by KM Merritt
“But?”
He glared at her but still answered. “I haven’t noticed any of them underfoot in the last few days. Didn’t think anything of it ‘cause it’s a relief not to have them in the way.”
Vola was moving before he’d finished speaking.
The door hung ajar, too warped to close properly, and she stuck her head in to examine the long hall.
“Hello?” she called.
No one answered.
She stepped inside and a puff of dust and dirt rose around her boot. The air of emptiness made her nose itch, and she rubbed it absently.
Empty rooms lined the hallway, leading to a set of stairs at the back of the orphanage. A school room with a wide chalk board at one end, “Annie’s a poop head” scrawled in one corner. A play room with toys scattered across the threadbare carpet as if abandoned in the middle of a mock battle, and in the corner one lone picture book lying open on a painting of a princess. A bathing room with a rubber duck, long dry, waiting on the rack. And a room full of bunks, some made neatly and others with the blankets pulled half off the bed.
All silent. All empty.
At the back of the hall, another door stood open and Vola found the only occupant in the house.
A young woman sat at a desk, her hands flat on its surface and her eyes fixed on the wall ahead. The headmistress or caretaker. Except there was no one for her to take care of.
Vola waved a hand in front of her face. “Miss?”
She didn’t have to knock the girl from her chair to know she was an illusion, too.
Vola’s lips pressed tight enough to hurt, and she left the girl sitting at the desk in an empty orphanage. On her way out, she stopped and bent to pick up a toy lying in the shadows beside the front door. A stuffed rabbit, worn around the neck and arms. Like it had been dragged everywhere.
Vola weighed it in her hand.
Someone was stealing people from this little town on the edge of a swamp. Stealing them and then replacing the ones who would be missed.
They hadn’t bothered with the kids. Because no one cared about orphans.
Vola’s fingers stroked the stuffed rabbit before she tucked it into her belt.
That wasn’t true anymore. Someone cared about them now.
She stepped out of the orphanage. The townspeople still crowded the street, whispering to each other, but the redheaded man was gone.
Vola squared her shoulders and started down the street, facing the arduous task of informing a woman that her husband was literally a pile of mud.
The crowd parted around her, women drawing back their skirts and men avoiding her gaze. They moved stiffly as if she’d chase them down if they showed their fear and ran. Prey before a predator.
Vola let her lip lift just a little and the rest of the crowd cleared out of the way, scattering down alleys and into houses. A couple of doors slammed.
Vola grunted. Humans were such sheep.
Four
She shouldn’t have worried about breaking the news to Becky. Someone got there before her.
The crowd had migrated until it stood outside the Tea and Tap Room, blocking Vola’s way forward. The dull roar echoed off the buildings, emphasizing her heartbeat.
She reached the edge of the crowd, but the two women in front of her didn’t even notice the armed and armored half-orc sneaking up on them from behind. They waved their hands in the air and called out things like “oh, what is this world coming to?” and “who can we trust?”
Vola shouldered her way through. When someone stepped in her way, she picked them up and set them off to the side. She moved through the crowd, leaving a wake of gasps and horrified looks.
On the porch of the tea room, Becky stood with her arms crossed. Her foot tapped as she listened to the red-haired man who’d called Vola a monster.
Becky caught sight of Vola and raised her hand to the man. “Stop.” Then she held out her palm to Vola. “Tell me.”
When Becky spoke, the crowd quieted and Vola cleared her throat.
“Porter wasn’t real,” Vola said shortly. Becky didn’t need her to sugar coat it and professionalism would get her farther than prevarication. “He was an illusion. They’re all illusions. Your people are missing.”
Becky’s shoulders sagged. “I was hoping it was something simpler than that. Fungus in the well or a new cult. But I guess missing is a damn sight better than dead.”
Vola did her best not to wince. She actually had no idea if the victims were still alive, although a fierce hope burned in her chest. It was more likely that the kidnapper had left the replacements to keep the townsfolk from pursuing their missing people, rather than setting up this elaborate hoax just to cover up murder.
Becky stood straight and…well, not tall. She only came up to Vola’s elbow, but she carried all five feet of her height with dignity. And she stared straight at Vola.
“We can’t afford a real paladin contract. I know that requires paying you half up front and posting the job to the council and everything. But…” Becky raised her chin. “Will you help us find them?”
Vola sucked in a gasp.
Becky held her gaze. She knew exactly what she was asking.
Paladins often answered contracts, yes. There were plenty of fat, lazy knights who lounged in their quarters at the academy, waiting for lucrative paychecks.
But fifty years or so ago, it had been well known that a paladin knight had to answer any call for help. It was in their oaths, even if the council tried to downplay it now.
Vola had never expected anyone to ask her for help.
She placed her fist over her heart and inclined her head. “I will find them.” Her other hand touched the stuffed rabbit in her belt. All of them. Even the ones who have no one to ask for them.
Never mind the fact that she’d only taken novice and candidate oaths. That hardly mattered when someone was standing there looking at her like that and down the street, there was an empty orphanage.
