Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2

by Kade Derricks

  “Him, not me!” Trysen yelled, raising his arms against the onslaught.

  Dain stepped directly between the two of them and focused his guard on Kag alone. The bigger boy used his great weight to his advantage and bore down with each strike. Dain used both swords to hold him off.

  Sensing victory, Trysen smiled and swung a wicked slash at Dain’s head.

  Dain expected it. He ducked at the last moment, moving his swords and allowing Kag’s weight to carry him forward. Trysen’s slash connected with Kag’s already ruined nose.

  Kag screamed and slammed his weapon into Trysen, knocking him to the dirt.

  Dain was moving to strike Kag from behind when Chaney stepped between them. He grabbed Dain’s dominant arm and then Kag’s when the bigger boy turned.

  “Wait. Drop the swords.”

  Dain backed up and tossed his outside the circle.

  “You too, Kag. Drop it,” Chaney said. Kag tossed his own sword after Dain’s. “From here on it’s fists.”

  “I’ll tear your boy apart,” Kag said with a grin. “You might as well quit now, rich boy. I’m going to soak the ground in your lordling blood.”

  “I’m not quitting,” Dain said simply. His fist connected with Kag’s face and whipped the bigger boy’s head to the side.

  Chaney stepped aside and the two swung blow-for-blow, neither bothering to dodge or duck. Finally, Kag landed a solid shot to Dain’s chin, and he felt the world swoon. He fell to his hands and knees. Kag kicked at him and he rolled free.

  Get up. I’ve got to get up now or I never will. With effort, Dain rose, and Kag connected with his shoulder, spinning him around. Kag tried to grab at him and Dain popped him in the nose again, a fresh shot of blood exploding in a gush.

  Kag staggered. Dain hit him in the stomach, then the ribs, and then in the stomach again. Trying to get some room, Kag threw Dain back.

  Dain’s knees buckled and threatened to topple him again. He steeled himself. Got to end this now or he’ll beat me bloody. He felt a trickle of blood above his right eye and he was having trouble focusing.

  Kag’s body heaved as he tried to draw breath. He held one fist closed, guarding his nose. The brute’s bloodshot eyes drifted for a moment, and Dain took his chance.

  His punch met the bloody nose again and Kag’s hands rose to protect his face. Dain planted his feet and whipped two solid blows to Kag’s ribs and the boy started to go down. For good measure, Dain hit him one last time in the face.

  Kag fell. His head lifted, then lolled down and to the side.

  “All right, you bunch of worms. Now that we’ve proven Dain’s the best fighter here—swords or fists—this ends now. I don’t care if he’s a lord’s son or a dishwasher’s bastard; he’s your squadleader because of his skill. Whenever I’m not around, he’s in charge. I won’t tolerate laggards anymore. The next one of you that shirks off,” Chaney put his face close to Trysen’s then shifted it to Dremble’s, “will be facing me with sword or fists, and you’ll never forget it.”

  He drenched Kag in a bucket of water. The big boy shuddered, and his clothing stuck to him like jelly as he tried to rise. Chaney grabbed his shirt and dragged him to his feet. He brought Kag’s face close enough that their foreheads touched, and Kag’s eyes focused on his.

  “Next time you cause me grief, I’m turning Dain loose on you with a real sword,” Chaney growled. “And whatever’s left of you I’m sending to Illiack. There’re tough men out there, and they take little boys like you and turn them into their personal entertainment.”

  Kag’s eyes grew wide.

  “Is that what you want?” Chaney asked.

  Eyes still caught in Chaney’s hard gaze, Kag shook his head slightly. “No.”

  “Now kneel before your squadleader and apologize.”

  Chaney released his hold on Kag’s shirt and he fell into the dirt.

  “I said kneel,” Chaney barked.

  Kag rolled over and picked himself up into a kneeling position. Dust and dirt coated his hair, face, and clothing in caked layers.

