Paladin's Strength

by T. Kingfisher

  “Five,” she said promptly, giving him a severe look. “One of which had a necklace of human ears.”

  “Great gods!” said Doc Mason. “The barbarism! The sartorial degeneracy! What has the world come to?”

  “Sister Clara,” said Clara, extending her hand.

  “She is being far too modest,” said Istvhan, cutting in. “You see before you the Mother Superior of the Order of Saint…Galen.”

  “Mother Superior!” Doc Mason dropped to one knee in the mud and kissed the hem of Clara’s robe. It took him a moment to find a sufficiently unmuddied portion, during which Clara glared daggers at Istvhan.

  “Please, no,” said Clara. She and Tolly had to help the old man to his feet. “I am—err—not traveling in the open. It is hardly safe, as you have seen.”

  “You may call her Domina Clara,” said Istvhan, and pretended not to see Clara’s expression.

  “Are you going to Morstone?” asked Tolly.

  “That was our plan, before we were set upon,” said Clara.

  “Then you must accompany us upon the road! At least as far as the next inn!” said Doc Mason. He waved his arms. “My wagon is at your service, Domina. My medicines. My life.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Clara.

  “Nevertheless. A wise man serves the gods and the servants of the gods, and in doing so, serves himself better than—”

  “Let’s see if we can get your wagon unstuck,” said Istvhan. “Domina, would you care to help me find a lever?”

  “A good tree branch ought to do it,” she said. They headed back toward the woods. “Mother Superior,” she said under her breath. “Really?”

  “Bodyguard? Really? Anyway, probably not wise to keep introducing yourself as a nun, given that there are people on the lookout for them right now.”

  She looked chagrined. “I know. I realized it as soon as it came out of my mouth, but it’s reflex. I’ve been a Sister for over twenty years.”

  “Indeed. We’ll have to think of another cover story, though.”

  “Did you want me to introduce you as a mercenary captain and claim to be your troop?”

  Istvhan grinned. “You could serve in any troop that I ever commanded, Domina. Or command it, most likely.”

  She gave him an odd look. He got the impression that she was flattered, if wary. “Me, or the bear?”

  “I was under the impression that you came as a package. However, you are to be preferred. You are good company, you work well in a group, you fight competently and clear-headedly, and you do not smell.”

  “I had no idea the bar was so low.”

  “You’d be amazed how many competent fighters cannot work with others.”

  “I meant the smell.”

  “You’d be amazed by that, too.” He scanned the woods for likely looking branches. “My kingdom for an axe.”

  “Do you think they’re on the up-and-up?” She jerked her chin back toward the wagon.

  “I think he’s a snake oil salesman. That said, it’s definitely safer to travel in a group, and I am fairly certain that I can take him in a fight.”

  “I suspect a damp towel can take him in a fight. Still, I feel like this is a strangely elaborate set-up for a trap.”

  “Same. And they’re acting about like I’d expect, inviting us to the next inn with them, but not actually telling us their destination. They have more to fear from us than we do from them at the moment.”

  Clara pointed to a young tree. “That one work?”

  “Yes, if we can get it out of the ground.” The roots were sunk deep. “Or chop it down.”

  “You could use your sword.”

  “I will pretend you did not say that.”

  “Why do men get so defensive about their swords?”

  “They’re remarkably fragile when they’re not in use.”

  Clara gave him a look. He gave it right back to her. “What?”

  She very obviously decided to let that one go. “Perhaps the good doctor has an axe.”

  They returned to the wagon. “Do you have an axe?” asked Clara.

  “Tolly, fetch the Domina the finest axe at our disposal!”

  Tolly scurried into the wagon and returned a moment later with a small hatchet. “It’s the only axe at our disposal,” she said.

  “It will do very well,” said Istvhan.

  “All right,” said Istvhan, once the lever was acquired and in place. “On my mark…mark.”

  Clara heaved. The mules pulled. Istvhan threw his weight against the lever. With a loud squelch, a plop, and a spray of mud that coated him to the neck, the wheel came free.

