The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) (5 page)

Instead, Michael was tripped three times crossing the
practice yard, apparently through clumsiness. Marc had drawers banged painfully
into his side and chairs backed into him in the library. Twice people tried to
sneak up on Flasch to pull some stunt, but the sharp-eared former thief heard
them and found unobtrusive ways to deter them. Trebor’s towel and clothes were
stolen while he was cleaning himself in the bathhouse, but he simply kythed to
Danner, who brought him a spare set of clothes and an extra towel.

The only ones who remained unmolested were Danner and
Garnet. Danner figured they were just too scared of Garnet to seriously
consider acting against him, but it took him a while to figure out why he
wasn’t the target of any pranks. Eventually he realized that
Ashfen
and the others wanted to drive people away from him
by making it known that associating with Danner – and his friends by default –
would lead to such treatment. Indeed, people seemed to go out of their way not
to be seen as too friendly with Danner, a fact which pained him greatly.

Danner’s unique heritage set him apart in his own mind, and
at the time when he most needed to be reassured he was still a normal part of
human society, people were being driven away from him as if he were a plague.
Normally it wouldn’t bother him, but for once in his life Danner needed
reassurance that he was not something freakish, or at least not so different
that he was ostracized. His friends provided him his only comfort. They stood
mute in their acceptance of Danner, as though the idea of him not belonging was
not even worth talking or thinking about. In the meantime, they bore the
antagonism with stoic silence.

The one form of retaliation Garnet did suffer came late in
the week, when rumors began circulating that he had criticized Morningham’s
fighting and thought the Red paladin was too old to really fight. Because of
their special connection to the Red paladin, Danner was sure Morningham would
know the rumors were false, but from his reaction, Danner began to have second
thoughts.

That
Heptday
, Morningham
approached Garnet, bowkur notably absent as he carried a naked blade in his
hand. Morningham’s face was horribly scarred over every inch of flesh, creating
a crisscrossing web of red lines that pulsed with the inner fire of his fury.

“Trainee
jo’Garet
!” he bellowed,
less than ten feet from the target of his fury.

“Yes, sir,” Garnet replied, disengaging from his opponent.
The Red paladin he’d been facing was torn between anxiety at the look on
Morningham’s face and relief that he wouldn’t be embarrassed again by facing
Garnet. Most men signing up to join the Prismatic Order already had some level
of combat training, and some even had a smattering of an education. Garnet’s
father, Garet, had trained his son, and Garnet had taken that training and
worked wonders. In only a few short weeks, he was acknowledged as the best
swordsman of the trainees, and it was common knowledge that he could outstrip
almost any paladin on the field.

But that reputation was working against him as Morningham threw
himself at Garnet in a furious rage. Garnet ducked the instructor’s rush and
dropped his weighty bowkur, then snatched up a blade of equally large
proportions from a nearby weapons rack. Danner wasn’t sure he could even swing
the weapon Garnet had chosen, but the mountainous youth wielded the blade with
practiced ease.

No words were exchanged, and Danner glanced around to see if
anyone was going to act to stop the madness unfolding before him, but a group
of paladins held back the trainees and even a few other paladins who would have
intervened. Those blocking had a knowing look in their eye, as if this was all
staged and had been prearranged.

“It was,”
Trebor said inside Danner’s mind.
“Just
not with Garnet.”

“Are you going to tell
him that?”
Danner asked urgently.

“No.”

Garnet met Morningham’s next charge with an upraised blade,
but confusion was evident on the younger man’s face. He obviously had no idea
why Morningham was attacking him with – at least on the surface – every intent
of killing him.

Seeing that Garnet was now armed and ready, Morningham
backed off and attacked more methodically. He began by using conventional
fighting patterns, which Garnet easily avoided and answered with his own
attacks. Watching the two, Danner thought maybe Garnet would stand a chance
against the more experienced paladin. But Morningham adjusted his attacks and
began using the same blinding style he’d used before against Garnet in
training. His attacks had no discernible pattern, and after a moment’s close
study Danner realized Morningham was even using the standard sword forms
against Garnet by initiating type of attack and then shifting to a completely
different one between one blow and the next. The speed with which their
instructor switched styles and forms was mind-boggling, and Garnet fought
desperately to keep the blade from him. In practice, a bowkur would leave
bruises and perhaps a broken bone if a trainee was unlucky enough. But these
were not bowkurs, and a hit would leave more than just a mild injury.

