Raelum felt a sudden stab of guilt. “Then I should not be eating this.”
“Nay,” said Julietta, “I would be remiss if I did not offer you food.”
“No,” said Raelum, shaking his head. He had eaten most of the bread, but he pushed the dried fruit away. “No. I should not. I can feed myself.” It had been almost four years since he had felt the awful pangs of real hunger. “But they cannot.”
“You are gracious, young sir,” said Julietta. “But you should stay here. The thieves’ gangs are not a good life. It almost always leads to a wretched end.”
Raelum shrugged. “I’m not hungry, am I? And I’ll get rich, if I stay in it long enough.” A sudden thought came to him. “Maybe rich enough to feed those children.”
“A fine dream,” said Julietta. She smiled sadly. “Mayhap you’ll live long enough to realize it.”
“I should go,” said Raelum. “If Red Philip finds out I was here, it won’t go well with you.”
“As you wish, Raelum,” said Julietta. “But you may come again, if you like. You are welcome here.”
No one had ever said such a thing to him. “I…I might,” he said. “I think I will, Red Philip or no Red Philip.”
He vanished into the night. It did not take him long to weave his way through the maze of streets back to his lair in the pile of abandoned crates by the seawall. Raelum sat and watched the sea shimmer, the moon’s reflection dancing over the waves. He felt almost calm, peaceful.
Eventually Raelum rolled himself in his oversized black cloak and went to sleep.
###
The next day Raelum crouched by the Gate of Sorrows, watching traffic roll into the city. Carts came from the great plantations along the coast, bearing loads of grain and fruit to sell in Factors’ Market. Herdsmen drove long lines of cattle into the city, cracking whips.
Raelum waited, watching for his chance.
Two large carts tried to pass through the narrow street at once. The drivers got into a fight, snapping their whips and bellowing threats. The wagons behind them came to a halt, their drivers shouting curses. A trio of guardsmen leapt into the fray, gripping their cudgels.
Raelum darted into the melee. He seized two sacks of apples from the back of a cart, slung them over his shoulders, and sprinted away. Someone shouted an alarm, but the roar of the crowd drowned it. Raelum took a zigzag course through the streets, the sacks thumping against his back. They were heavy, and made his shoulders and arms ache, but he ignored the discomfort.
He came at last to the Temple’s sagging orphanage. It looked even worse in daylight. A small mob of children stood outside, shouting and playing. Two elderly women sat on the front stairs, watching the children. Raelum considering going to them, decided against it, and circled around back. A breeze rose from the sea, smelling of brine and salt, blowing away Khauldun’s ever-present reek. A window stood open on the house’s back wall. Raelum flung the sacks through the window, seized the lip, and vaulted up.
He landed in the kitchen. Julietta gaped at him, a wooden spoon in hand.
“What’s all this?” she said.
“Apples,” said Raelum, lifting the sacks onto the table. “Food. You know. For the children.”
Sister Julietta opened the bag, picked up an apple, and examined it. “Am I to understand that you are giving this food to the orphanage?”
“Aye.”
“Where did you get it?” said Sister Julietta. “Did you steal it?”
Raelum felt a twinge of guilt. “Well…aye, I did. But what of it? The children are hungry.”
“They are,” said Sister Julietta. “But it is not right to use stolen goods, whatever the motive.”
Raelum stared at his filthy toes, ashamed.
“Still,” said Sister Julietta, “we will use the last of our bread for the evening meal. The children and I would have gone hungry until we had enough coin to buy bread again. So I am in no position to turn away help, wherever it comes from. I thank you for the gift, Raelum.”
Raelum smiled.
“But still,” she said, pointing at him with the spoon, “bring us no more stolen goods, aye? Such things must be paid for eventually, if not in coin then with sorrow and trouble, and we’ve already enough of that here.”
“I promise,” said Raelum. “Maybe I’ll be back.”
Sister Julietta smiled. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”
Raelum returned to the streets, his mind racing. He would bring Julietta no more stolen food. But what about food purchased with coin raised from stolen jewelry? She had said nothing about that.
