Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2

by Kade Derricks

  The other half of house one’s members were second or third generation Paladins. They were also at the very upper end of the age limit. It was these boys who carried the nobles’ favored house to victory.

  Lankirk’s own son, Gustaf, stood half a foot taller than even Kag. Like Dain, he was undefeated in duels, and was widely accounted the finest sword in the class. Quint was believed to be the second best, and where Gustaf was strong as an avalanche, Quint was quick as a viper. Belsen and Kinford, twin sons of Lord Graven, field commander of the Paladins fighting in Mierten, finished off the group; both of them were sturdy and tough.

  Two bells rang, and instead of charging in Dain led his squad down into a copse of trees nearby. They had spent the afternoon preparing a battering ram for the Castle’s front gate. Most groups had gone for ladders and ropes, which were easily obtained but which could also be picked off individually. No group had tried the ram yet, and Chaney had just told them of the siege in Thistleton—specifically how the Emperor’s army had taken the first wall with a great ram.

  If the gate fell, they could storm in three abreast and protect each other instead of getting picked off the walls one by one like a dog picking fleas. Dain had studied the gate when they’d defended the Castle; he knew the door wasn’t strong. A few solid shots would bring it down.

  Of course, that wasn’t the ram’s true purpose.

  “Alright, how’s the ram look?” Dain asked.

  “Good. Kag could use a little more girth, but good,” Falion said with a grin.

  “Add some straw, then, and get going. And put more leaves to the fires! I want them blind and choking on smoke the whole time. The others will be waiting.”

  “You sure this will work?” Falion asked, the grin falling away from his thin face.

  “No, and if it doesn’t we’ll look awful foolish. I’ll send up a shout when we’re ready. Strale and Zek will carry the front, and Dremble and I will hold the rear. Remember, once we’re inside, protect each other and hold tight. We have to buy the others time.”

  On their shoulders, the four carried the heavy log up toward the castle, the strawman recruits holding the middle. They started slowly, but when the gate was just yards away they surged faster into a trot.

  The log hammered against the front gate. Splinters flew from both ram and door. The hinges rattled violently.

  “AGAIN,” Dain yelled.

  “Heave!” Dremble cried.

  The log swung forward. The door cracked, a narrow strip of daylight running top to bottom.

  “It’s breaking! Hit it harder,” Dain yelled again.

  “Heave!” Zek hollered.

  The ram swung. Collided. The crack widened. The strip of daylight was the width of a finger now. The ram swung. The gate smacked open, both halves falling inward.

  Belsen and Kinford stood at the front, and Gustaf and Quint waited behind them. From the corner of his eye, Dain saw the four nobles on the wall above. So far so good. All of squad one was concentrated here.

  “Lot of work just to get bottled up at the gate,” Gustaf said. He smiled.

  Wooden swords whistling, Belsen and Kinford lunged forward.

  “HEAVE,” Dain roared. He and the others bulled ahead, still carrying the ram.

  “Look out!” Quint cried, stumbling.

  The ram knocked the first two defenders aside and Quint took the brunt of it in the face. He sprawled back, tripping Gustaf.

  “Drop and draw,” Dain said. The log fell, and squad five drew their own swords.

  Dain clapped Belsen on the head soundly as he started to rise. Instead of facing four defenders, only Gustaf remained.

  “Get down here and help!” Gustaf ordered. “We hold the high ground, and this is still winnable.” The four nobles raced to the stairs as Dain fought him. Strale moved to Dain’s flank and Gustaf was forced to give ground. Dremble and Zek met the nobles at the base of the stairs, keeping them trapped and out of the way.

  “What, Gladstone, you needed help to face me?” Gustaf taunted. “Seems like all I’ve heard about lately is how you’re the best with a sword, but it’s taking two of you to match me.”

  “We aren’t matching you. We’re keeping you busy while the others finish up,” Dain said.

  “Finish up? Even with our fallen we’ve got you outnumbered; there’s only four of your squad remaining and five of us.”

  “Actually, we’re all still fighting. I’ve got half the squad coming in from behind the castle.”

  “Liar! We counted all eight of you carrying the…” His voice trailed off, and Dain saw his eyes shift to the ram.

  ‘Niles’ lay tangled beneath the heavy wood, a handful of straw bursting from his stomach.

  “Oh, you thought that was a real person, did you?” Dain laughed. “Look around, Gustaf, your squad is already down. You’ve lost.”

  Gustaf’s eyes darted around, frantic. His squad was indeed down, unconscious beneath the ram or scattered along the mock castle’s ramparts. Gustaf yelled, charging toward Dain.

  Dain readied himself to duck and counter. Gustaf was angry, out of control and off-balance. He’d strike hard and be completely unprepared for a counter.

  Gustaf started to move, and then Dain heard a loud thunking noise. Gustaf staggered to his knees, fell flat, and lay facedown in the mud.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Kag smiled from behind him.

  After their victory, squad five gathered for a private celebration in the dining hall. A smiling Chaney joined them.

  “How in the Light did you come up with this?” he asked. He was tossing a straw head up in the air and catching it like a child’s ball.

