The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) (31 page)

Siran saluted quickly and ran off, followed closely by Hoil.
Birch followed Maran down another corridor.

They moved swiftly, and twice more they were forced to stop
and defend themselves against enemy elves. They took one pair by surprise as
the intruders were trying to sneak up on them. The two were invisible and had
no way of knowing Maran and Birch could see them. They were left wide-eyed and
staring into pools of their own blood as Maran led Birch through a secret
passage to avoid a long detour.

As they moved deeper into the palace, the number of lit
torches decreased steadily until they were finally left in complete darkness.
Maran focused briefly and held his hand out, but it contained nothing Birch
could see at first. Then suddenly a glowing black ball appeared in the elf’s
hand. There was a slight change in the lighting, but Birch had never lost the
ability to see in the first place. His flame-tinged night-vision had provided
ample light for him in the black hallways, but now he trusted that Maran could
see equally as well with the strange light he had conjured.

Finally they stopped running and slowly approached a
corridor with two elves standing on the far side with their backs turned. On
the ground at their feet were six elves wearing guards’ uniforms, all of them
clearly dead.

Maran motioned for Birch to stay back a moment, and he
slipped forward silently. He approached the guards swiftly but without sound
and drove a knife into each elf’s neck. They dropped to the ground, adding to
the pile.

Maran waved one hand in front of the door, then knocked
briskly.

“Your highness, open the door,” Maran said urgently. “I
serve your father, and I have with me Birch, the paladin with whom you dined
this evening.”

No response came through the door. Maran dropped the Mist of
Shadows and allowed himself to become visible to the unaided eye.

“Bend your sight under the door, your highness, and see for
yourself.”

A moment later the door opened and the young prince was
visible inside. His face was wary, and he crouched with a twin-bladed
halven
held expertly in his hands.

“Wise choice, young one,” Maran said with a humorless smile.
“Now excuse me a moment.”

With Birch’s help, they dragged all the bodies inside and
shut the door again. Maran took one of the discarded
halvens
from a dead guard and swung it a few times to test the balance.

“Who are you?” Rill asked guardedly.

“I am… your uncle,” Maran said with only the briefest of
pauses. “I am your father’s brother, exiled shortly before your birth because
of my own use of Shadowweaving. I was trained by the same elf who trains you,
which is how I knew you have the same abilities I possess.”

“I’ve heard mention of you, when they thought I was not
present,” Rill said seriously, and finally his face lost its suspicion. “My
father and mother spoke of you with nothing but love, even when no other would
utter your name. I’ve always felt something of a kindred spirit with you,
uncle, because of my own abilities.”

Birch knew this must have hurt Maran, hearing it from his
own son and not being able to acknowledge him, but the elven thief bore it with
the same impassivity he normally wore.

“What’s going on in the rest of the palace?” Rill asked.

Birch gave the young elf credit. He was cool and composed,
and he was concerned about the larger picture, not just the attacks on his own
person. Maran filled in his son on the events they’d witnessed so far and what
they surmised had happened.

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Rill said adamantly. “It seems
they know where to find me, so I must be somewhere else. You and I can use the
Mist of Shadows to hide us all, uncle, but we must assume they have skilled
Weavers who can penetrate the invisibility. Using a shadow light to make our
enemies visible would only make it easier on them.”

“Don’t worry about that, young prince,” Birch said. “Your
uncle and I can see the intruders even while they’re invisible, and if you will
trust me a moment, I can make it so you can as well.”

Rill glanced at Maran then nodded, and Birch gripped his
head and locked eyes with him. The young prince cried out and shielded his eyes
with one hand, then stared about him.

“I don’t see any differently,” he said.

“Those who are invisible will appear with a faint crimson
aura around their bodies,” Birch explained. “Aside from that, you shouldn’t notice
any change in your vision.”

Rill nodded in calm acceptance. Birch’s estimation of the
young prince went up even further.

“Then we’re ready to go,” Maran said, “and I know just the
place to hide.”

