Satan's Gambit (The Barrier War Book 3) (29 page)

Brad sniffed
back tears that threatened to leak from his eyes. Anolla was only slightly more
restrained, and her lower lip trembled as Garet stared at them radiating
intense disappointment.

“W..We just
wanted to be like you,” Brad said with tears in his voice.

Garet’s glare
didn’t lessen in the face of his children’s weeping, if anything it deepened
even more.

“Then show some
backbone and responsibility for your actions,” Garet said in a hard voice. “You
two are turning around right now and going back home. Your mother can deal with
you until I’ve finished my business.”

Behind him,
Garnet stirred.

“With all due
respect, dad,” Garnet said in a polite, but firm voice, “I would prefer they
stay with the company until we cross the Binding, then they can accompany our
messengers on their way back to Nocka. If nothing else, it will ensure they
do
go home.”

Garet turned to
regard his eldest son and considered his words. Finally, he nodded.

“Very well,”
Garet said, then turned back to the twins, “but I expect the both of you to
stay out from underfoot. This is a camp of war, not a playground. If I hear of
either of you so much as sleeping in a place that gets in someone’s way, I’ll
spank your bare asses like unruly children while the entire camp looks on. Are
we clear on this?” Garet asked.

They mumbled a
reply.

“Are we clear?”
Garet thundered.

“Yes, sir,” Brad
said loudly.

“Yes, father,”
Anolla said.

“Now go see the
quartermaster with the paladins, and he’ll make sure you have proper gear in
the meantime,” Garet said.

“Oh, but we
brought…” Brad started.

“Now!” Garet barked
in a voice that brooked no argument or hesitation. The twins leapt to obey his
command and hurried toward the paladin encampment. As soon as they were out of
sight and earshot, Garet began to chuckle softly.

“Dad?” Garnet
asked, confused.

“They’re my
kids, alright,” Garet said, still laughing. “Damned if it doesn’t seem to run
in the family.” He saw the look on Garnet’s face. “You probably don’t remember
this, Garnet, but when you were about nine years old, you stowed away in one of
the carts we took with us on a demon-hunting
jintaal
. I found you that
first day and had to ride all the way home to leave you with your mother.”

Garnet stared
evenly, then finally gave his father a sheepish smile.

“Did I really?”

“Oh yes,” Garet
replied. “Your mother gave us both the rough side of her tongue, which is to
say she put you in tears for scaring her and nearly made me promise to chain
you down to keep you from doing it again. I guess it’s only natural. I snuck
away no fewer than five times trying to follow my father when he was a
mercenary in Merishank. The last time I was fifteen, and he let me stick around
instead of dragging me back home. It was the first time I’d ever seen real
combat, and I nearly died twice. Scared me so bad I didn’t leave home again until
I decided to enroll in the Prism.”

Garet pointed
one finger at his son.

“You just be
careful when you start making little warriors of your own,” he said. “I’ve been
expecting these two to try something like this for years, and I was almost
concerned that they hadn’t. Thought maybe I’d bred a pair of cowards. I
wouldn’t have been surprised if Bronk was with them, but I’m glad he stayed
home with your mother.”

“So you’re not
mad at them?”

“Oh, I’m
furious,” Garet said, grinning, “but I’m also damn proud. I was trying to
figure out how to keep the two of them around without sacrificing my show of
anger, so thanks for that particular solution, son.”

“You’re not
thinking of letting them come with us, are you, dad?”

Garet shook his
head.

“If it was a run-of-the-mill
jintaal
, I might,” he said, “but this is too important, too damn
big
to be worried about them hanging around. Your brother’s well-trained, but
that’s all he is – trained, and Anolla’s no better off. By the time you left
home, you’d at least seen fighting against bullies and that group of thieves
that came ‘round a few years ago that you dealt with. He’s never seen anything
resembling real combat, and we need seasoned warriors to see us through this
war. No, I’ll let them hang around the camp for the next couple days until we
reach the Binding, just to let them get a taste of the
adventure
,” he
said with a snort. “That’ll whet their appetite for when we return, and they’ll
be ready for whatever happens after the war.”

“You’re assuming
we’re going to win,” Garnet pointed out.

