Paladin’s Hope: Book Three of the Saint of Steel

by T. Kingfisher

  The blades retracted. The doorway slid open. Earstripe poked his head through. “Humans still alive? Not chopped like apples?”

  “Still alive,” Galen confirmed, stepping back.

  Piper resigned himself to battling with his spongiform erectile tissue for a while longer yet. “Yes. What’s past this, Earstripe? More doors?”

  “Not doors,” said Earstripe, surprising him. “Long hall. Six alcoves. One door at the end.”

  The two humans went immediately to the door. Sure enough, the corridor ran much farther than any of the previous ones had, bracketed by three alcoves on each side. Alcove was perhaps ungenerous; each one was nearly the size of the sitting room in Piper’s apartment. The door at the end was framed with dozens of lines.

  “The way out, do you think?” asked Piper. “Are we through?”

  Galen shook his head. “No idea. I’m too turned around to tell you.”

  “A gnole doesn’t think so,” said Earstripe. “If a gnole is picturing right, last door should be on left wall, not straight ahead. But could be a door to another hallway. Ancient humans liked hallways.” He scowled.

  “Or it could be another trap,” said Galen. He rubbed his face. “I know it’s only been a few hours, but I don’t think any of us slept much, did we? Perhaps we could try again? Before I dodge more blades?”

  “A gnole thinks this is a good idea.”

  They sat down in one of the alcoves and divided out a few apples and the waterskins. “Do you know, I used to like apples?” said Piper, gazing at his wearily.

  “Don’t you complain about that apple,” said Galen. “That apple’s brother saved my life.”

  “Should I apologize to it?”

  “I think that would be best.”

  Piper put a hand over his heart. “Dear apple, I did not mean to belittle your family’s sacrifice. Please, forgive me.”

  “Humans have lost their damn minds,” said Earstripe, shaking his head. “A gnole knew it was only a matter of time.”

  Piper grinned and took a bite of the apple. Galen snickered. “You should just be impressed we made it this long.”

  “A gnole is very impressed, tomato-man,” said Earstripe, and ducked the apple that the paladin threw at his head.

  Twenty-One

  Later, when they had eaten as many apples as they could stand and converted the prior trapped room into a de facto privy, the three sat together in the farthest alcove. Galen wished they could have a fire. The lantern gave off a tiny bit of heat and he watched Piper warm his hands at it. Earstripe lay in a boneless sprawl, his dark eyes pensive. Galen wondered what the gnole was thinking. Planning for the future? What are his plans, anyway?

  “So what will you do, when this is over?” asked Galen. “Are you done with the guard forever? When it comes out that you solved the murders, Mallory will almost have to take you back, but I can’t swear that it’ll be easy on you.”

  Earstripe sighed. “Probably done. A gnole spent too long twisting whiskers. A gnole was almost done anyway. Guard always listens to some human before guard listens to a guard-gnole. Even if a guard-gnole is right.” His whiskers drooped. “Helped a little,” he said. “But didn’t help enough.”

  “But you did help,” said Galen. “You made a difference for your people. One you couldn’t make anywhere else. You could keep making a difference.” He looked at Piper for backup.

  “Such a paladin thing to say,” said Piper. Galen blinked at him. “It’s a noble sentiment, but you can’t ask people to pour themselves out for something that doesn’t care and can’t be fixed and at the end they’re empty and nothing changes.”

  Galen suspected it was a mistake but he said it anyway. “But if nobody tries to change things, they don’t get changed. How else can we change it?”

  Piper sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know it’s not Earstripe’s job to kill himself to fix human mistakes.”

  “A gnole would, if it would fix them,” said Earstripe, sounding very tired. “But always more problems. Nothing stays fixed. Another gnole can try, maybe. This gnole is done.”

  He got to his feet. “And now this gnole is tired. A gnole is going to sleep before next door.” He paused, giving Piper a wry look. “If tomato-man screams, a gnole would prefer you not try to help.”

