The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) (14 page)

That group of young men was certainly deserving of being paladins,
every one of them. Gerard rode them harder than any other group of trainees
because he wanted to uncover their potential. Individually, he thought perhaps
he had found what each of them could do, or at least had a good measure of it.
As a group, however, they still managed to surprise even him. He had yet to see
the limit of their combined potential, much less test its strength.

He smiled as he remembered his own knot of friendship formed
during his training. Jon de’Serrika, Galen
jo’Varut
,
Jason Frist. In addition to those three, Birch de’Valderat had been one of his
closest friends, for all that they competed fiercely against each other. Gerard
was acknowledged as a better swordsman, but Birch always had a little something
extra to him that raised him in their instructors’ eyes. Far from being
jealous, Gerard had worked to emulate his friend wherever he could, and where
he couldn’t, Gerard found alternative methods and techniques with which he was
more capable. Birch had helped him, too.

Eventually, Gerard had risen in the ranks until he was
acknowledged as the best swordsman the Prism had ever produced. He knew that
wasn’t true, though. Twice now, he’d found someone who could beat him.

The most recent was Garnet, and Gerard was working hard to
see that he fulfilled his potential. The mountainous youth was strong and fast,
he thought on his feet and adapted to every new scenario Gerard threw at him,
and he would probably be one of the finest Red paladins the Prism had ever
seen. Gerard was proud he was the one who’d trained him. Garnet couldn’t beat
Gerard yet, but it was quickly becoming a closer match between them, and Gerard
had no doubts the young man would soon outstrip him.

But before Garnet there had been one other. Malith. He was a
trainee at the same time as Gerard and Birch, but he’d been friends with
neither one of them. His courage was second to none, but Malith had a ruthless
streak in him that nearly prevented him from becoming a paladin at all. In
spite of this, he’d been given his cloak on the same day as Gerard and Birch,
and he’d become a Red paladin also.

The rivalry between Gerard and Malith was
not
a
friendly one, and on more than one occasion they actually came to harsh
physical blows during what should have been a peaceful sparring practice. Twice
Birch had had to separate them before they seriously hurt one another. Just
before Malith had become a White paladin, the contest between the two had
tipped in his favor, and he’d been able to beat Gerard on a consistent basis
whenever the two dueled. But then he’d crossed the Merging, and Gerard had no
chance to even the score between them. Poor bastard was dead by now; he’d
crossed the Merging three years before Birch had, though Gerard was at a loss
how Malith of all people achieved the white cloak of beauty.

Gerard shook away thoughts of the past. He had to decide now
what to do about the present. He knew what the Prismatic Council’s suggestion
was going to be, he was almost sure. They would find some way to eject Trebor
Dok, for all that Gerard had argued for his ability to stay. Barring something
bizarre, five of those six and a handful of others would for certain be full
paladins within a matter of days. Dok was the only real unknown in that area.
Many of the trainees weren’t far behind and would be given the opportunity to
don a cloak, of course, but rarely were there any surprises. Not only were the
instructors sure which ones would become paladins, they had a strong track
record for predicting in which Facet each trainee would find himself. Any
trainee whose cloak didn’t change from its original off-white sheep’s-wool
color to one of the pure hues that represented the Prism’s Facets would be
allowed to keep the cloak until it either changed or he
disenrolled
.
For those who stayed, the cloak eventually would change color, and the trainee
would become a full-fledged paladin.

There were some who would never be given the chance to wear
the cloak. Even if they would have been chosen for a particular Facet, they
were the sort of people the Prism did not want among its ranks. There was one
of those this time. In Gerard’s opinion, Malith should have been one of those…

There he went again, thinking about the past. Malith was
dead and gone, and Gerard no longer had to worry about proving himself. He had
more important matters to deal with. With a scowl, he slipped from the secret
passage into his private office and sat down to deal with a pile of paperwork
nearly a foot high.

