Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2

by Kade Derricks

  “The son tries to live up to the legacy of the father. Understandable, particularly since he inherited the throne so late in life. He forgets that his grandfather consolidated his own father’s gains and didn’t expand the Empire a single acre. After his investment in roads and schools and all the extra training for the army, he left Krane in a perfect position.”

  A gleam shone in the old man’s eye. A fond remembrance of the glory days, Dain expected.

  Aleesa returned and placed a pair of steaming plates before them. Nervous about his training, Dain found it difficult to eat and listen to Kilian and Jes at the same time. They talked for an hour about war and love and friends long dead. In spite of his nerves, his curiosity had been piqued; he hoped to hear more about his mother’s family, but nothing was said. Finally, Kilian turned to him.

  “Go on up and turn in,” he said. “I’ve got a few drinks to buy for our guardsmen friends.”

  “Aleesa will show you to your room,” Jes added.

  Dain rose, spying Aleesa at the bottom of the stairs. As he joined her, he caught a piece of the two men’s continuing conversation.

  “Chalmer won’t want him there…man’s a complete snake…Brigades have gone rogue…the boy doesn’t know anything of his grandfather or the…remains on Illiack…”

  The steps creaked, and Dain was unable to hear more. Aleesa stumbled and his hand shot out to catch her.

  “Silly me,” she said. She grinned at him and pressed her own hand flat against his chest. “I must’ve climbed these stairs a thousand times and that step always catches my toe.”

  Her eyes seemed innocent, but Dain was keenly aware of the pressure of her fingertips.

  “Thank you for catching me. You’re quick, and strong as well.” She laughed as she said it, a warm, throaty sound.

  “My pleasure,” Dain said. His experience with girls was limited, and he hoped it didn’t show.

  “Aleesa,” she said.

  “What?”

  “My pleasure, Aleesa,” she led him.

  Dain only smiled in return. His tongue had turned thick and clumsy and slow, and he felt trapped in some unseen snare. Further comment wouldn’t help him escape its jaws now.

  Again Aleesa laughed. She turned and brought him to a door, which she held open.

  “Here is your room,” she said. Still smiling, she retreated back to the first floor.

  Dain rolled into bed but found sleep hard to come by. First he thought of Aleesa. Had she truly stumbled? Then he thought of the training and what would be required of him. He wouldn’t be a Paladin tomorrow, but the journey would have begun. Finally, his thoughts turned toward his family.

  Why didn’t he know more about his mother? Why did she so rarely speak of her own family? He’d always known she wasn’t from his father’s lands—but beyond that he hadn’t given much thought to where she actually was from.

  Perhaps I have relatives here, he wondered. Maybe I’ll have time to see them while I’m training.

  Kilian shook Dain awake early. The sun had yet to rise, and they took breakfast alone in the common room.

  If his uncle was tired from staying up with the guards, he didn’t show it.

  They traveled through the empty streets for an hour. Once they were out of the docks district, the homes and businesses grew into more of what Dain had expected. The houses were tall—often at least two stories high—and shouldered together in tight groups with only a thin strip of shadow between them. He wondered what manner of people lived in them. How could they stand to be caged so? Kilian told him most men here would never hold a sword much less keep one in their homes. Dain found himself struggling to understand a people without swords.

  Finally Kilian brought them to a stable near the center of town.

  “This is where the Brigades keep their horses. Your father has already paid for Boon to be kept here,” he said.

  “For how long?”

  “As long as need be.”

  Kilian spoke with the hostler and introduced him to Dain; they then left the stables and walked across a wide, green park. Dain stared at the trees—only a few were the tall pines and alders he knew from the Elkhart and the Highlands. Most had broad, waxy leaves in a variety of shapes. Dawn broke as they reached the park’s edge, and Dain caught his first glimpse of his new home.

  His eyebrows rose. He’d expected a military-type barracks similar to one of his father’s outposts, but instead the Brigade hall looked like a grand temple. The entire building was elevated several feet above street level, and a row of eight marbled columns rose forty feet to a black-tiled roof. A pair of great copper-clad spires extended another twenty feet higher at either end of the building. The sun’s young rays touched a hint of glittering gold that ran in thick veins up each column.

  The silver frieze above them captured the story of Palatine, the Order’s founder. In the first panel, Palatine knelt before an altar of shining light. In the second he stood on a podium holding a sword overhead, a crowd gathered around him. The third panel showed Palatine leading his followers against Atraxas—the father of demons—and his horde. The final panel showed the victorious Palatine hoisting the demon’s head before his cheering men.

  “Impressive, isn’t it. I had that same look on my face the first time I saw it,” Kilian said. “Not so tall as the Emperor’s fortress or even Castle Gladstone; it doesn’t dominate the skyline as those do, but more impressive, I think.”

  The weaponsmaster led the way up the set of stairs. He opened a door at the building’s center. Dain followed.

  Inside, they traveled through an empty hall and emerged into an atrium. A fountain stood in the atrium’s center alongside an enormous statue of a triumphant Palatine. Other, smaller statues, no less impressive, stood at the garden’s edges, each with their eyes turned to the Order’s founder.

