Page 137 of Paladin's Faith

Dreaming God, if You are listening, let him hold on until we can save him. You owe him that much.

“You can leave me behind,” said Ashes on the second day. “I know I’m not setting any speed records.”

“No,” said Wren, before Marguerite could speak. “We’re not leaving anyone else behind.”

Marguerite glanced at the paladin, who had been as silent as Shane used to be. The younger woman’s face had aged a decade in a few days. If we lost Ashes to the Sail, all this would be for nothing.

It already felt like that. Vengeance was a stupid hollow thing and the only salt that she cared about any longer was the kind in blood and tears.

“We’ll get him back,” she said out loud, trying to convince herself as much as Wren.

Wren looked at her and looked away. “Of course we will,” she said, but she didn’t say it in the voice and Marguerite knew that she didn’t actually believe it.

They were able to buy food at farms and Davith found a farmer willing to part with a dogcart and a pony and charmed both out of her at a decent price. Ashes rode in it and they made better time after that, but it was still a long and weary way. At night, they did not so much make camp as collapse where they stood.

Perhaps their luck turned. Perhaps the Dreaming God, absent from His duties where Shane was concerned, had belatedly turned an eye toward them. Regardless, they were still almost half a day out from the town, at Marguerite’s best guess, when they heard hoofbeats.

Looking up, Marguerite saw a trio of remarkably handsome people atop moderately handsome horses. They wore armor and white tabards with a closed eye.

Paladins, she thought. The word drifted through her head and she knew that she was supposed to do something, but she was so very tired.

It was Wren who stepped forward, waving her arms. “Jorge? Is that you?” She broke into the first smile that Marguerite had seen from her since they’d been captured by Wisdom’s people.

“Wren?” One of the paladins laughed aloud and swung himself off his horse. He was tall and muscular and something about the way he held himself reminded Marguerite very much of Shane. Jorge’s skin and hair were much darker and a scar cut rakishly through his right eyebrow, but he moved the same way and the massive sword slung across his back was a twin to the one that Shane had broken. “Dreaming God save us, what are you doing this far from Archenhold?”

“It’s a long story.” Wren looked back at Marguerite, as if for orders. “A very, very long story.”

“It must have been.” Jorge eyed their party sympathetically. Marguerite glanced back herself, seeing the layers of caked-on dust, torn clothes either hastily mended or covered with cloaks, and the fading bruises on Ashes’ face. “Please, let us offer you the hospitality of the temple. You can tell me all about it on the way.”

Davith spoke up. “Will there be baths?” he asked.

The paladin laughed. “I think we can manage that. But come, Wren, introduce me to these lovely ladies, will you?”

Wren rolled her eyes and made the introductions. Jorge bowed over Marguerite’s hand and kissed the back like a chevalier. “Charmed,” he told her.

“Tired,” she told him.

To his credit, he bowed just as deeply over the hand of Ashes Magnus and if anything, lingered longer on the kiss. Ashes snorted, but there was an appreciative glint in her eye. “You’re lucky I’m not twenty years younger, paladin.”

“And yet I find myself feeling deeply unlucky.”

Marguerite heard Davith mutter something under his breath about goddamn amateurs.

“Jorge, stop flirting and let us get these poor people to hot water and beds,” said one of the other paladins.

“Yes, of course. Forgive me.” He turned away from Ashes, (who definitely eyed his backside as he did) and picked up his horse’s reins, leading the animal on foot. “So, what brings you so far from Archenhold?”

Wren took a deep breath and looked at Marguerite for permission. Marguerite nodded to her. If we have to worry about the Dreaming God’s paladins working for the Red Sail, we are so utterly and comprehensively fucked that we might as well slit our wrists and be done with it.

“We came looking for Ashes. Some other people were, too. It got messy. But that’s not the important bit.” She waved a hand. “You’ve heard the rumors about a demon with followers in the hills?”

Jorge’s face went grave. “We have, yes.”

“We found them.”

The three paladins of the Dreaming God all reached for their swordhilts simultaneously, probably unconsciously. It would have been amusing if Marguerite had any amusement left in her.

“Shit,” said Jorge, letting his hand fall away. “It’s true, then? How many? Did you see the demon itself?”