Raelum turned his eye towards the glittering mansions of Legate’s Hill and grinned.
###
A spray of ice hit him in the face.
Raelum awoke with a gasp. A wind sharp threw snow past him, along with ash from the burned ruins of Karrent. Raelum groaned and sat up, his battered body aching. Sleeping in his armor, though necessary, had not helped. His fire had died down, and Raelum added fresh kindling until it blazed to new life.
He blinked the shards of dream from his eyes, Sister Julietta’s face lingering in his thoughts.
“Red Philip,” he muttered. “I should have killed him then and there.”
Raelum stood, working his stiff muscles. The Light had healed the worst of his wounds, though his limbs remained sore. He looked at the dark sky, trying to reckon the time. A grim bank of clouds hid the stars, though the sky was brightening in the east. Raelum had slept the remainder of the day and most of the night. He cursed. Marsile had no doubt put the time to good use.
Fortune stood nearby, grazing on the dormant grass. Raelum glanced towards Karrent, visible through the thin trees. He saw no sign of life in the ruins. Perhaps the surviving villagers lay sleeping. Or perhaps the villagers had all killed themselves in the night. Raelum shrugged and led Fortune in a wide arc around the village. It would have been quicker to walk through Karrent, but he doubted the villagers would welcome him. At least the Northmen hadn’t returned. No doubt they thought the demon-possessed man still haunted the ruins, feasting on the corpses of slain villagers.
Raelum put Karrent behind him and took to the road, back on the trail of Marsile.
Chapter 10 - Allies of Necessity
“Marsile will die for this,” said Hildebrand of Oldenburg. Lionel of Tarrenheim heard the older Silver Knight’s teeth grinding. “I swear it on the name of the Divine.”
“We don’t even know that Marsile did this,” said Lionel, gripping his saddle’s pommel as he stared at the burned village. “It could have been a wandering band of Northmen or simply common ghouls.”
Hildebrand gave him a cool glance. “Indeed, young man?” Lionel tried not to flinch from the older man’s gaze, but did anyway.
It did not help that Hildebrand looked like the very image of a Silver Knight; tall, broad-shouldered, his unsmiling mouth hidden beneath a bushy gray mustache. His armor, a mixture of chain and steel plate, gleamed like silver. His kite shield bore the sword-and-rose sigil of the Silver Knights and the arms of Hildebrand’s own family, the House of Oldenburg. Lionel, for all his efforts, still looked younger than his twenty-six years. He had tried growing a beard, but it had seemed little more than golden fuzz.
“No, Marsile did this,” said Hildebrand, “I am sure of it. Come!” Hildebrand kicked his horse to a trot.
Lionel bit his lip. He was a Silver Knight in his own right, skilled with sword and lance. Hildebrand had no right to order Lionel about like a stripling squire.
Nevertheless, Lionel sighed and followed the older Paladin.
The village was devastated, the air heavy with the reek of smoke, and Lionel saw rows of fresh graves lining the fields.
Hildebrand reined up before the ruined palisade. “I see no one.”
“Could Marsile have killed them all?” said Lionel.
Hildebrand gave him another cool look. “Then who burned the bodies and buried the ashes, hmm? Marsile would not have troubled hims
elf.”
Lionel berated himself for missing the obvious.
“Let us see if anyone yet lives,” muttered Hildebrand. He stood up in the saddle and began to shout. “Hearken! I am Hildebrand of Oldenburg, Knight of the Silver Order, and I demand that you open your gates! I have come in pursuit of an outlaw Adept, and you will aid me in my quest!”
Nothing moved. Perhaps Marsile had killed everyone. Then a young man in a ragged robe came from the village’s Temple. He stared at Hildebrand with wild eyes, his hands trembling.
“Could…it be?” he whispered. “True Paladins, come to save us, not Northmen or possessed men?”
“Aye, man,” said Hildebrand. “I am a Knight of the Silver Order, as is my companion.”
“Thank the Divine!” shouted the man. “Oh, thank the Divine you have come! The children! You can save the children. Is…is it true that you can wield the Light to heal? There are many that lie sick from wounds in the Temple…”
“Who are you?” said Hildebrand.
