“Now really, Morningham, you go too far!” a middle-aged Violet said, half rising.
“Sit down, Arren!” Morningham roared in the same tone that sent trainees scurrying for cover. Astonished, the Violet paladin sat down.
“I’ve told some of you my full intentions, but apparently you didn’t take me seriously,” Morningham said furiously. “I suggest you do so this time. I will not retire cooperatively as I had intended, but rather leave you holding your mother’s teats and hanging off her bloody apron strings as you blunder about making asses of yourselves trying to reorganize and understand my training process. Be assured, I will not go quietly, and by the time I’m done, everyone in this order will know what I did and why, and every paladin from Menka to Talla will know what a spineless bunch of bigoted dotards you are.”
Danner shifted his hand discreetly to his mouth to hide a smile. Morningham’s sandpaper-like comments were much more fun to listen to when you weren’t on the receiving end.
The Council members scowled fiercely and moved closer together. They bent their heads in quiet conversation, occasionally looking up for a quick glance at either Trebor or Morningham. Danner began to hope that perhaps Morningham’s ultimatum had had some effect on them. Finally, they nodded in satisfaction and parted. An older Red paladin spoke.
“The decision of this Council stands,” he said firmly. “Moreover, Trebor Dok is directed…” he looked at the expression on Trebor’s face. “Ahem, he is encouraged to meet with a contingent of several hundred denarae that has recently appeared at the city gates and to join their ranks. It has come to this Council’s attention that they have come in response to an imminent threat to the city, and we shall not turn their help aside.”
Danner’s smile had long since disappeared. Morningham’s threats had made no difference. On another level of his mind, he was wondering at the Council’s authority to accept or decline military aid offered to the city.
“In appreciation for his service here, and in recognition of his training, whatever the circumstances,” the Red continued, “this Council will recommend Dok receive the rank of lieutenant and be placed in a position of authority in a regiment to be formed consisting of his fellow denarae. This Council has plenary powers in all military matters regarding this city and the safety of the Barrier, whether the danger comes from mortal or immortal sources, and the required documents for just such a regiment have recently been drawn up.”
Trebor’s face was stony, but he nodded.
“In response to Paladin Morningham’s rather forceful commentary,” the Red said, now showing a trace of nervousness at addressing the red-faced Morningham, who glared at him through storm clouds of fury, “this Council orders him relieved of his position as Training Master…”
Danner slumped back in his chair.
“… and orders that he assume the rank of acting colonel in command of the denarae unit previously mentioned. It is this Council’s direction that he evaluate what training they may require and proceed as he sees fit in carrying out their directives.”
Surprisingly, Morningham kept his peace. His fiery gaze was locked on the Red council member, but it was clear he’d said his piece and was through with words.
“Dismissed.”
With that, the members of the Prismatic Council stood and left the room, none of them meeting the eyes of Trebor or Morningham. No one said a word in protest. No one cried out in anger. They all just stood or sat in silence.
- 2 -
Perklet stared in amazement at the trees around him as they rowed up the river. After several days waiting on the ship, Maran had procured a long, narrow boat they could use and a dozen elven rowers to help them. The sleek vessel was barely the width of Birch’s broad shoulders, and it sliced through the calm waters of the El’sarar’no River like a knife. They were moving with incredible speed, even against the current, and Perklet wondered if some sort of elven “magic” was making their boat move faster. The trees were practically a blur, and he gave thanks that the river had no real curves, else they might run aground before they knew what had happened.
Despite the dazzling speed of their travel, the sheer beauty of their surroundings was breathtaking. What truly amazed Perklet was that he knew small communities dotted the woods around them, but he could barely see them, even when their boat was moving slowly. The homes blended in perfectly with the forest, which apparently covered almost the entire island. The elves lived in such perfect harmony with nature that it seemed a sin to even think of building an unnatural structure of any kind.