  Kilian drew Dain to one statue in particular and pointed to a chiseled plaque at its feet.

  “Metston Gladstone, our ancestor. Seventeen generations before you, Metston helped found the Order. One of the original members,” Kilian said.

  “Twelve generations before we swore fealty to the Emperor,” Dain said. Metston had been the youngest of four Gladstone brothers. He’d never held the link, and the giant’s spirit had only vague impressions of him.

  “Yes. Of course, the temple isn’t that old. It was built after the first Emperor chose Karelton as his capital and asked the Order to locate here as well. Before that the Brigades were based in Heliene.”

  Kilian turned to face Dain.

  “Mind me now, Dain. You are well prepared for the Order. You’ve likely had far more military and weapons training than any other recruit. That is not to say your time here will be easy; it isn’t meant to be. It’s meant to prepare you for service. You’ll be put through the fire here and forged into a weapon for the Order.”

  Kilian paused. He seemed unsure of what to say next.

  “I will make you all proud,” Dain said.

  “I don’t doubt it. But you must remember that this isn’t the Order I served. Things have changed. They’ve…decayed a bit.”

  Dain started to shake his head, but Kilian gripped his shoulder tightly.

  “Hear me as your teacher one last time. Chalmer is using the Order for his own purposes. He wants to conquer land on the Light’s behalf, and the Order has never been about that. If you change your mind, you can come home. Your father seems angry now, but he will forgive you in time. Believe me; I fought with my own father in much the same way.”

  “I know.” Dain said. He ducked his head and scraped his toe over the tiled floor. When he looked back up, Kilian gave him a little grin.

  “I know why you are here. I lived my whole life in the shadow of my father and then my brother, and I understand why you’ve come. Remem
ber, though, that you are the firstborn son of Lord Gladstone and heir to the Highlands, and you’ve a duty to your family and your people. That comes first, before the Empire and even before,” his arm swept outward, “all of this.”

  “Kilian. Is that you?” a voice called from the shadows.

  The weaponsmaster stood straight and turned to face the voice.

  “By the Light, it is.” A thin man wearing white robes stepped into the atrium and clasped the weaponsmaster’s hand.

  “Lord Bental,” Kilian said, starting to kneel. The thin man stopped him.

  “Please, brother, we are equals here. How have you been? I never expected to see you here again; not after Chalmer was raised to captain.”

  “I’ve a charge to deliver to you,” Kilian said, nodding at Dain. “This is my nephew, Rivane’s eldest, Dain.”

  Bental turned and regarded him, and Dain instantly felt like a horse being judged before a race. He studied the thin man in turn. Though tall and built like a reed, cords of muscle stood out on Bental’s wrists, and his eyes were a bright blue. They seemed frank and clear.

  Honest eyes, Mother would say.

  Bental bent into a small bow. “Honored to meet you, young Gladstone. I served under your grandfather at the battle of Heath. I’ve met your father, as well.”

  “Honored to meet you as well, sir,” Dain said, returning the bow. He didn’t recall his grandfather ever leading an army into Heath, though.

  Bental turned back to Kilian.

  “Will you see the Sovereign before you leave?” he asked.

  “I thought I would. It isn’t often I make it this far.”

  “He’d love to see you, I’m certain. The office has worn him down. He misses the old days when he could just take up a sword or ride out on his warhorse. Now it’s only ink and pens and edicts,” Bental said.

  “I’ll see him before I go. Will you take Dain into your care?” Kilian said.

  “Of course. I’ll get him settled in. I’ll be teaching a bit of battlecraft between my other duties.”

  Kilian clasped Bental’s arm. “I’m off, then.”

  He turned to Dain and offered him the same clasp.

  “You will do fine, Dain. Remember what we discussed; you can trust Bental.”

  With a final quick smile, Kilian headed back the way they’d come. Bental and Dain watched him go, and a brief bolt of panic shot through Dain. Though he’d known this day would come, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been left with strangers.

  “Well, let’s get you settled in,” Bental said. He led Dain into another corridor to the desk of a seated man who was poring over a number of lists scattered about. The man held a magnifying glass over one of the lists, and splotches of black ink stained the edges of his sleeves and forearms.

  “Good morning, Mern,” Bental said. “I’ve a young man here to see you.”

  “Lord Bental,” the clerk replied, looking up from his papers. “Is this your charge, sir?”

  “This is Dain Gladstone. His uncle, Brother Kilian, brought him in. If you’ll tell me his bunk assignment I’ll get him settled in,” Bental said.

  “Gladstone…Gladstone…yes, I have it here.” The clerk held a list aloft. “House five, bunk three.”

  “Thank you, Mern. Have most of the other new recruits arrived or are we early?”

  “Early; less than a dozen have checked in thus far.”

  Bental led Dain further along the corridor until they were outside again, behind the main building. A row of tidy wooden bunkhouses, each labeled with a number, stood to the right of a sandy practice yard. Dain recognized most of the equipment. Bental stopped in front of house number five and turned to Dain.

