“It’s still more than we knew,” Danner replied. “Gerard can’t fault you for that.”
Halfway through the extraction, Danner looked at the sky and glanced at Trebor.
“Change to two-minute intervals,” Trebor kythed, reading Danner’s apprehension about the time.
When the rest of their platoons had gone, Danner and Trebor moved out. Trebor was, by now, an accomplished sneak, though still nowhere near as good as Flasch or Danner, and there were several other denarae in both their platoons who were better than Trebor. Still, he was more than good enough for their needs to get out. Danner could tell by the look in Trebor’s eyes he was focusing on the path ahead of them, so he didn’t bother trying to communicate with his friend.
Then Danner felt a sharp pain inside his head as Trebor mentally shouted, “Down!” and Danner nearly pitched to the ground. He could actually feel his mental defenses going up to protect him from Trebor’s kythe as he dropped to the ground, his head ringing with the force of Trebor’s cry. They rolled underneath a nearby buggy, and Danner watched cautiously as two pairs of feet walked slowly past them.
He glanced over at Trebor and saw the denarae staring meaningfully at him. Belatedly Danner remembered to force his mental blocking back down.
“…hear me? Danner?”
“Yes, I can hear you,” Danner replied, and even his mental voice was groaning in pain. “What the Hell was that?”
“What?”
“When you told me to get down, you nearly split my head in half from the inside out,” Danner told him. “Next time just stick an axe in my ear.”
“Sorry,” Trebor apologized. “That was a tightly focused thought sent just to you so the others ahead wouldn’t mistake it for a warning. It probably had more force than absolutely necessary, but I…”
“It’s okay, I understand. Damn.”
Danner rubbed at his temples gently.
“It’s never had that effect before.”
“Have you ever done that to anyone other than a denarae before?” Danner asked.
“No,” Trebor admitted. “Though it could just be unique to you.”
“Maybe.”
Trebor paused, then he smiled.
“Or maybe we just found a new weapon for Shadow Company,” Trebor kythed.
“We’ll test it out later on Flasch. Are we clear to go now?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do so.”
They reached the others without further incident, then withdrew to the woods without a living soul in the Merishank camp being the wiser of their presence.
- 5 -
The tension in Ran’s body eased as he felt the heavenly presence fade into the distance. For several hours, he’d been on edge without knowing why. Then suddenly a holy presence had sprung into being only a few hundred yards away, shocking him so badly he nearly lost his altered shape. Fortunately, he wore thick robes, so no one noticed the skin of the general’s adviser suddenly turn bark-colored and smooth. Not that it would matter anyway. The ranking officers were wholly under Ran’s control, and he could have told them anything he wanted ─ including that it had never happened ─ and they would have believed it without question.
Humans were such weak-minded fools.
But whatever had been in his camp a few moments before was not human. Ran couldn’t place it, but there was something familiar about the sensation. Had it not been for the angelic taint, Ran would have said it was the same creature who had killed his brother Min. But without the heavenly stain, Ran never would have noticed the presence in the first place; besides which, Min had been killed by a mortal.
Ran frowned. He turned his body so he was staring in the direction of the presence where he’d first felt it. Ran motioned to an officer standing nearby.
“We’ve had an intruder, colonel,” Ran said. “Take a company and search the area four hundred yards in this direction. Search thoroughly, and tell me if anything is amiss.”
“Yes, sir.”
The human was out of Ran’s mind in the same instant he ceased speaking. Instead, Ran considered the mysterious warriors in the woods.
So far, all of the soldiers he’d sent into the woods on reconnaissance patrols or to gather building materials had been obliterated. No survivors had returned to tell of their fate or the strength of the unknown unit. There could be a thousand soldiers there or twice that. The scouts who had first seen the enemy had reported only a small unit, perhaps two platoons’ worth, but there was clearly a sizable force there. Only a few of the groups he’d sent to gather lumber had returned unmolested, and many officers had expressed concern to their leaders that they would lack the resources necessary to construct their camp and siege engines.
