Page 120 of Paladin's Faith

(While this was, indeed, a true answer, Shane was glad that Davith hadn’t asked him. The truth was that Shane’s martial talents did not extend to projectile weapons. On a good day, he could probably hit a barn, provided that the barn didn’t make any sudden movements. The Saint of Steel had been a very close and personal god.)

Ashes leaned down and picked up a rock, tossing it in her hand. “I used to be a dab hand with a sling.”

Shane didn’t know why he bothered being surprised. Ashes was clearly a force to be reckoned with, despite her age.

“Sadly, my vision’s not what it was. Still, I might be able to lug a few rocks at the moving blurs.”

“Every little bit helps,” said Shane.

“It’d help more if it was explosive. Hmm, I wonder…”

Davith cleared his throat. “Paladin?”

“Eh?”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter, and I know you don’t trust me with sharp objects, but if you aren’t using that dagger of yours, I can at least make it harder for them kill us all.”

“Marguerite?”

“Do it.”

Shane unstrapped his dagger and passed it back without looking. He felt someone take it. Meanwhile, the horsemen had stopped and were apparently discussing what to do next. They did not seem to be in any particular hurry.

Why should they be? They’ve got us pinned, and if we bolt, they can pick us off.

Seconds oozed by, like molasses cut with acid.

He felt someone press against his back, and recognized Wren by the solidity of mail and muscle. “Do we have a few minutes?”

“I think so.”

He felt her take a deep breath against him. “Then shrive me, brother, for my heart is heavy.”

Shane closed his eyes briefly. We’re all going to die, and she wants me to hear her confession?

Of course, he answered himself immediately, that’s why she wants you to hear her confession.

Which meant that he was probably going to have to confess himself, assuming the enemy held off that long, and yes, fine, there were a few things that he’d prefer to have off his soul before he died, but he didn’t want to say them out loud in front of Marguerite and Davith. But not saying them would mean that he’d die with another lie on his soul, and…oh hell, maybe I’ll get lucky and take a bolt to the forehead before it’s my turn.

“The Saint hears you, sister,” he said. Which was no longer true, so he added, “and the White Rat hears you,” which he hoped like hell was true. If not the Rat, perhaps Lady Silver’s year-god will hear us, and look kindly upon two humans.

“Is this really the time?” asked Davith in an undertone.

“This is exactly the time,” Ashes told him.

“I have been wrathful,” said Wren, pretending no one else had spoken. “I have used the Saint’s gift for my own vengeance.”

Ah. He’d been wondering what sins Wren could even have that merited confession, but that was fair. She attacked Davith in a berserker fit. Of course that weighs on her, even if she didn’t succeed in killing him. No matter how justified, no matter how accidental, you did not use the tide for your own ends like that. It was part of the creed that was hammered into the Saint’s chosen from the very first time the tide rose. It is my duty to serve. I will be sword and shield for the weak against the strong. I will be a symbol for those who require hope. I will bear the burdens for those who cannot bear them. I will fight not for wealth nor glory but to safeguard the innocent. I am steel in the hands of the Saint. His will is mine.

Which did not leave a lot of leeway for settling scores. Or for taking up a lucrative career as a pit fighter, like Istvhan keeps threatening to do.

“And have you made restitution for your sin?” Shane asked. If Davith says a damn word right now, I’ll kill him myself and make the whole thing moot.

There was a lengthy pause. “Working on it,” Wren said, in a small voice.

“I am unworthy,” said Shane, “but I absolve you of your sin. The Sai—the gods forgive you your weakness.”

“Thank you.”