Heart pounding uncomfortably, Dain wanted to protest. He liked Lord Bental well enough; the man seemed the epitome of what he’d believed a Paladin to be, but he did not want to see his father. Too well he remembered the fire in his father’s voice at their parting. Harren had a reputation for holding a grudge—a reputation that was well deserved.
He opened his mouth to argue, but found himself nodding instead. He could hardly choose which orders to follow and which to ignore, no matter how uncomfortable some might be to him personally.
Zek volunteered to join him while the others unpacked their gear and readied themselves for the evening meal.
Dain led the way to his father’s tent. A high banner rose above the tent’s center displaying a snarling wolf’s head over a field of sea blue—the symbol of house Gladstone. It lifted in the breeze, giving the wolf a menacing look. Dain felt his chest tighten.
He stopped in front of the guards at the tent’s entrance. He didn’t recognize either man.
“A message from Lord Bental to Lord Gladstone,” he said.
“I’ll let our lord know. You seem a little young for an assassin, but we’ve had a couple of them in the last month,” the older guard said. He disappeared inside the tent.
Dain felt a gust of warm air when the flap lifted. It carried the smoky scents of food and tobacco. His stomach rumbled. He wished he could get this over with and get back to his own dinner and comrades.
The older guard returned. “He will see you.”
He lifted the flap and Dain led Zek inside. A table stood in the tent’s center. Piles of potatoes, roasts, rolls, and squash were heaped up in bowls and pans. Again, Dain’s stomach grumbled.
The first person he saw was his father. Like a dark thunderhead looming on the horizon, Lord Harren Gladstone stood at the table’s end.
“Messenger indeed,” Harren said. The anger in his expression matched his tone. His dark eyes bored holes into Dain, and it took all of Dain’s effort to return the stare without looking away.
Vaguely, Dain was aware that every eye in the room was on him. He hadn’t recognized the guards outside, but there were several men here he knew well, and they knew him. All conversation had stopped. He halted a few feet short of his father and held the folded parchment out.
“From Lord Bental, my lord,” Dain said formally.
Harren stared at the offered letter. After a few long seconds he snatched it from Dain’s outstretched hand and started to read.
“So Bental is no longer in the fight,” Harren said. “He’s here to observe only and offer a bit of healing when needed. Does he expect a response?”
“No, my lord,” Dain answered.
“Then tell him only that I received his message. Both messages.” Harren threw Dain a weighted look.
Dain nodded. Without another word or glance, he pivoted and marched back outside.
Once they were outside the tent and on the way back to Bental, Zek moved up beside him.
“That was your father?” he asked, eyes wide and breath puffing out in little white clouds.
“Yes.”
“That big bear of a man? He looked ready to smash both of us with his bare hands.”
“He’s killed more than one man that way,” Dain nodded.
“He didn’t even acknowledge you,” Zek said.
“Yes, he did. There was only one letter.”
Zek frowned. “Why did he say both messages, then?”
“Bental could have sent someone else. The second message was me. Bental wanted him to know I was here.”
“Why would he do that? Why would he care?” Zek asked. Dain heaved a sigh and picked up his pace.
“I’m not sure.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The return to Karelton was uneventful. A warm breeze followed them up from the plains and over the rolling hills. By day they marched over the melting snow and at night they practiced with their weapons. Chaney set the pace, keeping it light. It seemed he too was in no hurry to return to the capital.
Dain found himself withdrawing from the others. Zek had spread word of his father’s cold reception. His squadmates were sympathetic, even Trysen and Dremble, but he didn’t know how to respond.
He’d wanted to ask Bental why he’d been sent to his father, but there hadn’t been an opportunity. He considered talking to Chaney about it but then rejected the idea. Chaney was far too busy trying to squeeze as much preparation as he could into each of them before their upcoming test.
The last thing he needs is for me to heap my problems at his feet.
The normal training resumed. No longer lagging behind, the squad held their own against the others. They won two of every three squad battles, and individually—excepting Strale—they won at least half their duels with the other cadets.
Chaney trained them more and more in the Light. The week after they captured the Castle, the priests had come by and tested each of them to make sure they could wield it properly. Fortune favored Dain’s squad in this, as each of them showed at least a hint of ability. After the priests’ visit, most of the other squads lost members.
Niles and Trysen had very little talent for wielding the Light, but under Chaney’s tutelage, they learned to at least charge their weapons. Dremble, Dain, and Zek were the strongest. They quickly picked up on a variety of tasks. In just a few months Dain learned to charge weapons, shield himself, and increase his physical strength with the Light.
Still, Dain felt himself drifting. His mind refused to concentrate—neither the training nor their matches could hold his attention for long. Falion reluctantly took on several of the squadleader’s duties. Dain was content to let him. Oddly, his sword work improved. He fought opponents in pairs or even groups of three and still went undefeated. The other trainees, even those from other squads, groaned when they had to face him and looked for ways to duck out of it. He should have felt proud of this, but his victories were hollow and joyless.
