The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) (33 page)

“There were too many of them,” Hoil answered when it was
clear Siran would not. “There were only a dozen guards left alive when we
arrived, and three of those invisible Do were helping to defend the king. I
don’t even want to speculate how much they threw against us, but whatever it
was, they lost it all. That elf in the purple robes,
Duckhead
or whatever…”

“
Decein
,” Rill supplied.

“Right, him. He said he was the one behind it, but then one
of the attacking Do killed him anyway, which I’m not sure I understand,” Hoil
admitted. He shrugged. “Maybe they were just using him. Regardless, they
whittled down our numbers until it was just Siran, myself, that big elf
bodyguard from this morning, and one of the loyal Do who refused to leave the
king’s side. The king died only after the Do had been stabbed twice through the
chest. The second blow went through his body and into the king as he tried to
protect him.”

“Who was he?” Siran asked, breaking his silence.

“He was no one,” Maran and Rill replied in one voice.

- 2 -

In the aftermath of the regicide and attempted coup, Siran
headed a task force devoted to wiping out any remaining assassins in the
palace. They found only a dozen or so not already slain and cut them down
without mercy. Rill had wanted to hold some for questioning, but it turned out
to be unnecessary, so he gave the order to kill.

Thanks to the insights of Perklet, Moreen, and Nuse, while
the battle in the palace was taking place, Maran’s faction of Do had been busy
tracking down the invaders’ hiding places and purging them of traitors, several
of whom were captured. Maran’s warning had come in just enough time for the
Do’Fidel
to assemble and block several groups from reaching
the palace, else the fighting would have been much worse. The attacking elves
had evidently intended to take the entire palace by surprise and fill it with
their own forces to make the structure unassailable until they were firmly in
power. Maran’s sister had provided enough warning and upset their timetables so
they’d had to hasten their attack before they were all assembled.

Only a few of the loyal Do had been able to infiltrate into
the castle in time to help defend the king, and most of them had died trying to
reach their liege. The pair that arrived to reinforce the king’s lone defender
were all that survived that far. The battle had taken a terrible toll on the
royal guards and
Do’Fidel
both, but with the
remaining traitors being rounded up and either questioned or slaughtered, the
danger was past.

Birch found that Nuse and Perklet had taken Moreen and Selti
to a cellar to hide and had passed most of the battle without seeing anyone.
Perklet used his skills as a healer to help the survivors recover more quickly,
but the quiet paladin eventually exhausted himself, and he fell asleep for a
whole day.
Nuse’s
limited healing abilities tired out
much sooner, but he aided wherever he could by making people more comfortable
until he, too, succumbed to exhaustion and collapsed. For their part, Birch and
Hoil slept for a few hours as soon as they could, then woke up and helped set
things to order.

Maran found himself with free time on his hands and a
belabored soul in his heart. He grieved for his father’s death and even for the
loss of his sister, despite their continued differences and animosity. She was
family. First his brother, then his sister and father. Rill was the only family
Maran had left, and he couldn’t acknowledge the as-yet
unannointed
king as his son. Rill had to live under the continued lie that he was the son
of Maran’s brother, else, as the son of a traitor, he would face the same
condemnation and banishment Maran had suffered. Aside from Maran himself, there
were perhaps only one or two elves left alive who knew Rill was not the son of
Maran’s brother, and of the non-elves present, only Birch and Hoil knew the
truth.

“The sun follows the night,” Maran murmured to himself, his
voice softer than the drone of a hovering hummingbird. “It was me. I was the
signal.”

While the captured Do rebels had been less than forthcoming,
Maran was able to glean enough to realize that the target of the coup had been
his entire family, including himself. They knew he would be unable to resist
returning in the wake of his brother’s assassination, which is why
Rowin
had been killed so far in advance of the main attack,
to give time for word to reach the exiled former prince.
 
Indeed, he had confirmed with one captive
that the whole plot hinged on his return – had Maran not come back at all, the
plot was to be suspended until they could confirm his presence within the
palace walls. Apparently they considered Maran a greater threat at-large in the
world and – rightly so – assumed he would find some way of infiltrating the
palace and slaughtering anyone who had usurped his family throne.

Maran’s foolhardy and thinly veiled attempt at contacting
his father had been confirmation of his presence in the palace, the final
signal for the plot to commence. Maran’s sense of duty and love of his family
had been the spark that lit the fire that had consumed his father and sister.

And so Maran returned to the royal crypt, which had long
since been cleansed and returned to order, the sarcophagus lids replaced and
repaired by Li Stoneweavers. New lids had been commissioned for Maran’s sister
and father, and the bodies were being prepared for cremation. Maran stood
surrounded by his ancestors, trying to decide what to do with his future.

“You are troubled,
Do’n’El’Maran
,”
a voice said from the shadows. Maran whirled, but saw no one. His ability to
see the invisible had faded shortly after the fighting ceased, and he had no
shadow light glowing. The words rolled out in rich, deep tones, a voice clearly
used to power and authority.

“Who are you?” Maran asked. “Who are you to come to this
place? To know my name?”

“You once asked for an audience with me,” the sonorous voice
replied. “I have now granted it.”

“
Do’Valoren
,” Maran said, his
voice filled with awe. He sank to one knee and inclined his head in respect,
only a fraction less than he would have shown his own father in life.

“Rise. I would speak with you about your future, for I can
see it vexes you much.”

- 3 -

Within a week, Birch and his companions were ready to
depart. With the turmoil settled for the time being and having been established
as non-demonic in nature, Birch had no reason to stay and every reason to
depart. They needed to make their way to Nocka and check for word on James and
the other half of their
jintaal
. Perhaps they had found something in
Merishank, or perhaps they were waiting in Nocka for word from Birch.