If Ran actually concerned himself with the loss of his soldiers or the whining of their leaders, he might have been angered by the nagging presence of the mortals in the woods. But his army had but one function to serve: reduce the number of defenders in Nocka and deplete their resources. Even if Ran sat his army at the front gate and did not attack, he would accomplish part of his objective through siege. If the mortals could not reinforce their city, by the time the army from Hell assaulted, the city would be in a sad state and would fall easily.
Ran smiled. Mephistopheles would be pleased. Perhaps he would let Ran have the mortals responsible for killing his brothers. How he would savor their torment!
His mind so pleasantly occupied, Ran turned into his private tent to await the colonel’s report. One thought marred his otherwise tranquil state of mind: What was a heavenly presence doing in the mortal realm? Could they possibly know what was at hand?
- 6 -
“No, damn it, Trebor, keep your shield up or Ulith will gut you,” Gerard shouted. “By God, I know you weren’t asleep the day Bobby showed you how to defend against that attack, and if I see you drop your guard again, I will personally break your arm and have it set so you can’t move it out of position ever again.”
The denarae officer grimaced at the reprimand but didn’t dare take his eyes off his sparring partner. Ulith was one of the best swordsmen in Garnet’s platoon and a formidable opponent. Even now, secreted in the woods and hiding out from the Merishank army, Gerard insisted on training them and improving their combat and survival skills.
“You can stop training when you die,” was the Shepard’s guiding principle, apparently, and he was forcing them all to live up to it.
After another minute of frantic combat, Trebor succeeded in disarming Ulith and narrowly avoided running him through. There were no longer practice swords to be had, so they had to take extra precautions to avoid seriously injuring themselves. With Trebor and the paladins on hand to heal injuries, they weren’t as worried about fatalities as they were losing men to a healing sleep at an inopportune moment.
The other denarae saluted Trebor and stepped back, then went in search of refreshment.
Around him denarae practiced with their preferred weapons, and quite a few were working with Michael to learn his style of unarmed combat. The Yellow paladin was currently fending off five denarae at once, using throws and stunning strikes to keep them at bay. He was constantly in motion and never allowed them to box him in place, though he often drew an attack toward him to disrupt their attempts at coordination. He used his entire body as a weapon and even seemed to be using his opponents as weapons, turning the energy of their attacks back against them and throwing one man into another to stave off one attack while he dealt with another.
There really was no ending to their bout, since Michael wasn’t trying to defeat his opponents as much as he was outlasting them to demonstrate technique. Were he to use more aggressive tactics, the denarae would have long since tapped out with broken limbs or worse.
The ring of steel behind him brought Trebor’s attention back around to where Gerard and Garnet had resumed their own training session. The two Red paladins practiced nearly every day when there was no action expected against Merishank. Trebor had
watched Garnet improve during their time in Nocka, but since Gerard had been able to devote more of his attention to the process, Garnet had progressed in leaps and bounds under his mentor.
“There, you missed it,” Gerard said.
“No I didn’t, you left me an opening on purpose,” Garnet said, his attention focused on the other paladin. “You were ready to parry and force me to overextend.”
The two men exchanged blows at dizzying speed, weapons changing course in the blink of an eye as Garnet worked to emulate the techniques Gerard had drilled into him. Finally Gerard’s sword skipped wide as it was deflected away from Garnet, and the larger paladin stepped in to press the attack. At the last second, Gerard twisted away and Trebor winced at the sound of metal on metal as Garnet’s sword grated past Gerard’s breastplate.
“Good,” Gerard said, recovering in time to parry another attack. “Now, make me work for it.”
“Then quit going easy on me,” Garnet replied. He turned another attack and jabbed at Gerard’s face with a mailed fist. The older paladin shifted to allow the blow to pass by, then spun so he was behind him. Gerard’s sword battered against Garnet’s backplate and knocked him off balance, but Garnet rolled and came up ready to parry Gerard’s next attack.