“I am Terrick,” said the young man. “The village Brother. At least I am now. Brother Mulgrim was killed. The Adept…he…” Terrick shook his head. “Will you help with the wounded? Some of the wounds have festered, and I know not enough leechcraft to heal them.”
“Aye,” said Hildebrand, “we shall help, for it is our sworn duty. Though you must furnish us with supplies, as custom demands, and tell us of this Adept. Lead on.”
Terrick took them to the village’s Temple, a long hall with a roof of clay tiles. Built of stone, it had survived the fires that had devoured the rest of the village.
“I was right,” muttered Hildebrand. “Marsile did this.”
“But why?” said Lionel. “What would he gain from slaughtering these people?”
Hildebrand snorted. “One such as Marsile would not need a reason.”
“But…”
“It matters not,” snapped Hildebrand. “I shall find him and end his wickedness.”
They dismounted before the Temple and strode through the doors. The interior looked like any other rustic Temple, with a crude wooden rose hanging over the altar, a wooden pulpit, and a floor of packed dirt. A dozen men lay on the floor, near a blazing fire. Hildebrand drew his sword and began to pray before the altar, hands clasped around the hilt, and Lionel did likewise. Terrick stood to the side, watching them with a mixture of awe and fear.
“Now,” said Hildebrand, sheathing his sword, “we shall, by the grace of the Divine, heal your injured men. Aid me, Lionel.”
Hildebrand moved from man to man, praying over each one, then drawing on the Light to heal the worst of their hurts. Each man would endure a long recovery, but no longer faced imminent death from their wounds. Lionel aided when he could, watching the older Paladin with envy. Hildebrand wielded the Light with skill born from decades of experience.
“There,” said Hildebrand, leaning on his sword. Using the Light for healing drained much strength. “Your injured men shall recover. Now, as is customary, we shall accept your gifts.”
“We will give you what we can spare,” said Terrick, “but it is not much…”
Hildebrand seized Terrick’s ragged robe. “Listen well, peasant. You have received the grace of the Divine, and are in turn obliged to feed and aid his servants. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” said Terrick, almost babbling. “I will have the food brought up.”
“And fodder for our mounts, as well,” said Hildebrand, releasing the priest. Terrick disappeared through the doors.
“Is such harshness necessary?” said Lionel.
Hildebrand grimaced. “The common men often require a chastening staff, lest they stray from the path of righteousness. It is our role to be that staff. No doubt this village was steeped in some form of wickedness or another, and hence the Divine visited judgment on them in the form of Marsile. If we do not correct the villagers, encourage them to show proper respect to the servants of the Divine, then another disaster may strike this village.”
Lionel held his tongue. Surely Hildebrand could not believe that Marsile had anything to do with the will of the Divine!
Terrick returned. “The women are bringing food and fodder.”
“Excellent,” said Hildebrand. “Now, I require answers to my questions. What happened here?”
Terrick told them of Marsile’s ghastly demand, the battle, and the death of Sir Ogren. He described the raid of the Northmen and the intervention of the possessed man masquerading as a Paladin.
“He drove off the Northmen, even slew their chieftain in single combat,” said Terrick, “and at first I thought him a Paladin. But then I realized he was possessed, which was where he gained the strength to defeat the Northmen. Perhaps Marsile conjured him.”
“Raelum,” spat Hildebrand.
“Aye, my lord,” said Terrick, “he said that was his name.”
“You did well to turn him away,” said Hildebrand. “Raelum is not possessed, but a demonborn, a mortal man whose mother was possessed. His crimes are almost as hideous as Marsile’s.”
“What did he do?” said Terrick. “If I might ask?”
“He murdered Sir Oliver Calabrant,” said Hildebrand, teeth grinding, “one of the finest Knights the Silver Order has ever produced. Sir Oliver took Raelum as a squire and Raelum repaid Sir Oliver’s generosity with murder. Perhaps Raelum and Marsile are in league, as I suspect. It matters not. Either way, I shall send them both to the judgment of the Divine.”