The few elves Perklet had gotten a clear look at were all stunningly beautiful, regardless of their gender. Even Maran, for all his dark, brooding atmosphere, was abnormally handsome as far as Perklet was concerned. The elves moved with a grace that was almost magical, and their voices were the sweet tones of lilting music. It was like walking through a fantastical dream of poignant beauty, and Perklet wasn’t sure he wanted to wake up.
In the seat before him, Birch stared fixedly into the woods, his burning eyes steady despite the swiftly passing landscape. Selti sat draped over his shoulders, staring lazily about as though completely disinterested in what might be happening around him. His only sign of interest was when Birch reached up to hand him a few morsels of sausage.
Perklet noticed that Birch was wearing thick leather gloves, and the Gray paladin began absently rubbing his hands together. Perklet had seen him doing that quite often of late, as though he’d become suddenly self-conscious about his hands. He wondered if perhaps Birch had hurt himself and needed healing, which Perklet would happily provide. But if it was just his hands, it couldn’t be a large wound, and Birch was surely accomplished enough as a healer to deal with any healing necessary.
The Green paladin was almost disappointed at this thought. He wanted some way to prove his usefulness to Birch, who quite probably didn’t need or want any of the rest of them along. He’d gone to Hell and come back, for San’s sake! What did he need any of them for? A man who’d conquered the immortal plane could surely handle any problems the mortal world could throw at him. He was so confident and self-assured. Certainly he’d gained the love of a strong, beautiful woman. Moreen sat closer to the front of their narrow boat, her eyes as eager as Perklet’s own as she drank in the rich surroundings. Perklet saw that Birch was watching the trees speed by without revealing any awe or wonder he might be feeling. His face was, as always, impassive.
Perklet had taken to emulating Birch whenever possible, to see if he could learn that confidence and presence the other wore so lightly. Where Birch was quiet with a calm distinction, Perklet was quiet by nature and shyness. Birch was strong and a capable fighter, but Perklet was only passably decent with a sword. His strength lay in healing, for which there’d been blessedly little need on their quest. The one major exception had been Birch’s dakkan, Selti, and Perklet still glowed with a warm pride when he thought back on his ability to help Birch’s mount after the fight with the demon. That once he’d proven useful, at least, and Selti had made a complete recovery.
Healing was, in fact, Perklet’s one and only strength as a paladin. He had as much faith as the next man, and while he didn’t consider himself stupid or ignorant, he was by no means as learned as many paladins seemed to be, like Birch. In fact, were it not for his astonishing ability to heal, Perklet wondered if he might not have been thrown out of the Prism long before he’d finished his training. But his instructors, now his peers, all agreed he was one of the best healers seen in a century or more.
As a paladin, he’d found himself attached to a roving medical unit that traversed the countryside offering aid and healing to any they came upon. Sickness, physical injuries, and wounds to the soul were cleansed and healed by careful hands and prayer, with no costs necessary by those healed. Of course, they accepted any donations the people would offer them ─ food, money, and other supplies ─ and units such as theirs were an important source of income for the Prism, but no such thank
s were required.
Behind him, there was a brief exchange of low voices and a muttered curse. Even elven curses sounded beautiful to Perklet’s ears. He turned at the disturbance and saw one of the elven rowers wincing in pain.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. Maran was immediately behind Perklet, and it was he who answered.
“One of the rowers was in a fight the other night and injured himself without reporting it,” Maran answered, his quiet voice steely. Maran turned and spoke to the other elf briefly in their musical language. The rower nodded and stopped his work on the oars. Then Maran turned back to Perklet. “If you can help him, I would appreciate it.”
“It would be my pleasure, but I can’t reach him in this boat,” Perklet replied apologetically.
In reply, Maran stood in the boat and balanced himself by placing one foot on each of the gunwales. He shuffled forward and indicated Perklet should crawl backward to reach the other elf. The next rower back, who sat between Perklet and the injured elf, imitated Maran’s motions, and then Perklet was there. He examined the elf’s arm and, when he removed his tunic, he saw an angry purple swelling from his left shoulder down to his elbow. Perklet probed gently with his fingers, and the elf’s face tightened in pain, but he made no outcry.
