The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War)

by Brian J Moses

  As the denarae progressed and improved in their stealth training, Gerard added new challenges for them to face. They wore padding to simulate armor. Instead of just sneaking across a courtyard, he made them creep through a section of the camp he ordered built like a maze using broad swaths of cloth stretched between poles that could be rearranged at need to change the course. Their goal was to find a brightly colored jug of water hidden somewhere in the maze without being discovered. The two blindfolded elves stalked the maze like snakes hunting mice, silent and efficient. Sometimes a denarae would come out with the jug in hand without ever having seen the prowling elves. Most of the time, however, they returned shame-faced and empty-handed with only a new bruise or two to show for their troubles. As time went by, their odds of success improved noticeably.

  After several days of this, Gerard alternated platoons going out into nearby woods and doing the same. Sometimes they worked during the day, but more and more Gerard had them practicing at night, where their skin coloration would lend them an advantage against enemy soldiers. Eventually, they were able to move through even the forest without being shot by the elves, who claimed that while they could still detect the movements of the denarae, it would take some extremely sharp-eared humans to notice their presence, even when the denarae were moving quickly.

  Gerard had them train with survival methods on how to live on scant rations and supplement their food by scrounging from the land, even in the dead of winter. He taught them how to make small, one-squad camps that were invisible to all but the most determined of searchers. When actual weapons, winter gear, and armor were delivered ─ compliments of one properly cowed and terrified quartermaster ─ the denarae were outfitted and trained how to properly care for their equipment in cold weather.

  The most daring of Gerard’s techniques, which only Danner’s platoon received, was the use of the training cloaks they’d stolen. The cloaks were dyed to blend with the shadows of the night, and the denarae learned how to use them for limited gliding from the tops of trees and dropping from the back of Gerard’s dakkan a few at a time. Any of Danner’s troops who couldn’t master the techniques properly were transferred to another platoon and someone more promising was brought in their place.

  With their abilities of projecting and receiving thoughts, the denarae quickly mastered using the cloaks – having someone there in their mind coaching them along made coping with falling out of the sky much easier to learn. Danner ruefully remembered his own training process when he’d been too afraid of heights to approach the cloak training with anything other than trepidation. The fact that he now had wings and could fly at will was dreadfully ironic and occasioned a brief smile whenever he thought about it.

  After several more days of training, their world changed with the arrival of the Merishank army late one Decaday afternoon. They’d been aware of the sizeable force coming toward them and were kept carefully appraised of its progress so they could react and deploy in plenty of time. Gerard had no intention of cowering behind the walls, and eventually he was forced to point out the stipulation in his terms of command that gave him autonomy in the way he trained and deployed his company. By now, every soul on Nocka had heard the name Shadow Company, and they all shook their heads at the foolishness of not only arming denarae, but then expecting them to fight effectively. On the rare occasion when any of the denarae had accompanied an officer to the city to retrieve supplies, the citizens there treated them harshly and spat or threw refuse at them. The city guard considered it a waste of supplies to allow the denarae to stay outside the city, apparently waiting to be butchered, when they could be put on the front walls inside the city and spare the defenders some losses during the early days of what was quickly being acknowledged as a Merishank offensive against Nocka. But they could do nothing but grumble. And wait.

  - 4 -

  Gerard looked back at his company and felt a surge of satisfaction. The encampment they’d occupied for the last month and more was now dismantled and gone. Except for the inevitable trampling of the ground and other indelible signs of their presence, there was nothing left behind to indicate that a force of three hundred soldiers had been camped there before. Gerard had ordered Danner to return his buggy to his gnomish friend in the city, since it was too hard to effectively hide and would be all but impossible to refuel. The shed for the buggy had been one of the last things to go, along with Gerard’s command center and the barracks house for the last platoon working there. The building materials they’d used for the camp had been utilized in creating small strongholds and tree houses in the eastern woods to which the denarae could retreat and regroup. It was from these posts that Gerard planned on running his own private war.