The red-haired man glared at her from over Becky’s shoulder.
“We’re supposed to trust an orc—”
“Half-orc,” Vola said.
“With our wives and daughters?”
Vola tilted her head. “What do you think I’m going to do to your wives and daughters?”
His mouth worked, but he didn’t come up with an answer.
“Find them?” Vola raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I promise to find them.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said with a glower.
“Then what did you mean?” Vola lowered her voice and casually lifted her hand to touch the hilt of her sword. She’d never actually draw it against an innocent—even one like him—but he didn’t need to know that.
“I’m not trusting my family to an unproven orc who’s just as likely to murder us all in our beds.”
Vola’s teeth creaked as she clenched them. “Not sure why I’d wait till you’re in bed,” she said. “I could murder you right here. Notice the fact that I’m not.”
Becky rolled her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. “Enough, Braydon. She’s a paladin. You don’t get to be a paladin unless you’re chosen by one of the Virtues. You want to anger one of the gods?”
Braydon scoffed. “I haven’t seen any evidence of a god, yet. Have you?”
Vola glanced at the sky. Nothing but a couple of clouds scudding along. No divine fire bolts. You want to talk to this guy? she asked in her head.
“Nope,” a voice like the whisper of a breeze spoke beside her ear. No one else reacted.
Sure, now you get all modest.
“My goddess is pretty picky about who she talks to.” Vola crossed her arms. “You’re not on her list.” She turned back to Becky. “I promise I’ll find them. Luckily, I don’t need everyone’s approval to do so.”
Braydon spun on his heel and pushed through the crowd.
Vola frowned when half the townspeople left with him. She may not have needed their approval, but it sure would have be
en nice to have it. This was going to be a lot harder if she had to fight Braydon and half the town every step of the way.
Across the street, Vola caught sight of a figure in leather and plate armor leaning against the clapboard side of a building. Henri watched the whole scene with his arms crossed.
When Vola stood like that it was a deliberate gesture to prove how nonchalant she was. And if she was being honest, it covered a host of insecurities that lurked under her skin. But when Henri lounged, it was as natural and thoughtless as breathing, as was the air of competence that exuded from every pore.
One day, Vola thought. One day, I’ll be able to lounge like that and it’ll mean something.
“I might not be able to pay,” Becky said as she headed for the door of the Tea and Tap Room. “But I can feed you. Come see me before you leave.”
Vola gave her a nod then stepped down off the porch to approach her trainer.
Henri had never graduated from the academy; he had never been selected by one of the Virtues. He carried a shield, but it did not signify his rank. More often, he used it to bash the heads of his thicker students. There was no rank that could describe a teacher the way Henri was a teacher. Because there was only one Henri.
Henri was not a full knight. Henri created knights.
Becky might have been impressed that Vola had been chosen by a Virtue, even a Lesser one. But she should have been more impressed by the fact that Vola had been chosen by Henri.
Even the paladin council didn’t dare tell Henri who he could and couldn’t teach. And every student he’d ever taken had gone on to become renowned knights, champions of justice, and defenders of the innocent.
Vola wondered if every other student of his had realized they were the last in a long line of success that could fail at any moment. With them.
“That could have gone better,” Vola said as she came up beside Henri.
“Could have gone a lot worse.” He shrugged, his pauldrons moving smoothly with the motion. Henri’s armor would never do anything so uncouth as clank. “I especially liked the ‘notice the way I’m not murdering you’ bit.”
Vola sighed. “I’m a little tired of having a reputation that I didn’t earn just because of the way I was born.”
Henri snorted. “So does half the world, kid. And the other half doesn’t give a wargle’s ass. Get used to it. ‘Cause you’ll spend the rest of your life earning their trust.”
“How? By not murdering people?” she said with a huff. “I tried that. People don’t seem to notice when you deliberately don’t murder them.”
“Even when you point it out to them so nicely?” He gave her a sidelong look that made her flush. He gripped her shoulder so she could feel the comforting pressure through her chain mail. “Keep moving forward, Lightbringer. You want your shield? Find those people.”
Vola straightened. “Really?”
“You think you volunteer for that and I’m just going to ignore it? A paladin has to answer a call for help. But a real paladin wants to answer a call for help.”
Vola touched the stuffed rabbit again. “There’s no one else,” she said. “I can’t just walk away if there’s something I can do about it.”
“Then find them. And you’ll have earned your shield and your title. If I knight you, there’s nothing the academy can do to say you didn’t earn it.”
Warmth swelled in Vola’s belly and a tingle went down her arms, making her fingers itch for the hilt of her sword. This was what she’d been working toward for years. A chance to prove to everyone back at the academy that she was as good as them. A chance to prove that Henri hadn’t made a huge mistake picking her.
She let her hand rest on her hilt, calming the itch just a little.
Henri had knelt to rub a stray dog under its chin while its tail thumped in the dirt, raising little clouds. “Where are you going to start?”
How many times had he asked her something similar, getting her to think through her training? “What’s the next step, Vola?”
