They waited in silence for the elf’s challenge to the unknown intruder.
“Halt.” They heard the elf’s soft voice through a screen that lay concealed from the outside behind a black cloth. The screen was set in a door that connected Maran’s post to the outer corridor, allowing a quick retreat for the sentry or an alternate escape route for anyone inside.
“Raise your arms.”
There was a silent pause.
“Turn around slowly.”
Maran continued the ritual outside as carefully as he had for Danner’s own appearance. The elf made no distinction between friend and stranger when it came to the safety of his employer and comrades.
“Declare yourself.”
However soft the elf’s voice, the reply of the unknown man was softer still, and they heard only the murmur of his voice.
“Perhaps,” came the elf’s reply. “We shall soon know if you speak the truth. Remain where you are. If you move from that spot, you will die.” Maran made it a simple statement of fact.
Less than a second later, the hidden door swung on silent hinges, and the black-clad elf appeared in the room. He walked swiftly across the room, making no sound as he walked forward. He cupped his hand around Danner’s father’s ear, and whispered softly.
“Hoil, there is a man outside who claims to be your brother,” the elf said, just loud enough so Danner could hear. He had no doubt that the elf had deliberately pitched his voice for just that effect.
“He’s a Goddamn liar,” Danner’s father replied, his voice scarcely louder. “My brother died ten years ago.”
Maran nodded, and turned on a silent heel back toward the door.
There was a brief exchange of voices outside, and the elf returned after a moment. He again spoke directly to Danner’s father. Danner clearly heard the name he whispered, but it made no sense to him. As far as he knew, no such person existed.
“Mildra de’Valderat.”
With a start, Danner’s father nearly knocked Maran to the ground as he pushed past the elf. Danner couldn’t be sure of the look on his father’s face. It was an expression he’d never seen before.
Before the huge man made it to the hidden door, however, he heard a loud screech from outside and a human cry of surprise. Less than a heartbeat later, the main door burst inward, accompanied by the flash of magical light.
Crossbows that had, until a moment before, lain idle suddenly leapt into the hands of men around the room, and all released their deadly bolts into the doorway. A dozen heavy thuds indicated they had found nothing more than wood, however. As the last of the crossbow bolts hammered home in the door, the hidden door suddenly swung inward and a heavy figure filled the blackened doorway.
“Birch!” Danner’s father shouted the name in a voice that was equal parts disbelief and heartfelt relief. “Hold,” he said in sharp command to his men, who were even then readying melee weapons to attack.
“Hoil,” the man in the doorway replied. He had no weapon drawn, nor was he wearing armor of any kind.
As the man stepped into the light, Danner stared with great curiosity at the man who claimed to be his uncle. To Danner’s knowledge, and apparently his father’s as well, his uncle Birch had died more than ten years ago. Apparently he’d returned from the grave.
Chapter 3
Suffering tempers the soul.
- Birch de’Valderat,
“Memoirs” (1013 AM)
- 1 -
There was something about his eyes.
Danner’s supposed uncle was leaning back in a chair with one foot propped on a chair next to him. He was clad simply and in earthly hues. He wore thick, brown leggings tucked into the tops of heavy riding boots, and an empty scabbard hung at his waist. He wore a tunic of light gray that hung somewhat loosely despite his broad frame, and his dark hair was pulled back into a smooth ponytail that was cut short just below his shoulders. There was something harshly deliberate about the hairstyle that gave him a military look, an impression strengthened by his calloused hands and impassive, though careworn, features.
At first glance, his uncle appeared somewhat well off, a potential mark for a thief on the street. On a closer look, however, there was old mud caked onto the once-fine boots, his tunic and trousers were quite worn, and the leather of the scabbard at his waist was beginning to crack. Yet in spite of this, he had a quiet authority in his bearing, as though he possessed a presence and confidence that was beyond mortal men.