  “I apologize,” he mumbled.

  Dain expected to see anger in Kag’s face—perhaps hate for the beating he’d taken before or rage for being shown up in front of the others. Instead there was something else; something Dain couldn’t quite grasp until, with a sudden shock, he could. Fear. Dain shuddered at the sight.

  He reached out to Kag’s shoulder.

  “Stand, brother. We are in this together. We do not kneel to each other.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The fights didn’t end; not completely. They all still had their moments, but the constant questioning and quarreling with Dain stopped. They treated him differently now, as if they held him in a bit of awe.

  Dain didn’t care for it; men treated his father that way. He asked Chaney about the change in the other boys.

  “And how does your father treat them?” Chaney said.

  “He treats them as friends, and they love him all the more for it.”

  “That’s how it is with men. Dogs and wolves, too. They respect the strongest—and not just in physical strength, mind you, but the strongest in leadership. As the strongest, it’s your duty to protect your pack. That’s the truth about being a squadleader or a general or any other kind of leader. You serve them, they don’t serve you. Oh, they have to follow your orders, but in the end, as the one making the decisions, you have to place the needs of the group and the mission above yourself.”

  Dain considered this for a moment.

  “I don’t know if that’s true for all leaders.”

  “It isn’t,” Chaney scowled. “Some lead by fear, greed. They place their own desires above the good of the group. Those groups aren’t as strong as those with a leader who serves, but many of them last a long time that way. I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer for that.”

  “Isn’t that what I did by beating them? Make them fear me?”

  Chaney nodded. “Yes. There was no other way, though. Kag respects nothing but brute strength. You had to make him fear you. Sometimes you have to use a little fear. But if you do a good job—show them you can lead the squad with intelligence and vigor, show them you put the group’s needs above the individual’s—they’ll come to respect you.”

  They started winning competitions against the other squads. Not every match, certainly, but more of the races and all but a few of the sword matches.

  Dain wasn’t the fastest runner, but he pushed the others faster, and at swords he often beat two or three of the opposing squad’s best fighters. Slowly, the others each started to improve under Chaney’s tutelage. Even Strale started to win the occasional duel.

  Yulen’s Day marked the shortest day of the year and the midway point in their first year of training. Zek and Niles and most of the other boys received gifts from their parents. Dain’s parents sent nothing. Neither did Kag’s or Falion’s. Chaney, out of his own savings, bought each member of the squad a pair of stout boots.

  “You’d be surprised how important a good pair of shoes is for a soldier, and how often they are neglected,” he said.

  “The other squads said they’re off for a week,” Zek said. “Are we free as well?”

  Dain was looking forward to the time off; Chaney had been putting together extra trainings on their seventh days after the temple service. Some time away from practice might give him space to think.

  Like a boulder rolling down a mountain, Chalmer’s words about his family had dislodged more and more questions in Dain’s mind. He knew many in the Empire resented the Highlands’ status of near-independence, but Chalmer had specifically mentioned his mother’s family, as well. What had they done? Why accuse her of being a traitor? He’d asked Chaney, but the man had claimed ignorance and refused to budge. Old Jes at the
Roan will tell me. If I can get a chance to ask him.

  “I am not allowed to train you until two days after Yulen’s Day. But you can train on your own if you like,” Chaney said. “I am not allowed to make it mandatory, but I am allowed to encourage it. Highly encourage it.”

  The gruff Paladin sat on Kag’s bunk.

  “You’ve all done well, both as a group and as individuals. You’ve made great gains in the footraces and with your swords. You still need to work on fighting together as a squad. As you are now, I give you no better than a break-even chance on passing the trial.”

  “I will be in the practice yard every morning if anyone wants to join me,” Dain volunteered. His questions would have to wait. If Chaney believed they needed the extra training then he would have to lead the others. To his surprise, the rest of the squad—even Falion, who still spoke of leaving—all immediately nodded their assent.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Chaney swiveled toward it. “Come in,” he said.

