Paladin

by Sally Slater

  “That might be problematic,” Braeden said. “They’re coming in from both sides.”

  “How is that possible?” Sam asked with a hint of nervousness. “How could they have gotten behind us?”

  Braeden pointed up. Three oversized worms, with spiked tails and shovel-shaped heads, slinked down the sides of the mountain from above, leaving behind a slimy secretion that glowed a faint green in the dark. When the worm demons reached the bottom of the mountain side, hundreds of skinny, segmented legs descended from holes in their body walls, and they scuttled on the ground like centipedes. “That’s how.”

  Tristan shuddered. “Absolutely vile. I loathe worms more than anything else.”

  “I thought you hated snakes,” Sam said.

  “I hate anything that moves without legs. It isn’t natural, I tell you.”

  “Those creatures look like they have legs to me. Several hundred of them.”

  “Sam?”

  “Yes, Tristan?”

  “Shut up.”

  Ignoring their banter, Braeden pulled his swords free from the scabbards strapped to his back, two in either hand. The front ranks of the demons, advancing from the north side of the pass, were ten yards or less away. “They’re almost upon us.”

  “Stay alert,” Tristan said. Directing his attention to Sam, he added, “Remember, you can’t rely on your eyes in this light.”

  As he spoke, a large hellhound darted out from its pack, rushing toward them on its long, powerful legs.

  “Tristan, watch out!” Braeden shouted.

  It was easy to forget when there was no fighting to be done that Tristan was a master swordsman, but he took only seconds to remind them. The demon had no sooner reached his feet than Tristan had sent its head rolling to the ground. A fountain of red spurted from its neck, splattering Tristan’s breeches.

  The stench of demon blood wafted through the air, sending the other demons into a frenzy. Braeden smiled. His swords were thirsty, too.

  Braeden ran, launching himself at the nearest demon. With the blade in his right hand, he sliced through its forelegs, and with the left, he carved through its neck. Leaping over its furry body, he drove his sword into the next.

  He kept one eye on Sam as he fought. She was contending with one of the worm demons, riding astride it as it squirmed to shake her off. She plunged her sword deep into its flat head. It let out a bone-chilling scream as it died. Satisfied, she pulled the blade from its carcass and moved towards her next target, not noticing the hellhound creeping up behind her.

  Braeden sprinted towards her, throwing one of his swords like a spear at her stealthy attacker. Pierced through the flank, the hound let out a high whine, stumbling backward. Sam whirled around to face him, scowling. “I had that,” she said. “I can handle myself. Go find your own demons to kill.”

  It wasn’t like there was a shortage. No matter how many demons he felled, more demons replaced them. He ripped through them mindlessly, stealing backward glances at Sam when he could. He couldn’t help himself, though he knew she could hold her own.

  “Gods, they’re never ending,” Tristan grumbled in between panting breaths. “A little help would be nice.”

  “We are helping!” Sam said indignantly.

  “I meant help from the Paladins. Where in the Gods’ names are they? I heard the warning bell ring ages ago.”

  To Tristan’s point, though the ground was awash with blood and viscera, they had barely made a dent in the demons’ numbers. Even Braeden was beginning to feel strained by the long fighting. He would need to access his extra reservoirs of power if this kept up.

  Two large flames lit the south side of the pass. “Look! I think someone’s coming!” Sam shouted. Long, humanoid shadows flitted across the mountain walls, shrinking in size as they drew nearer.

  “Paladins,” Tristan said. “Certainly took them long enough to get here.”

  “No,” Braeden said slowly, his pupils constricting as the flames flooded the pass with light. “It’s the Uriel.”

  A thick ring of demons separated Braeden, Sam, and Tristan from the fast approaching men, but Braeden was close enough to see that the shadows belonged to Adelard and Donnelly. The two Uriel were joined by several other men he didn’t recognize.

  Adelard carried a burning torch in one hand and a maul in the other. The haft of the maul was no longer than his arm from shoulder to wrist, and the heavy hammer head bore a spike on the back end, sharp enough to pierce the toughest armor or the thickest hide. Donnelly held a torch of his own in one hand and a scimitar in his other.