Danner knew Birch to be only slightly older than his brother – Danner’s father – but his uncle appeared to bear more than his fair share of age upon his shoulders. That weight showed in no place more clearly than on Birch’s face, which bore notable similarities to Hoil’s. Like his clothing, Birch’s face looked as though it had been worn too long and worked too hard, yet there was enough familial resemblance remaining that Danner even saw some resemblance between his uncle and himself.
And then there were his eyes.
“I’m pleased you remembered our mother’s name,” Birch said, breaking the soft silence of the room. The three of them had retired to a quiet anteroom adjoining the common room, one of the small chambers where Hoil and his associates often conducted business. There was a forced casualness to Danner’s father’s voice and body language, a subtlety Danner didn’t think most men would catch, but he knew his father well enough. Hoil was holding back, not just excitement, but curiosity and apprehension. Danner occasionally saw the same mannerisms when his father was excited over a hand of cards he was certain would win, but was fishing to see if his opponent had something better. To most observers, he was casual and relaxed, waiting out his opponent with poise as deliberate as it was infuriating.
“How could I ever forget?” Hoil replied. “Bless her soul.” Danner chose not to make an issue over never actually having been told his own grandmother’s name. He was too curious about his uncle to be cross with his father for the eighteen-year oversight.
“May God smile upon her,” Birch murmured softly.
“But you took a Go…an awful risk bursting into the room like that,” Hoil said reprovingly. Danner’s glanced at his father after the abrupt correction. Hoil was known to say anything he liked to anyone he liked, and he’d see anyone who thought otherwise damned to Hell. Or so he proclaimed – frequently. “Who knows but one of my boys might have gotten lucky. And the man outside…” he left it hanging, almost as a question.
In response, Birch smiled faintly, though the expression never touched his eyes.
Those eyes. It was almost as though something moved restlessly deep within, but he had yet to get a good look at them. Danner found it nearly impossible to stop staring at them, though his uncle’s head was turned away and he had yet to directly meet Danner’s gaze. Or anyone’s, for that matter, even Hoil’s. Danner frowned.
Birch whistled, and a moment later there came a scratching at the door. Birch rose smoothly to his feet and walked to the doorway, then opened the door a crack and allowed a drann to enter. For all his worldly nature, Danner had never seen a drann in person, and he finally found something diverting enough to take his attention from his uncle’s face.
The drann was, like all of its kind, something out of a dream – or a nightmare. It’s body was only slightly larger than an average-sized house cat, and it possessed dark gray scales over its entire length. In every respect but size, it was identical to the winged form of the dakkan; what Maran called a dracon. A long, sinuous neck stretched forth from a lithe, muscular body, and an equally long tail flicked about behind the creature’s hindquarters. Atop the neck sat a small, crocodilian head with two ruby-red eyes and a mouth filled with glistening teeth. Gazing at those teeth, Danner took only small consolation in the knowledge that dranns primarily ate only rodents.
“This is Selti,” Birch said, then he murmured to the drann and tapped his shoulder. Selti leapt smoothly onto Birch’s arm and clamored up to settle across his shoulders. Danner was amazed that its sharp c
laws did no damage to his uncle’s flesh.
“He took care of your guard’s crossbow before he had a chance to use it,” Birch said in answer to his brother’s question. “He’s a useful little scamp in this form.”
“I can imagine,” Hoil said, his attention rapt. Danner wondered if his father had ever seen a drann this close either and was suddenly sure that he hadn’t. Then something Birch said caught Danner’s ear.
“What do you mean, ‘in this form’?” Danner asked. His father looked sharply at him, then blinked and looked appraisingly at Danner. Then he smiled and reached one hand forward as though to pet the drann on his head.
“His mother was Sultana,” Birch said softly, his face imperceptibly softer than it had been a moment before.
Hoil jerked back in surprise. “Then that thing is…”
“A dakkan, yes,” Birch said when his brother trailed off. “I find this shape eminently appropriate when I’m not on the streets, since he’s much more portable this way.”