The only other time Danner had seen the two sparring, Garnet
had ended the battle by tripping Morningham, but it was obvious that no such
ending would be permitted here. Garnet adapted to Morningham’s attacks more
quickly than he had the last time, and Morningham accordingly shifted his
tactics. Once more Garnet was put on the defensive, but again he adapted
quickly.

Danner’s hands clenched and unclenched, and his jaw began to
ache as he ground his teeth and watched anxiously.

Twice more Morningham shifted to a completely new attack
style, and Garnet was forced to adapt. He avoided all but the most glancing of
blows, but Garnet was accumulating an impressive collection of minor cuts on
his arms and chest. Morningham was not unmarked, but it was obvious who was
winning this battle. Still, it was a mark of both men’s skills that Garnet’s
massive blade had not seriously injured Morningham: the paladin through his
ability to keep the weapon away, and Garnet because he was pulling his attacks
without sacrificing his swordsmanship. After all, Garnet wasn’t trying to kill
Morningham, just beat him back.

It was only after Garnet was able to launch his own
offensive that Danner decided Morningham also was not, in fact, trying to kill
Garnet. Danner saw at least two openings where Garnet overextended himself and
the Red paladin could have easily turned the opening into a decisive victory,
but he left them untouched. Danner even saw the instructor’s eyes glance at the
exact area where Danner knew the weakness lay, then Morningham looked away and
the moment passed. Whatever his intention, Morningham had something other than
Garnet’s life in mind.

Eventually Danner had his answer, or at least he thought he
did. He didn’t see how, but suddenly Garnet’s sword was flying through the air
and it landed ten feet from the fight. In the same motion, Morningham sent
Garnet crashing to the ground and drove his sword into the dirt an inch from
Garnet’s ear. The courtyard stood in dumb silence, several trainees averting
their eyes from what they were sure was a killing blow.

Then Morningham spoke.

“I trust this puts to rest any and all rumors about whether
trainee
jo’Garet
is better than I am,” Morningham
said calmly, but his voice was pure steel. “I don’t pretend to know the source
of these rumors, but I do know where they did
not
originate. If I hear
anyone repeating these lies, I will construe that as a personal insult and
grounds for a duel. Feel free to test me on this at any time, you pitiful,
spineless wastrels.”

As though to emphasize his point, Morningham jerked his
sword from the ground and carefully wiped the blade with a cloth. Traces of
Garnet’s blood on the blade left an impressive stain on the formerly white
material, and the Red paladin looked appreciatively at a cut on his own arm.
Even as he watched, what had at first seemed like a shallow scrape suddenly
began leaking blood down his arm. Morningham smiled at the sight as though
pleased at his own blood loss.

He glanced down and extended a hand to Garnet. Danner’s
friend accepted the hand gratefully and was hauled effortlessly to his feet.
Danner was close enough to hear Morningham murmur to him, “Good fight, lad, but
if you’re going to fulfill your potential, you need better training than you’ve
been getting, that much is obvious. Starting now, during combat training of any
kind, you will report directly to me unless otherwise specified. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Garnet replied, a little dazed.

“Good,” the Red paladin said, then more loudly, “now go get
your sword and follow me.” Morningham paused, and he looked almost uncertain
for a moment, then his face resumed its usual harsh demeanor. “Walk proudly and
don’t give those cowards the satisfaction of seeing you beaten, lad. You’ve
earned a bit of respect today.”

Implicit in his voice was that the respect came not just
from the other trainees, but from Morningham himself. Garnet straightened and
walked impassively to his sword. He lifted the weapon and retrieved his bowkur
from the ground.

“Bring both,” Morningham said, his voice once more the
perpetual sneer they were used to hearing. “Let’s see this done the right way.”

