- 2 -
Danner stared at the harness attached to his chest, not even attempting to hide his doubt and mistrust of Flasch’s latest idea. He had to admit, Flasch had only the best of intentions in that he and the others were trying to cure Danner of his apparent fear of heights. What better way to spend the last day of their weekend?
The exercise of dropping trainees from the backs of dakkans had been repeated three times in the last week and each time, Danner had balked at the last second, unable to throw himself from the back of the flying mount. The third time, his instructor had been none other than Gerard Morningham, and the scar-faced, Red paladin had taken an unseemly delight in personally hurling Danner into the air. Again, Danner had panicked for a time before he was able to control himself and his descent. And again, Danner’s eyes had remained shut for most of his slow journey to the ground.
“Come on, Danner,” Garnet said from beside him. “You agreed that the only way you’re going to kick this is by repetition. Your brain knows you’ll be safe, because the cloak will save you, it’s just this little tiny, unreasonable fear that’s getting in the way.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Garnet,” Danner replied nervously, “I think hurtling through the air with nothing to stop you but a prayer and a flimsy piece of cloth is a pretty good reason to be afraid.”
“The cloak is blessed to…”
“I know what it does, but if I pitched you off the side of a building with a blanket, would it make you feel better to know I’d prayed over your bedding first?”
“He’s got a point there, Garnet,” Flasch said, smiling.
“You stay out of this.”
Danner took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
“Alright, I guess I’m ready. Now tell me what’s going to happen if something goes wrong.”
“Well, you see, that’s the problem with these unauthorized training exercises,” Flasch said, running his fingers through his hair. “We’re a little shy on safety measures, but since you haven’t had problems yet with actually using your cloak, you should be okay. You’ll just have to make it work a little sooner than usual, since you won’t be as high. Trebor can probably heal anything that breaks, too.”
Danner stared at him.
“You’re serious.”
“Do you see a dakkan sticking out of my back pocket that I haven’t noticed yet?” Flasch asked caustically. “If so, let me know, ‘cause that might explain the pain in my ass when I sit down. Now hurry up. We have to get that cloak back before someone notices it’s gone.”
Garnet reached over and cuffed Flasch lightly upside the head, but his other hand was busy covering a smile.
“If something goes wrong, that pain in your ass is going to be my boot,” Danner growled.
Grumbling to himself, Danner climbed onto the back of Faldergash’s buggy, making sure the rope attached to his harness was tied securely. Likewise, he checked to be sure the rope and canvas trailing from his back wouldn’t run afoul of the wheels.
“You’re good,” Marc said from behind him.
“Thanks.” Danner signaled to Faldergash and Michael in the front of the buggy, and the engine roared to life. “Start her off slow, and Garnet, you’d better keep a good hold of me until we’re ready,” he shouted over the noise of the engine. Garnet nodded as he climbed into the buggy and strapped himself to the frame.
Faldergash eased the accelerator down and the buggy started forward. Michael looked back to check that all was going well, then he leaned over and murmured something to the gnome behind the wheel. Faldergash nodded, and the buggy picked up speed.
Behind Danner, the cloth began to whip and tug with the wind, and Garnet reached forward to grasp Danner’s wrists. Danner in turn grasped Garnet’s wrists, and he counted on the larger trainee to anchor him until it was time.
Michael checked again, and Faldergash went faster. Now the cloth behind Danner billowed out to a full extension and nearly ripped him free. Garnet’s grip tightened, holding him securely in place.
With one final look by Michael to ensure Danner was ready, Faldergash suddenly jammed down the accelerator, and the buggy leaped forward. Garnet and Danner held on for a moment longer until Danner’s arms felt like they were about to rip from the sockets, then he shouted and they both released.
Danner was ripped from the buggy and hauled roughly up into the air as the cloth attached to his back caught a draft of wind. The cloth had a large hole cut in the center and a few smaller holes cut in the rest to allow air to pass through so it wouldn’t crumple or tear with the whimsical twists of the wind.