Danner stared in confusion at his father and uncle, having no idea what they were talking about. Who was Sultana? He frowned, but said nothing. It only slowly occurred to him that the creature before him was a dakkan in an alternate shape, but that realization was immediately followed by the hope that he’d finally get to see a full-sized dakkan. Surely Birch would accommodate such a simple wish from his one and only nephew.
Wait, how does my uncle have a dakkan, much less the offspring of a previous creature? Danner wondered. And my dad knew the first one?
“What happened to his dam?” Hoil asked, his voice soft as though in sympathy. This, too, was a strange thing to Danner, who had never known his father to noticeably empathize with anyone unless trying to swindle their money from them. The truly amazing thing, though, was that his father’s expression actually seemed to be genuine.
“I lost her to a group of childris[15],” Birch began, then saw that his small audience wasn’t following him. “She died about halfway through my journey.”
“Where did you go?” Danner asked innocently and was rewarded by a harsh glare from his father. Birch finally turned his gaze toward his nephew and locked eyes with him.
Unnatural flames danced in the depths of the man’s gaze, and Danner found himself being drawn steadily in toward…
…the flames of a suffocating inferno. Hideous shapes leapt about on all sides of him, some retaining enough of their former humanity to inspire horror in anyone unlucky enough to see them. In their hands they carried swords and cruel knives that dripped flame, and they chanted in harsh voices. He tightened the grip on his sword and…
With a gasp, Danner fell backward out of his chair as though he’d been struck a physical blow. His chest hurt, and his entire body tingled with a strange sensation. As he stood, he realized his fists were clenched as though spoiling for a fight.
“I went to Hell, Danner,” Birch said softly. “And I came back.”
- 2 -
“Forgive me, nephew,” Birch said, reaching down to lift Danner’s chair back upright.
“What happened?” Hoil demanded in a hard voice.
“Looking into my eyes sometimes evokes visions of my memories and experiences in Hell,” Birch replied. Hoil stared at him, but when Birch shifted his gaze, Hoil flinched away rather than risk the experience.
“H…Hell?” Danner asked, still short of breath. His hands shook visibly as he reclaimed his seat. “You crossed the Merging? Then that means you’re a… a…” Danner realized that he knew practically nothing about his uncle who had mysteriously disappeared and, according to Danner’s father, had died in a distant land. Danner had never guessed just how distant.
“I am a paladin,” Birch said simply, his voice calm. “Formerly of the Red Facet, and more recently a former member of the White Facet.”
“Former member?” Hoil asked. His eyebrows jumped up in surprise until they were hidden in the overhanging bangs of hair. “I didn’t think you would ever quit your service to the Prism.”
“I did not serve the Prism,” Birch said sharply, “I served God, and I serve Him still.” His voice softened. “When I say that I am formerly a member, I mean that I no longer belong strictly to any one Facet, nor are any of them quite prepared to try and lay claim to me anyway. There has never been a man in my situation, and they’re still trying to define exactly what that entails. Honestly, I doubt the decision will even be theirs to make.”
“I’ve never understood your Prism, nor its Facets,” Hoil said wearily, waving his hand in the air. As he saw Birch about to answer, he added hastily, “And I don’t know that I really want to. It’s not really practical for a man like me.”
Birch closed his mouth and nodded silently. On his shoulders, Selti rustled softly, his tiny, ruby eyes peering intently at Danner.
For his own part, Danner allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. He knew precious little about the paladins, except for the everyday street knowledge that any lowlife urchin could tell him. Danner leaned forward and looked eagerly to his uncle, though he no longer sought to engage his eyes.
“I know paladins are members of the Prismatic Order, the Prism, but I don’t know that I’ve heard anything about Facets,” Danner said, his voice eagerly inquisitive. “Can you tell me?”
“Perhaps later,” Birch said, just as Hoil barked, “Don’t get involved with it, boy.”
Hoil glanced once at his brother as though ashamed, then refused to look at him.