  “House seven,” Falion explained. “By hitting the castle from two sides. Squad seven almost took it from squad four that way.”

  “Would have,” Dain offered, “if they hadn’t put all their best fighters on one side.”

  “So how did that lead into straw men?”

  “We thought about sending our best fighters over one side, then remembered the Battle of Kilney Heights,” Dain said.

  “Where the barbarians left hundreds of small fires burning at night to fool their enemies into thinking they were still encamped,” Dremble continued. “We needed to keep their eyes focused on the gate and off the back wall. Couldn’t think of a better way than the strawmen.”

  “Fooled me, and the instructors, as well,” Chaney said with a low chuckle. “I thought you were all at the front gate.”

  “The smoke helped,” Dain said. “It was Falion’s idea. We had all those piles of damp leaves burning. We soaked them in tar before lighting them. It was bad from where you were, but it was even worse on top of that wall. It kept them hunkered down and blind to our movements.”

  “How did you scale the wall so quietly?” Chaney asked Kag.

  “I tossed Falion over,” the big boy said simply.

  “Tossed Falion over?”

  “Yeah.” Kag held his hands together and made the motion of heaving upward. “He’s the lightest, other than Strale. After Fal cleared the wall he dropped a rope down for the rest of us.”

  “Unconventional. What did Gustaf say when he saw the second group?”

  Falion and Kag exchanged glances.

  “He never saw the second group. Kag hit him from behind with a blackjack as he was rushing Dain.”

  Kag set the short club on top of his empty plate. For a moment, Dain thought the sergeant might be angry. Blindsiding a recruit wasn’t prohibited, but it wasn’t honorable, either.

  Chaney picked up the club, threw back his head, and laughed. He roared until tears rolled through the stubble on his cheeks.

  “I think,” Chaney wheezed, trying to rein in his laughter, “I think I’ll keep thi
s as a souvenir, if you don’t mind, Kag.” Kag leaned back in his chair and beamed.

  “What did the other Paladins think?” Dain asked. “Will this help our chances at the trial?”

  “It won’t help your chances; not much, at least. But it does show that you are capable of thinking outside the ordinary. They’ll take you seriously from now on.”

  “They weren’t before?” Zek said, face falling.

  “Honestly, no. They were laughing at you. Chalmer and Lankirk had a wager on whether any of you would even clear the wall.”

  “Laughing at us,” Kag said. He shook his head and his face reddened.

  “Sergeant Chaney.” A robed clerk Dain didn’t recognize stood behind Falion. “Several of the other sergeants would like a word with you.”

  “Excuse me, lads,” Chaney said, pushing back from the table. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  The squad was left alone in the quiet dining hall.

  “What do you think that’s about?” Dremble asked.

  “Probably nothing,” Kag said. “Maybe they just want to congratulate him on his win.”

  “If it was nothing, they would have waited,” Dain said. “They interrupted us because it isn’t nothing.”

  Chaney reentered the hall almost immediately, his face ashen.

  “Where did you get the tar?” he asked.

  “What?” Trysen said.

  “The tar for the leaves. Where did you get it,” Chaney repeated.

  “Falion and I found some in the storeroom. We didn’t think anyone would mind, not if it was used for training,” Trysen said.

  “Wait here.” Chaney’s jaw clenched tight and he went back outside.

  A few short moments later, Chalmer stepped into the room, followed by a half-dozen other Paladins, including Lankirk. Chaney followed them.

  “Gentlemen, congratulations on your victory,” Chalmer said with fake cheer. “Unfortunately, someone has stolen a barrel of tar from the storeroom. Tar that was to be used to reroof the west wing this spring.” He put a hand on Falion’s shoulder. “You boys wouldn’t happen to know who took it, would you?”

  We can’t lie, Dain thought. If they lied and were then found out, they’d be disciplined severely. What to say, then? The look on Chalmer’s face told him all he needed to know.

  They already know. This is merely a trap to see if we will try lying.

  “We took it, sir,” he said. “We used it in our training exercise today. The mission was open; there were no rules against it. Our only orders were clear: Conquer the Castle by any means.”

  “Not so open as to allow theft of property,” Lankirk said. “Or clubbing someone while their back is turned.”

  His eyes fell on the blackjack lying at the table’s center.

  “I’m afraid there will have to be consequences for this, boys,” Chalmer said. “The price of tar is five talents, plus another two for transport. I think we will add on another one just to make it an even eight. Each of you now owes the Order a golden talent.”

  “You can’t expect these boys to pay that,” Chaney started.

  “Of course we can,” Chalmer said, holding up a hand for silence. “Or would you allow theft from the Brigades, Sergeant?” Chalmer and the others moved toward the door. “The gold is due at the end of the month. See that you have it.”

  “End of the month…that’s three weeks! These lads can’t possibly pay that in that time,” Chaney protested.

  “How much?” Dain interrupted. He stood and stared at Chalmer across the room. In his chest, fury was arcing like lightning.

  “A golden talent each. Weren’t you listening, Gladstone?”