Garnet was slowly winching out the light-weight rope that connected Danner to the buggy, allowing him to soar higher and higher. When the rope ran out, Danner closed his eyes and gathered his courage. He reached up to his harness and released the two clamps holding him in, and with an involuntary yell, Danner fell free toward the ground.
This time, he forced himself to keep his eyes open. The ground was much closer than it had been during his two jumps ─ or rather drops ─ from dakkan-back, making Danner’s mastery of his fear that much more important. With an effort, he forced thoughts about the rapidly approaching ground to the back of his mind and concentrated on not falling quite so quickly toward the solid mass of rock below him.
Couldn’t we have done this over an ocean? Danner thought to himself, then for no apparent reason, he found himself thinking about Alicia. Since their discovery about the truth of her rape, he’d only been around her in the company of the others, which wasn’t Danner’s idea of the right atmosphere to talk to her, even if one of his friends didn’t also happen to be her brother. Danner didn’t know if the others were purposefully sticking about when Alicia was around or if their presence was totally innocent. He’d have to ask Trebor, since he was more or less neutral in the matter.
Suddenly Danner realized that somewhere in his thoughts, his descent had slowed. Thinking about Alicia had distracted him enough to get away from his fear, and it seemed like the cloak worked almost automatically once it was started. Though he knew he was safe, Danner continued to stare at the ground, which was a first for him. Usually his eyes were clenched shut until his feet touched solid earth, which inevitably caused him to crumple roughly to the ground since he didn’t know when he was going to touch down.
This time, though, he managed to keep his eyes open right up until he reached the ground, and Danner landed lightly on his feet. His friends rushed over to congratulate him, but by the time they reached him, Danner’s legs had turned to rubber and he’d already slid gently to the ground. Somewhere above him, he heard Michael saying, “Alright, Marc and Trebor, both of you had problems, too, so who gets to go next?”
- 3 -
When they returned to the barracks that night, Danner felt a profound sense of relief flood through him. He’d gone into the air once more before they ran out of time, and it was even easier than before. He knew with a little more practice, he’d be able to jump without turning a hair the next time they hauled him up on a dakkan. Let Morningham chew on that.
Danner and Flasch were alone while the others returned to their bunks – the two former thieves were tasked to return their illegally borrowed cloak. They were both hungry, and the kitchens weren’t guarded, since trainees were on the honor system and all. Danner didn’t really regard it as any sort of stealing, considering all their food was free.
As they passed by the doorway to a private meeting room, Danner heard voices. His natural curiosity got the better of him, and Danner stopped to listen. Flasch took a position within earshot, but neither could see into the room. After only a moment of listening, the back of Danner’s neck started to itch, and he got a profound sense of wrongness he hadn’t felt since the encounter with the faerer-demon in the woods.
“…the plan. With enough hands gone, the defenses will be severely weakened, and our forces will be able to swarm over and destroy the Stones without difficulty.” The man speaking had a harsh vo
ice, but there was something sinister about it that made Danner’s skin crawl. Worse, his vision began to spin as if the whole room was tilting. “With the Stones gone, we begin our conquest.”
Flasch leaned forward and whispered in Danner’s ear, “What the Hell is he saying? I can’t understand a word of that gibberish.”
Danner stared at him a moment as his vision steadied, and he remained silent as the voice continued.
“My hold on the dupe with the escaped paladin is slipping. During our last conversation, he showed signs of independent thought, and I believe I touched him too hard and pushed him into madness. I have some of the answers I sought, but his conditioning prevented him from looking deeper for the rest. If he can still slay the paladin, then all’s well. If not, my brother will deal with them.
“In the meantime, there is something amiss with the young one; the kin of our escaped quarry. He faced me down in the woods, and there is something about him that is all too much for me to stand his presence. I want him removed before he can cause me problems, but nothing that will alarm his friends or the other mortals here. I want nothing that will hinder my plans before the trap is sprung. Understood?”
