Page 18 of Paladin's Faith

“Eh…” Ramsey shrugged. “It’s a weak one, so I doubt it can jump unless we kill the steer, and that only with physical contact. I don’t object.”

An actual expression flicked across Shane’s face. This one resembled a scowl. Marguerite suspected that he wanted to argue the point, but wasn’t quite willing to go up against a senior member of the Temple. I should never have implied that he wasn’t protecting me well enough. All it did was make things worse.

Then he bowed his head. “I should not question your judgment, sir. I apologize.”

“Don’t,” said Ramsey. “You’re doing exactly what a responsible guardian would. If I hadn’t already come up against this one, I wouldn’t allow it either.”

“Don’t fret. I’ll stand with her,” added Xavier. He winked at her. “Sweet deal for me. I get to stand around with a pretty lady while the youngsters do all the heavy lifting.”

“I’m thirty-six,” said Shane.

“I’m forty-five. You’re a youngster.”

Wren, who Marguerite had pegged as being in her late twenties, muttered something. Foster gazed at the ceiling and whistled.

“I’m fifty-seven, so all of you can be quiet,” grumbled Ramsey.

They rode out until they reached an area that looked exactly the same as all the other areas to Marguerite, except that there was a fence on the other side of the field.

Behind the fence was a very large cow. Or steer, I suppose. Not that I imagine it matters much, now that it’s a demon.

It didn’t look particularly demonic. It looked injured and exhausted. One of its hind legs dragged and its sides heaved as it breathed. One side of its body seemed larger than the other. Were cows supposed to stick out to the sides like that?

“Bloat,” said Wren. “It’s going to die soon anyway.”

“If we want to bind it with the animal’s death, we’ll have to do it now, then,” said the Dreaming God’s paladin. Shane slid off his horse and moved to assist the injured man in dismounting, with the same unobtrusive courtesy that he used on Wren.

They left the mounts in the trees on the far side of the field, out of sight. Foster preferred to stay with the horses. “I’ve seen a demon,” he said laconically. “I don’t need to see another one in this life.”

The paladin of the Dreaming God stopped well back from the fence, on a slight rise in the ground. “We’ll get a better view from here.”

“I bow to an expert.” Marguerite turned to follow him, but Shane put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder.

He had not touched her since he had helped her up from her fall. She was briefly surprised, and then even more surprised when he gripped her other shoulder as well and leaned down to look her in the eyes.

“Lady Marguerite,” he said quietly, and it was the voice again, the healer’s voice, and even though she knew what he was doing, it felt like warm water being poured down her spine. Comforting. Trustworthy. Safe. She could not remember the last time that another person had made her feel safe.

Ice blue eyes gazed intently into hers. “Lady Marguerite,” he said again, “if the demon charges the fence, I want you to run. Run for the horses. If Wren or I am slain, run. Above all else, if any of us begin to act strangely, run. There will be nothing that you can do to help, and you may be in terrible danger. Will you give me your word?”

In other circumstances, she might have felt patronized. Did the man think that she was such a fool that she wouldn’t run from a demon? It was the knife in the dark that she feared, not a possessed cow in broad daylight. But there was nothing in his eyes but concern and his voice was so earnest and she remembered Wren saying, You have to mean it.

“Yes,” she said. “I promise. Are you sure this safe?”

He released her, rubbing his heavy leather gauntlets together. “It is dangerous, but no more so than stopping a mugging in an alley. And I would insist on doing that as well.” A rueful smile flashed across his face, so quickly that she half-thought she’d imagined it, and then he stepped back and drew his sword.

“Was that necessary?” Marguerite asked the injured paladin in an undertone.

“It was all good advice,” said Sir Xavier. “He’s being conscientious.” The older man paused, and the humor left his eyes as well. “He’s right, though. I’m fairly certain we’re safe over here, and I ought to be able to see a demon jump, but if I got it wrong—and especially if I start acting bizarre—run like hell and don’t look back. Get to the nearest temple and have them send out an army. A demon that can take a paladin is a walking nightmare.”

“Has that ever happened?” Marguerite watched as Shane hopped over the fence, drawing his sword. Wren had pulled out her axe and unslung her shield.

“Yes.” Xavier’s voice was grim. “I knew Lord Caliban, many years ago. He was the best of us, and then a demon grabbed him somehow. He murdered half the temple before the other paladins brought him down.”

“My god.”

Shane and Wren circled the demon steer. It limped pathetically on three legs, bloated and bedraggled. For a moment, Marguerite wondered if they were simply showing an abundance of caution, and then the thing charged.

It was blindingly fast and it moved completely wrong, throwing its legs forward in a way that no mammal should ever move. Marguerite was reminded of a roach’s scuttle. She put her hand to her mouth.