  Piper barked a laugh. It broke the tension, even if the topic was scarcely any less fraught than the previous one. “I promise I’ll keep my good intentions to myself.”

  Earstripe nodded and slouched off to another alcove. Piper leaned back against the wall. Galen studied his profile, the long nose and full lips, the stubble that crept along his jaw, looking deep blue in the ancient light.

  The silence had stretched out so long that it had almost ceased to be uncomfortable when Piper turned his cheek against the wall to look at Galen. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “What?”

  “If I snapped at you earlier. I know you’re a paladin, and changing the world is exactly what you’re supposed to do. It’s just…” He made a meaningless gesture with his free hand. “The rest of us aren’t built to quite such a heroic mold. It kills us after a while.”

  Galen snorted at the thought of fitting any kind of heroic mold. “Some of us might be heroes.” He thought of his fellow paladins, some of whom could undoubtedly rub shoulders with any hero ever born. “I’m hardly one of them, though.”

  “You are incredibly brave,” said Piper. “You go into those rooms first, expecting to die.”

  “Yes, but that’s not heroism,” said Galen. “That’s what I’m for. And don’t start with me about how doing your job is heroic under the right circumstances, because I’ve seen plenty of battlefield medics, too, so you’d be just as guilty of it as I am.”

  “God forbid.” It was Piper’s turn to snort. “Why do you think I stopped working with the living? It was too much. Well, fine. Maybe a hero is just what we call someone who doesn’t have the sense to stop before they destroy themselves.”

  “In the army, they’d send kids barely old enough to shave to take forward positions. They knew they’d have thirty, forty percent losses or more. Those kids got told they were heroes, too.” Galen sighed, draping his wrists over his knees, letting his hands dangle. “I doubt you can call any of the Saint’s chosen inherently heroic. We didn’t have much choice, did we? The battle tide wakes up, and there we are. It’s not heroic if you’ve forgotten you’re not invincible. Then again, I’ve known paladins who really were heroic. My friend Istvhan, have you met him? And Shane. Shane could go toe-to-toe with a god, if he could get his head out of his own ass first. A couple of the Forge God’s people. The Dreaming God’s people are positively stiff with it, whatever it is.”

  Piper nodded. “Still,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Whatever I may think, it doesn’t matter enough to be sniping at each other while we’re down here. In whatever this is.”

  He was doing it again, Galen thought. Stepping back from emotions as if they were an imposition. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who had argued so passionately on Galen’s behalf—and kissed him just as passionately a moment later.

  The memory of that kiss heated his blood. They could be doing so many things other than arguing. Did he need another set of blades slicing down around him to remind him of that?

  Piper turned his head and started to say something else—Galen never knew what—and Galen leaned forward and kissed him.

  What has come over me? He had never particularly liked kissing and now it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of it. Something about Piper’s lips against his, about the taste of him, about the look of surprise and delight in the man’s eyes…he felt almost drunk with it. He needed more. A lot more.

  You need to get laid is what you need. Once that’s over, this will all recede and you’ll be able to think again.

  Unfortunately, when he shifted position to reach for Piper’s shoulders, his knee smacked into the ground and the flare
of pain made him wince and recoil. Piper’s eyes went wide and he pulled away. “Uh…”

  “Nothing you did,” Galen assured him. “Banged up my knee earlier and it just reminded me, that’s all.”

  The doctor was immediately all cool professionalism. “Let me take a look at it,” he said, in a voice that brooked no disobedience.

  Galen stifled a sigh, feeling the mood evaporate. He rolled up his trouser leg and Piper ran his gloved hands over the joint. There was a red mark already starting to darken towards blue and Galen grimaced.

  “Bend it…good…and extend it toward me…mmm. Stand up and put weight on it?”

  Galen got to his feet, back against the corner. Piper continued prodding his leg and having him lift it and the paladin felt a sudden sympathy for horses, an animal he generally could do without. At least he isn’t trying to nail hot metal to your foot.