“You’ve got at least one minor fracture,” Perklet said softly. “San knows how you’ve managed to row with it and stay conscious. Hold still.”
Perklet wrapped his fingers around the elf’s narrow bicep like he was gripping a wide sword hilt and closed his eyes. His lips moved slightly as he whispered a prayer of healing, visualizing the injury and what needed to happen to repair it. Almost immediately the swelling started to go down and the purple color faded. In a few moments, his arm looked as healthy as its twin, and the elf slipped peacefully into slumber.
“He’ll sleep for a while,” Perklet said. “Had he mentioned it sooner, I might have healed him without the necessity for rest, but as it is, we’re still short one rower.”
“I’ll row,” Birch said, turning about.
“You know the time and trade?” asked the elf standing with Maran.
“I do.”
“Then take his place, for we’ll need a full complement when we reach the current ahead.”
Without being asked, Perklet was hauled to his feet and into the air while Birch slid back to take the empty bank of oars. The slumbering elf was shifted back enough to make room for him. Selti squawked angrily at being rudely displaced from his perch, and he promptly soared over to land on Moreen’s shoulders, where he resumed his lazy napping. Birch stripped off his leather armor and handed it to Perklet once he was seated, then took up the oars. After a moment to study the timing and rhythm of the other oars, Birch joined in smoothly and the boat sped forward.
After a few more hours of travel upstream, Nuse finally asked Birch how he came to know about rowing.
“I used to row a boat across Lake Demar in my youth,” Birch said. “Sometimes I’d join up with a few others to row a larger boat, and the older men taught me the tricks of the trade.”
“Sounds like a better childhood than I had,” Nuse said. He was now sitting where Birch had been before the boat’s occupants had shifted and reseated themselves in a new arrangement. His remaining hair stirred in the wind of their passing, and he brushed a stray leaf out of the aging strands.
“Where did you live?” Birch asked.
“In the slums of Chake. If there’s a more miserable place in this world, I’ve yet to find it,” Nuse said, his voice oddly sober. “I got out of there as soon as I had a place to go.”
“The Prism?” Birch guessed.
“Exactly. A Blue paladin took pity on me. He was nearby when I tried to steal a handful of apples and argued for them not to hang me on the spot,” Nuse said.
“You were a thief?” Hoil asked from ahead of them. Professional curiosity.
“No, I was a poor, destitute boy who hadn’t eaten in three days and was too weak to find and kill a dog or something, and stealing food suddenly looked like a wonderful idea.” Perklet stared at the Blue paladin in horror. “No one seemed to be watching, but the vender chose the wrong ─ or as it turned out, the right ─ moment to turn, and he saw me.” Nuse shrugged. “I suppose if he hadn’t seen me I’d have spent the next several years living in the slums; wandering the streets in search of food and money by day, and huddled in potluck piles by night.”
“Potluck piles?” Perklet asked hesitantly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know more details about what had obviously been a horrible childhood.
Nuse looked at Perklet with sad eyes.
“We huddled together at night to stay warm, but when nobody has enough clothing to stay warm at night, no matter how many of us there were, we huddled closely around each other, sometimes on top of each other, under large blankets. Those were generally owned by a pile leader, who was respected because of his efforts at keeping us alive at night, and you always had to bring a bite of something to eat to join his pile, hence the name ‘potluck.’ The leaders of larger piles could accommodate as many as twenty people.
“I usually liked to be somewhere within the outer ring, because then I didn’t have to worry about the wind and I wasn’t as closed in as the people in the very center. In the morning, everyone went their own way and tried to find enough food to last another day and night. The unwritten law was you don’t touch the blankets in the morning, or else suffer the wrath of all the people who would be left without the next night.”