  “Halt!” Adelard commanded his men. The demons halted, too, distracted by the smell of fresh prey. “Who goes there?” he called into the passage.

  “It’s Paladin Tristan Lyons, with my trainees,” Tristan shouted back. “Where are the Paladins?”

  Before Adelard could respond, a worm demon swung its barbed tail at Sam. She stepped aside at the last possible moment and chopped off its tail, exposing its swollen innards like a hock of ham. Sam yelped as the severed tail flailed on the ground, narrowly missing her feet, till Tristan cut it into so many pieces that it resembled minced meat. “Pay attention, Sam!” he snapped.

  “I am paying attention,” she said. “I just wasn’t expecting that thing to move!”

  “I don’t care what you expected. Stay vigilant. Now, finish off the damn thing.”

  With a parting glower, Sam marched towards the worm, which wriggled about drunkenly without its tail. “Stupid worm,” she muttered, and then chopped its head clean off.

  Braeden lost sight of Sam and Tristan as four demons converged on him at once. He raised his swords and spun, cleaving through tendon and bone. He crouched low to the ground, readying for their next attack. As he swung out his right arm, sharp teeth bit into his left shoulder, tearing through muscle and tissue. He snarled at the searing pain. A green, fluorescent fluid leaked from the wound, burning holes in his clothes. Venom from one of the worm demons.

  Shoving the pain aside, he sunk his sword into the worm’s rubbery skin, hacking off a segment. He slashed again, cutting through the fleshy projection over its mouth, and then drove his second sword into the new opening, splitting it in half. His next blow went through a hellhound’s gullet.

  Though the wound was already healing over, streaks of fiery pain shot through his shoulder, like nothing he’d ever felt. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and his vision wavered, threatening to fade to black. He staggered forward, leaning on his swords for balance.

  Through drooping lids, Braeden saw Adelard crash into a circle of demons with a roar. The Uriel swung his heavy hammer, bashing its blunt head into demon skulls and impaling their necks with its spike. He followed through with his torch, wielding it like a weapon. The air reeked of scorched skin and fur.

  Fighting to stay conscious, Braeden searched through the carnage for Sam, hoping she was faring better than he. Where in the Gods’ names was she? He could only see Tristan and the Uriel, their voices echoing loudly through the narrow pass.

  “I know I said we’d see each other on the morrow—” Adelard paused to bat at a demon with his maul. “—but I was hoping to meet at least after dawn.”

  “I couldn’t think of a better time to renew our acquaintance,” Tristan said drolly. “In fact, I wouldn’t have complained had you arrived even earlier.”

  “We were delayed. There were a few one-off attacks in the heart of the city.”

  “No matter. I’m glad for the help, though I was expecting it to come in the form of the Paladins.”

  “Pirama learned not to rely on the Paladins months ago.”

  On unsteady feet, Braeden moved toward the two men. “Have you seen Sam?”

  Tristan froze. “I thought he was with you.”

  “No,” Braeden said grimly. He brought the tip of his curved blade to his breastbone.

  “What are you doing?” Tristan cried out.

  The world went crimson as his blade burrowed
into his heart. “Finding Sam.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Sam loved the feel of a sword in her hands. With a sword, she could do anything, be anything. She felt lethal, empowered, as strong as any man. She could fight forever, it seemed.

  But despite her boundless enthusiasm, her body grew weary. Her swings came slower and slower, and her sweaty palms began to chafe against the shark skin of her grip.

  She paused to catch her breath, leaning against her sword. A fierce wind shrieked around her, drowning out the sounds of battle. It was close to pitch black, too—the light of the Uriel’s torches didn’t carry to the part of the pass where she was fighting. She swore under her breath. Sam couldn’t see the others—she could hardly see at all. She must have gotten separated. Drat Tristan for being right, she should have paid better attention. Now she was alone in the dark with only her sword for company.