  The door slipped open and Mern stuck his head inside. Dain hadn’t seen much of the clerk since his disastrous visit to Chalmer. While Dain hadn’t held it against him—Mern couldn’t have known—Chaney had. He’d threatened Mern with life and limb if he ever brought another cadet to Chalmer instead of a sergeant.

  Mern saw Chaney and froze. After a moment of tense silence Chaney sighed and gave a curt nod, and Mern entered.

  “Cadet Dain,” he said. “Someone—erm, several someones—are here to see you. If you’ll follow me.”

  Dain grabbed his cloak and followed Mern to a small anteroom near the temple’s entrance. Maybe Mother and Father have come at last, he hoped, or Thave and Kilian. He wondered how much his brothers and sister had grown. Would he even notice a change in them? Would they see one in him? His pace quickened.

  Instead of his family, a pair of solemn men stood framing a woman with her face tilted toward the floor. The guards, large men with stony faces, wore steel plate over a set of finely woven chainmail and carried both long spears and swords. Their cloaks were a rich purple. This was the same garb he’d seen on the Emperor’s guards.

  His attention turned to the woman between them, and she raised her gaze to his. For a moment, Dain thought it was his mother come to visit him. His heart leapt and he almost ran to her. Then he noticed the woman’s hair—longer and whiter than his mother’s—and that there were thin lines of age around her eyes and mouth. Dain took a halting step toward her and then stopped.

  The woman’s breath caught at his momentary excitement and then his hesitance.

  “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I thought…”

  “Thought what?” the woman said with a smile. “That I was someone else?”

  Dain continued to approach, and a few feet short of her, he stopped. Then he studied her features.

  “For a moment, yes, my lady.”

  “That is understandable. Even when your mother was young she and I shared a strong resemblance. I am Helena al’Westryl, your grandmother, and I have waited a long time to meet you, Dain.”

  Grandmother? He’d never imagined his mother’s parents might be alive. He had only the vaguest memories of his father’s parents—a hard old man with kind eyes and a smiling woman with a crown of white hair.

  Helena smiled again, and Dain thought to hug her, but restrained himself. He didn’t know this woman at all. Still, he missed his family greatly, and there was too much resemblance between her and his mother for her to be anyone else.

  “I am honored to meet you,” he said. “My mother doesn’t speak much of her family. I regret that we couldn’t have met sooner.” At a loss for more to say, he studied the room’s stone floor.

  Helena started to speak, and then stopped. She turned and looked at the fireplace.

  “It’s a bit warm in here; I’m not used to so much heat. Perhaps we can walk outside some. There’s a park near here. Would you mind escorting me there?”

  Helena offered her arm. Dain took it and led the way. He’d ridden Boon through the park before; it was the same one he and Kilian had walked through what seemed like a lifetime ago. Boon loved picking apples from among the groves there. The apples were long gone now, the trees frozen in a thin sheet of ice and frost. Last night’s snowfall covered the grass in a perfect blanket of white. The moon was bright and full and the snow glistened in the soft blue light.

  They walked in silence side by side. Dain’s mind raced with questions, though he was hesitant to give voice to them. Instead he pretended it was his mother come to visit him, and the thought calmed his nerves some.

  “I don’t know where to start,” Helena said finally. “In my mind, I’ve rehearsed this a thousand times, but now that the moment is here, I…”

  Dain said nothing. The snow scrunched beneath his feet.

  “What do you know of your mother and her history?” Helena asked when they were away from the temple. She glanced at the two guards trailing them like silent shadows.

  “Nothing, really,” he replied. Then he remembered the talk between Jes and Kilian at the Red Roan. “Well, I overheard a man talking about trouble with my grandfather. Nothing specific, though.”

