow Facet. When Flasch was called up, Danner did finally summon enough curiosity to watch him. Danner had pretty much figured out what the others would be, but he hadn’t nailed down Flasch. It came as something of a surprise, therefore, when Flasch found himself garbed in a resplendent violet cloak. It was only after seeing the color on Flasch that Danner thought back and realized he should have known all along.
“Danner de’Valderat.”
Danner looked up and saw Morningham watching him intently.
Probably wondering how I’ll react to Trebor being so humiliated. To having his dream ripped from his fingertips. Well, I’ll tell you how I’m reacting. I’m bloody pissed!
Danner stalked to the stairs, elbowing roughly past anyone who didn’t see him coming and move aside. He put his foot on the first step and stopped.
What if he protested? What if he refused to be tested and quit instead? What if the others joined him?
Already he knew that part was impossible. He couldn’t ask it of them, nor expect it either. It was their dream also to become paladins, and they’d made it. From the second their cloaks had changed colors, they’d been bound by the commitment they’d made to their training – to their dream. A commitment made to God.
Danner’s quitting would have no effect on the Council’s decision, he knew that. Still, for a moment, the idea appealed to him strangely. Then he looked at Morningham again and saw something new in his face. Concern. Something about that shook Danner deeply, and it made him put his foot on the second step. Then the third. The fourth. Then he was on the platform and walking toward the nearest paladin with a cloak outstretched. All that time, Danner’s eyes never left Morningham’s.
The cloak swirled across his vision, breaking the spell, and Danner blinked furiously. He glanced back at Morningham, but whatever crack Danner had seen through was gone as if it had never been.
He looked down just as a ripple of rich, deep blue flowed over his shoulders like a cleansing wave. Danner stared mutely at his cloak, too numb to realize the implications of that sweeping change.
“Congratulations, Danner.”
Danner looked up and saw that the paladin who’d given him his cloak was none other than Jon de’Serrika, the Green who was sort of a friend. Danner smiled slightly in response, then turned and joined his friends on the stage. He couldn’t help but feel angry that there were only the five of them, not six.
A half-dozen names were called after that, but only one of them became a paladin. There was a conspicuous silence in which no more names were called. Danner looked out and saw seven trainees still standing in the courtyard with no cloaks. Their names hadn’t been called. With something akin to pleasure, Danner saw one of them was Ashfen.
“Sir, why weren’t our names called?” one of the boys asked.
“My training staff, in our God-given wisdom, has determined that none of you is quite ready to be given this opportunity,” Morningham declared, “but that shouldn’t stop you from continuing your training, if you so choose, where you may be given another chance at a later date. If you would care to dispute that, feel free.”
Not surprisingly, Ashfen raised his hand angrily.
“I think my name should have been called, sir,” he said, his voice tight.
“Oh, Diermark, that’s an oversight on my part. You’re right, your name should be called,” Morningham said, his voice dangerous. Had anyone but Morningham said that, Danner might have been afraid Ashfen would, indeed, be given a chance. But the steel sharpness in the Red’s voice was enough to say q
uite clearly there had been no oversight.
“Ashfen Diermark, my training staff, in our God-given wisdom, has decided you are not of sufficiently acceptable material to continue training in the Prismatic Order under any circumstances,” Morningham said, his voice biting, “which is the political way of telling you to get your ass packed and out of here by tomorrow. It’s the polite way of saying that the Prism is no place for selfish, petty, thick-skulled, baby-brained pricks who delight in fomenting discord and seeking to bring others down in lieu of raising themselves up. And it’s the nicest way I can think of telling you that you affront my delicate sensibilities by your very presence behind the sanctified walls of my beloved brotherhood, and if you’re still here by sunrise tomorrow, I will personally skin you alive and hang your worthless pelt on the wall of the nearest outhouse.”
He paused. “If you would care to dispute that, feel free.” His voice made it painfully clear that if Ashfen so much as opened his mouth, he would likely find a yard of steel shoved through his gut. Morningham’s hand absently stroking the hilt of his sword drove this message home quite clearly.
Ashfen wisely stayed silent, his face displaying an almost comical combination of fear, rage, and humiliation. Danner no longer felt quite as bad about the manner in which Trebor was dismissed. If the results were no better, at least the method had been less… abrasive. Morningham could be truly offensive when he put his mind to it.
As Ashfen stormed away, Morningham turned his attention back to the remaining six trainees without cloaks who were standing clumped together as if for mutual support and protection.
“Anyone else?” he asked. Just as he turned his head to look elsewhere, a hand peeked apprehensively from the middle of the cluster of human bodies. Two of them moved aside to reveal a small, timid-looking trainee who Danner recognized at once.
“Jorgins?” Morningham said, making no effort to hide the incredulity in his voice. “What makes you of all people think you’ve earned the right to be tested by one of these cloaks, you wrinkled puppy?”
“S..Sir, I d..don’t know if I c..could m..m..make it,” he stammered fearfully, “but I’ve just g..got to t..try, sir.” He looked fearfully at Morningham’s face, gauging his reaction. “I want to know for sure.”
Those six words were the most Danner had ever heard Jorgins say to an instructor, much less Morningham himself, without stammering in distress. Danner had once heard people speculating that if Jorgins ever did become a paladin, he’d be in whatever Facet was the polar opposite of Red – courage. He couldn’t honestly think Morningham would give him a chance, could he?
There was a moment of silence, then Morningham spoke.
“Perhaps you should know at that,” he said, all anger and surprise gone now from his voice. He looked thoughtful, as if he were reevaluating something he’d never questioned.
“Jeremy Jorgins,” Morningham said.