“Yes, master,” another voice replied in an obsequious whine.
“And if no opportunity presents itself, I’ll deal with him personally. A hunting or training accident, perhaps.”
His body shaking, Danner stepped silently back from the doorway and motioned for Flasch to get moving. Whatever else he had just overheard, Danner realized he had just been marked for death.
- 4 -
Hoil stretched, his enormous body reaching almost to the ceiling as his muscles popped and shifted to accommodate his motion. With a creaking sigh, he allowed his arms to fall back as he sat on the couch and relaxed.
Across a low table, Maran’s gaze was riveted on the cards in his hand. In this game of Dividha, Hoil was taking the elf for everything he had on the table. If things continued to go his way, Hoil felt maybe he would have gotten back at Maran for the last three days of financial thrashing he’d endured at the elf’s hands over the same deck of cards.
“Your brother’s cards are very different,” Maran said suddenly, breaking the silence. “The images are much more vivid and almost lifelike, especially the immortal suits.”
“Well, he’s got better means than I do,” Hoil said with a shrug. What was behind this comment? Was the elf trying to distract him? Hoil’s eyes narrowed, and he focused himself on the game and on watching Maran’s face for some indication of his ploy. He wrote down his bet and threw a handful of coins into the bowl separating the two men.
“Be serious,” Maran said softly. “Your brother’s income consists of whatever money he gets from his order, whereas yours is an amassed flow of coins, gems, and other valuables, some of which are probably so valuable you can’t count that high. Don’t tell me about your means, Hoil,” Maran said with a laugh that was like a brush of dry leaves in the wind.
Hoil shrugged. “Just keeping in habit. If I go bragging about my success, somebody’s certain to get jealous and want it for himself. And no man will ever get the best of me that way. Or elf,” he added with a shrewd stare at Maran as the elf wrote down his final bet on his tablet and threw his coins in the bowl. They laid their cards down, but Hoil was still watching Maran’s face.
“My friend, if I wanted to take your wealth, I’d have only to play you Dividha for a few more days,” Maran said dryly. “Look at the cards.”
Hoil glanced down, then cursed. When they examined their tablets, his fears were confirmed. He’d been betting heavily to win with his collection of four sevens, a powerful hand. But Maran had the God wild card, the deuce of Hell and the three Heavenly royalties – San, Uriel, and Maya – giving the elf a Royal Straight. Hell, he was only one card shy of a Pureblood Straight! When the tallies were run, Hoil had not only lost all the money he’d won from Maran that game, but he’d also lost most of what he’d started the day with. He wasn’t entirely sure Maran hadn’t found some way to cheat, for all that he’d been keeping a close eye on the elf. Still, Hoil wasn’t a completely sore loser.
“Enough, you wretched elf,” Hoil cried, dropping his cards to the table. “I concede you can twist my skivvies every time in this game. How did you make out against Birch?”
“We never played,” Maran replied, “but I saw him play Danner a couple times, and I know I’d have a hard time besting him. Your brother is quite the Dividha player. Someday I’ll…”
Maran stopped as a young boy, one of many Hoil employed as messengers, slipped a small, green scroll case on the table in front of him. The case was sealed with wax by an emblem Hoil had never seen before: a four-toed dragon’s claw. Maran’s name was written in flowing, elven handwriting on the side. The lettering seemed made of pure gold, and Hoil’s eyebrows raised in interest.
“Where did this come from?” Maran asked, his voice a strained whisper.
“One of the boys find it in a drop,” the messenger replied. “Funny is, he saw nobody drop it in. Three other messages, all saw by a watcher, but none saw this one drop.”
Maran nodded, and the boy left. The one-eared elf reached out to break the seal, and Hoil was shocked to see that Maran’s fingers trembled. Then the seal was broken – Maran upended the case, and a roll of parchment fell out into his hand. The elf murmured softly and a wax seal on the parchment flared and melted away into nothingness. Hoil stared in wonder and would have spoken, but something about the elf’s reaction held his tongue.