- 2 -

Hoil entered the throne room a heartbeat behind Siran and
stared in dismay at the scene unfolding before him. A dozen elven guards stood
in a tight circle around the king, who leaned uncertainly against the edge of
his glowing throne. Three red-tinged elves stood with him, their expressions
concerned but resolute. One elf in particular caught Hoil’s eye. His
determination was a palpable force evident in every nuance of his body. His
face was hidden by a balaclava, and he was dressed entirely in black.

The circle of loyal guards was surrounded by nearly three
times their number of enemies, all of them vying for a position to attack the
weaker defenses. Around the edges of this group prowled a half dozen red-tinged
elves, each looking for his own chance to join the fray.

Siran rushed into the room, his weapon held high. He
bellowed no war cry and gave no warning, but lit into the enemy from behind
with a silent rush of cold, deadly grace. One elf fell to the ground severed
almost in half at the waist, and in the same swing Siran lopped another elf’s
leg from his body. The weapon blurred as he spun, and two more elves fell to
his furious assault. Then they became aware of his presence and turned to face
him, but it seemed to make little difference. Siran slipped through their ranks
with lethal grace, avoiding their attacks with ease while delivering shattering
blows in turn. None stood before him for more than a few seconds, and with his
help the tide of the battle was quickly turned.

Hoil meanwhile joined the attack by moving against the
invisible elves. The first two fell before they realized Hoil could see them,
and a third died paying too much attention to Siran’s assault and not enough to
the broad-shouldered human who slipped up behind him and nearly cut his head
from his shoulders with one slice from his knife.

Then the other three red-tinged elves attacked Hoil and he
was forced to defend himself against ready enemies who were at least as skilled
as he. One slipped and died with Hoil’s knife in his chest, but the other two
were more careful and Hoil couldn’t beat past one’s defenses without the other
attacking from the opposite direction. Out of the corner of his eye, Hoil saw a
ray of shadowy light arc forth from the direction of the throne to strike one of
the elves he was facing. The light struck the elf in the chest and he
immediately collapsed, leaving Hoil free to deal with his remaining opponent.

When that elf lay dying at his feet, Hoil turned and saw
that the man who’d saved him was one of the three Do standing with the king.
Not the fiercely resolute one, however. He still stood by his monarch with the
look of a man who would die before leaving the king’s side. The Do who had
saved Hoil returned his nod of thanks, but said nothing.

“Your majesty,” Siran said, and Hoil realized all the
enemies in the hall were now dead.

“El’Siran, my most faithful defender,” the king said, his
voice trembling only slightly in the wake of the carnage around him. “I should
have known you would come to my rescue.”

“We are not safe yet, your majesty,” Siran said, brushing
aside the compliment. “You must flee to a more secure location.”

“Now I can’t allow that,” a voice said.

An elf wrapped in gold-trim, purple robes stepped from a
side doorway and looked haughtily at them all. Hoil recognized him as the same
man who’d stayed silent and in the background during his previous audience with
the king.

“
Decein
,” the king rasped. “You’re
behind this?”

“In a word, yes,” the elf admitted, exhibiting no trace of
shame or chagrin. “Your majesty’s ability to rule has been waning for some time
now, and I feel it is only my duty to see that the most effective leader sits
on the throne of our nation.”

“You?” the king laughed incredulously, then coughed
spasmodically. “You wouldn’t know how to lead a class of school children from
one tree to the next. The only reason the
Diet’Si
chose you to lead them is because you paid for their favor. You’re deluding
yourself,
Decein
.”

The violet-robed elf’s mouth twisted contemptuously. “For
once, your majesty is thinking clearly. You are correct in saying I would not
make the best leader.” He paused meaningfully. “But your grandson would.”

“Rill?”

“Of course. You don’t really think I handled this all
myself, did you?”
Decein
said condescendingly, then
laughed. “It seems your grandson is quite the ambitious little scamp. Of
course, he’ll need proper guidance, which is where I come in.”