  Not totally alone, she amended. In the darkness, she could make out the shapes of hellhounds, flews pulled back to show their sharp, salivating smiles. Their eyes glowed like crimson beacons. Massive, steel-toed paws scraping over rock and stone, the demons closed in around her. Sam counted ten of them.

  Before she could panic—or even think about panicking—a long, preternatural howl rent the air. Claw and sword whirled into the wall of demons that surrounded her, sending bits and pieces of fur and flesh in every direction. Sam wiped off a stray intestine that had landed in the crook of her elbow. It shriveled into twine at her feet. She stared at the desiccated tube, wondering if her own bowels were ripped from her stomach would they deteriorate so easily.

  Half of the hellhounds were dead or dying, but it was the surviving demons that captivated her attention. What in the Gods’ names had happened to them? In a matter of seconds, they’d gone from violent creatures of chaos to little more than tame puppies. They sat on their hind legs, so still they seemed almost frozen. She raised her sword, bracing for an attack that never came.

  And then she saw Braeden, shouldering past the demons as though he had nothing to fear. His gaze locked on hers, eyes as red as she’d ever seen them, glimmering in the moonlight. What remained of his robes was in tatters, exposing his bare and battered body. The muscles in his arms were swollen like overripe melons, and blood dripped down his stomach from a gaping wound in his chest.

  He lurched towards her, closing the distance between them with inhuman speed. He stood inches away, watching her.

  Sam’s pulse sped up—he wasn’t himself, that much was obvious. “Braeden?” She searched his face for some sign of emotion or recognition—anything. He said nothing, silent and unblinking under her scrutiny.

  “Braeden,” she said again, putting some grit into her voice. She tapped him on the breastbone with the hilt of her sword. “Anybody home in there?”

  He growled, low in his throat. Sam instinctively took a few steps back.

  Braeden lunged for her. “Mine!” he snarled. He clamped her torso to his and bent his head to her neck, scraping his tongue along the base of her throat.

  Sam gasped and pushed at his muscle-bound body. “Braeden!” She trusted him—really, she did—but he was looking at her like she was a tasty morsel. She reminded herself that they were friends, or something of the sort. Friends didn’t eat friends, even if they were a little deranged.

  Braeden’s body swayed and his eyes shuttered closed. When he opened them again, their crimson glow had dimmed and a modicum of intelligence had returned. “Sam.”

  Relief flooded her. “Idiot.” She shoved him again. “What was that?”

  “Had to find you. Worked.” Braeden rubbed at the inflamed skin around the hole in his chest. “Worked too well.”

  Sam stared as blood leaked from the wound in a slow, steady stream. “I can see through to your heart. Did you do that to yourself?”

  Braeden nodded. “Direct to the heart is more effective. Sometimes too effective. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  Sam waved her hand dismissively. “I wasn’t scared,” she said, though she had been, just a little bit. She peered over at the demons, who remained stock-still. “Why aren’t they attacking us anymore?”

  Braeden grimaced. “When I’m like this—” He gestured at his grotesquely muscular form, “I can feel what they’re feeling, and they can feel what I’m feeling. But my will is stronger.”

  “So you’re controlling them?”

  “Not exactly. My will is overpowering theirs, for now, but they want you very badly, Sam.”

  “Me?” she squeaked. “You mean because I’m human?”

  “It’s more than that. There’s something about you that draws them to you. This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed.”

  Sam swallowed down bile. “Why?” she asked. “Why me?”

  Braeden shrugged his bulky shoulders. “I wish I knew. I worry that they want you like my father wanted my mother. I couldn’t live with myself if I let that happen to you.”

  Sam squashed the cold fear that his words evoked in the pit of her stomach. “I won’t let that happen to me. I don’t need to be rescued, by you or anyone.”

  Braeden’s tightly controlled mask slipped and he gripped her upper arms. “You don’t understand. I’m a monster, Sam. I hang on to my humanity by the barest thread. What happens if I let go? What happens if there are so many demons that their will subjugates mine? What if it’s my teeth that rip into your throat? I almost lost control just now.”

  Sam placed her hands over his. “But you didn’t. And you won’t. I know you, Braeden.” With a forced smile, she pushed him away. “Besides, what makes you think I’d ever let you bite me?”