  “Nothing specific,” Helena repeated with a small inclination of her head. A dozen steps passed before she spoke again. “Your parents told you little to shield you from the truth.” Her gaze strayed into the distance. “I’m sorry. It is difficult to know how to say these things to you, Dain.” They walked a few more paces, and then Helena seemed to steel herself, drawing her shoulders back and down and standing up straighter. “My husband, your grandfather, Artur al’Westryl, was once called the Emperor’s Sword. The same position your father now holds.”

  She paused and studied Dain for a moment.

  For recognition, he realized, some sign that I know about the Emperor’s Sword at least. He nodded. His father was sometimes called by that title. It designated his leadership over the Empire’s entire army.

  “Artur served under Emperor Krane. Every soldier answered to him, and he answered only to the Emperor himself.” Helena stopped at a bench and Dain took a handful of his cloak and swept the back and seat clear of snow. She smiled her thanks and sat.

  “He was successful—too successful, I’m afraid—and there were all the usual jealousies. Such things happen anywhere there is power. As long as Artur remained victorious his enemies could do nothing, but like an empty field after a rainstorm, each victory sprouted new foes.”

  Dain nodded. His father too had acquired enemies over the years. Even now Dain was learning just how many there were.

  “Emperor Krane planned to expand his lands, and wherever he desired, Artur conquered. Artur believed in the Empire and in Krane, and for a long time, years and decades, he brought the sword to the Empire’s enemies and the Empire grew. But then…” Helena paused. She seemed unsure of how to proceed.

  An owl flew overhead, then perched in one of the bare trees. Its large eyes caught Dain’s and it watched him, unblinking. In the Highlands the owls were revered as the night’s supreme hunters. They were the sigil of the Fifth Legion, a band of elite warriors who roamed the border and fought back the trolls. Several of Dain’s cousins served among them.

  “Then something changed,” Helena finally continued. “The army was off conquering one of the barbarian tribes to the north. And for whatever reason, Artur asked to be relieved from his post. By then he was in his fifties, still in good health, but perhaps he just wanted to be home. I don’t know what caused it; Artur never told me. Maybe he’d grown tired of war and rage and death. I like to think he took the measure of his life and decided he’d done enough, given enough, for the Empire.”

  “Did the Emperor allow him to quit?” Dain asked. “In the middle of a war, just like that?”

  The expression on Helena’s weather
ed but still regal face twisted into a frown. “They quarreled. Krane said Artur owed him one last war, one last victory. So Artur delivered, and the Emperor replaced him with one of his lieutenants, the man Artur specifically trained to replace himself. Artur returned home and, for a few short years, life was wonderful. He and your mother and your uncle Breson would go out riding or hunting or fishing. The land the Emperor gave us in Murgandy was rich, and we lived well.”

  Helena stared off into the distance again. The owl called, searching for its missing mate.

  “In hindsight, I don’t think Artur ever expected it to stay that way. He lived like each day was his last, wringing every drop from it sunrise to sunset. He was always a busy man, always planning how to improve the fields or whether or not to build another granary, always keeping his mind and hands busy. Have you known anyone like that, young man?”

  Dain nodded. In a way, every Paladin, every soldier, lived like that. “Because in war any day might be your last,” he said.

  “Yes. Artur used to say that, too.” Helena gathered her cloak tighter and studied a bank of dark clouds rising in the west. The first stars were emerging and the wind was noticeably icy.

  “Artur was waiting for trouble to find him. Waiting for all the jealousies and old hurts to catch up. I think he believed he deserved it. Deserved some great reckoning for all those soldiers’ lives he’d sacrificed and taken.” She paused and glanced at her guards. Her voice lowered. “Not many know how Pelion came to rule. How his father died.”

  “Lady, you should not,” the nearest guard said. “Don’t raise those demons. Let them lie.” Dain thought he saw real concern flickering in the guard’s eyes.

  “I will tell my grandson his history, Dalanar, and not one word of it false. He deserves to know,” Helena said. She stared at the man with an iron gaze. That too reminded Dain of his mother.