A part of her wanted to go charging into the swamp ready to bash anything that moved. But Henri never charged anywhere. Not without knowing exactly what he was charging into.
Vola rubbed her neck, thinking of the illusions and the mud sinking into the ground. Magic. She was good at a lot of things, but magic was not one of them. And with so many people gone, this plot was probably part of something bigger than one person or bandit.
She was going to need help.
“I need a team.”
Five
Becky let Vola and Henri spend the night in front of the fire in the common room since she didn’t have any rooms to rent. In the morning, Vola set herself up at one of the tables at the back of the Tea and Tap Room, and Becky kept her tea cup full throughout the day. Vola had set up a billboard right outside the door of the bar and another in front of her table which read:
Looking for Adventurers!
Experienced explorers apply inside.
Vanquish evil and earn both money and fame!
Henri’s lessons had not included compelling sign writing.
By mid-afternoon, Vola was ready to beat her head against the table.
A knobbly youth dressed in dirty trousers and a faded shirt stepped up to her table.
“Name?” Vola said. Then made the mistake of smiling at him.
He staggered back a step. “R-Ricky,” he said. He tried to hide his hands, but it didn’t do him any good when his entire body shook. Apparently, the promise of gold outweighed the terror of conversing politely with a half-orc.
“Well, Ricky, do you have any previous combat experience?” Vola asked.
“Not—not yet.”
Over his shoulder, she noticed Braydon. The redhead was setting up a table at the opposite end of the room. The sign propped next to him read:
Honor! Glory! And fame!
Find these and more when you join your fellow neighbors to fight evil and win back your family members!
Vola scowled. He’d stolen her idea. And he was better at writing signs than she was.
Already, a line was forming at his table, full of strapping young men and promising-looking women.
And here she sat with…Ricky.
“Have you handled a weapon?” she said.
“My da says a pitchfork is a weapon if you hold it right.”
“Hmm,” Vola made a show of shuffling through a stack of papers. “Well, thank you, Ricky. I’ll keep your application on file and get back to you with a decision.”
Ricky’s head bobbed, and a smile flitted across his face as if he was a little relieved she hadn’t thrown some gear at him and marched him out of town. The youth hunched away. Over to join Braydon’s line.
Vola let the papers fall and buried her face in her hands.
She might have been desperate, but she wasn’t in the business of recruiting farm boys with delusions of not dying.
She rubbed her eyes. Henri was fair and gracious to a fault and he wouldn’t blame her if she couldn’t find anyone to help in a town like this, but leaving this table empty-handed would feel like she’d failed one of the first lessons he’d ever taught her. How to make friends.
Someone sat with a thump on the seat in front of Vola’s table, making her jump.
“So, when do we leave?” Sorrel asked.
The halfling had slung a quarterstaff across her back, and she’d managed to sit with it even though the thing was twice as tall as she was.
Well, Vola had been looking for competent adventurers.
She pulled the stack of paper closer and smoothed the edges self-consciously. If the halfling leaned forward, she’d see there wasn’t actually anything written on any of them, but Vola felt more official with the paper serving as a barrier between herself and the rest of the world.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Vola said.
Sorrel’s brow drew down with hurt. “I just had to go get my things. I figured we’d be going after the kidnappers. Tha
t’s what we’re doing, right?”
Vola glanced around the table but the only thing the halfling had brought with her was the quarterstaff and a tiny pack.
She shrugged. So far, Sorrel was the closest thing to an adventurer she’d seen in this town.
“You can fight,” she said without a hint of question.
The halfling nodded succinctly. “Since I was four.”
Vola dropped the pages with surprise. Four? She beat Vola by at least two years. And she’d thought her parents were insane to take a six-year-old on a camping trip in goblin territory.
“I was raised by the monks in one of Maxim’s monasteries and trained in martial arts since I was old enough to force the issue,” Sorrel said.
Vola blinked, wondering what exactly that meant. She cleared her throat. “Aren’t monks supposed to be peaceful? All that meditation and self-reflection stuff.”
“Just because we know how to hold our tempers doesn’t mean we don’t know when someone needs a kick in the shins, too. The abbot always preached non-violence, but he still let Master Bao teach everyone how to throw a punch.”
“You’re not a spell caster, too, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Drat. I’d really like one of those.”
“Because of the illusions? Smart,” the halfling said and reached for one of the papers. She held the blank sheet in front of her, then frowned. She laid it back down on the table and smoothed it with broad, capable fingers.
“About the pay,” Vola said, clearing her throat. “It’s not set in stone yet.” She actually had no idea where they were going to get the money to outfit themselves, since this wasn’t a full contract. But her sign had looked so incomplete without those squiggly little gold coins she’d drawn in the corners.
Sorrel waved a hand. “I don’t care about the money. You can keep my share.”
Vola blinked. “What?” All adventurers cared about was gold.
“I’ve been sleeping on a stone slab since I was a baby. I eat gruel and drink cheap beer. I fight with a glorified stick.” She touched the quarterstaff on her shoulder and shrugged. “What use do I have for gold?”