“Where’s the demon now?” asked Shane, who had clearly not stayed in the Dreaming God’s temple long enough to understand the fine art of conversational flirtation.
Ramsey signaled for more drinks as the trio pulled up chairs. “Still wandering around the pastures. We’ve got spotters on it, but we’ll have to wait for the temple to send out another paladin.”
“Could we be of any assistance?” asked Wren.
“Saint of Steel?” The priest looked from one to the other. “I don’t know. Can you fight demons?”
“I was trained in the Dreaming God’s temple until my seventeenth year,” said Shane quietly. “I cannot speak well in the imperative mode, but I can help to bind.”
“I don’t know jack shit,” said Wren cheerfully, “but I can chop the legs off a bull one at a time if I have to. And we’ve both helped the Dreaming God’s people before.”
Marguerite wondered what the hell speak in the imperative mode meant, and filed it away to ask about later. I am acquiring quite a number of things to follow up on when I get the chance.
The priest shared a glance with the paladin, then smiled across the table at them both. “Then my friends, you may be the answer to my prayers.”
NINE
“YOU KNOW, we do have the fate of the world’s economy resting on our shoulders,” said Marguerite, as they got up entirely too early the next morning. She was sore from her fall and she knew that it was probably making her cranky, but she couldn’t quite stop.
“I apologize for the delay,” said Shane. “Truly.” He was armed and armored and gave every appearance of having been awake for hours. Marguerite considered pushing him down the stairs just on principle.
“It’s a demon, though,” said Wren. “You know.”
“I know.” Marguerite sighed. Apparently one of the things you didn’t ask paladins to do was to walk away from situations where they could help. Shane, at least, had asked permission. Wren had just looked at her like a small child who has been promised a day at the fair. Still, if I didn’t give permission, the Dreaming God’s people have the authority to deputize damn near anyone in pursuit of an active demon. And I really don’t want to start off with my hired muscle resenting me.
“Just don’t get killed or grievously injured, I beg of you.”
“We’ll try to avoid it,” said Wren happily.
“Truly, it should be easy enough,” said Sir Xavier, the paladin of the Dreaming God. “It’s already on three legs. If my sword arm wasn’t broken, I could do it without breaking a sweat.”
Marguerite hoped it was really that easy. This is what they do. This is their job. They know how to do this. And I really do not want to go back to Beartongue and ask for replacements. If one or both of the paladins died in pursuit of their mission, Marguerite would grieve and move on, but she was hoping to at least reach the Court of Smoke before the bodies began racking up. Losing a paladin before they were even halfway there would look extremely careless. And I would really prefer to have two at court, thank you very much.
“Can I watch?” she asked. “I’ve never seen a demon exorcised before.”
Shane frowned. “Certainly not. It’s much too dangerous.”
“Eh…” Ramsey shrugged. “It’s a weak one, so I doubt it can jump unless we kill the steer, and that only with physical contact. I don’t object.”
An actual expression flicked across Shane’s face. This one resembled a scowl. Marguerite
suspected that he wanted to argue the point, but wasn’t quite willing to go up against a senior member of the Temple. I should never have implied that he wasn’t protecting me well enough. All it did was make things worse.
Then he bowed his head. “I should not question your judgment, sir. I apologize.”
“Don’t,” said Ramsey. “You’re doing exactly what a responsible guardian would. If I hadn’t already come up against this one, I wouldn’t allow it either.”
“Don’t fret. I’ll stand with her,” added Xavier. He winked at her. “Sweet deal for me. I get to stand around with a pretty lady while the youngsters do all the heavy lifting.”
“I’m thirty-six,” said Shane.
“I’m forty-five. You’re a youngster.”
Wren, who Marguerite had pegged as being in her late twenties, muttered something. Foster gazed at the ceiling and whistled.
“I’m fifty-seven, so all of you can be quiet,” grumbled Ramsey.
They rode out until they reached an area that looked exactly the same as all the other areas to Marguerite, except that there was a fence on the other side of the field.
Behind the fence was a very large cow. Or steer, I suppose. Not that I imagine it matters much, now that it’s a demon.
It didn’t look particularly demonic. It looked injured and exhausted. One of its hind legs dragged and its sides heaved as it breathed. One side of its body seemed larger than the other. Were cows supposed to stick out to the sides like that?
“Bloat,” said Wren. “It’s going to die soon anyway.”
“If we want to bind it with the animal’s death, we’ll have to do it now, then,” said the Dreaming God’s paladin. Shane slid off his horse and moved to assist the injured man in dismounting, with the same unobtrusive courtesy that he used on Wren.
They left the mounts in the trees on the far side of the field, out of sight. Foster preferred to stay with the horses. “I’ve seen a demon,” he said laconically. “I don’t need to see another one in this life.”
The paladin of the Dreaming God stopped well back from the fence, on a slight rise in the ground.
“We’ll get a better view from here.”
“I bow to an expert.” Marguerite turned to follow him, but Shane put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder.
He had not touched her since he had helped her up from her fall. She was briefly surprised, and then even more surprised when he gripped her other shoulder as well and leaned down to look her in the eyes.
“Lady Marguerite,” he said quietly, and it was the voice again, the healer’s voice, and even though she knew what he was doing, it felt like warm water being poured down her spine.
Comforting. Trustworthy. Safe. She could not remember the last time that another person had made her
feel safe.
Ice blue eyes gazed intently into hers. “Lady Marguerite,” he said again, “if the demon charges the fence, I want you to run. Run for the horses. If Wren or I am slain, run. Above all else, if any of us begin to act strangely, run. There will be nothing that you can do to help, and you may be in terrible danger. Will you give me your word?”
In other circumstances, she might have felt patronized. Did the man think that she was such a fool that she wouldn’t run from a demon? It was the knife in the dark that she feared, not a possessed cow in broad daylight. But there was nothing in his eyes but concern and his voice was so earnest and she remembered Wren saying, You have to mean it.
“Yes,” she said. “I promise. Are you sure this safe?”
He released her, rubbing his heavy leather gauntlets together. “It is dangerous, but no more so than stopping a mugging in an alley. And I would insist on doing that as well.” A rueful smile flashed across his face, so quickly that she half-thought she’d imagined it, and then he stepped back and drew his sword.