“How I
hate
desk work,” he muttered to himself. “This
may turn out to be a blessing in disguise – for me, if not for him.” His scowl
deepened.

With a calming breath, Gerard resigned himself to the course
he had chosen and started filling out evaluations on the trainees.

- 3 -

For the next week, there was a strange atmosphere of
expectancy Danner couldn’t help but notice. Their instructors seemed
particularly intent on their lessons, as though they were imparting crucial
information and there would be no future in which to pass this knowledge. It
made Danner’s skin shiver, and he began to feel uneasy. They trained straight
through the next Sabbatha, and even those traditional days of reset were given
over to study and practice. It seemed twenty five hours in a day was simply not
long enough, and Danner was certain that if their instructors could have found
a way to fill the few hours of sleep they granted with more training, they
would have done so without hesitation.
Erbismanth
changed to
Vintamanth
[16]
without anyone really paying attention –
they were barely aware of what day it was, much less what month.

They were all progressing quickly with their weapons
training, which took even more of their daylight hours than it had before.
Unarmed combat was dropped entirely as they focused on their swordsmanship,
particularly against multiple foes. Morningham did add a new element, in that
he had them focus more on fighting unarmed opponents.

“It may not sound sporting at first,” the Red paladin had
announced, “but then demons don’t normally wield swords, now do they? Not this
side of the Merging. They claw, they bite, they burn, but rarely will you see
them with a weapon in their hands. That doesn’t make the motherless brutes any
less dangerous, though. Most demons will be bigger or faster than any mortal
you’ll face, they’ll almost certainly be stronger, and there’s likely to be a
lot of them at once.”

With more daylight devoted to weapons, even more of their
evenings were given over to classroom exercises, and the eight hours their instructors
had steadfastly reserved for sleep were now a thing of the past. Here, too, the
paladins seemed determined to pass on as much information as possible as
quickly as possible. Lapses in judgment or knowledge were sharply rebuked, and
more than one trainee began to crack under the stress. Even the paladins began
to show signs of strain, sometimes even more than their students. The feeling
in the air was a race against time, a rush toward some unspeakable, inevitable
deadline.

They know something,
Danner mused to himself. Maybe
the war was coming soon.

“Maybe we’re about to graduate,”
Trebor kythed to
him, his mental voice exultant. Danner wasn’t engaged with an opponent just
then, and he glanced around trying to spot his friend, but the disguised denarae
was nowhere in sight. Minutes later, however, Trebor’s words were confirmed.

It was halfway through the week, and word of strange events
had reached even the remote ears of the trainees locked away behind the walls
of the Prism’s headquarters. A troop of three hundred denarae had suddenly
appeared outside the gates of Nocka on
Duday
. No one
seemed to know where they’d come from or why they were there, but the rumors
were flying around the barracks that it had something to do with Trebor’s
unmasking.

This was only partially true, Danner now knew. It had
nothing to do with Trebor’s being revealed as a denarae, but it had everything
to do with Trebor. After they’d returned to the Prism, Trebor revealed that
he’d sent a mental message for help in response to the rumors Alicia related to
them about Merishank and its potential threat. Apparently his call had been
answered.

Danner had been worrying some of the rumors around in his
head before he’d gotten sidetracked watching his instructors and their strange
behavior.

“Speaking of which,
what did you say about graduating?”
Danner asked.

“You’ll see in about thirty seconds,”
Trebor replied.
Danner could practically hear him grinning.

Sooner than Trebor had predicted, a dozen paladins rounded
the corner of the courtyard, several dozen trainees milling along behind them.
Danner quickly spotted Trebor by the conspicuous void of people around him.
None of their friends was in his training group today, so Trebor had been
completely ostracized by the other trainees, as they had expected. Ambling
along behind him and smirking at Trebor’s solitude was
Ashfen
.
The look on Trebor’s face told Danner he was completely unfazed by the sour
nature of his surroundings.

