Page 16 of Paladin's Faith

“Clear,” he said, very seriously, stepping back.

Marguerite bit back a sarcastic remark. Flat assassins, who somehow knew which inn we’d be stopping at, and which room I would take… No. Be good. You already put your foot in it once today. If it makes the man feel better, there’s no harm in it.

“I will accompany you downstairs,” he informed them.

“I don’t think we’re going to be attacked on the stairs, brother,” Wren said.

Shane grunted. Marguerite’s growing glossary of Shane Grunts translated this one as “You may be correct, but I am not altering my behavior.” She stifled a sigh. I brought this on myself. If I had realized who was talking to me…

Yes, but how on earth was I supposed to know that he could sound like that?

She waited until the door had shut and then turned to Wren. “What on earth was that?”

“Shane takes his duty very seriously. I don’t think he ever got over being left at the altar by his first god. And then later, when the Saint died—”

“No, no.” Marguerite waved her arms. “I meant when he was picking me up. The way he sounded.”

“Oh, that.” Wren grinned, no longer so serious. “That was the voice. Shane’s really good at it.”

“Beartongue warned me, but I had no idea. Is that magic?”

Wren considered this. “Not exactly? I think it’s more like the black tide. The berserker fits, I mean.” She gestured to herself. “Anybody can learn to fight, and some people go berserk, but only some people go berserk for a god. But now that the Saint is dead, we all still go berserk, unfortunately.” One corner of her mouth crooked up. “Well, not me that often. Some of us are closer to the edge than others.”

Marguerite filed that away as interesting information for later, but at the moment she had other fish to fry. “So a divine gift of sorts?”

“Right. Except you have to have a certain amount of potential to do the voice in the first place.” Wren cocked her head and then said, in a kind, sympathetic voice, “I hope that it didn’t upset you. He would never have intended to cause you harm.”

It was the voice of a friend, the one who held you when you cried because you’d spotted your lover with another woman, the one who picked you up when everything was broken past all mending. “Not really,” said Marguerite, “it was just a surprise, and then I felt bad because…hey!”

Wren burst out laughing. “That’s the best I can do. I’m not in Shane’s league, or even Istvhan’s. It works a lot better when you sound like an authority figure, and I’m no good at that.”

Marguerite suddenly remembered hearing Stephen talk to a young would-be assassin, a few years and several lifetimes ago. He’d sounded so calm and so trustworthy, but she’d assumed that it was because he was genuinely calm and trustworthy.

Sweet Lady of Grass, if I could sound like that, I’d be the greatest spy the world has ever known. People would fight to tell me their secrets. As it is, I just make sympathetic noises and top up the wineglass.

“I don’t suppose you can teach me…?”

“Nope.” Wren shook her head. “Most of us can do it, but not that well. Galen—have you met Galen? No?—he can’t do it at all. He just sounds like himself. But most of the Saint of Steel’s people didn’t need it anyway. You use it most when you’re dealing with civilians. If you find survivors, or if you’re trying to get people out of an area where things are about to get really ugly, it helps to have someone who can sound trustworthy explaining the situation instead of just screaming at people to get the hell out.”

“Huh.” Marguerite considered this. “I can see how it would be useful.” She thought back to her interactions with Stephen. He’d always seemed patient and trustworthy. On the other hand, he actually was patient and trustworthy, so that might have a lot to do with it. Most of the paladins are. It’s why they’re paladins and the rest of us aren’t.

“Anyway, the people who can really do the voice are the Dreaming God’s people,” said Wren. “They have to. It’s all tied up with how they compel demons. So since Shane was trained in His temple, he’s really good at it.” She paused, then gave Marguerite a concerned look. “It’s not like mind control. You can’t make someone walk off a cliff or anything. Hell, half the time you can’t even convince them to move off a battlefield. It’s just good at calming people down and making them actually stop and listen to you. And you can’t lie in the voice, either.”

“You can’t?”

Wren shook her head, getting to her feet. “You have to mean what you’re saying. Really and truly believe it. That’s why it works.”

Marguerite abandoned her dream of becoming the world’s most persuasive spy. Ah, well. Easy come, easy go. “Thanks for explaining. Let’s go see if Shane has found any assassins standing between us and dinner, shall we?”

There were no assassins, although Shane was out of his room and planted in front of them the instant their own door opened. “I can bring you up food,” he said.

“You can, but I’d rather eat down below,” said Marguerite. “We might pick up something worth knowing.”

That was definitely a skeptical expression. Marguerite exulted that she was able to read it. Wren elbowed him in the ribs and said, “If you bring us up a tray, somebody might poison it, you know. Or a bird could come through the window and attack us.”

“I have confidence that you could dispatch a bird.”

“A rabid bird.”