  Shadow Company had exceeded his expectations at every turn and often managed to outstrip what he’d dared to hope for in their training. It would take more cunning and force than most commanders had ever seen to destroy his one small company, and then only in head-to-head combat, which Gerard never intended to allow. He’d learned the lessons of this type of war at his father’s feet fighting the very same enemy that was now marching toward them. Guerilla tactics would be their bread and butter, and soon the entire Merishank army would come to fear and loathe the name Shadow Company.

  Now two platoons were assembled at the edge of the woods staring out impassively at the advance patrols of their opponents. Men on horseback rode swiftly toward them, while another group rode toward the gates of Nocka. On Gerard’s order, the remainder of his company would fall back into the woods ─ where the others awaited them ─ and hide there until called upon to act. Each platoon was to exist separately from the others and have no physical or verbal contact unless absolutely necessary. In human troops, this could have been dangerous, if not impossible to coordinate, but the denarae ability to communicate telepathically ensured they could stay in touch without unwanted contact.

  But first, he wanted to make sure they were seen by the Merishank army. He wanted them to know there was a force hiding so close, and he wanted them to see his troops vanish into thin air. Let them wonder. He wanted them to send troops to find them, and when they didn’t return, he wanted them to send more. When they also didn’t return, then they would begin to worry and then to fear. Gerard would use that fear to his advantage.

  Gerard watched the diminishing distance between the horsemen and his troops and tightened his eyes. He turned his head to the left and locked eyes with Danner, then looked at Garnet on his other side. Both paladins nodded, and Gerard nodded a silent reply.

  “Shadow Company,” he barked loudly. “Let’s disappear.”

  Chapter 14

  If elves were meant to live on the ground, God never would have created trees.

  - Elven Proverb

  - 1 -

  They spent the night in the earthy cave, much to Birch’s discomfort. He’d asked if there was not someplace where he might stay that was less enclosed, but Maran had regretfully disappointed him. The elves couldn’t risk letting him sleep outside, and the spacious room they slept in was the largest available to them. With Moreen by his side, Birch gritted his teeth and forced himself into a state of relatively untroubled rest. Selti, who had apparently decided to forgive Birch, curled up in the small of his back, and the familiar sensation helped calm the Gray paladin.

  The next morning, Birch felt as if half his night had been spent in the half-sleep state where nameless fears carry over from nightmares into the waking day. His first moments of wakefulness were thick with cobwebs and vague feelings of unknown dread clinging to his mind. When he finally opened his eyes, he was as tired as if he’d never slept at all.

  Maran appeared at Birch’s side as he ate a sparse breakfast of cheese and soup. The hot liquid coursing down his throat tingled slightly and settled contentedly in his stomach, and the last of his unease was carried away and forgotten when some unknown saint produced a mug of cahve for him. Hoil’s appetite was clearly undaunted and undiminished by his surroundings, and he w
olfed down enough to feed a family of elves.

  “When we leave today, I will be at your side giving you instructions, but you won’t be able to see me,” Maran said without preamble. “I can make it so no one else can hear me, but I’ll still need to speak softly. If anyone tries to talk to you, pretend to be thinking through a translation, Hoil, but be listening for what I tell you to say. You’ve learned to speak elven proficiently from me over the years, and you’ll have a better chance of getting it right than your brother, who is presumably unfamiliar with the language. If there is any trouble at all, and if you value your lives, do not fight or even draw steel unless I say otherwise. Flee if you’re able; if not, allow yourselves to be captured, and I will free you soon after.

  “We will be going some of the way through tunnels and secret passageways, but when we climb back to the city, just pretend you know where you’re going and try not to gawk. The last thing you need to do is draw attention to yourselves.”

  “Aren’t two humans going to draw attention as it is?” Birch asked.