“Of course I am.
No sense in going into battle with anything less than complete confidence,”
Garet said. “And if I’m wrong, I won’t be around to find out anyway, so what
have I got to lose?”

Father and son
shared a subdued chuckle. Just then, Trames wandered by peering intently into a
small honey pot.

“What’s he got
in that thing, anyway?” Garet asked, perplexed. “I’ve seen him talking to it
all damn day.”

“Just air, as
far as I can tell,” Garnet answered with a shrug. “Kala said it wouldn’t be the
first time Trames did something like this, and just to let him go with it.”
They watched Trames until he wandered into the denarae camp. They shared a
quick laugh at the old man’s eccentricity, then they put on matching masks of sternness
and went in search of the twins.

- 2 -

Later that day,
the small, hodgepodge army came to an impressively large gorge passable only at
a massive stone bridge that spanned the narrowest portion of the gap. The
bridge was made from enormous blocks of stone fitted carefully together, with
no sign of wood or steel in the construction. Carved into two thick pillars of
stone on either side of the bridge were two warriors, an elf and a dwarf. The
life-sized depictions wielded halven and maul in turn, and their stern
expressions forced all who would cross to pass between their eternal vigil. The
two warriors were so lifelike, Flasch half expected the stone figured to leap
forward and challenge the first men to reach them. A broad arch spanned the
pillars to which the two warriors were attached, carved to resemble two tree
branches intertwining.

The bridge
itself was unadorned and plain, but to Flasch, it was like calling a deer or a
faerer “plain”. Every surface was practically seamless and so elegantly shaped
that not a stone looked as though it didn’t belong there, as though the bridge
as a whole would feel less complete without it. The simplistic elegance of the
bridge gave it a grace and beauty that made them all gaze in wonder.

“Can you imagine
how much it must have cost to build something like that?” Hoil asked of no one
in particular. “I know a thing or two about construction, and that thing is
sheer genius. The cost alone of the architect who must have designed it…”

“Well,” Flasch
said with casual cynicism, “I guess that goes to show you just what you can
accomplish with massive amounts of money. Anything is possible for a price,
even breathtaking beauty.”

“Does the bridge
have a name?” Hoil asked. “Something like this surely would be christened and
remembered somewhere.”

“It is the
Li’Ekkien Bridge,” a soft voice said from behind them. They all turned to stare
at Siran, who watched them with the expressionless gaze they had all come to
expect from the soft-spoken but lethal elven commander.

“Li’Ekkien, huh?”
Hoil asked. “Doesn’t that have something to do with your stone workers?”

“The
Stoneweavers, yes,” Siran said. “The bridge was designed by a dwarven architect
and driven by his engineers, but mostly built by our Weavers. It was the last
cooperative effort between our two peoples for over three hundred years and one
of the greatest bridges ever built in Lokka.”

“Still must’ve
cost a bundle,” Flasch muttered.

He turned as he
heard Marc chuckling behind him.

“Something
funny, booker?” he asked. For some reason, Flasch was in a very cross mood, and
he didn’t feel like being teased.

“I remember
reading about this bridge in a book back at the Prism,” Marc said, shaking his
head and ignoring Flasch’s irritability. “Just laughing at what you said about
the price.”

“Yeah, and?”

“This bridge was
so under-funded it was a miracle it ever reached completion,” Marc said. “The
cooperation between elves and dwarves at the time was rather short-lived, and
when it ended so did the funding. The architect and builders were determined to
finish it, even though they hadn’t gotten past the design stage.

“They had
originally envisioned something grand and magnificent and probably God-awfully
gaudy,” Marc said, warming up to one of his favorite pastimes, “but that went
out the door with the money. Instead, they designed the bridge along such
simple principles that were really all they could afford, and the result is
what you see before you. It’s so simple, so pure, it’s breathtaking.”

For some reason,
that only made Flasch feel worse. He crossed the bridge in silence, ignoring
the hushed conversations of his friends around him.

Behind him, one
of the dwarven paladins was silently weeping as he drank in the sight of the
bridge. Siran noted the tears and bowed respectfully to the dwarf before
leading his men across. Most of the humans and denarae who crossed did so
silently, as though they trod on holy ground.