  “Kilian thinks well of you,” he said.

  “I think well of him too, sir. He has taught me much,” Dain answered.

  Bental hesitated, his brows furrowing and eyes going distant, then spoke again.

  “I owe your grandfather a great deal. Twice, he saved my life. I never got a chance to repay him, and it occurs to me that I have that chance now.” Bental looked Dain in the eye. “Life here can be difficult. If there’s anything you need, you come to me and I’ll see to it. It’s been too many years since a Gladstone has walked these halls.”

  “I appreciate the offer, sir, but I’m just here to serve. I want no special treatment.”

  Bental smiled, faint lines appearing around his eyes. “Proud, like your father. And hopefully a bit practical, like your mother. Let me know if you need anything all the same, young man.”

  With that, Lord Bental walked back the way they’d come and left Dain at the door of house five.

  For a long moment Dain stared at the white painted number five above the door. Four years. This will be home for the next four years. Then he’d be a full Paladin and serve the needs of the faith for another four before being allowed to return home if he so chose. Again he wondered if he’d made the right decision. Kilian could have given him all the same training at Castle Gladstone. Even taught him to wield the Light.

  It wouldn’t have been the same and you know it, he told himself. He had to make his ancestors proud, had to serve with honor.

  Might as well find my place.

  He opened the door and entered. Mern had said few of the recruits had arrived, but four boys were already inside. They studied Dain as he entered, and for a long minute no one spoke. Dain spotted bed three on his left. At the foot of the bed was an oak chest with a lock and key. He laid his saddlebags over it and then took the key from the lock. Finally, one of the other boys spoke.

  “I’m Niles,” he said. He pointed at another boy, “and that’s Zek. Dremble’s the redhead, and Strale is the short one. And you are…?”

  “Dain. Glad to meet you.”

  “You just missed Trysen. His mother came in here crying and begging him to give up and come home. He’s with her and his father now.”

  “Will he give up already, do you think?” Dain asked.

  “No,” Dremble snorted. “He’s been talking about this for months. He and I spent two years selling hotcakes in the town square to pay for training. He’ll never quit.”

  “How much have they told you?” Niles asked.

  “Told me about what?” Dain said.

  Niles and Zek exchanged a look.

  “Told you about how this all works. So far none of our fathers served the Paladins, and we don’t know anything,” Zek said.

  “We tried to ask the clerk, but he didn’t have time for us,” Niles added.

  The information flowed onto his tongue before he even had to think. “All skills are taught throughout training, but each year has a specific area of focus. First year is swordcraft, and some other weapons as well; not all Paladins choose the sword. Second year is fieldcraft; how to live off the land, scout the enemy, that type of thing. Third is battlecraft, spell shields, aural blessings. Fourth year is healing. There’s also an advanced class in tactics for squadleaders. They single them out for extra lessons in the evenings,” Dain answered.

  Zek’s eyes widened comically. “Wow. You know a lot. Did your father serve?”

  “No, but one of my uncles did,” Dain said. He didn’t want to say more. If none of their families served it would only distance him from the other boys; something Kilian had warned him about on the ride to Karelton.

  A tall boy opened the door behind him and stepped inside, cheeks flushed and eyes damp.

  “Trysen, this is Dain. His uncle served and he knows all about the Brigades,” Niles said.

  “So what. We’ll know everything we need to know soon enough.” The tall boy sprawled over the first bed and buried his face in his pillow.

  “I can’t wait to wear a sword,” Zek said, ignoring Trysen’s sullen display. “I’
ll never take it off.”

  “I only came to heal. Will I have to wait all that time to learn how?” Strale asked.

  “No, like I said, they mix things up,” Dain offered. “But each year has its own area of focus. Swordcraft first to teach us to take care of ourselves. Then we’ll start learning the rest.”

  Strale looked dejected and he plopped himself down on his bed.

  “Dremble was telling us that they make us run for miles wearing full armor,” Niles said.

  Dain nodded, and Niles cringed. “They do that some. To prepare us. At the end of the first year there’s a trial. We have to fight against older recruits. Then we have to duel one-on-one to show our skills,” Dain said.

  “That’s not what I heard. I heard everyone goes on to year two,” Dremble said. There was an edge in his voice that seemed to dare Dain to challenge him.

  Not wanting to argue and get off on the wrong foot, Dain shrugged.

  The door banged open, slamming into the wall, and a man in full armor entered. Two manacled youths trailed in his wake like rattling shadows. The man looked regal. His black goatee was neatly trimmed and his hair hung in tight ringlets around his neck. His eyes were dark and commanding. They took in the room at a single glance and settled on Dain.

  Accustomed to his father’s manner and hard stares, Dain returned the look. A crest was painted over the man’s shoulder featuring a charging boar on a field of green. The crest of House Chalmer.

  “So, a Gladstone has returned to grace us with his presence at last,” he said. “I’d heard it was so. I am Lord Chalmer, and given your father’s very vocal opinions on both the Order and myself, boy, I’m surprised you came.”

  “I come as my own man to serve the Light,” Dain answered evenly.