His father would never accept his choice no matter how well he did. He questioned why he’d ever come to Karelton. The others sensed it, he knew. They whispered among themselves. He felt their eyes on him when he wasn’t watching.
On his seventh days off he visited Jes at the Red Roan. He’d busted up a few fights, and the old man seemed to like having him around.
“Why are you here?” Jes finally asked him one day.
“What do you mean?”
“It isn’t that I mind, but you’re a young man. You should be with the other Paladins or out chasing girls. Not here in this dusty old place.”
“Aleesa is here. Maybe I’m chasing her.”
“Maybe.” Jes looked at his granddaughter. “Except you barely look at her no matter how hard she tries to draw your eye.”
“I’ve nowhere else to be,” Dain said. In a great rush, the weight of it all tumbled in on him. “My father hates me, my grandfather was branded a traitor and my grandmother exiled to Illiack, many in the Order don’t want me there, and even my own squad seems to do better with another squadleader.”
Dain fought back the tears. The Roan was empty tonight, but even if he’d been alone in the wilderness, a thousand miles from Karelton, he wouldn’t allow himself to cry. There was still enough pride in him for that.
“I would go home, but the high passes are still snowed shut; they say this is the worst winter they’ve had in fifty years, and I’d have to face my father again eventually. I don’t know what to do.” Dain’s voice cracked as he finished. The tears blurred his vision despite his fight to keep them in.
Jes sat quiet. He waited until Dain regained his composure.
“Artur was a good man. For a short time, I served under him, and I never had a better commander. When he stepped aside, his enemies tore him down. He would never betray the Empire.” Jes looked a
t him then. “You may not believe this, but most men have felt the same as you do now at one time or another. I’ve heard many a soldier say the same things, including myself.
“Why did you enlist in the first place? And don’t give me any of that learning-to-be-a-great-warrior stuff. For that, you could have stayed in the Highlands.”
Dain thought for a moment. It all seemed so long ago since he’d come to Karelton wanting to be a Paladin. He ran a finger through the watery ring his mug had left on the tabletop.
“I wanted to honor my ancestors. I wanted to bring honor to my family name. The Gladstones haven’t sent anyone to the Order in years. Not since uncle Kilian. None of my cousins chose it, nor will they.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Jes said.
Dain sat in silence, thinking on how to put words to it. “I didn’t want to become a warrior at home. I wanted to earn something on my own, not because of who my father is,” he said. “I want my parents to be proud because of me and my own accomplishments. I will not live in my father’s shadow.”
“Only now you realize he was right and you want to give up and return home?” Jes said.
“He was right about everything,” Dain acknowledged. “The Order isn’t what it once was. The Paladins, or many of them, even admit it themselves. My father said the Order was broken. Even Kilian, who served with honor, agreed. They said Chalmer was only a symptom of the wider corruption within, that the Paladins had lost their way, more interested in power and glory than a life of service.”
“Good reasons. Good reasons for both,” Jes said. He drew on his wooden pipe and then exhaled a smoke ring. “But if you angered your father by joining, how could you make him proud by staying? And if you quit now he’ll be disappointed as well. You’ve trapped yourself.”
“No,” Dain said, shaking his head, “he won’t be disappointed. I think he’ll…” His voice trailed off. Jes was right. His father would never, could never respect a quitter, and if he completed the training he’d end up working for Chalmer, whom he despised.
Jes nodded slowly. “I think you need time to think this through. You need to find a better reason.” He stood and smiled at Aleesa, who was wiping down the counter at the other end of the dimly lit room, then hobbled off toward the stairs and bed.
“A better reason to stay, or a better reason to go?” Dain called after him.
“Either. Or both,” Jes said. “Rich or poor, fathers and sons always have their problems. It has always been so. Someday you’ll realize it’s no easier being on the other side.”
Dain sat alone for another hour or so, then he added a log to the hearth and let himself out with a nod to Aleesa. He drew his hood up to block out the world and made his way back to the hall. Not ready to rejoin his squadmates yet, he stopped in the courtyard and found himself staring at the statue of his ancestor.
Metston Gladstone’s eyes were cold and judging. Dain shrank beneath their glare. He wondered if Metston ever doubted. Had the old man followed Palatine, never questioning, or had there been moments of uncertainty and fear?
Rain started to fall; fat drops plummeting down and soaking the garden. Undecided on what to do next, Dain simply watched them. He thought he could almost hear each drop as it landed. They coated Metston’s stony face, dulling its features, and Dain was relieved not to feel the statue’s accusing eyes on him anymore.
He thought about his mother’s family, Helena and Artur. Artur had lived in service to an Empire that, despite his successes, had taken his life over a perceived betrayal. Still, good had come of it. Through Artur, Dain’s parents had found each other. It had cost his father much, though, saving his mother’s family; no doubt it had earned Emperor Pelion’s enmity. Luckily, Harren’s talent for war had kept the Emperor from moving against them.