  He gave her a look. “Funny.”

  “I try.” She adjusted her sword into position. “Come on, let’s end this.”

  Braeden nodded curtly, raising his blade. “Together,” he said.

  She returned his nod. “Together.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Tristan stared at the Uriel encampment illuminated by the dawnlight creeping over the mountains. It lay within a hanging valley at the far side of the pass, high above the main dale and the river far below. A stream cut diagonally across the valley, flowing past the encampment to a waterfall at the valley’s mouth. The fort itself was crudely formed, surrounded by a deep outer ditch and a turf rampart topped by a palisade of heavy timber stakes, with gated entrances at the midpoint of each of its four walls. Roofed sheds and buildings of varying size were strategically arranged throughout.

  The main Uriel base, according to the Sub Rosa, was in the city of Luca, on the western side of the Elurra Mountains. But he’d heard nothing of their operations in Pirama. The Sub Rosa were the best spies in Thule—how could they possibly be ignorant of it? The more he learned about the Uriel, the more he felt like he’d been purposefully left in the dark.

  Adelard led Tristan, Sam, and Braeden to the door of one of the largest buildings. “This is the infirmary,” the Uriel said. “Do you mind if I check on my men?” A few of the Uriel had been wounded fighting off the demons in the pass.

  “Go ahead,” Tristan said. He would have wanted to do the same if any of his men were injured. Braeden and Sam nodded, and the three of them followed Adelard in.

  Once inside, Tristan was shocked not only by the modernity and size of the infirmary but also by the number of people it supported. Most of the sickbeds were filled, and not just by the Uriel. The patients included the elderly, several women and children, as well as a few men who looked as though they had never so much as touched a weapon.

  Tristan plucked what he assumed to be a surgical tool from a nearby table, examining the ironwork. It looked more like a torture device than an instrument of medicine.

  A surly man in a white linen hat and bloodstained clothes grabbed the tool from Tristan’s hands. “Don’t touch that!” he snapped, stomping off down the aisle.

  “Don’t mind the good surgeon,” Adelard said. “He’s no doubt had a busy night.”

  “What is this place?” Sam asked, a bit
green in the face.

  “An improvised hospital for victims of demon attacks. It’s only been up and running for a month now, and we’re short on medical supplies. But we try to help as many as we can, regardless.”

  “What’s wrong with the local doctors?” Tristan asked.

  “They’re either dead or long gone, I’m afraid,” Adelard said. “There’s one doctor who stayed in East Pirama, but his prices are out of reach for most.”

  “And what do you charge for medical treatment?”

  “We encourage our patients to pay what they can. Usually, they wind up paying close to nothing, if anything at all,” Adelard said ruefully. “But at least if they come to us, they’re safe from a second attack while they’re at their most vulnerable.”

  It was a good idea, Tristan hated to admit. Briefly, he wondered why the Paladins hadn’t thought to set up something similar. Although, in all fairness, most of the cities east of Pirama had their own hospitals and doctors and had no need of their interference. Besides, resources only extended so far, and the Paladins were warriors, not healers. Surely the Uriel knew that offering any service for free was not sustainable. He questioned their motives—no one did anything out of pure altruism. “What’s in it for the Uriel?” he asked, not expecting an honest answer.

  “We saw a need and we filled it. It’s what we do.”

  A man’s scream erupted from the back of the infirmary. “Quiet!” the surgeon barked. He inserted a wooden, screw-shaped gag into the man’s mouth. “Bite!” The man did as instructed, his breath coming out in wheezes.

  The surgeon retrieved a wicked-looking bow-frame saw. The patient’s eyes went wild with fear, and he thrashed against the bed. “Hold still, damn it!” The surgeon threw himself on top of the flailing man. “Adelard, you with the sticky fingers”—he pointed at Tristan—“the rest of you lot! I need your help!”

  Adelard turned to Tristan and raised an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge. Tristan nodded resolutely, and he, his trainees, and Adelard rushed to the surgeon’s side.