  “You did it! You did it! The gods be praised! Though I am not sure that they would approve of a Mother Superior lowering herself to unstick a wagon, but in this case, surely the divine has showered blessings upon us!”

  “Well, something’s been showered on them,” said Tolly, stopping the mules and coming back to look at the mud-splattered pair. “Domina, Mister Istvhan, would you like to stay in the wagon for a few hours while I wash your clothes and dry them on the roof? It’s the least we can do after you’ve helped us.”

  “I would be grateful beyond words,” said Clara.

  Tolly sized her up. The woman came barely to Clara’s collarbone. “If you’d like, I’m a dab hand with a needle as well. Nothing of mine will fit you, I fear, but I could at least sew up some of the damage in your robe.”

  “You are a saint among women,” said Clara, “and I am something of an authority on the matter.”

  Tolly smiled. A little of the wariness crept out of her eyes. She isn’t sure if she really thinks Clara’s a nun, but a woman in ruined clothes is apparently universal.

  “Yes, yes,” said Doc Mason. “Into the wagon with you! And we’ll have you put to rights quicker than the great hero Mardok cleaned the legendary cesspits of Atieum!”

  “What was so legendary about them?” asked Clara.

  “Best not to inquire, my dear Domina. Best not to inquire.”

  Clara was uneasy in the wagon. She hadn’t given it any thought climbing in, but as soon as the door closed, her pulse jumped. She went hastily to the door and opened it again, just to make sure it wasn’t locked. She sat back down and closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose.

  Istvhan looked at her quizzically.

  “The wagons. Before. We climbed in and then…” She waved her hand. “It’s fine. I didn’t think, that’s all. Your wagon was open-sided, so it never took me the same way.”

  “Do you need to go back outside?”

  Clara glanced down at what she was wearing, which was a blanket. “I suspect I might give the good doctor a heart attack.”

  “He might have a medicine for that.”

  Clara snorted. The inside of the wagon was hung with sheets of canvas and packed to the rafters with boxes of bottles that clinked whenever either of them moved. Instead of beds, which might have taken up valuable box space, there were hammocks slung from the ceiling. Presumably one or two of the boxes was actually food, but the majority had DOC MASON’S MEDICINE stamped on the side in block letters.

  “He’s got enough medicines to cure an army. Or kill it, depending on what he’s selling.”

  Istvhan found a half-full bottle, uncorked it, and sniffed gingerly. “Whew! I imagine it’s popular, whatever it is!”

  Clara took a tentative sniff, and laughed out loud. “Well, there’s enough booze in there that I suppose you’ll die happy, anyway.” She sniffed again. “Herbs, definitely. Sweet woodruff, probably. Ginger. Something citrusy. Bergamot, maybe. That’d be expensive, though, so it might just be lemon balm.”

  “I’ve heard of worse tonics.” Istvhan sniffed, too. “That perfumer friend of mine could probably smell this and tell you every ingredient, right down to what wood they burned to distill the alcohol with. All I’m getting is ginger and alcohol, though.”

  He re-corked the bottle and turned to set it back down. The blanket
slid off his shoulders and down around his waist. He had dark hair across his chest, thickening in a line downwards. Clara found that her thoughts suddenly had very little to do with herbs.

  No, dammit. Stop. He made it clear that he’s not getting past the thing where you bit a man’s face off. And he was probably only interested in you because you were the only woman traveling with him that might possibly be interested back.

  Also he’s a goddamn paladin. Paladins are always trouble.

  They were. St. Ursa did not call paladins—not that there was any need, when all of Her Chosen could turn into gigantic beasts more or less on a whim—but the orders that had paladins also had problems. When you had a whole group of people dedicated to killing people for your god, even if they had the very best of intentions, they got…strange.

  Istvhan said as much earlier. Righteous violence is one hell of a drug. They may be vital, but they aren’t something that you want to get involved with. Even if…

  He pulled the blanket across his lap, grumbling, and tried to adjust the ends. It was not a sexy motion, or even a particularly suggestive one, but she caught a glimpse of lean hips and appreciated all over again just how broad his shoulders actually were and how much they tapered downward.