Danner fought down a fresh urge to reach in and pull
Ashfen’s
teeth out through his nostrils. Marc had
speculated that it could be done – with the proper equipment.

“All trainees, cease activity!” a voice barked. As the din
of weapons practice faded, Gerard Morningham parted the crowd with no more than
a look from his scarred face, and he mounted the steps to the large platform he
used for giving mass announcements. Morningham looked particularly venomous
today, and Danner could see he was seething inside, for all his face resembled
sculpted granite on the outside. Danner dared to hope Trebor was right, even as
he dreaded something he couldn’t bring himself to contemplate.

“Good afternoon, trainees,” Morningham said loudly. “For
some of you, that will be the last time you ever hear me call you that.”

Voices began to murmur.

“That does
not
mean you’re allowed to speak, you
log-witted sacks of dakkan dung!” he bellowed. Immediate silence followed his
outburst. “I said
some
of you. This is your first chance to wear a real
paladin’s cloak and find out if you’re suitable to be paladins. A true soldier
of God, when he dons his cloak, will find the reflection of his soul displayed
vividly for all to see. The cloaks will turn from a dingy, sheep-wool white to
one of the pure colors that represents the Facets of the Prism, sealing your
admission to the Prismatic Order. Most of you will have your souls read today,
but only some of you will become members of this holy brotherhood. Those who do
not pass will continue to wear their cloaks until such time as their cloaks
change or they opt to seek their fortunes elsewhere.

“Lest you think this is the end of your training,” the Red
paladin continued balefully, “I should remind you that until they day you die,
a paladin is expected to train and learn to better himself so he may better serve
God and his fellow man. It’s no secret your training has been more rushed than
is the norm, so those of you who join us today will be expected to put forth
extra effort to make up the difference on your own. I may not be your
instructor after today, but I reserve the right to stick my boot up the ass of
any of you who don’t measure up.”

A few trainees smothered laughs in spite of Morningham’s
grim gaze. Danner knew their instructor well enough to know he really meant
what he was saying. The Red paladin probably
would
continue to monitor
everyone’s progress and wouldn’t hesitate to come down on any of his former
trainees he felt weren’t measuring up as paladins.

“When your name is called, step forward and take a cloak
from one of the paladins on the stage. When ordered, don the cloak and pray as
the need takes you.”

Trainees names were called and, one by one, they stepped
forward to one of a dozen paladins on the platform.

“Jacob
Halloway
.
Draiya
Corlotta
.”

“Garnet
jo’Garet
.”

“Marc
Tanus
.”

Danner listened and watched, his heart pounding as his
friends were called to the stage. When Garnet put on his cloak, Danner watched
him closely, anxious to see what happened. It started as a spot between
Garnet’s shoulder blades. Then, like a spreading bloodstain, Garnet’s whole
cloak shifted to the brilliant crimson color worn by the Red Facet.

Danner glanced to Marc and saw his cloak completing the
transformation to a bright orange color. Danner wasn’t really surprised, and he
joined a spontaneous eruption of applause with great enthusiasm.

“Trebor Dok.”

Danner’s eyes whipped to where Trebor was mounting the
stairs. He held his breath, hoping. Then he saw movement in the corner of his
eye and his heart fell. Two paladins from the Prismatic Council, one Yellow and
one Orange, were quickly gliding down through the air on an intercept course.
They landed, one in front of Trebor and one beside Morningham.

“The Prismatic Council has made its decision regarding the
trainee Trebor Dok,” the Yellow paladin of the pair said without preamble. “Dok
has been found guilty of submitting falsifications during his admittance
process and has been summarily ejected from this order’s training. Dok, you
will gather your things and present yourself before the Council in one hour’s
time.”

Danner’s face went crimson with rage, and it wasn’t until he
felt Michael’s restraining hand on his shoulder that he realized he’d taken a
step toward the stage, his fist clenched.