“What of the children?” said Terrick. “Will you be able to save them? There are no men left in the village fit enough to chase the Adept through the wilds. Can you save them?”
“I shall try,” said Hildebrand. “Marsile may have slain them at once.” Terrick shuddered. “If so, you may rest assured that a Silver Knight shall avenge their deaths.”
Terrick did not look reassured.
“Come, Lionel,” said Hildebrand, turning towards the Temple’s door. “We have lingered long enough. Marsile has barely three days’ lead on us, and Sir Oliver’s murderer is near. Perhaps the Divine shall give him into my hand this day. Let us be on our way.”
Hildebrand stepped through the Temple doors. Terrick stared after him, and Lionel lingered at the Brother’s side.
“I’m sorry for the woes that have befallen your village,” said Lionel.
Terrick nodded. “Thank you, my lord knight. We shall survive, I think. We’ve enough food to last the winter, and enough seed to plant a new crop.” He shrugged. “Whether any will wish to carry on…well, I cannot say.”
“Lead them well,” said Lionel. “If the domn and the old Brother are dead, the folk will look to you for guidance.”
“I shall try,” said Terrick, his face sagging. “But I am a weak man. I cannot bear such a burden.”
“Pray to the Divine for strength,” said Lionel, “and I am sure…”
“Adept!” boomed Hildebrand’s voice. “Stand and name yourself!”
“Adept?” whispered Lionel as Terrick went white with fear. Had Marsile returned to further torment the villagers? Lionel drew his sword and dashed onto the Temple’s steps.
Hildebrand stood in the square, sword and shield ready. Nearby stood a fine black horse, bearing a woman clad in an Adept’s crimson robes. She looked about Lionel’s age, perhaps a little younger. She had black hair and gray eyes that glinted with something like amusement as she regarded Hildebrand.
“Is it the will of the Divine that you slaughter every wanderer you come across?” said the Adept. She held a black staff in her left hand, capped at either end with polished steel. “I rather doubt it.”
“Name yourself!” said Hildebrand.
“If you will do likewise,” said the Adept.
“I am Hildebrand of Oldenburg, Knight of the Silver Order,” said Hildebrand. “This is Lionel of Tarrenheim, also of that Order. And you, Adept?”
“Carandis Marken of Araspan, of the Conclave,” said the woman.
“Y
ou are a practitioner of unholy arts,” said Hildebrand, “and I would slay you, save that I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“An honor to meet you as well, my lord,” said Carandis, smirking.
“Be gone!” said Terrick, voice shrill, “you are not welcome…”
“Be silent,” said Carandis. “Tell me, Hildebrand. What brings two Paladins so far north?”
“It is not your concern,” said Hildebrand. “Go on your way.”
“Not until I’ve questioned these folk,” said Carandis, sweeping a hand over the ruins. “They may know things I need to know.”
“And what is your business?” said Hildebrand.
“Really?” said Carandis, lifting an eyebrow. “You will not tell me your business, but demand mine? You seem intelligent for one of your order, Hildebrand. In other words, you’re a thundering fool.”
“Blasphemer!” said Hildebrand, raising his sword. “In the name of the Divine and the Silver Order, I command you to leave this village!”
“No,” said Carandis.
“Then I will expel you!” said Hildebrand, striding towards the horse. Lionel gripped his sword, hesitating.
Carandis raised her hand, and a snarling halo of blue fire crackled around her fingers.
Hildebrand sneered. “The Light shall protect me from your foul spells.”
“The Light can protect you from some spells,” said Carandis, “but not all…”
“Stop this!” yelled Lionel, running between Hildebrand and Lionel. “Peace! Why should we murder one another? Let us at least first speak civilly, to find if we have any cause for violence.”
“Well spoken,” said Carandis. She waved her hand and the blue fire vanished.
Hildebrand glared at Lionel and stalked towards their horses.
“So,” said Carandis, watching Hildebrand, “why have you come here?”
“We are pursuing a fugitive, a dangerous renegade Adept named Marsile,” said Lionel.
The Third Soul Omnibus Two Page 14