So that’s his first name, Danner thought idly as he stared at Morningham in surprise. Was this the same heartless man they’d been training under for the last two months? Where was the Morningham they all knew and hated?
Jeremy stepped forward, his whole body trembling, and he mounted the steps carefully. He was of average height and build, with a round face and uncertain eyes that flicked everywhere in apprehension. Jeremy took a deep breath and approached a Red paladin, who settled the off-white cloak around his shoulders and fastened it. The whole courtyard watched anxiously, but after a few moments it was clear no change was forthcoming. Jeremy breathed out heavily and seemed to deflate.
“Give it time, son,” the Red paladin near him said. Jeremy nodded and walked to where the other trainees whose cloaks had not changed were standing.
When no other challenges were forthcoming from the remaining knot of uncalled trainees, Morningham declared the ceremony over. Then the congratulations began, and Danner thought his arm might fall off from all the people wanting to shake his hand in pleasure. Most were those who had, like himself, become paladins, and Danner thought their congratulations to him were just as much a pat on their own backs. He fought free as quickly as he could and found Garnet and the others following suit. They smiled at each other, then their faces turned grim.
“Trebor,” Marc said, and they all nodded.
Chapter 8
In the eyes of God there exist no chosen people nor master races.
- “Teachings of the Violet Facet” (454 AM)
I despise hypocrisy.
- written in the margin by Trebor Dok (1012 AM)
- 1 -
Danner and the others ran into Trebor on his way to the Prismatic Council’s smallest audience hall. He had removed his false coloration and was nearly hidden in the shadows. Trebor was genuinely pleased to see each of them in their cloaks, but Danner saw the tightening of his eyes that belied his inner pain. It was painfully obvious to them all that Trebor should have been in the Green Facet, and their group suddenly didn’t feel quite complete without his presence in a green cloak.
“Thanks, Danner,” Trebor kythed to him gratefully. “Thanks to all of you.”
Trebor gripped each of his friends’ shoulders in turn, and he didn’t try to dissuade them from walking into the audience hall with him. Nor did the Council seem surprised to see them there, although Danner thought that could have just been a false confidence they put up to save face.
Now Trebor stood in the middle of the room with a chest-high wooden stand in front of him. He stared defiantly at the Council, not willing to let them see him beaten or subdued by their decision. To their surprise, Morningham walked into the room and settled in a seat a dozen feet from where Danner and the others were seated. He nodded politely to them, then fixed his attention on the Council. If anything, he looked even more defiant than Trebor.
There were some new faces on the Council since the last time Danner had seen them gathered together, just before his uncle Birch had left on his quest to hunt The Three. The new faces were courtesy of the subversive presence of one of those demons on the Council and Danner’s friends’ subsequent hunting of the perpetrators. They felt certain they’d found the last of the Council members who’d been corrupted – eight in all. They had all been delivered, relatively unharmed, to Morningham, who kept them out of the way. They weren’t sure what the Red paladin did with his corrupted brethren, but he’d said they were taking steps to try and reverse the demon’s influence.
With Lord Rathamik Donnor and the other paladins gone – and some rumors said dead – the Prismatic Council had been forced to refill nearly half its numbers with men inexperienced in their new roles. They looked to the older, more experienced members for guidance, and the Council had not yet chosen a paladin to fill Lord Donnor’s shoes as its leader.
“We’ve called you here to ask if you have any objections to this Council’s ruling,” a Yellow paladin said, the same man who’d gone to the courtyard to deliver the fateful announcement.
“Oh, you mean I actually get a chance to speak in my defense?” Trebor asked, his voice dripping sarcasm. “I mean, you’ve already kicked me out and humiliated me, but now you say I can sway you with eloquence and change your minds?”
“You’ve received ample opportunity since the charges were first brought,” an older Orange paladin said stiffly.
“That depends on your definition of ample, doesn’t it?” Trebor asked. “Which so clearly differs from my definition. But you’ve already made your decision, and we all know why it was made, so can we remove the terribly thin veneer of politeness and correctness with which you’ve so ineptly and inadequately covered this issue?”
Danner actually smiled. Trebor had apparently been taking notes from Morningham. There was a harsh bitterness in his voice Danner had never heard before, and he was sad that it was so appropriate.
“Your tone is unacceptable, trainee Dok,” a gray-haired Green paladin began.
“I was informed I’m no longer a trainee,” Trebor said, interrupting, “so as a commo
n citizen, I’m no longer bound by anything you have to say to me. Of course, if I am still a trainee, let me put on the cloak I was to be offered and receive what’s rightfully mine.”
The Council members shifted in their seats uncomfortably and glanced at each other.
“If it is your intention to remain hostile toward this Council…”
“You’re damned right it’s my intention,” Trebor said, cutting in once more. “I don’t support hypocrisy or racial bigotry in any form, and I see no reason to change that here or now.”
“If I may speak.”
All eyes in the room turned to Morningham, all except Trebor’s. He remained staring intently at the Council members. Morningham stepped to the floor but didn’t approach the Council’s table.
“I’ve voiced my objections to this Council, but now I will make them clear beyond all doubts,” he said, his voice characteristically harsh. “If this Council goes through with this decision and ejects Trebor Dok, I will immediately resign from my position as Training Master.”
Danner stared at Morningham in shock.
“Paladin Morningham, this Council is aware of your decision to retire at the end of this training session,” the center-most Yellow paladin said.
“I don’t mean at the end of the session, you addle-brained twit,” Morningham growled. “Bart, you’re as thick-witted now as you were in training. I mean this very minute. I’ll pack my belongings and be out of my office before one of you can make it to a privy to unload all the crap you’re lugging around inside you.”
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 11