- 3 -

Deeta watched
Flasch with hard eyes as his gaze followed the new young girl about the camp.
Deeta was conveniently concealed behind a wagon parked next to the camp fire
she was tending, so the Violet paladin was unaware of her scrutiny. Brican and
his wife Caeesha lay near to Flasch, but they were absorbed in a whispered
conversation that apparently involved a lot of stifled laughter on Caeesha’s
part.

The young girl
walked by again, and still Flasch’s eyes absently followed her.

“What’s she got
that I don’t?” Deeta muttered to herself. “What can she offer him that I can’t?
Nothing. She’s not as pretty as I am. She won’t make him feel and respond like
I can. She’s just a country bumpkin.”

Talking made her
feel a little better about it, and she had almost managed to convince herself
that the young girl Anolla – what a country name! – was no threat, when she glanced
back at Flasch and saw him still staring after her with a confused sort of
intensity on his face, as though he was trying to figure her out just by
watching her. Then tears sprang to Deeta’s eyes and she went right back to
down-talking the plain-faced woman.

“Her face is too
masculine,” she muttered. “Her breasts are…” well, her breasts were perfect, as
far as Deeta could tell… “they’re too small. Flasch likes larger breasts, like
mine. She’s a simple country girl, and doesn’t know how to handle a good man
like him.”

On and on she
went, but no matter how long she went over it, always she ended up feeling a
little worse and a little less secure than before. She looked into the night
sky as though for inspiration, but saw only the full face of Sin, gleaming
balefully on the camp. Deeta looked quickly away, discomfited by the presence
of the Fright Moon overhead.

How do I keep
him with me?
she thought in desperation.
I love him. How can I make him
stay with me?

Deeta looked
around the camp desperately, looking for some sort of inspiration. Her gaze
fell on Alicia.

Without
bothering to consider the ramifications of her actions, Deeta abruptly surged
to her feet and walked with apparent confidence toward Flasch.

He’ll do the
right thing, too,
Deeta thought positively to herself.
He’s a good man.
He will.

When she reached
Flasch’s side, Deeta knelt by Flasch and gazed up at him with smoldering eyes.

“Hey,” he said
lightly, looking down at her. There was something missing from his eyes,
something that made her heart ache.

“Flasch, I
wasn’t going to tell you, what with the war and everything,” Deeta said, just
loudly enough so that others could overhear her, “but I figure… well, with
Alicia and all…”

Flasch frowned.
“What’s wrong, Deeta?”

Deeta sucked in
a breath, then sighed it out. A few feet away, Brican abruptly stiffened and
whipped his head toward Flasch and Deeta.

“I’m pregnant,
Flasch,” Deeta said finally.

Conversations
around them abruptly slowed and silenced, and dozens of eyes turned toward
Deeta and a stunned Flasch.

“You’re what?”
he asked.

“Pregnant, my
love,” she said. “You have a son on the way, or a daughter.”

Flasch was
silent for a long moment. He glanced once toward Brican, and then he stared
deeply into her eyes as though searching for something. Deeta put all of the
sincerity and desire for him she could in her eyes, trying to convince him by
sheer willpower.

“No,” Flasch
said softly. “No you’re not, Deeta.”

She stared at
him in shock.

“Wh… Yes I am,
Flasch,” she protested. “I’m carrying your baby.”

Flasch shook his
head. “No, my dear, you’re not, and you know it. You’re not pregnant, Deeta,
and pretending otherwise is a horrible deceit to try and pass on me.” He
glanced over her shoulder at Brican, who nodded sadly.

“But… but,
Flasch, my love,” Deeta whimpered.

“No, not your
love, Deeta,” Flasch said, shaking his head again, “and the mere fact that you
would do this to me proves it. Maybe I was blind and didn’t see you could be
this type of person, but I can see that person clearly now, and she’s not
someone I could ever love.”

Tears spilled
out from Deeta’s eyes, and she sobbed as she clutched for one of his hands and
held it to her cheek. Flasch left it there for a moment, then firmly removed
his hand. The Violet paladin was normally so bright and flippant, it was easy
to forget he had a side that was grim and serious. Deeta was forcibly reminded
as his fingers left her cheek.