Page 152 of Paladin's Faith

“Was that a possibility?”

“Oh yes. If they aren’t through in a few minutes, we’ll probably at least get some tea kettles worth of boiling water dumped on us.”

Davith began to pray with more sincerity than Marguerite had ever heard him express about anything.

Crash!

The doors gave way and the paladins poured inside the keep, followed by the crossbowmen, followed, with much trepidation, by two priests, and Marguerite and Davith.

The paladins split into two groups as soon as they were inside the keep, taking a priest and two crossbowmen with them. Marguerite and Davith clung to Burnet’s side, in the group that included (thankfully) Jorge and Wren and did not include (thankfully) Sir. They also had the injured bowman, who had wrapped his shoulder but was obviously not going to be shooting anyone any time soon.

Judith had gone with the other group, as Sir apparently did not wish to leave the two potentially possessed berserkers together. Marguerite’s group went up a flight of steps, reached a landing, and then someone shot across the top of the stairs, fired an arrow down, and kept going. A paladin let out a strangled sound, snapped off the shaft of the arrow that had pierced his forearm, and growled, “No, don’t worry, I’m fine. Keep going.”

Jorge glanced back at the group and nodded once. The crossbowman said, sounding surly, “No, I didn’t have time to get a shot off, not with you lot in the way. They were firing blind and got lucky, that’s all.”

At the top of the stairs, they faced a corridor running in both directions. Whoever was in charge—Marguerite was no longer sure—took them right. Through the press of bodies, she could see doors being opened, presumably in a fashion that minimized being unexpectedly murdered, and the rooms checked for people.

Two more arrows were fired at them, one from either direction. “Hold!” Jorge snapped, when it looked as if a paladin might run after one of the archers. “If we get separated and led into a trap, we’re done for.”

Which was good tactical advice, no doubt, but one of the arrows passed so closely by Wren’s head that Marguerite let out a startled yelp and Wren herself jerked back and nearly bashed the back of her head into the wall.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this so much…

Stop that. Get hold of yourself. You’ve sent people into danger before, you can damn well deal with it yourself. It’s only right.

Marguerite took a deep breath and told herself that she was firmly in control of her emotions, whereupon the world slewed sideways as Wren kicked her feet out from under her, vaulted over her falling body, and buried an axe in the face of the man who had just leapt out of a side room that was supposed to be empty. He dropped his sword across Marguerite’s shins, fell heavily backward, and died.

Marguerite gave herself up to the panic for a moment. Davith and Burnet hauled her to her feet and someone was saying something that she couldn’t hear through the ringing in her ears. Were there more stairs? There must have been, because when she could focus again, they weren’t in the same hallway and there wasn’t a dead man at her feet, though Wren was still splattered liberally with someone else’s blood.

The smallest voice in the back of Marguerite’s mind said, If you can’t save Shane, you’re going to have to hire Wren as your permanent bodyguard or you’re never going to feel remotely safe ever again.

This wasn’t the most appealing prospect. Marguerite liked Wren quite a lot but there were very few people she didn’t get tired of after weeks on end. Actually, the only ones she could think of were Grace and…Shane.

Which is why you’re here. Doing a dreadfully unsafe thing. So that you can feel safe.

The absurdity of that made her snort and she shook herself off, feeling as if she was stepping out of cold water. “Thanks,” she said to Wren.

Wren grinned briefly. “It’s what you pay me for.”

“I haven’t been paying you, but I’ll double it.”

“Heh.”

There was a short flight of steps leading down at the end of the hallway. Which made no sense at all, but Marguerite had lost track of the architecture by now. Sloppy. Her days of lifting paperwork had taught her better than that, surely.

Once down the stairs, the paladins started opening doors again. The rooms were all empty, but Marguerite’s stomach clenched with every door, until she was almost ready for another arrow, just to break the tension.

Then they opened a door and a man lunged out with a knife in each hand.

Marguerite had an instant to recognize Erlick before he swiped at the lead paladin. The man swung his shield around to deflect, and to Marguerite’s horror, Erlick threw himself sideways, blades flashing—directly onto the paladin’s sword.

The paladin had no time to appreciate his victory. He had moved his shield and that mistake proved fatal. Two arrows came from farther down the hall. One took him in the throat and the other buried itself in the uninjured crossbowman and dropped him like a stone. His weapon fired when it hit the ground, the bolt shattering against the far wall.

“Got you, you son of a bitch,” whispered Erlick, and then blood poured out of his mouth and he died.

“Shit!” Jorge reached for his comrade, saw at once that it was hopeless, and turned to the other man. Burnet was already rising, shaking his head.

For the first time, it occurred to Marguerite that possibly it wasn’t Shane who had needed rescuing.