The Devil's Deuce (The Barrier War) (25 page)

“None?” Nuse said in surprise.

“None,” the one-eared elf replied. “So instead, you three
will be camped happily inside a tavern listening to any and all conversation
you can. Most of it will no doubt be in the elven tongue, but you might get
lucky. We’ll have translators there for you, as well.” Maran’s lips twitched.
“Just limp a little to explain your
unelven
grace.”

Nuse glared at him sourly.

“What’s the point?” Moreen asked. “I mean, why are we doing
this? If you and your friends can make yourselves invisible, why don’t you just
listen for yourselves?”

“My
friends
,” Maran said, “do just that on an
everyday basis. But you are not elven, and you may hear something we would
otherwise ignore, or put together two tidbits we would think completely
unrelated. Something is happening in my homeland, and it’s centered here in
this city, and if my
friends
haven’t been able to find out what, then
it’s something dangerous and important. We need a fresh perspective.”

Moreen nodded.

“Now wait here, and someone will come to direct you to your
destination,” Maran said. “Birch, I suggest you dress in something impressive,
yet comfortable. Hoil,” he paused, “just look prosperous and try not to steal
anything while you’re here. I can’t guarantee your safety if you swipe the
wrong thing or steal from the wrong people.”

“You’re taking all the fun out of this trip, Maran,” Hoil
complained.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity
for you to have
fun
later on,” Maran said, rolling his eyes toward the
ceiling. Then he stared seriously at them both. “If the coming events are as
potent as I feel they will be, you’ll be up to your round, human ears in
fun
.”

- 2 -

Their trip through the tunnels was blessedly short, but
still too long for Birch’s liking. By the end of their journey, they’d had to
crawl through two sections just barely wide enough for Birch and Hoil to
squeeze their broad shoulders through without marring their clothing. Hoil was
dressed in what he considered little more than a costume – modest clothing made
from deceptively expensive material, giving the impression of success without
wallowing in it. Birch wore his breastplate and leather armor, his gray cloak
trailing behind. As always, Selti scampered before, behind, above, and alongside
them, gleefully enjoying every moment. Birch’s entire body crawled as if the
itch from his hands had spread to the rest of him with maddening intensity. He
breathed a deep sigh of relief when they stepped out into the crisp morning
air.

Birch’s eyes were closed as he concentrated solely on
inhaling and forgetting the dark tunnel behind him. He was studiously ignoring
the nagging suspicion that he’d have to go back through that tunnel at the end
of the day. A meaty hand on his shoulder made him open his eyes, and he
followed Hoil’s stunned gaze up into the air. Hundreds of feet above them,
crystalline pillars shone brilliantly in the dazzling sunlight. It was still
early enough in the morning that a slight mist clung round the iridescent
spires, and Birch had to remind his lungs to keep working.

 “Merciful Lord,” Birch breathed.

“My sentiments exactly,” Hoil said, awe etched in every line
of his face. Maran allowed them to continue staring for a few moments, then he
snapped their attention back to the ground.

“Before one of you recovers your wits enough to ask, no, we
will not be climbing all the way up,” Maran said, a bitter smile on his face.
“Hold still and do not show apprehension.”

With that, he put his fingers to his lips and emitted a
piercing whistle that chortled and bobbed like a chattering rodent. It was a
complex series of notes, and Birch was impressed in spite of himself; he could
practically hear a language in the
chittering
whistle. A sudden, soft thud on the ground behind him made Birch whirl in
surprise, and he’d half-drawn his blade before he saw what had answered Maran’s
call.

Birch had never heard of a six-foot-tall squirrel, and if
anyone had told him they existed, he would have doubted the man’s sanity. But
there, crouched on the ground before him, were three bushy mounds of fur, like
the product of some child’s dreams made real. They darted back with lightning
speed as Birch wheeled on them, but Maran blew another, softer whistle, and the
wild look faded from their eyes. They skittered forward, far quicker than any
creature that large had a right to move. They proceeded in short spurts of
motion, their tails whipping in quick jerks. In spite of their size, the giant
creatures retained all the darting speed and agility of their much smaller
cousins.

