“Oh, Birch, you’re alive,” she cried softly. “I knew you’d be here. They told me what happened. I tried to get here in time, but I’m sorry.”
“Slow down, Mo,” Birch said gently, trying to sort her words through the morning haze in his mind. “Get here in time to what?”
“To warn you,” she said, looking up at him. “The Dragoenix Inn is gone. Destroyed. A demon came a couple weeks after you left and incinerated it.”
“How do you know it was a demon?” he asked, his mind suddenly coming into focus.
She gave him a flat stare. “I’ve known you for how long now? I think I know a bit more about them than your average spinster innkeeper.”
Birch flinched slightly, but took her hands in his. Moreen told him about her encounter with the demon right after he’d left Demar and the near-rape at the hands of the pseudo-Birch. Birch nearly broke her wrist when his fist clenched in sudden fury, then he calmed himself, apologized, and prayed away the pain he’d inflicted.
“So it was you he was talking about,” Birch said to himself. She looked inquiringly at him. “Before I killed Sal, he mentioned being weakened by the mark a woman drew on him, and for no reason I wondered if it had been you. It was,” he said proudly.
“But now the unholy bastard is gone. I wish I could kill him again, knowing now what he tried to do to you.” Birch was surprised at his own vehemence.
“Oh, Birch,” she said, shaking her head. But she was smiling. Suddenly Birch made a decision.
“Moreen, I want you to come with me,” he said earnestly. She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “Just listen. I can’t leave the Prism, not yet. I thought I could walk away and be with you forever, and when I went to Nocka, that’s just what I’d intended to do. But that was before The Three appeared. There’s too much going on right now, and I’m caught up in the middle of it.”
He took a quick breath, then rushed on before she could reply.
“But I don’t want to live another day without you at my side, Moreen. It hurt too much, thinking about you not being with me, and it nearly killed me to think that you’d spend another day waiting for me,” he said, then smiled bitterly. “I know you, and even though you said you weren’t going to wait, you still were. I know it, because I could still feel you in my heart. I’ve hurt you too often to expect anything from you ever again, and every day I marvel that you could still love me so.
“I need you, Moreen. I need you with me, for my sake and hopefully for our sake. But I don’t just need you there, Moreen, I want you there. I’m asking you to come with me, and whatever the danger, I’ll protect you. I love you, Moreen, and I want you to want to be with me. I… I just…”
Birch trailed off, no longer sure what he was trying to say. He’d hoped to have more time to work out exactly what he would say to her, but seeing her had just brought the core of it bubbling to the top. It didn’t sound nearly as poised or thoughtful as he’d hoped or wanted, and he cursed himself for sounding like a witless fool. He should have brought it up more gently. He should have…
Suddenly he realized Moreen still hadn’t said anything in response. He glanced at her and saw tears in her eyes.
“Mo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just blurt it all out like that, I…” he stopped as she put a finger on his lips.
“Just say my name and tell me you love me again,” she whispered through her tears. She was smiling.
“Moreen, I love you,” he said gently. “I have always loved you, and I’ll love you forever.”
“Oh, Birch!” she cried, and buried herself in his embrace. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses. Of course I’ll come with you, you big dolt.”
They held each other a moment, and Birch slowly brushed her hair with one hand while clutching her to his chest with the other.
“I love you, Moreen,” he said.
“And I love you, Birch,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest. “With all my heart.”
Interlude
Our greatest strengths are the seeds of our own downfall.
- Elven Proverb
- 1 -
Maran boarded the ship last, staring past the vessel toward the ocean as though trying to pierce the distance with his gaze alone. Somewhere across that ocean, his family waited for him. A family that would no longer admit his existence.
A father who would not look at his son, nor rise to embrace him. A sister who would, at least, notice him, but only to turn away in disgust. A brother who lay cold on a stone bier, waiting to be embalmed and interred with his ancestors. And a son who would not and could not remember his father.
Maran sighed, wondering what might have been. If he hadn’t defied his father’s wishes, nor chosen to live outside elven society. His past was filled with choices he could easily second-guess, but the here and now left him no choice, at least to his eyes. He would return home and pay respects to his brother, and he would avenge him should it prove necessary.
He had little doubt that was the only reason he’d been notified of his brother’s demise. It was only the second communication he’d had regarding his family since the day of his sentencing and exile. The first had informed him of his wife’s passing, but had expressly forbidden his return on pain of death. For someone to contact him now, and to remain silent on his exile, meant that his brother had been the victim of murder and, for whatever reason, they could not discover his murderer’s identity. Or, perhaps more likely, they knew who the murderer was, but could not act for political reasons. Maran thought it unlikely anyone in his family had written the letter – more likely it had been an advisor, or perhaps one of Maran’s former instructors.
Maran’s eyes narrowed, giving him a hawk-like appearance. One hand reached up to brush the blank slab of flesh where once his ear had been. He rubbed the scarred skin for a second, then let his hand drop.