  “Not that. How much did you lose betting against us?”

  Chalmer’s face colored. “Insolent bastard. You think the order owes you. You think your father can buy your way out of this. I’ll see you cast out, little lordling.”

  Lankirk grabbed Chalmer’s arm and pulled him from the room.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “And just where are we going to get a talent each in three weeks?” Dremble moaned.

  “I don’t know,” Dain said. He stared at the ceiling and tried to come up with an answer.

  “Trysen and I could barely pay the talent each to get into the Order,” Dremble said. “It took us two years to save up that much.”

  “I don’t think we can sell enough hot cakes in a few weeks to cover a talent each,” Trysen said.

  “It’s eight talents,” Dain said.

  “What difference does that make?” Dremble said.

  “A talent each isn’t the same as eight talents. It’s the difference between moving forward as individuals and moving ahead as a squad. We are a squad. We need eight talents.”

  “What about your father?” Strale said. “He could help.”

  “It’s a three-week ride from here to Castle Gladstone. That’s in good weather, and despite the warmth here, it won’t be clear the whole way—there are drifts several feet thick around the Highlands. And then there’s the fact that even if a message got there in time, he couldn’t possibly get the talents back to us.” And the fact that I don’t want to give Chalmer the satisfaction of seeing me take aid from my father, Dain thought, kicking at the post of his bed with a boot tip.

  “Niles and I could probably get a talent each,” Zek said.

  “Well that helps you,” Kag said. “It doesn’t do anything for the rest of us. If we can’t pay, Falion and I will likely get sent to Illiack.”

  “Go ahead and get them,” Dain said, ignoring Kag. “Then we can focus on the six more.”

  “We could steal them,” Falion offered. “There are a few merchants who keep that much and more on hand, and with all of us it would be easy.”

  “We aren’t stealing,” Dain said.

  “Just making some speculation. It doesn’t matter much to me one way or the other. If we can’t pay I’ll just make my escape.”

  “Learned enough, have you?”

  “Not really, but that doesn’t matter if it’s a choice between running and Illiack.”

  Dain paced across the room. There had to be someone who could help.

  “There isn’t much I can do,” the Sovereign said. “The judgment was both lawful and well within Lord Chalmer’s rights.”

  “Is there nothing you can do to help, truly, sir?” Dain asked. “We can have the money, but we just can’t meet the deadline.”

  The Sovereign stood and studied the dying sun out the window. Dain squirmed in his seat, eager to be off. If the Sovereign wouldn’t help, perhaps he could find what he needed elsewhere. After a time he thought the Sovereign had forgotten him. He started to rise, and felt Chaney’s calloused hand come down on his shoulder.

  Dain settled back into his chair. Chaney had known the Sovereign for years. They were good enough friends that he had arranged for the Sovereign to see them. If he believed waiting was required, Dain would trust his judgment.

  “I cannot loan you the money myself. That wouldn’t be proper,” the Sovereign said. “But I could pay you in advance of a mission.”

  “A mission, sir?” Dain asked.

  “On occasion, when the Paladins are busy with more weighty matters, we task squads with missions to fulfill.”

  “My lord, these boys aren’t ready for that sort of thing,” Chaney said. “You can’t send them into danger. They aren’t even half-trained.”

  The Sovereign waved a dismissive hand. “Rest your mind, Chaney. I wasn’t thinking of anything truly dangerous. I’ve a post run to Thistleton.”

  “Makes sense,” Chaney nodded. “Something trivial that no Paladin can be spared for.”

  “Precisely,” the Sovereign agreed. “Does that sound like something you could t
ake on, young Gladstone? Though I suspect you won’t have any other options. Borrowing money here in Karelton will prove quite difficult given your family name.”

  “My name? I would think it a benefit, not a hindrance.”

  “I’m afraid you are incorrect. The more powerful a man is, the more enemies he gathers. Your father is no different. Friends he has, as well, but I wouldn’t go asking for favors without first knowing the intricacies and intrigues of house politics in these parts.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Dain said.

  “You shouldn’t have to, but it is the way of the world. Everyone has their burden to bear. Some of your friends come from criminal backgrounds, some from poor upbringings, others still have their own personal demons in their pasts that plague them. By the Light’s teachings we should all be brothers here, united in both spirit and purpose, but I’m afraid that isn’t the case anymore, if it ever truly was.”

  The Sovereign smiled—a weary stretch of the lips, and one Dain was sure he’d offered many times.

  “I’ll accept your mission, sir. What will we do, and when do we leave?” Dain asked. Convincing the others won’t be too difficult. They’ll likely view it as a grand adventure.

  “Good,” the Sovereign said. “I’ll pay the debt now and send for you when the time comes to send the post.”

  The squad was unanimous in accepting the mission with barely any questions asked. Any chance to get out of the barracks was welcome, it seemed.

  Three weeks after meeting with the Sovereign, they left at dawn, Dain carrying a tube of rolled and oiled leather. It hung around Boon’s saddle horn. Inside were the Sovereign’s wax-sealed instructions for the Paladins still fighting on the Empire’s northern border.