A black-furred squirrel reached out with curious paws and
touched Birch’s gleaming breastplate, and Birch could feel the giant rodent’s
breath on his face as its furry visage leaned closer. Then, apparently
satisfied, it retreated and crouched before him expectantly. Birch looked over
and saw that his brother and Maran had received similar inspections, and their
squirrels were likewise crouched before them. Hoil stood before a gray
squirrel, and another black waited on Maran.

“Am I to assume we’re going to ride these giant chipmunks?”
Hoil asked dubiously. “How do we stay on them?”

“Look closely in their fur, and you’ll see a harness,” Maran
replied. “It’s lightweight so it won’t hamper them, and it should be
self-explanatory how you secure yourself. Hurry, or they’ll lose interest and
try to leave, and we’ll have to greet them all over again.”

“Are they strong enough to carry us?” Birch asked, clamoring
aboard his furry mount.

“They can carry well more than twice their own weight normally,”
Maran replied, “and they’re not exactly light themselves.”

Birch quickly figured out how to secure himself to the giant
squirrel, and he turned around to check on Selti. He whistled softly, but Selti
gave him a flat stare that said quite plainly he would have nothing to do with
the giant beasts. Squirrels were supposed to be meals for the drann-shaped
dakkan. They were
not
supposed to be horse-sized and tower over him. For
a moment, Selti considered shifting to his natural form, but he knew his paladin
wanted him transformed for now. Selti contented himself with the knowledge that
he at least had the
option
of transforming and snapping one of the furry
brutes in half. But he still would have nothing to do with them and instead
flew into the air and circled his paladin’s head, chattering all the while as
if it was Birch and not Selti who had been delaying them.

Birch smiled tolerantly at the dakkan and indicated to Maran
that he was ready to go. Maran whistled sharply, and the squirrels leapt into action.
Gone were the quick, short spurts of motion. Instead, they squirrels bounded
forward in rolling waves of jumping motion. If Birch had been any less secure
in his harness, he would easily have been thrown clear in the first two or
three bounds. He instinctively clutched the black squirrel’s fur in his hands
and held on as though his life depended on it.

He risked a quick glance and saw Hoil was reacting much the
same as he was, but Maran crouched with an easy, practiced style. The elf
caught Birch’s eye and smiled thinly, then looked away and concentrated on
their surroundings. At another whistle, the squirrels left the ground and
scampered quickly up into the trees. They moved with a sure-footed speed that
perhaps even an elf might have envied, bounding across tree limbs and leaping
gaps with a perfect ability only nature can grant.

At one point they slowed to a crawl and went under an
interlocked series of branches, and Birch prayed fervently the harnesses would
hold as he clutched desperately at the upside-down squirrel. Above them, Birch
heard the distant sounds of civilization and realized they were passing
underneath a small village up in the trees. Then the houses were behind them,
and the squirrels bounded upright and back to their full speed.

Birch began to get lightheaded, and he closed his eyes and
felt the world flash by him. He was used to flying on dakkan-back, but the
dizzying blur of colors streaming past him was altogether a different
experience.

Then suddenly the squirrels stopped. Birch opened his eyes
and saw they had stopped on a deserted path of tree branches tucked out of the
way behind the wooden wall of some building.

“Dismount quickly,” Maran murmured. Birch glanced over and
was nonplussed for a moment when he didn’t see the elf. “They must be released
before anyone notices their presence. Since I cannot allow myself to be seen
here, others would wonder how two humans came to ride
chiplins
.”

Maran released the giant squirrels and whispered directions
to the two men. Birch felt more than slightly out of place, and he noticed that
the elves around them were doing their best to ignore humans in their midst
while at the same time radiating curiosity and trying to hide it. Furtive
glances and lilting whispers tickled at the edges of Birch’s awareness, and he
did his best to ignore them in turn. The
Tricrus
on his breastplate
reassured him and helped project the image that he belonged in their lofty
city. He was a paladin, a warrior for God on a mission, and few men would
willingly stand in his way.