  …what was I thinking about, again?

  Istvhan reached over and gripped her good shoulder. Clara blinked at him, but his eyes were warm and concerned, nothing more. “Feeling any better?” he asked.

  “I…oh, yes.” She glanced reflexively at the small door. “It’s not so bad. I don’t know if I’d want to sleep in here, but this isn’t anything like the…other wagons.”

  He nodded and gave her upper arm a comforting squeeze. He had very large hands.

  The door opened. They both jumped back hurriedly, as if they’d been doing something illicit. Tolly came in, holding a small kettle. “Everything’s washed and drying on the roof,” she said. “We’ll get underway here shortly, but I thought I’d bring you some tea.”

  “Did I say that you were a saint already?” asked Clara. “It is true. Possibly truer than it was.”

  Tolly smiled. “It’s no trouble. I had to heat the washing water anyway.” She squeezed past the two of them, found mugs, and poured tea. Her smile widened a little when she handed Istvhan his mug, and it occurred to Clara that she was quite a lovely young woman.

  That’s the sort of person that Istvhan should be chasing after, she thought, staring down into the tea. Someone kind and entirely human. Where you don’t have to worry if they’re going to suddenly break out in fur and fangs because there’s a truffle somewhere in the vicinity.

  “These were in your pocket. I’m not sure if you wanted to keep them…?” Tolly handed Clara the acorns from the emperor oak.

  “Oh! Yes, thank you.” Clara took them gratefully. It had been a small but meaningful kindness and she meant to plant them.

  Tolly left again, and the wagon began to move a few minutes later. Clara leaned back somewhat gingerly, not sure what was loadbearing and what might contain herbal tonic. Bottles rattled around them. When she glanced over, Istvhan was watching her.

  He’s just trying to make sure you’re not going to panic and bolt. Don’t get excited. In the cave, earlier, you either misunderstood or he was just talking or…oh, it doesn’t matter now. Get to Morstone. There’s no time for stupid complications.

  The stupid complication in question leaned back on his elbows, which did things to his chest that were unfair to witness. Clara closed her eyes and wished for a rosary. Blessed Saint Ursa, giver of strength, protector of women, be with us now and in our darkest hours. Keep us from those who would do us harm, and lend us Your strength to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Saint Ursa, Your hand is upon—

  “The hinges aren’t reinforced,” said Istvhan.

  Clara’s eyes snapped open, got an eyeful of semi-naked paladin, and lost her place in the catechism. “Ah…the what now?”

  “The hinges on the door,” said Istvhan. “I took a look when you were opening it up. They’re on the outside, of course, but there’s no lip and they’re basic metal. If it’s a trap, between the two of us, we can bash our way out.”

  “Good to know.” Privately, Clara suspected that if it was a trap, the bear could take the entire wagon apart, unless there were steel bars hiding behind the sheets of canvas.

  “They might still be planning to turn us over to our little friends on the road, but I don’t know if there’s any way to guard against that.” Istvhan scratched his cheek. He hadn’t shaved since they had fled into the mountains, and the skin above his beard had gone from blue stubble to short dark hair. Clara guessed that it must itch like the devil.

  “If we stay with the wagon, they’d need horses to catch up with us,” said Clara. “And even assuming the one who got away got back to his people to report in, they can’t take horses across the mountains any faster than we could walk. We’re probably in the clear for a day or two, and if they’re fool enough to bring horses near the bear…” She shrugged.

  “Unless they’ve got more parties between here and there,” said Istvhan.

  “We’re valuable,” said Clara, “but I can’t imagine we’re that valuable.”

  “At a guess, the men we encountered are general procurers. Somewhere between a bandit and a trader and a bounty hunter. They likely have a network of buyers and bring in anything they can turn a profit on—people, furs, rare beasts. I doubt they were looking for you specifically, particularly since the raiders believed you were dead, until we were too interested in the fake plague wagons.”