“You all right, Maran?” Hoil said, stepping up softly from behind him. Maran jerked, startled by the human thief’s sudden appearance. He’d been so distracted, he hadn’t noticed Hoil’s approach. He cursed himself inwardly, knowing that mistakes like that would likely mean his death when he returned home.
“No, Hoil, I’m not all right,” he replied softly. Then he sighed. “Come with me below. You deserve to hear more of what we’ll be facing. What you don’t know could get you killed.”
Hoil lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but followed Maran to their cabin below. The wind blew through Hoil’s hair, and for a moment he was reminded of his wife. He’d always compared her gentle touch to the tickle of a breeze, and he used to tease her about it when she’d brush her fingers through his hair.
He snapped his attention back to the present and went below decks. Behind him, the wind blew mournfully across the bare deck.
- 2 -
“We’ll recuperate here for a few days, then we need to head back,” James Tarmin said to the paladins in his jintaal. “The Prismatic Council needs to know what happened here, and we need to know what’s happened in our absence. Specifically, I’d like to know Lord Donnor’s involvement in this.”
“There’s also still two more demons out there to hunt down,” Birch said resolutely. “Perhaps the Prismatic Council has more information on their whereabouts, another clue like the feeling that led us here.”
They all nodded.
James looked at the faces around him, studying each in turn. Nuse was predictably calm, his only hint of nervousness the occasional touch of a finger to his salty, receding hair. Garet and Vander were impassive, but James could see the serious intensity in their eyes. Perky was nervous, if withdrawn, and he shifted under James’s scrutiny. It’s what he was used to seeing.
But Birch’s face was something new. Always before, he’d detected a sort of quiet desperation about him, as though he wanted to be somewhere else but knew he couldn’t. They’d touched upon it briefly while talking, but James hadn’t probed too far. Now he thought he knew the source of Birch’s difficulties, which was at t
he same time the source of the profound look of serenity that now sat on Birch’s features.
The Gray paladin looked more at peace with himself than James had ever seen. Even so there was something about him that was foreboding, and James had to look no further than his eyes to see it. The flames still glowed with Hellish intensity, and it looked to James that they’d grown even more pronounced since the encounter with the demon Sal. He couldn’t say for sure, because he hadn’t looked directly into Birch’s eyes since that one time in the ship’s cabin.
James shuddered. He’d seen things in those eyes that no mortal should be forced to experience, and he’d only felt a shadow of what it must have been like for Birch to actually be there. More than the environment, he’d seen something that terrified him to the core of his soul. He was too afraid to put a name to it, too afraid of what it might mean. His mind wouldn’t even let him remember specifically what he’d seen, he’d blocked it out so thoroughly.
He’d have to talk to Birch about it someday, but not now. Not when it would shatter whatever peace the man had found for himself. James owed him that much, at least.
“Then tonight we bury Wein, with all dignity and honor of a paladin,” James said, breaking out of his reverie. “Perky, if you’ll finish preparing his body, we’ll take care of the rest.”
The Green paladin nodded.
As they broke up to move to their duties, James saw Garet staring into the fire. There was a sad look in the giant man’s eyes, and James walked to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Garet,” James said quietly. “Let’s go.”
The wind blew across the roaring flames, sending a burst of sparks into the sky. The fire blazed hotter, bathing James’s face in its ruddy glow.
May the fires in our souls burn as brightly, he thought to himself. In his hands, he gently gripped a small, hand-carved, toy sword. Yet may we not also be so consumed.
The wind whistled past the crackling fire and across the empty bay, oblivious to the hopes and prayers of the people it left behind.
- 3 -
It was a subdued group that returned from the mountains. The trainees had been given no explanation as to why they were suddenly being ordered to break camp only a day after they’d finished constructing it. Danner and the others remained silent, not revealing that they had any more knowledge of their orders than any of the other trainees. Only a very few people had witnessed Danner’s transformation the day before, and all of them were either his friends or members of Morningham’s group of Protectors. For now, his bizarre uniqueness was a closely-kept secret.
Weighed down by thoughts of the past day’s events and the conversation they’d had with the paladins, Danner’s friends were silent the whole trip home. The world around Danner felt like a gray haze, and he was passing through it mindlessly. There were strange sensations awakening inside him, things for which he didn’t have names. At times it felt like he was looking out through eyes that weren’t his own. He didn’t seem to know who or what he was anymore, and the feeling of non-identity terrified him.
Am I even human? he asked himself continuously. Was my mother? Is my father even my father?
Throughout his life, there had never been a doubt in anyone’s mind that he was his father’s son, and apart from their physical disparity in size, Danner had always felt like he was a small piece of his father. A chip off the old block, as the old saying went. In temperament, speed, agility, and mental capacity, he was nearly identical to his father.
Danner smiled as he thought of all the times his father tried to pick his pocket or swipe his purse. At a young age, he’d finally gotten faster than his father, and then it had really become a game between them as Hoil got sneakier and sneakier in his attempts to steal from his son. Maran had shown Danner a few tricks along the way, and he’d usually been able to stay ahead of his father.