It’s a trap, though, Dain knew. If father’s martial success ends, or if he tries stepping away from the war, the Emperor will have little use for the Gladstones.
Dain looked again at the garden’s rain-covered statues. Palatine’s dominated the others. For some reason the rain seemed to bring a soft white glow to it. Father made a choice to save Artur’s family, and in doing so placed his own head in the noose.
Dain’s thoughts turned to his squad—to Falion and Strale and Kag and Zek and the others. They need me, as I need them, he realized. Even Chaney needed him in a way. The grizzled man had been drinking more again of late. No matter what the Order had become, his squad—his brothers—needed him. Could it be that the Order itself needed him, as well?
If the Paladins were no longer what they once were, perhaps there was a way to restore them, a way to reclaim their lost honor.
On the surface, the task seemed impossible. How could he restore the Order alone? But was he alone? He didn’t have to be. He had his squad and friends in Bental and Chaney and even in the Sovereign. There were surely many of the priests and priestesses, as well, and other men and women who longed for the old days of true honor and virtue.
He would find and gather them. If he succeeded, if he could help change the Order back to what it was intended to be, perhaps he too could prove invaluable to the Empire; one more way to keep his father’s enemies at bay.
Dain looked again at the rain-coated statue of Metston. He couldn’t help redeem the Order unless he remained. Like all change, it could come only from within.
Jes was right. He couldn’t do this just for family honor or personal glory. He needed a better reason, and now he believed he’d found it.
He had to take the Order back from those who’d sullied it and help to restore the Order to what it was meant to be.
The following day, Dain was the first one awake. He pounded through the morning run, even pushing Falion for first. During the duels, he fought with renewed vigor, offering advice to Strale and Dremble while the others faced off.
He continued on like that for days, pushing the others, encouraging them, and offering support as he could. In the next squad encounter, an uphill charge in formation, he listened as Falion outlined a plan.
“Just like we did last time. Straight up the middle. Kag and Dain can bash their way through. The rest of us just have to trail in their wake.”
Dain cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “If Zek and Strale swing around the end, they can flank them.”
It was the first advice he’d offered in weeks, and the others glanced at each other in surprise.
“Can we hold out that long?” Trysen asked.
“Kag and I can hold the center,” Dain said. “We’ll take fewer losses.”
As the exercise began, Dain led the charge up the other squad’s center. Quite unexpectedly, the instructors had arranged a trap for them. Instead of facing squad three alone, squad four had been sent in to reinforce squad three, as well. Dain and Kag fought like madmen, but their attack blunted and they started to lose ground. Niles tripped over a stone and got separated from the others and went down under a pile of attackers.
A blow stung Dain’s shoulder and another clipped his knee. He refused to yield. Kag took a slash to the stomach and doubled over. Dain stepped to the side to cover for him. Dremble closed ranks as well.
Two more attackers fell beneath their blows, but a full squad’s worth remained. Sensing weakness, they pressed in, and Dain found that they had been squeezed into a tight corner. Though it protected them from behind, there was no further space to retreat into.
Falion cried out as a wooden sword stung his hand. He dropped his sword and his attacker readied for a second strike, one that would end it, but before he could swing, another sword slapped his head from behind.
The house three squadleader shouted a warning, and then Strale struck him down as well. Zek took down another.
The remainder of house three and four pivoted to face their new threat. Momenta
rily forgotten, Dain struck down two of them in an eye-blink. Dremble and Falion each took down another.
In a few minutes more the match was over. Chaney crossed the field toward them.
“How did you know about the trap?” the older Paladin asked. “No other house has come out of this test victorious yet.”
“It was Dain’s idea,” Falion said. He clapped Dain on the back and smiled. “He suggested we split up to reduce our losses.”
“You didn’t know we had two squads ready for you?” Chaney asked.
“No,” Dain said, panting. “Just figured we could win easier if we attacked from two directions.”
The Sovereign approached. It was rare that he observed portions of the training.
“Strong performance by your squad today, Brother Chaney. They are doing well.”
“Thank you, sir. They will be ready for the trials next month.”
“Good. We will soon need every Paladin we can get,” the Sovereign said with a nod. White robes billowing in the wind, he headed away across the field.
The last few weeks before the trials passed quickly; too quickly for Dain to even notice them. He drove himself well beyond anything he’d attempted before. Bruises piled up in layers on his body where practice swords struck him. His hands grew more calloused, cracking and bleeding and cracking again. Dain bathed them in salt brine daily, toughening the skin into leather.
Working together, he and Falion made a formidable team as squadleaders. Dain often came up with an overall plan for each test, with Falion offering suggestions for refinement.
Chaney granted them a half-week’s reprieve before the trials. The day before the first test he called them into a short run and a quick sword lesson. Afterward, he sat them down and spoke to them.
“As of today, I am no longer your instructor,” he said. “Tomorrow morning you will assemble in the chapel. Someone will collect you and guide you through the trial to become my brothers.”
Paladin's Fall: Kingdom's Forge Book 2 Page 25