Instead of attacking, however, Gerard kept his distance and studied the younger man.
“What do you mean easy?” he asked. Both men were breathing heavily from their exertions, but neither showed any sign of fatigue.
“You’re worried about me making a mistake and getting injured,” Garnet said, warily lowering his sword. “I’m guessing you don’t want to risk my being out of action, and it’s affecting your technique, sir. Have more faith in your training and make me work for it.”
Gerard laughed and saluted Garnet.
“All right then, lad,” he said. “Once more, and I promise to stop coddling you.”
The two paladins clashed again, steel ringing on steel. Trebor gave up on trying to follow their attacks, knowing both men were far beyond his skills. Across the camp, someone cried out in pain, and someone else kythed for him to come help.
“This I can do,” Trebor murmured to himself and raced off to heal the poor man who’d ended up with a foot of steel in his leg.
- 7 -
“Demar Lake,” Birch said, staring toward the water from the balcony. Nuse and Perklet were preparing for bed, healing sore spots on their bodies and assembling their armor while in their smallclothes before going to sleep. Nuse shivered in the cold air, but didn’t ask Birch to shut the door.
In another room, Moreen was already asleep, too tired from their journey to stay awake. She’d refused to go see the remains of her inn, knowing there could be no positive result from seeing the charred remains. Even if something had been done to clean up the wreckage, the sight could only depress her, no matter how much time had passed since the attack. They’d had a long, slow road reaching Demar, with delays at every turn as land and sea dealt with the annual onslaught of winter. What would have been a two- or three-week journey in the spring had stretched out to nearly twice that long, but at last they were within a few days ride of their destination.
The elves under Siran were secreted in the woods around the lake. Masters of wood lore and camouflage, no one would know they were there, and they would leave in the morning without a trace.
The water of the lake was frozen, and during the day there would be children playing on the thick ice. Each day, twice a day, adults checked the ice for thin spots where the current of the Tali River or sunlight might have weakened the frozen surface. In the warm seasons of years past, Birch had run a ferry service across the lake, carting passengers in a small but sound boat he’d built with his own hands under the guidance of a local carpenter. His income had been enough to support himself and his brother when necessary; Hoil was in and out of jobs throughout the boys’ youth. Even after he’d taken to a life of crime, Hoil returned periodically to live with Birch when his enemies ─ or the deron’dala ─ were searching for him.
The harsh work of rowing by himself had developed and hardened Birch’s muscles, fulfilling and surpassing the potential that genetics had built into his body. Hoil was almost as large as his brother, but his workouts were less strenuous and he never developed the chiseled muscles that served Birch so well as a warrior. In no small way had the patterns of their youth set the two men for their adult lives.
Memories from his childhood and adolescence crowded Birch’s mind as he watched the still surface of the frozen lake. Birch was exhausted, but he didn’t feel like sleeping and was hoping the familiar sight of the lake would calm him enough to rest. But the lake only conjured memories, which left him even more awake than before. Finally he shut the doors to the balcony and went downstairs in search of his brother.
Hoil was deep into his sixth tankard when Birch arrived, and whatever he was drinking reeked of alcohol. Birch sighed and ordered a less robust drink for himself. The common room of the inn was deserted because of the late hour ─ the sun would rise in only a few more hours ─ and only a barkeeper and one maid were on duty. The girl could charitably be described as plain-faced, which was probably why she was assigned such a dead time of night to work, so Birch was sure to give her an extra tip when she served him. She blushed at the gesture of kindness and bobbed a courtesy, then hurried away.
“That was awfully nice of you,” Hoil said, his drunken voice almost sneering. Birch frowned as he looked at his brother, judging just how far gone he was into his drink. From the looks of it, Hoil should have stopped after his fourth tankard. By the sixth, he was beyond tipsy and well into being drunk, and like so many people, Hoil was not a pleasant person to be around when he was in his cups.