His father…
“Danner, we’re there.”
Danner jerked back to the rest of the world as Michael’s voice cut into his thoughts. They were flying low over Nocka, seconds from the courtyard of the Prismatic chapterhouse where they usually departed and landed during their cloak-training exercises. Danner thought with irony how terrified he’d once been of heights, and now apparently he had wings of his own.
Should he learn how to use them? Should he practice flying with them and discover what he was capable of? Did he have any other latent freakishness or abilities he would discover?
The jolt from the cart settling to the ground brought Danner clear from his thoughts, and he followed the others in unloading from the transports. Danner frowned as he realized there was no one to greet them.
“It’s really quiet,” someone said nearby. They’d all gotten so used to having so many extra paladins living in the chapterhouse, the abandoned courtyard rang with the silence of their absence.
“Trainees, return to your barracks and get some rest,” Morningham ordered them. His booming voice echoed eerily in the silence around them. “There’ll be normal practice and training in the morning, so be ready. Dismissed.”
Danner caught Morningham looking at him, and the Red paladin nodded knowingly. Danner sighed. The harsh Red paladin had just confirmed what Danner and the others were thinking. If it was this silent, the paladins hadn’t returned.
“Maybe in a few days,” Flasch said hopefully.
“We’ll see,” Garnet replied in a noncommittal tone.
They were the last trainees to move out from the courtyard, and by the time they made it into the halls, everyone ahead of them was out of sight. It was almost surreal, the way their footsteps echoed in the passageways. Danner knew there were paladins around, for the entire Prism hadn’t been drained, but the mere thought that so many holy warriors had gone to what was almost certain to be their doom left the air feeling diseased. Treachery had been done in this place, and it poisoned the otherwise hallowed halls.
“They’re not coming back,” Danner said to himself with a sudden certainty. “It’s too late.”
No one contradicted him.
“This is just the beginning then,” Garnet said behind him. “We’ve got only so much time before the Merging weakens and all Hell breaks loose. We need to be ready.”
“Garnet, if ever there was a reason to train and work harder, I’d say this is it,” Marc said. “Think you can give us some extra individual lessons? I may not have much free time, since there’s some things I need to look up in the library.”
“Like what?”
“I want to look for any validity in those fairy tales we mentioned,” Marc said. “Someplace in these histories and texts, maybe there’s a clue, and I also want to see if Danner can read those texts the immortals left. It might be important.”
“Good thinking,” Danner said absently. His mind was wandering again.
“Snap out of it, Danner,” Flasch said, snapping his fingers in front of Danner’s face. Danner blinked.
“Sorry.”
“Come on,” Trebor said. “Garnet’s right. We have a lot of work to do, so we might as well get some sleep tonight and get started tomorrow morning.”
“Right.”
Danner walked with them up to the barracks. Garnet was right. They had a lot of work to do, but for Danner, he felt that included finding out the truth about himself. He decided then that he would experiment with his newfound heritage and perhaps explore any other abilities that might appear. They might help him to be a better paladin, or even offer a hint as to who he really was.
A gentle breeze slipped through a narrow window and tickled the side of his face. Something about it brought a sense of peace to Danner, and he walked after the others with a lighter step. Whatever the future was to hold, at least he knew he wouldn’t be facing it alone.
Behind him, the breeze swirled through the hallway and then disappeared through another window. The stray wisp of wind rose gently over the courtyard to the gathering clouds. On the ground below, paladins gathered in t
repidation and stared upward as the sky slowly darkened with thunder clouds.
…the Barrier War continues in Book 2 – “The Devil’s Deuce”.
Appendix A
The Mortal Calendar
Despite their focus on earthly things, the dwarven love for order once extended to the stars, and thus they were the first people to measure the pace of the seasons and the turning of the year. During the Dark Ages, dwarven scholars developed the first sundials and water clocks to measure the passage of time. Most of the original names of months were lost to the passage of time, and even Heaven’s library in Medina does not record their names. The simpler weekday names were easily retained and survived intact.
During the Age of Lords, the early work was refined and gear-driven machines were crafted to replace their less accurate predecessors. By that point in history, however, humans had come to dominate the world, and it was human scholars who developed the calendar that survives to the modern day, based on the previous measurements. Out of deference to the original work done centuries before, the month names were rendered in the dwarven tongue and have remained thus unchanged since the dawn of the Age of Merging.
The lunar cycles are as regular as the sun and stars. Sin completes a full lunar cycle every 29 days, while San completes a cycle every 36 days. As with most things beyond primitive man’s comprehension, the moons had special significance during the Dark Ages, and certain superstitions persisted even into the Age of Lords after the coming of the immortal angels. Each full moon was given a special name, as were certain lunar alignments such as the Devil’s Horns and the Angel’s Wings.
Each month is exactly 45 days long, and each of the four seasons is measured at 134.5 days. The transitions from Spring to Summer and from Autumn to Winter traditionally occur at midday, while the transitions to Autumn and Spring occur at midnight.
Hunting The Three (The Barrier War) Page 43