Danner caught Garnet’s eye as his friend walked away, and
Garnet flashed him a quick smile that was quickly masked under a rocklike
façade. Danner grinned knowingly, then turned back to his own training. He was
glad Flasch wasn’t around, or the smaller man might have made some half-brained
comment to ruin the moment. He, Michael, and Marc had gone to a different
training area, and Danner already had plans to taunt them about having missed
Garnet’s spectacular fight with Morningham.

They had classroom instruction soon, and Danner was looking
forward to regaling his friends with the experience. 

- 3 -

“What is faith?”

The class looked at the Violet paladin, not sure if they
were expected to answer or not. Vinder Abram was infamous for asking simple
questions and riding right over attempts to answer them, whilst other times
waiting patiently for anyone to come up with an answer to a convoluted inquiry.
Michael held his peace, unsure if the paladin expected an answer or not this
time.

“No one?” the Violet asked. “Very well, something simpler
perhaps. Focus on a virtue. What is piety?”

“Respect for God,” someone in the back of the room piped up,
belatedly raising his hand for acknowledgement. Beside him, Flasch rolled his
eyes and slumped a little in his chair. Michael turned to note who had spoken,
but couldn’t get a clear look once their instructor started down the aisle.
Vinder liked to roam up and down the aisles while he spoke with them, only
rarely taking his place at the podium at the front of the room. The desks they
sat at were wide enough for two trainees, if they didn’t mind getting the
occasional elbow in their side, but they were spaced far enough apart from each
other that their instructor had plenty of room to roam about without his cloak
so much as brushing a table leg.

“Correct insofar as it goes, but not the answer we need.”
Vinder turned down another aisle and stepped past three desks in quick,
animated strides.

A younger trainee, his face still sporting a few pimples,
raised his hand and offered, “Obeying God’s commands?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, young man? No matter. Less
accurate,” Vinder told him, moving down another aisle at random.

“Devotion to God,” another trainee said confidently when the
Violet paladin acknowledged him.

“Well, you’ve read
An Examination of Prismatic Virtue
it seems, or at least skimmed it by lamp light at night,” Vinder said. “The
word you left off is rather important, however. Still, by degrees an accurate
answer, if somewhat lacking in understanding, and bravely answered. Any other
thoughts?”

“
Proper
devotion, you twit,” Flasch muttered beneath his breath. Michael’s arms were
folded across his chest, and he surreptitiously jabbed Flasch in the ribs with
his hand.

“What was that?” Vinder asked, turning in their direction.
His eyes zeroed in on Michael and Flasch, and the smaller man threw Michael a
dirty look and straightened in his seat. “You said something, trainee
jo’Keer
?”

“Yes, sir,” Flasch said. “The text states piety is
proper
devotion to God.”

“Correct,” the Violet said with a smile. “Why?”

“Sir?”

“Why does it specify
proper
devotion?” he asked. “Devotion
to God is to be universally lauded, one would think. Why is that word
included?”

Flasch glanced at Michael, who shrugged his eyebrows and
looked slightly away. In truth, he wanted to hear what Flasch would say. His
friend was too flippant and got away with too much in class and among their
group, and Michael barely resisted the urge to smile at seeing Flasch pinned
down by his own irascibility.

“Well, sir, those two words together show the spectrum of
piety, which the text goes on to state lies between fanaticism and atheism,”
Flasch said, his eyes temporarily flicking to the ceiling as he tried to
remember the book they’d read. “A lack of devotion leads to a lack of belief in
and respect for the divine, while undue devotion may come at the cost of a
man’s reason and the rest of his life as he embraces fanaticism.”

“Better,” Vinder said with an approving nod, “but still
incomplete.”

He turned to address the room as a whole, and Flasch let out
an inaudible sigh of relief.

“But then, you’re not expected to have a complete answer,
not at your age and stage of instruction. Piety is, in my opinion, the most
difficult of the Virtues to define in words,” he told them, and Michael thought
he detected a note of apology in the paladin’s voice. “I don’t want to ruin
your day, but in most cases, the only way to define piety is to see it, feel
it, and live it. The more you try to put it into words, the less accurate
you’ll probably be.”