“How can anyone stand to live like that?” Perklet said, aghast. His own youth consisted mainly of trying to stay out from under his parents’ feet as they managed a small shop in Chake. “It sounds horrible and degrading.”
“But it was the only way we could survive,” Nuse said calmly. “We had nothing to burn. We had precious little to eat, and money was completely unheard of. Clothing and scraps of food became our modes of currency.”
“How barbaric.”
“I don’t know; it had its moments,” Nuse said, his wry smile returning. “There’s no other place in the world where death and life are found so closely together, at least where people are so, um, friendly.”
“You don’t mean…” Perklet stared at him in shock.
“Well, it’s one way of creating body heat,” Nuse said with a shrug. “I’ve seen nights where a new life was surely sparked even as one was snuffed out by someone freezing to death on the outside of the pile or getting smothered beneath someone. With that kind of shared intimacy and no concept of personal space, I suppose it’s only natural to take the next step, even if it’s with a total stranger. Though I must say, it’s quite disconcerting to have three to four couples enjoying each other in the pile around you when you’re trying to get to sleep. Not to mention a bit depressing when you haven’t been a part of one of those couples for several weeks.”
Perklet gaped and Hoil spluttered in surprise.
“You?” Hoil asked.
“I was thirteen my first time, and there were only five of us in the pile with too few blankets to make up the difference in warmth,” Nuse said with a shrug. “She was little older than I was, and she was gentle. I was lucky compared to some, even my best friend. At least my first was a woman.”
Hoil saw the green look on Perklet’s face and said, “I think I’d better not ask. Let’s just leave it there.”
Nuse glanced back, saw Perklet, and nodded.
“Did you get her name?”
They all glanced forward in surprise at Moreen.
“What?”
“What was her name?” Moreen repeated. “I was just curious.”
Nuse smiled slightly. “Elizabeth. I still think about her sometimes.”
Maran leaned forward and murmured, “Gentlemen, I regret disrupting the reminiscing, but our captain has just informed me we’re approaching El’aman’niren’a. If you wouldn’t mind, stay absolutely quiet and be surprised by nothing. If you even gasp in surprise, you may cost u
s all our lives. Understand?”
They stared at him in surprise.
“I am quite serious.”
Maran turned and asked Birch to stop rowing. He explained briefly that he might not have the exact timing and technique required to see them safely to their destination, and they couldn’t risk his helping. The Gray paladin readily agreed and held his oars clear of the water.
With a gulp of apprehension, Perklet turned his eyes to the front and stared ahead, wondering what could possibly be so dangerous.
- 3 -
Danner and his friends later discovered there was at least a small silver lining to the cloud the Prismatic Council had hung over the lives of their friend and former instructor. Morningham was bound by his oath to obey a lawful directive of the Council, and nothing about their decision regarding him could be construed as outside their authority or as immoral or unlawful in any way. He put his fist through a solid-oak closet door in frustration, but grudgingly was forced to accept his new position.
Most of his demand had been posturing, a desperate bluff to head off the injustice he saw taking place in the heart of his beloved Prism. While the former Training Master was more than willing to inform everyone he knew about the unjustness and blatant racism of the Council’s decision, it was petty revenge compared to the knowledge of how lost his replacement would be – whomever they chose. He hadn’t yet finished preparing a successor – not by any stretch of the imagination – and no one knew the ins and outs of the training process like Gerard Morningham, who’d been the Training Master for nearly a decade. Still, under the circumstances, he regretted leaving it all behind.
In his writ of authority, however, he discovered that the Council had given him near autonomy and complete authority in his command. He was free to evaluate and proceed with their training as he saw fit, to plan and execute their role in any military expeditions that became necessary, to mete out reward and discipline as needed, and to work outside the normal chain of command that might otherwise have had him answering to officers in the city’s guard. The writ also gave him the authority to recruit his own officers, including paladins who were willing to accompany him.
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 12