  “The good news is that you don’t seem to have done anything to the tendon,” said Piper, concluding his poke-and-prod routine. “Just bruised the kneecap, and you know how knees hurt all out of proportion.”

  “God, yes.”

  “I should probably wrap it, though. Knees swell up if you look at them funny.” He dug through the pack and pulled out the remains of the shirt that Earstripe had already cut into bandages. Galen leaned back, watching the dark head bent over him, thinking mostly carnal thoughts.

  When the job was done, Piper sat back and looked up at him, his assured manner suddenly falling away. “I…uh…”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” said Galen. “I’ve been wanting you on your knees for days now. I was just hoping that it wouldn’t be my knee you were paying attention to.”

  The doctor blushed scarlet. Galen opened his mouth to say something clever and flirtatious and then Piper reached up to the front of his trousers and began unhooking the buttons and he briefly lost the power of speech.

  Coherent thought did not return until Piper bit the fingertip of one of his gloves and pulled it off. Leather slid over skin for a small eternity. He set the first glove down and reached for the second. “No,” Galen heard himself croak, “leave that one on.”

  Piper raised his eyebrows and smiled a small, devilish smile, despite the blush that hadn’t quite faded. Galen dug his fingers into the man’s hair and then Piper’s mouth and extremely clever fingers were on him and he was lost.

  It didn’t take long. It was almost embarrassing, how long it didn’t take. The sensation of skin and leather and Piper’s tongue were too much to bear, and then he made the mistake of opening his eyes so that he could see the other man’s mouth on him. He gripped Piper’s shoulders and gasped something that might have been his name, or the Saint’s, or just a general obscenity. His knees turned to water and he slid down the wall as soon as Piper let him go.

  “Good god,” he said, when he could think again, “why the hell did we wait so long?”

  Piper chuckled, taking a long swig from the waterskin. “Well, we had a few other things on our minds. Death trap, murders, that sort of thing.”

  “I can’t imagine how those could have been more important.” Galen rubbed his forehead. “Give me a moment or two to recover, and then I’d be happy to reciprocate.”

  “Not on your knees you won’t,” said Piper, frowning at him. “Not with your knee like that.”

  “Are all doctors this pushy in bed?”

  “Only when we think you’ll hurt yourself.”

  Galen grumbled and reached out, drawing the other man close. “Here,” he said, pulling Piper more or less into his lap, his legs braced on either side. “Lean back.”

  Piper obeyed, his back against Galen’s chest. Galen could feel the tautness of his muscles and set to work soothing them, sliding his hands in aimless patterns across Piper’s arms, then under his shirt to the smooth, flat muscle of his chest. “Relax,” Galen murmured in his ear. “You’ve already had your hands all over me. Allow me to return the favor.”

  Slowly, Piper’s tension eased, and then was replaced with a different type of tension. Galen could feel the quiver whenever his hands slid lower. It would be lovely to do this somewhere with a bed, where we aren’t sitting on hard ivory with our backsides going numb. Ah well. Next time, perhaps. He stopped teasing Piper and reached down to take him firmly in hand.

  The position was a trifle awkward, but they made it work. Piper, Galen discovered, was not quiet. He gasped and yelped and moaned, all of which Galen found delightful. You do like to know you’re having an effect.

  He was definitely having an effect. Piper thrashed as Galen stroked him, until the paladin had to wrap an arm around his chest to hold him in place. He could feel the doctor’s heart pounding like a drum under his wrist. Galen murmured something—praise, encouragement, obscenities, it hardly mattered what—feeling Piper’s body draw tight as a bowstring. He slowed his movements, hoping to draw out the moment, but Piper clutched at his legs and thrust into his hand. Oh, I see. Well, in that case… Galen nipped the back of his neck and the doctor let out a final choking cry, hips bucking. Shudders wracked his body until he collapsed back, limp and wrung out and damp with sweat.

  Galen rested his chin on the other man’s shoulder, listening to the hard rasp of Piper’s breathing, and felt the warm glow of a job well done.