“My own involvement seemed to serve you well enough in the past,” Birch said mildly, but with a definite edge to his voice.
“Aye, that it did,” Hoil allowed. “It’s just I’ve lost too…” he fell silent and didn’t elaborate.
“You needn’t worry. I’ll answer anything he wants to know, but I’ll not actively try to convert or recruit him,” Birch said, putting his brother at ease, or nearly so. “I’m no Violet, and evangelism was never my strength.”
“Whatever you just said, I’ll take that as an agreement to keep your hands off my boy,” Hoil said, his tone gruff.
“Close enough.”
A long moment of silence hung in the room, and Danner wondered for a moment what had just transpired. He was sure something had just been decided regarding him, and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea that he’d had no say in it. He was on the verge of heatedly telling his father just that when he caught a warning glance from his uncle. Birch shook his head almost imperceptibly, and Danner subsided quietly.
“So,” Hoil said at last, “what brings you to my home, or even to Marash in the first place?” He paused, then suddenly thumped the table, apparently abandoning his casual attitude, and exclaimed, “Wings and demons, Birch, what the Hell are you still doing alive? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but crossing the Merging is a death sentence, and I nearly joined mother in her grave when you told me you thought you felt that Sin-accursed Calling. Then you just disappeared, and I never learned exactly where you’d gone. I had feared you crossed the Merging, but I thought you would have told me for sure before you left. Now you show up alive, uglier, and looking like a worn scrap of hide. What in God’s flapping name happened to you?”
“I’ll ask you not to swear so,” Birch said, his voice heavy with disapproval.
“Bah, answer the question,” Hoil said. Then he turned to Danner, “Go and get us something to drink, boy, and be quick about it.”
- 3 -
When Danner returned with a mug of ale for Hoil and a glass of red elven wine for Birch, his father and uncle were already discussing Birch’s recent years. Danner set their mugs down, then slipped a small mug of spiced cider from under his arm and took a sip.
“When I left you that last time,” Birch was saying, “I went to Nocka[16] by way of Demar.”
“Demar is the other way from Nocka, but never mind,” Hoil pointed out lightly. “I know why you went.”
“Since I was already fully equipped, there was little for me to do once I reache
d the city,” Birch continued, ignoring the interruption. “I spent only a day there before crossing the Barrier.”
Birch paused, and for a long moment Danner was afraid… of what, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the look on his uncle’s face, or the sudden tightening of his hand. Or perhaps Danner was afraid his uncle would turn his eyes toward his nephew, and Danner would once again be pulled into that burning gaze. Just barely visible from his angle, the tiny flames burned incessantly in the depths of the paladin’s eyes.
When Birch spoke again, Danner puffed out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Birch spared him a brief glance as if in understanding. Their eyes didn’t meet.
“The Calling is…” Birch began, then shook his head and stopped. “The Calling is difficult to describe. Imagine you suddenly remember you forgot to do something important. You know you need to go do it, and it’s so important nothing will stop you from doing it. Your life depends on it. It may take you weeks to get there, but everything you do from that point on is a means of moving one step closer to your goal. When the Calling takes you, it’s like that – remembering you have someplace important to go and something to do. I held it off as long as I could to say my goodbyes, but inevitably, I crossed the Barrier and entered Hell.
“Hell is unlike anything you can imagine, beyond mere description. It is lifeless and desolate in a way that bears down on you and gnaws at your will and soul. You don’t have to eat and never feel hungry, and there’s no sun or daylight or night by which to tell time. More than anything, it is empty, hollow, and lonely. I cannot and will not describe all of what I experienced on the other side of the Merging,” Birch said softly, his eyes distant. “I’ve made a full report to the Prism of everything I remember, and since then I’ve told no one. I could show you some of it,” he said, emphasizing the word as he indicated his own eyes, “but I won’t. Seeing into the face of Hell is not something most men are ready for, any more than they’re ready to see into their own souls.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 4