“She looks like she could use a break,” Birch said with a shrug.
“With a face like that, you bet she could,” Hoil said, then chuckled at his own feeble joke. He lifted his tankard to his lips and frowned as only a slow trickle poured into his mouth.
“Girl, bring me another drink,” he shouted. “Man can’t celebrate his only son’s birthing day sober.”
Birch’s eyes tightened involuntarily as he regarded his brother. He’d forgotten the date. Ignoring the “logic” of Hoil’s statement, Birch knew it wasn’t Danner’s birth his brother was drinking to.
“I think you’ve had enough, brother,” Birch said, waving the girl away before she could comply with Hoil’s request.
“Damn you, Birch, I know my limits,” Hoil shouted, his voice needlessly and abnormally loud in the empty room. “You’ve no right to mother me, you sanctimonious prat.”
“You’re my brother, Hoil,” Birch said calmly. “That gives me every right to look after your welfare.”
“I’ll be damned to Hell before I let you baby me,” Hoil roared, thumping the table.
Birch glared at him in silence for a long moment. “First, I am not babying you, but I would if you needed it,” Birch said, now growing irritated. “And second, I’d be careful about where you damn yourself, lest it come true.”
“That’s it!” Hoil shouted, taking Birch by surprise. “I’ve had it with you!”
Before Birch could react, Hoil reached across the table and slugged him in the jaw, sending him crashing to the floor. The sudden, unprovoked violence of Hoil’s attack caught him off-guard, but he bounded back to his feet quickly and glared angrily at his brother.
“What are you…” Birch said, then was cut off as Hoil tackled him to the ground. Wood splintered as they mowed down the chair Birch had been sitting in, and they crashed into a nearby table. Hoil deliberately pushed down on Birch’s shoulders as they hit, cracking his head into the hardwood floor.
“You and your high and mighty, holy ways,” Hoil growled, trying to pin Birch’s hands so he could thump him again. Birch tried to evade his brother’s drunken grasp, but his head was spinning from the blow Hoil had given him, and there were two images of his brother side-by-side in front of him, with four waving a
nd grasping hands.
“Always acting like you’re better, just because you lead a more pure life,” Hoil said, spitting out the word like a curse. Birch succeeded in pushing Hoil away, then backhanded his face and sent Hoil rolling away. Birch stumbled to his knees, but Hoil recovered with surprising quickness and charged into him. They fell to the ground again, but Birch rolled free easily this time as Hoil staggered dizzily to his feet.
“We chose our paths, Hoil,” Birch said. He was more prepared now, and when Hoil swung again, Birch turned the blow aside and punched his brother in the belly. Hoil doubled over in front of Birch, gasping for breath. “No one ever said I had to approve of yours, nor you of mine. But for what it’s worth, I’m strangely proud…”
Hoil erupted up from his crouch with an uppercut that sent Birch flying back into a table, which collapsed under the impact. Hoil had barely heard a word Birch had said, concentrating instead on gaining his breath. Now he stumbled closer and stood over the prone paladin.
“Yes, we chose our paths, you self-righteous jackass,” Hoil growled as he swayed slightly on his feet, “and look where yours took you. You gave up your life, your family, and everything you ever loved, including Moreen, to follow some God-damned quest that left you wandering and captive in Hell for twenty years! Was it worth it? Was it worth leaving Moreen, the love of your life, behind? Has it been worth leaving her home again and again while you go gallivanting off on some holy quest or another?
“You’re so bloody selfish, always doing your duty for other people only because it’s what you want to do. Did you ever once stop to consider her? Did you think to tell me, your only remaining family, when you left for that accursed pilgrimage of yours into Hell? I had to tell my son that his uncle, whom he’d barely even met, had gone and got himself killed on some random quest. Your own bloody Prism wouldn’t even tell me where you’d gone.”
The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) Page 26