After a few hundred yards, projecting that surety became
easier. Birch noticed with a sideways glance that Hoil displayed little
difficulty in projecting the image of a wealthy merchant disinterested in his
surroundings and his mind clearly interested on other matters. He surmised it
wasn’t the first time his brother had role-played in some confidence scheme or
another.

They traversed the woodland city without incident, and
Maran’s whispered instructions eventually led them to a pair of enormous crystalline
gates standing between two of the thickest tree trunks Birch had ever seen.
Each tree was easily big enough that a dozen men could have linked arms and
barely encircled its girth. The gates themselves were twenty feet tall and
their thick, intricately wrought bars were practically see-through, but only a
fool would think them fragile. A dakkan could probably crash into them at full
speed and not make a scratch.

It was only as they drew closer that Birch saw the gates in
detail, and he realized each of the vertical bars was a slender representation
of a different type of tree. Branchless trunks of ash, pine, maple, oak, and
dozens of other species he couldn’t recognize. There was even a stylized
representation of his namesake – a birch tree.

His inspection of the gates was necessarily brief as they
drew close enough to warrant the direct attention of the dozen elven guards
standing impassively in front of the crystalline barrier, staring silently out
at the city. They wore confidence and competence with equal strength and ease,
and Birch had no doubt they were quite deadly with the twin-bladed swords they
all carried, which Maran had told them were called
halvens
.
The weapons resembled two short swords melted together on an elongated hilt;
one blade was straight and serrated on one side, and the other was curved
slightly like a scimitar. They wore chainmail armor with links too small for
Birch to make out from a distance and, while it looked too light to be of any
practical use, he recognized true warriors when he saw them, and their armor
was surely first-rate.

“What brings you to the seat of the elven capital, humans?”
the foremost guard asked in the human tongue, his voice neither offensive nor
overly respectful. He had the look of a true professional, someone who had
earned the right to act beyond such trifles of social niceties and slights. All
the guards were more muscular than average elves, but other than that there was
little to differentiate them from any of their fair-skinned kindred. Still,
something about the foremost elf in particular bespoke lethal power and
well-earned self-assurance. Birch watched him carefully for the first signs of
hostile acts, knowing that this one at least would strike swiftly and without
warning. He was dangerous, but perhaps not an enemy.

 “We come seeking audience with the king,” Hoil
replied. “I am Hoil de’Valderat, and my brother Birch is a paladin of the
Prismatic Order. He comes on a matter of grave importance to your nation and to
the world.”

The elf looked at Birch, taking him in with a single glance.
The elf’s eyes lingered a fraction of a second longer on Birch’s eyes, but
Birch would not make direct eye contact. No sense in ruining their chances at
getting in by cursing the elf to see into the Hell within Birch’s gaze.

“He wears the holy symbol upon his breast, but his cloak is
not that of a holy warrior,” the elf said, his voice betraying none of his
thoughts. Birch was impressed with the man’s command of the human language. His
accent was negligible and more a function of an elf’s normal vocal tones than
an unfamiliarity with the language. The only elf Birch had ever heard with a
better command of human was Maran. This was clearly no ordinary foot soldier.

Hoil nodded. “He is the
Asan’don’meshir’eln
,”
Hoil said, somehow not twisting his tongue over the alien word. It sounded
strange, hearing such a melodious, flowing word from non-elven lips, “and he
carries the sun in his pocket and the shadow at his back.”

Birch barely refrained from frowning at such a strange thing
to say, but the elven guard reacted instantly. He bowed slightly at the waist
and barked commands in a tone that was harsh, but still inherently musical.
Immediately, the two gates swung open and they were led inside.

“Please allow me to escort you to see the king,” the elf
said. “I am El’Siran, captain of the Elan’Vital.”
[19]
Now he accorded them some measure of
respect, but Birch couldn’t figure out what his brother had said to so affect
the elf. He leaned close to Hoil.