Slowly, Maran unrolled the paper.
Hoil watched the elf’s eyes carefully, looking for some sign of what was written, but the only reaction he saw was a slight tightening of Maran’s right eye, the same side where he was missing an ear. Only twice had Hoil seen Maran’s eye twitch thus: years before, when a woman Maran was close to had been murdered, and just recently when they learned Danner was in the Coalition dungeons. For Maran, that was a momentous expression of emotion.
Maran snapped the parchment shut, then glanced at a candle nearby. Wordlessly, he thrust the roll into the flames, lit both ends, and watched impassively as fire licked around his fingers. Finally he released it, and the two men watched as the clump of ash and flame drifted slowly to the floor.
Maran motioned the young boy who’d brought him the case to come close, then he handed the empty scroll case to him with the instructions, “See this is destroyed. Immediately.”
“What’s wrong?” Hoil asked as the boy disappeared.
“I have to go home,” Maran replied, his voice taut. “Back to El’aman’niren’a.”
“What’s in the elven capital? Damn it, man, what’s wrong?”
Maran looked up, and Hoil saw a flicker of something dark in his eyes.
“My brother is dead,” he said quietly. “Murdered.”
Chapter 28
God alone determines the course of the world. To think otherwise is hubris and heresy. To voice otherwise is treachery and sin.
- Violet Paladin Timothy Weatherstone,
“The Nature of Evil” (78 AM)
- 1 -
“Tharre now, Bird, tha’s the city o’ Den-Furral,” Ben cried, clapping Birch on the back with a meaty palm. The dwarf could only reach halfway up Birch’s back, so the friendly pat nearly nocked Birch off balance as he stood at the railing. Flying in lazy circles overhead, Selti chirped at the dwarf as though in warning.
“Thanks, Ben, I can see it now,” Birch replied, peering again through a small spyglass. “And my name is Birch.”
“Oi, sorren.”
Their ship had been damaged further sailing through the Thorn Straits, which had caused still more delays as they were forced to spend two days repairing a split hull and binding a crack in the main mast. Birch was frustrated by the delay, but he bore it with a patience born in the flames of Hell.
When they’d finally come in sight of the city, Birch wondered if there’d been some mistake, or if their lookout was jus
t an idiot. There was no city that Birch could see, just a stone harbor jutting out into the sea with a few stone huts at the base of the piers. Behind those huts was a sheer wall of stone that began the northern half of the Thorn Mountains.
It wasn’t until the sun began to sink and they drew closer to the harbor that Birch realized there were lights coming from that wall of stone, which suddenly resolved itself into the sheer face of an immense fortress. Birch had never seen a true dwarven city before, and the immense scale of what he beheld took his breath away.
“Yo like, no?” Ben asked, his guttural voice pleased with Birch’s reaction.
“It’s incredible.”
The wall of stone was well over four hundred feet tall, and from top to bottom it was perfectly vertical. Not a crack or protrusion marred the surface, save where precisely-cut square windows were spaced regularly across the rock face. Something about the sight tugged at Birch’s memory, but he couldn’t place it. He stared intently at the fortress until he was able to make out the shutters on some of the larger windows, then he glanced back at the dwarves in surprise.
“The shutters are made of stone, too?” he asked.
“Aye, that they are,” Dennet answered as he joined the two at the railing. He stood on Birch’s right side, so the Gray paladin was flanked by the two dwarves. “And each window has a block inside that swings into position, stopping up the window as tight as the original stone it was carved from.”
“Have there been problems of some sort?” Birch asked. “That sounds like a defense in case of an all-out attack.”
“Aye, wev hud our shir of prublims, tho nothin’ en thu last cent’ry,” Ben said, nodding his head.
Birch looked at him quizzically.
“He said we’ve had a few problems, just nothing in the last century or so,” Dennet supplied.
“Bucko knew wut I said,” Ben grumbled.
“It’s Bir… never mind,” Birch said resignedly.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 34