  “You’re right,” said Piper finally, when he had gotten his breath back. “We really should not have waited.”

  “Mmm.” Galen kissed the back of his neck, smoothing over the small red mark he’d made. Part of him wanted to start all over again. Another, rather larger part, pointed out that he was middle-aged and that it had been a dismally long day, with only an hour of disturbed sleep earlier. The spirit was willing, but the spongiform erectile tissue was weak.

  Still, it was good to sit here with his arms around Piper. It felt…peaceful. Galen could not remember the last time he had felt peace. Since before the god died, certainly. Back then, he had been secure in the knowledge that he was an attack dog on a god’s leash, and the god would not let him slip the leash until it was time. It had been easy then. Very little had been easy since.

  But this…this was easy. The weight of Piper’s body, the way his ribs moved under Galen’s arms as he breathed, the prickle of short dark hair against Galen’s cheek. The paladin did not have to do anything. He could sit and simply exist and know that Piper was safe and in his arms and he did not have to be afraid.

  Eventually, of course, his body began to grumble. Galen let out a jaw-cracking yawn. “As much as I would like to continue this, we should get cleaned up and I should go and fall down somewhere. Will you be all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Piper turned in his arms and kissed him. “Hopefully tomorrow we’ll be out of this mess and can go somewhere with blankets and an actual mattress.”

  “I would do terrible things for a mattress,” said Galen. “But I will have to settle for doing terrible things to you on a mattress, when the opportunity presents itself.” He brushed his lips across Piper’s forehead and pushed himself to his feet.

  He looked down at the doctor, still flushed and smiling, and did not even dare to dream of curling up around him to sleep. But perhaps he could dream of holding him again.

  “Something wrong?” asked Piper, looking up at him.

  That wasn’t enough. That should have been enough, but it wasn’t. I want more of you. “No,” said Galen. “Nothing at all.”

  On the bright side, he thought, going to the next alcove and settling in with his back to the cool ivory wall, even if I have another round of nightmares, I’ll be too damn tired to try to kill anyone tonight.

  Twenty-Two

  Piper woke the next morning—or whatever passed for morning in this place where the light was all the same—feeling both stiff and ungodly smug.

  The source of the stiffness was immediately obvious. He’d been sleeping on the floor again, his pillow was now shredded into bandage material, and his back was informing him that what had been acceptable at twenty was
no longer acceptable when one could see forty on the horizon.

  The source of the smugness took a moment longer, but then he heard Galen’s voice and it all came rushing back to him. Galen’s hands on his flesh. His hands on Galen’s, for that matter. Also his mouth and…well, it had been a good night. Fraught and fumbling and much too fast for both of them, admittedly, but the relief of knowing that the wanting was mutual—that was worth a great deal.

  And he said he’d want to do it again. That’s worth even more. Assuming we don’t die horribly in the next few hours.

  Piper believed in the gods, of course. They were obviously there, so not believing in them would be remarkably silly, like not believing in wind. He had reason to be fond of the White Rat, and most doctors invoked the Lady of Grass, who was well-known as a healer. Generally, though, he believed that gods worked through people rather than engaging in direct intervention.

  Still, it couldn’t hurt. Lady of Grass, he prayed, bowing his head. White Rat. Please let us get out of this alive. Please don’t kill us just when I’ve found the first man I’ve been interested in for ages who’s also interested in me. It would be very unkind.

  Then he climbed to his feet and went to where Galen and Earstripe were sitting, counting out the remaining apples for breakfast.

  “You’re awake,” said Galen, and smiled up at him. His eyes were warm jade this morning. Piper sat down next to him, closer than he’d ever dared before, and Galen reached out and put a hand on his lower back. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Very well.”

  “A gnole slept well too,” said Earstripe sardonically, “eventually.”

  Heat rose in Piper’s cheeks. He hadn’t even thought about Earstripe overhearing them. Galen only snorted and tossed an apple at the gnole’s head. Earstripe caught it and took a bite out of it.

  “Sorry, Earstripe,” Piper mumbled.