Page 139 of Paladin's Faith
“These’re outcast from one of the other clans,” Erlick explained. “Fought over who was going to be the leader, and those who threw in with the loser didn’t fare well. A few of them dragged their families along. More the fools they.” He scowled.
“And your archers could not stand them off?”
Erlick spat. “They’d have to get close enough to hit. They’re too canny for that. They take our sheep when they’re out to graze, and they take the shepherds too, if they can.”
Shane grimaced. A berserker of the Saint of Steel could kill a dozen men, or be killed by a single one. Shane wasn’t fool enough to simply run into the middle of the holding and start swinging. Although the thought is not without its charm.
Am I really going to do this? Truly? Kill a dozen people on the word of a demon?
He’d cleared out nests of bandits and raiders before. The Saint of Steel’s people had been in great demand for that, for their ability to kill the enemy and leave the innocent. Wisdom had said that it would handle that part. Shane had very grave doubts. Still, is this so different from what the god would have had you do?
“They got my niece last month,” said Erlick quietly. “She’s fourteen. I don’t know if she’s still alive.”
Shane exhaled slowly. Not so different at all, it seemed. “Very well,” he said. “I’d rather not bring anyone with me. If I die, they won’t know where I’m from, but they might recognize one of your people.”
Erlick scowled. “I don’t say you’re wrong, but I’m coming with you. I’ll stay back in the woods, right enough, but I’ve got a score to settle with these bastards myself. And I’m the best archer we’ve got.”
“But—"
“I’ll use the arrows those Sail fellas brought. They won’t trace the fletching back to us. I’ll dress in the Sail’s clothes, too. If I die, they’ll think I’m from somewhere else.”
Shane grunted. “And if they capture you?”
“They won’t,” Erlick said, patting his dagger. “Not alive, anyhow.”
I should probably talk him out of this, but I don’t think I can. And I’m not sure I should. There was a light in Erlick’s eyes, or perhaps an absence of light, that said a great deal. Erlick did not plan to live a great deal longer, but he meant to do a great deal of damage to the enemy before he died.
“Right,” said Shane. “Then here’s what we’ll do…”
“I’m sorry that we are meeting under such circumstances,” said Jorge. “I don’t blame you for being annoyed with us. We are…um…single-minded about demons.”
“I noticed,” said Marguerite. She thought about saying, “It’s fine,” then thought there was no damn reason to let him off the hook, then thought, I do not want to antagonize these people, I want their help, and said it anyway.
Marguerite was riding double with Jorge, and Davith was with one of the others. Wren had joined Ashes in the dogcart, since the paladins’ horses had made it abundantly clear that they did not like Wren, would never like Wren, and would prefer that Wren was somewhere far away, preferably with a hoofprint on the back of her head. Wren had been philosophical, and the shaggy pony that pulled the dogcart appeared almost embarrassed for its brethren’s behavior.
“It’s not fine,” said Jorge with a sigh, “but it’s what we are. Though we usually manage to be slightly more tactful about it. I apologize. The hospitality of the temple will be open to you, and though it is not lavish, I trust that you will find it better than either the ground or a jail cell.”
He was using the voice, Marguerite realized. He was good at it, though not so good as Shane. She told herself to stop being soothed. Her traitorous nerves relaxed anyway.
The temple, when they finally reached it, was a utilitarian-looking building, and Marguerite expected everything else about it to be utilitarian as well. The décor certainly didn’t change her opinion—plastered stone, plain white with only a small line of decorative paint near the floor. She was just thinking, Paladins! with a certain amount of smugness when they reached the baths, and then her opinion underwent a dramatic reversal.
It wasn’t ostentatiously luxurious, the way that the Court of Smoke’s baths had been, but soap and hot water was plentiful, and afterward there were deep pools for soaking. Judging by the mineral smell, the water was piped from another of the region’s hot springs. Marguerite settled with a groan somewhere between bliss and agony.
“Tell me about it,” said Davith. The baths were not divided by sex, though he’d taken his own pool in deference to modesty. Wren’s modesty, specifically, I bet…
She felt guilty wallowing in such pleasure when Shane was undoubtedly suffering. But not wallowing isn’t going to help him in the slightest. You don’t get to package up your virtuous forbearance and send it to him. And possibly it will be important later that my back isn’t permanently kinked.
Ashes required a hand into the water, but then sank down to her chin. “The artificers keep trying to do this in Anuket City,” she said, eyes closed. “But none of us can ever agree on how to run the boilers. It’s come to blows, and once, a murder attempt.”
“Was it a serious attempt?” asked Marguerite, after digesting this for a moment.
“There was a hammer involved.”
“I see.”
“And a small explosion, although that may not have been deliberate.”
“Ah.”