Hoil had decided to accompany them to provide whatever aid
his considerable resources as a thief could bring to the expected war at Nocka.
Moreen was, of course, accompanying Birch, but Siran was also accompanying them
with a force of a hundred of the Elan’Vital. Rill had decided to send a small
company of the elven elite warriors to provide what help they could, and he
promised to send more aid when things were more stable and the safety of the
kingdom was assured. Siran was selected to lead the force to give him a sense
of purpose. The captain of the Elan’Vital felt keenly his failure to protect
the king and had even asked for permission to commit ritual suicide. Rill had
decided that placing him in command of the force was a better use of his skills
and convinced Siran that he would better serve his nation alive than dead.

The only member of their company who was not returning with
them was Maran.

“I have a place here now,” Maran replied when Hoil asked
him.

“How? You’re an exile.”

“Exactly,” Maran said. “Few here even remember that I exist.
I am no one.” He paused. “And no one advises the king.”

Hoil stared at him, then nodded slowly.

“Good luck, my friend.”

“And you. Tell Danner I wish him the best in life, and he
must come visit someday when things are less volatile,” Maran said. Then he
smiled thinly. “Of course, no one will speak to him. You’ll have to explain
it.”

“I will,” Hoil promised. After a long moment of silence,
Maran pulled a black balaclava over his face and vanished from sight.

And with that, they said their final goodbyes, boarded a
sleek river craft, and followed a fleet of similar vessels down the river. A
pair of elven ships would meet them in
El’antor’ma
and accompany Birch’s vessel back to the mainland.

As they sailed down the river, none of them could resist a
final glance back to see the radiant pillars of light shining brilliantly
behind them.

Complete protection hinders one too much. Who is safer from attack, the
hawk or the turtle?

- Gerard Morningham,

“A Treatise on Modern Warfare” (991 AM)

- 1 -

Two weeks they’d been fighting. Two weeks of darkness and
vigilante mayhem wreaked on the overwhelming Merishank forces. Shadow Company
was performing better than a dream ─ more of a nightmare of sorts for
their enemies ─ but Gerard wondered if they were doing enough damage. The
army was simply too large for them to affect as Gerard might want, but with his
limited resources he already was doing far more than any other unit could dare
to hope. Still… he hoped to do more.

Gerard’s plan of psychological warfare was succeeding. The
Merishank army had begun to take their single company seriously and was now
afraid to approach the woods Shadow Company had made its own. Two hundred men
had disappeared without a trace in the first day, compliments of Shadow
Company, who suffered only a single loss. By the next week, another
half-thousand fell in the woods, and Shadow Company lost no one. Of course it
helped that they had six full paladins and one denarae with greater healing
skills than any two of the paladins. Many who might otherwise have been lost
were instead back on their feet and fighting within days or even hours.

Now the last remnants of a whole battalion ─ one
thousand troops ─ were being wiped out by Garnet’s and Michael’s
platoons. First and third platoons under Marc and Flasch were resting from the
previous night’s excursion against the enemy, and second and fourth platoons
were getting ready with Danner and Trebor to assault the enemy camp within the
hour. Gerard would accompany them to provide transportation on his dakkan for
Danner’s platoon in four shifts – carrying half a squad in each flight – and
then the two platoons were on their own.

Gerard had structured the platoons to fit not only with his
strategies, but also to match the strength and personality of the man in charge
of each unit.

Danner’s platoon was by far the best at swift entry and
retreat, and they were the most cunning at stealth and sabotage. Gerard had
deliberately given him the best of the denarae suited to those tasks, and the
Blue paladin had performed admirably in every task to date. They were
particularly effective when paired with Trebor’s platoon, as they were now. The
denarae officer was adept at leading his men through enemy lines and staging
diversionary tactics from the most unlikely places. The strongest mind-readers
were with him, and they slipped past sentries like they weren’t there at all.

Flasch and Marc were a strong pair also, more suited to
defensive and support tactics. Flasch had the fleetest platoon and could move
with astonishing speed to reinforce or cover any of the other units, and more
than once it was only their speed that had saved an operation from a disastrous
turn of battle. Flasch had a keen eye for seeing the details in a situation and
making sure his platoon was in the exact spot necessary. Marc’s platoon was
solid and could be relied upon to do anything required, but Marc showed little
initiative and independent thought as a leader. He followed orders perfectly,
but in unexpected situations, he spent too long trying to reason through a
solution rather than reacting to the matter at hand as needed. The one man lost
had been in his platoon and – in private – Gerard had made it quite plain to
the Orange paladin that the loss was due almost entirely to his indecision.

Garnet was the most suited to lead, and there were standing
orders that, should anything happen to Gerard, Garnet would assume command of
the company. He was quick-witted on the battlefield, showed imagination in the
command tent, and knew how to care for his troops. His platoon was composed of
the strongest fighters, with Michael’s platoon a close second in offensive strength.
They bore the brunt of any frontal assault necessary, including the mop-up
action in which they were currently engaged. Gerard left that operation in
their hands, knowing that if something went wrong, Garnet would be more than
capable of handling it.

A lot of men had been killed in a short time, and he
intended that many more would die, if that’s what it took to protect the city.
It seemed men had been dying around him since the day he was born, and Gerard
had killed quite a few of them himself, but this was different. Before, he’d
killed men in self-defense, or because they’d been turned by a demon, and once
in defense of a woman’s life. Now Gerard gave an order and hundreds of men were
slaughtered, all in the name of defending a city that no sane man in the world
should wish to harm.

Early into their campaign, Gerard had been confronted with
his own reservations in the form of Flasch
jo’Keer
.
It seemed appropriate that the morality of their actions was challenged by the
Violet paladin amongst them, but even so, Gerard had been somewhat surprised it
had been Flasch who had approached him.