Worse, she’d dragged the others down with her. The Dreaming God’s people were going to be furious.
Well, Marguerite had her own sense of duty. She’d fall on that sword, say that she’d forced them.
Wren, at least, was sworn to her service and ought to get off lightly, and she could claim to have been blackmailing Davith. Judith…she wasn’t quite sure what to do about Judith. It would come to her, though. She’d come up with a story, and then the Dreaming God could bring her up on charges or have her thrown in the stockade or whatever they did. Whatever a stockade was. She supposed she’d find out.
These thoughts kept her company as far as the river, where she stopped and looked up, because there was a small army waiting on the far side.
THEY WERE, very politely, taken into custody. Jorge came up, accompanied by Sir, and Marguerite immediately said, “This is my fault.”
“Oh, we figured,” said Jorge. Sir snorted explosively.
The bearded priest that they had seen before, Burnet, looked closely in their eyes, then back at Jorge and Sir, and shrugged. “If I saw them on the street, I wouldn’t think they were possessed. But this is a very old and very subtle one, and if it went into one of them willingly, I can’t swear that I’d know. I’d suggest taking them back to the temple to be sure, assuming that we don’t find it lurking in someone else.”
“Mmm,” said Sir. “The two paladins, would you clear them to fight alongside us?”
Burnet considered this. “I would, actually. If they are possessed, better we find out when there’s a half-dozen paladins with drawn swords around them.”
“You make a very valid point.” Sir looked to Wren and Judith. “Will you help us winkle your brother out of this shell?”
“As long as you don’t mind if I hit him on the head instead of running him through,” said Judith.
“I’d consider that fair.” He gestured to the people around him--six paladins, two priests, four
crossbowmen and a half-dozen grooms, plus an inordinate number of horses. “Given how few we were able to field, I won’t turn down your help.”
“Then I won’t refuse it,” said Judith. Wren looked up from where she was picking nervously at her nails, gave a bare nod, and looked back down again.
“But how did you get here so fast?” asked Marguerite. “We rode as fast as we could and we didn’t spend more than ten minutes at the keep…”
“Remounts,” said Jorge, waving to the horses. “Three each. We picked up the bowmen on the way. But you say you’ve actually been to the keep?”
“I’m sorry,” said Marguerite, “but I had to try to get Shane away.”
“I take it you didn’t succeed?” asked Jorge.
“No. He wouldn’t come with us and he wouldn’t let us in. He said it was too dangerous to be there.”
“Either the demon’s smart, or he is,” said Sir, and walked away to shout at one of the grooms for something horse-related. Jorge shrugged.
“Err…you’re not mad?” asked Marguerite.
Jorge heaved a sigh. “Let’s say that I’m exasperated. But you haven’t taken holy orders and you’re civilians. You’ll have to stay with us long enough for the priests to be absolutely certain that a demon didn’t jump to you.” He grimaced. “Some of the others are pretty mad. I…well, I understand why you tried.”
“But we stole your horses!”
“It’s fine,” said Jorge, “Davith left a note.”
“See, I told her…”
Marguerite squared her shoulders. “Then I’m going into the fight with you.”
“Like hell you are.”
“Shane won’t hurt me.”
Jorge scowled at her. “Which, if we were just fighting Shane, might be important. But an arrow doesn’t care who it hits.”
“You’ll take Wren and Judith, though?”
“Wren and Judith are trained fighters. You’re a trained…” Jorge trailed off, apparently realizing that he had no idea what Marguerite did.
“Negotiator,” said Marguerite, which was only adjacent to a lie, not the real thing.
It was, unfortunately, the wrong thing to say. “We don’t negotiate with demons,” said Jorge stiffly.
“Fine, then use me as a human shield once we’re inside!”
Jorge looked appalled at the very suggestion. So did Wren. Judith looked like Judith, but there was something slightly tighter in the set of her mouth.
“I’m actually fine with staying back,” Davith volunteered.
“Listen,” said Marguerite desperately, “you still have to make sure we aren’t possessed, right?”
“Ideally, yes.”
“So you’ll either need to leave someone to guard us—and you know you haven’t got enough people—or you let us follow along. Because otherwise Davith and I are going to light out of here and lead you on a chase through the hills for weeks.”
“This woman does not speak for me,” Davith said.
Jorge’s scowl deepened to consume his whole face. “Unless we hogtie you and carry you over the saddle.”
“I believe my bodyguard would object to that,” said Marguerite, elbowing Wren in the ribs.
“Huh?” said Wren. “Oh, yes. I would. Very much.”
Jorge appeared to be marshalling further arguments when Burnet the priest slapped him on the back. “Let them come,” he said. “If your paladin friend has as many archers as they say, they may hold back for fear of hitting them, and that’s all to the good.”
“Or they may catch a stray arrow!”
Burnet shrugged. “They’re adults,” he said. “Madam, may I assume that you know that you may well die if you insist on accompanying us?”
“You assume correctly.”
“Again,” Davith began, “this woman does not—”
“Our job is to exorcise demons,” Burnet said, “not to stop people from doing foolish things.
Madam Florian appears neither hysterical nor deluded, and there is a chance her presence will help.”
He inclined his head.
Jorge’s expression indicated that he hated every bit of this, but he nodded grudgingly. “As you say, then. Marguerite, Davith, you may accompany us, but stay back. And don’t get in anyone’s way.” He stalked away, stomping hard enough to make his armor jingle.
“Don’t mind him,” said Burnet. “His sense of chivalry is overdeveloped when it comes to beautiful women.” He winked at Marguerite. “He doesn’t much like priests being in the first wave either, but fortunately these days I outrank him. I, too, will be in the back. I suggest you stay close to me.”
“But…” Davith said.
“And now,” said Burnet, “I suggest you get a meal and as much sleep as you can, because night attacks are the worst.”
FIFTY-ONE
BURNET WAS RIGHT. Night attacks were the worst. It was too dark for the horses to see, so they walked, except for one draft horse decked out in plate mail and carrying an oddly shaped burden across its back. One of the paladins in the lead had a long pole that he swept back and forth, checking for ground-wights.