  Clara nodded. “Makes sense. I saw the one that first night in the inn. He had plenty of time to find the rest of his network and inform them that there was a nun asking questions. They may believe I was another member of the convent who was not present when the raiders came.” She groaned. “Of course, if word got out to look for sisters of St. Ursa asking questions about those wagons, I’ll be fighting these types off every time I ask if anyone’s seen them.”

  “I’ll ask,” said Istvhan. “Nobody thinks I’m a nun.”

  Clara snorted. “No, you’re a paladin, which is worse.”

  “Hardly. Paladins are afraid of nuns. Show me a nun who’s afraid of a paladin. We melt if you look at us harshly and tell us the god will be very disappointed.”

  She had to laugh. “You’ve foolishly revealed your greatest weakness. I shall have the upper hand from now on.”

  He smiled. His dark brown eyes were nearly black in the dimness of the wagon. “You’ve always had the upper hand, Domina.”

  Twenty-One

  “Your clothes are dry,” said Tolly, at the next stop. “And if you want to hop out and…ah…” She blushed.

  “Thank you,” said Istvhan. He could use his clothes. Being stuck in the wagon half-naked next to a much-too attractive nun was not easy. It had been bad enough when he had clothes himself. Somehow, when she’d been naked, it had been easier to remember that she was capable of turning into a bear. Women just didn’t wander around the woods in the nude, in Istvhan’s experience. There were too many mosquitoes and unpleasantly placed twigs. His brain knew that something wasn’t right.

  But plenty of women sat with a blanket wrapped around them, and when he was also wearing just a blanket, his brain stopped looking for a trap and started noticing things like the smooth lines of muscle over her arms and shoulders, the round curve of her belly and thighs. Her thighs were heavy with muscle as well. If she locked them around Istvhan’s hips…no, no, don’t think about that, think about something else.

  She tore a man’s head apart about ten hours ago. With her teeth.

  This took the edge off, a little.

  He’d be just as dead if you stabbed him. And you’ve killed enough warriors in front of civilians to know that half the time, they scream and wet themselves and try to get away from you. It’s not less monstrous just because you have a piece of metal to do it with. Would you rather she’d let him come
up behind you and hit you over the head?

  Obviously not. And the Saint knew, he’d found her terribly attractive after that first battle, spattered with blood. Attractive enough that he’d lost his head completely and pushed her back against the wagon and taken a kiss she hadn’t offered. Which is proof enough that you are far more of a brute beast than she is, and you should shut up and put on your damn clothes and stop trying to sneak looks at her.

  He turned his back as Clara climbed into her robes, which were wrinkled and much the worse for wear, but at least slightly mended. He was very glad to see, when he turned back around, that Tolly had managed to repair the rents so that they did not keep gaping open and threatening glimpses of female flesh. Paladins were famous for resisting temptation, but life was a lot easier when temptation kept at least ten feet away and only offered easy things, like wealth and vengeance and earthly dominion.

  When he was dressed himself and had emerged from the wagon, Doc Mason waved to him. “Ah, my boy! We were stuck longer than I hoped, but the inn is just around the next hill,” said Doc Mason, waving grandly as if he owned both inn and hill.

  “No, it isn’t, Da,” said Tolly. She kept her eyes on the mules. “You’re confusing this road with the one near Friddle.”

  “Hush, impertinent child! My mind is still as sharp as it ever was! We shall come around this bend and it shall be laid out before us, the…Sign of the Wild Rooster, I think? Wet Rooster? No matter.” He waved again.

  “You said that about the last three hills.”

  “I am quite certain about this one.”

  Clara and Istvhan traded brief bemused looks. Tolly clucked her tongue at the mules and urged them into a walk. The wagon rounded the low hillside and on the far side, stretching out before them, was…more road. Scrubby brushland. There was a broken down fence to one side, and a farmhouse, far in the distance, with the roof fallen in.

  “Ah…hmm,” said Doc Mason. “Friddle, you say?”

  “Sign of the White Rooster is by Friddle. The next inn on this road is another half day, after we join the main road, and it’s the Three-Legged Horse.”