The resolute elf beside the throne leaned close to the king
and whispered in his ear. His brilliant green eyes were intense, but the elf’s
lips were hidden by the black balaclava, so Hoil had no idea what he was
telling the king. The king’s face had gone bloodlessly pale at
Decein’s
accusations, but his pallor recovered swiftly as
the invisible elf spoke to him.

“So you would
guide
my grandson, would you?” the king
said scathingly. “I don’t for a minute believe your accusations, and if you
think my grandson is weak enough to listen to anything you’d have to say to
him, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought,
Decein
.”

Decein
just laughed at this, then
abruptly his eyes went wide. He blinked a few times, then turned his head to
stare behind him. Then he fell forward, a knife buried to the hilt in the back
of his neck.

Hoil saw a red-tinged elf step forth from the shadows, and
suddenly the whole room lit on fire as red-tinged figures seemed to spring from
the very walls to fill the room. A few were not surrounded by the crimson aura
marked by Birch’s strange power, but Hoil stopped estimating their numbers when
he reached fifty, and more arrived with every moment.

“Protect the king!” Siran cried.

Hoil rushed to join the others around the king, and within
seconds they were surrounded by the growing horde of shadowy elves. Hoil tried
to position himself wherever the press of red-tinged elves was most noticeable,
because he and Siran were the only two who could unfailingly tell where the
invisible elves were. Two of the three Do elves standing with the king joined
them in the fight, taking after Hoil and concentrating on the other invisible
Do elves attacking them. They wielded swords and shadowy magic with equal
frequency, taking a bloody toll on their enemies.

A flicker of shadowy light caught Hoil’s gaze, and he
watched in terror as a ray of light arced toward him from an enemy Do on the
outskirts of those attacking them. At the last second, the light warped and
bent toward one of the loyal Do, who gathered it in one hand, only to release
it again toward the elf who had first cast the light. The Shadowweaver received
his own spell with lethal effect and crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

Siran was a terrible sight to behold, mauling and
slaughtering enemies with effortless dispatch. Once he disappeared into the
press of attacking elves, and Hoil heard a sudden surge of screaming yells from
the midst of their enemies. A full minute later, Siran carved a path for
himself and rejoined his comrades. Now, however, the elves facing him were more
reluctant to attack, and most hesitated or tried to move away to attack
anywhere Siran did not present an implacable force of death.

Despite their valiant defense, however, their numbers
dwindled and some elves slipped through the cracks to attack the king. These
all died swiftly at the hands of the king’s personal defender, the resolute Do
at his side. For a moment, Hoil had some small hope they would withstand the
might of their attackers. Then the two elves on his right fell almost at the
same instant, and that side of their defense crumpled like so much paper. Hoil
shifted in an attempt to compensate and fill the hole himself, but they surged
past him and knocked him to the floor.

Avoiding the press of their feet and striking wherever
possible, Hoil twisted about until he could see behind him to where the king
and his defender stood against the sudden press. The king threw up a hand and a
miniature sun blossomed in the air before him, blinding those nearest and
making them easy targets for his companion. After a moment’s pause, the sun
flew toward another enemy, who burst into flames as the light slammed into his
chest. He fell screaming to the floor and tried rolling to extinguish the
flames. The king slumped back, clearly exhausted by the unaccustomed effort.

Treacherous elves fell in quick succession to the defender’s
blade, but he was one against more than a dozen, and they nearly overwhelmed
him by sheer press of numbers. The king scrambled back into his throne, too old
and tired to do more than watch helplessly as death stalked ever closer. Hoil
fought his way to his feet and started to attack the elves from behind, but he
couldn’t get close enough fast enough to stop the inevitable.

Siran appeared on one side of Hoil, and the last elven guard
on the other side. Absently, Hoil recognized the enormous elf who had been
standing protectively by the king during their audience. The three of them were
all that remained of the king’s guards, but everyone was dead save for the
press that stood between them and the elven monarch. Hoil took a step further
away from Siran to give the elf room to swing, and the butchery commenced as
they carved their way through the attackers from behind.