  “We do sort of stand out,” Hoil added, glancing at the size difference between the two tall, broad-shouldered humans compared to the thinner, shorter elf.

  “You will, of course,” Maran allowed, “but for this to work, you will need to look like you belong, not some gawking bumpkin who sticks out like a redwood in a maple forest.”

  Hoil muttered something under his breath about elven metaphors.

  “How will we get past the guards at the gate?” Birch asked. “I’m assuming not just anyone can walk in and request to see the king on a moment’s notice.”

  “No, but the guards won’t be a problem. Trust me.”

  Hoil opened his mouth to question further, then shrugged.

  “It’s your home,” he said. “I suppose you know best.”

  “Your vote of confidence is overwhelming,” Maran said dryly. “Now, let’s see how our other project is coming.”

  They glanced to the other side of the room as a door opened, and three elves stepped awkwardly into the room. Their movements lacked the natural grace associated with elves, and they looked strangely nervous. Birch stared only a moment before he recognized them and barked a laugh.

  “Nuse, Perky, you make two of the most ungainly elves I’ve ever seen,” Birch said. He looked at the third elf, who was a late addition to their plan. “And Moreen, you’re just as beautiful as ever.”

  “That is them under those pointy ears, isn’t it?” Hoil said, joining Birch in his laughter. “I’ll be damned.”

  “Hopefully not,” Birch murmured, his laughter briefly changing to a sad smile. Hoil glared at him a moment, then turned back to the disguised humans.

  “What are they supposed to accomplish like that?” Hoil asked. “I hardly think any of your people will take them for real elves, waddling around like that. Or were you planning on having them sit on a tree branch somewhere pretending to be decrepit beggars?”

  “Decrepit?” Nuse said, feigning an injured tone. “It’s a good thing you’re twice my size and strength, otherwise I’d thrash you for that.”

  Hoil chuckled.

  “That ploy, while popular in human cities, is impossible here, seeing as we have no beggars,” Maran said lightly.

  “None?” Nuse said in surprise.

  “None,” the one-eared elf replied. “So instead, you three will be camped happily inside a tavern listening to any and all conversation you can. Most of it will no doubt be in the elven tongue, but you might get lucky. We’ll have translators there for you, as well.” Maran’s lips twitched. “Just limp a little to explain your unelven grace.”

  Nuse glared at him sourly.

  “What’s the point?” Moreen asked. “I mean, why are we doing this? If you and your friends can make yourselves invisible, why don’t you just listen for yourselves?”

  “My friends,” Maran said, “do just that on an everyday basis. But you are not elven, and you may hear something we would otherwise ignore, or put together two tidbits we would think completely unrelated. Something is happening in my homeland, and it’s centered here in this city, and if my friends haven’t been able to find out what, then it’s something dangerous and important. We need a fresh perspective.”

  Moreen nodded.

  “Now wait here, and someone will come to direct you to your destination,” Maran said. “Birch, I suggest you dress in something impressive, yet comfortable. Hoil,” he paused, “just look prosperous and try not to steal anything while you’re here. I can’t guarantee your safety if you swipe the wrong thing or steal from the wrong people.”

  “You’re taking all the fun out of this trip, Maran,” Hoil complained.

  “Don’t worry, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity for you to have fun later on,” Maran said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. Then he stared seriously at them both. “If the coming events are as potent as I feel they will be, you’ll be up to your round, human ears in fun.”

  - 2 -

  Their trip through the tunnels was blessedly short, but still too long for Birch’s liking. By the end of their journey, they’d had to crawl through two sections just barely wide enough for Birch and Hoil to squeeze their broad shoulders through without marring their clothing. Hoil was dressed in what he considered little more than a costume – modest clothing made from deceptively expensive material, giving the impression of success without wallowing in it. Birch wore his breastplate and leather armor, his gray cloak trailing behind. As always, Selti scampered before, behind, above, and alongside them, gleefully enjoying every moment. Birch’s entire body crawled as if the itch from his hands had spread to the rest of him with maddening intensity. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when they stepped out into the crisp morning air.

  Birch’s eyes were closed as he concentrated solely on inhaling and forgetting the dark tunnel behind him. He was studiously ignoring the nagging suspicion that he’d have to go back through that tunnel at the end of the day. A meaty hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes, and he followed Hoil’s stunned gaze up into the air. Hundreds of feet above them, crystalline pillars shone brilliantly in the dazzling sunlight. It was still early enough in the morning that a slight mist clung round the iridescent spires, and Birch had to remind his lungs to keep working.

  “Merciful Lord,” Birch breathed.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Hoil said, awe etched in every line of his face. Maran allowed them to continue staring for a few moments, then he snapped their attention back to the ground.

  “Before one of you recovers your wits enough to ask, no, we will not be climbing all the way up,” Maran said, a bitter smile on his face. “Hold still and do not show apprehension.”

  With that, he put his fingers to his lips and emitted a piercing whistle that chortled and bobbed like a chattering rodent. It was a complex series of notes, and Birch was impressed in spite of himself; he could practically hear a language in the chittering whistle. A sudden, soft thud on the ground behind him made Birch whirl in surprise, and he’d half-drawn his blade before he saw what had answered Maran’s call.

  Birch had never heard of a six-foot-tall squirrel, and if anyone had told him they existed, he would have doubted the man’s sanity. But there, crouched on the ground before him, were three bushy mounds of fur, like the product of some child’s dreams made real. They darted back with lightning speed as Birch wheeled on them, but Maran blew another, softer whistle, and the wild look faded from their eyes. They skittered forward, far quicker than any creature that large had a right to move. They proceeded in short spurts of motion, their tails whipping in quick jerks. In spite of their size, the giant creatures retained all the darting speed and agility of their much smaller cousins.

  A black-furred squirrel reached out with curious paws and touched Birch’s gleaming breastplate, and Birch could feel the giant rodent’s breath on his face as its furry visage leaned closer. Then, apparently satisfied, it retreated and crouched before him expectantly.
Birch looked over and saw that his brother and Maran had received similar inspections, and their squirrels were likewise crouched before them. Hoil stood before a gray squirrel, and another black waited on Maran.

  “Am I to assume we’re going to ride these giant chipmunks?” Hoil asked dubiously. “How do we stay on them?”

  “Look closely in their fur, and you’ll see a harness,” Maran replied. “It’s lightweight so it won’t hamper them, and it should be self-explanatory how you secure yourself. Hurry, or they’ll lose interest and try to leave, and we’ll have to greet them all over again.”

  “Are they strong enough to carry us?” Birch asked, clamoring aboard his furry mount.

  “They can carry well more than twice their own weight normally,” Maran replied, “and they’re not exactly light themselves.”

  Birch quickly figured out how to secure himself to the giant squirrel, and he turned around to check on Selti. He whistled softly, but Selti gave him a flat stare that said quite plainly he would have nothing to do with the giant beasts. Squirrels were supposed to be meals for the drann-shaped dakkan. They were not supposed to be horse-sized and tower over him. For a moment, Selti considered shifting to his natural form, but he knew his paladin wanted him transformed for now. Selti contented himself with the knowledge that he at least had the option of transforming and snapping one of the furry brutes in half. But he still would have nothing to do with them and instead flew into the air and circled his paladin’s head, chattering all the while as if it was Birch and not Selti who had been delaying them.

  Birch smiled tolerantly at the dakkan and indicated to Maran that he was ready to go. Maran whistled sharply, and the squirrels leapt into action. Gone were the quick, short spurts of motion. Instead, they squirrels bounded forward in rolling waves of jumping motion. If Birch had been any less secure in his harness, he would easily have been thrown clear in the first two or three bounds. He instinctively clutched the black squirrel’s fur in his hands and held on as though his life depended on it.