“No trick,” Wisdom said. Whether it read his thoughts or simply guessed, he didn’t know. “Your friends are of no use to me as worshippers, and I rather doubt I could hire your little paladin friend with gold. Agree to stay with me, and I will let them go. Free and clear.” It spread its hands, the picture of reason.
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll try again with the other member of your order, though I hold out less hope for her. And if—when—that fails, then perhaps I will consider that it may be time for a new host. This one is beginning to falter, I am afraid. She lasted a very long time, but the consumption that I have been keeping at bay is beginning to tax my strength.” Wisdom examined its nails, the very picture of humanity. “You seem a fine, healthy specimen. I doubt much of your skill with a sword will be available to me—not after I am forced to shatter your mind—but your body is strong enough to last for years, with careful handling. But of course, I’ll have no choice but to kill the others to keep my disguise intact.”
Shane swallowed hard.
“Mmm. That might be the best plan after all. With a face like yours, I imagine I could attract a great many worshippers in short order.” The demon ran its hands through its host’s hair. “Although I must say that I have always preferred to live within women’s bodies. I find them more congenial. No, no, not for any perverse reason!” It grinned at his expression. “No, honestly, it’s your bodily functions. It takes a male host so much longer to urinate, and it’s already fairly disgusting to endure.”
From the face it made, Shane suspected that the demon was telling the exact truth. This was not a comfort.
“Mmm. A handsome face, or a more congenial host…” It made a weighing gesture. “The little paladin is strong, too, and I sense that she could endure a great deal…”
“No,” rasped Shane, horrified by the prospect of Wren’s soul ripped apart by a demon. Kinder by far to put a knife to her throat.
And your hand may be the one holding the knife, if the demon takes possession of you.
Wisdom folded its arms. “Their lives—or deaths—are up to you, paladin. With a champion, I need not exhaust myself defending my flock from those who besiege us. In that case, I could keep this body together for quite a bit longer, I expect.”
He would be here. His soul, very likely, would be damned for eternity. But if the demon was true to its word, then Wren and Marguerite would escape, and they could get to a temple of the Dreaming God and warn them exactly what horror lurked in these hills.
My soul is worth little enough, but if there is a chance to stop this…
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?” he said, and saw triumph flash across Wisdom’s face.
“How do I know you’ll keep yours?” it countered.
“I’m a paladin. You’re a demon.”
“Yes, and one of those two is known for dramatic acts of self-sacrifice.” It frowned. “Perhaps I should keep one of your friends as a hostage, just in case.”
“No. You let them all go, or there is no deal.”
“And what keeps you from falling on your sword the moment they’re safely away?”
Shane folded his arms in a mirror of the demon. “If you cannot convince your paladins to stay in your service, how do you expect to succeed as a god?”
“Ha!” Wisdom barked a laugh. “Well struck, paladin. Very well! But you must give me a chance to prove myself before you fling yourself from the battlements, yes?”
Shane hesitated. “I will need proof of their safety.”
Wisdom sighed. “Very well. You, and none other, shall accompany them to the river that borders my lands. You may watch them go for as long as you like, to make certain that none of my men take potshots at them. You may even lock my fighting men in the prison cells below, if that will set your mind at ease. But you become my champion now. Tonight. I want you on my chain, paladin, before I risk letting you off the lead.”
It was a monstrous bargain. A true paladin would never have made it, but he was not a true paladin any longer.
Perhaps he never had been. Perhaps, as it said, he had only ever been a dog on someone’s chain.
“Agreed,” he said.
It was wise enough not to gloat. It reached out and pressed its hand flat against his chest, a little below his heart, where the Saint of Steel had once filled him with holy fire.
“Then let me in, champion,” the demon whispered.
Shane closed his eyes. His first god didn’t want him. His second god was dead. He was a danger to the woman he loved.
Maybe it’s better this way.
If the demon’s touch had burned before, now it felt like a needle of fire thrust through his heart.
Shane opened his mouth to scream, and then something tore, something he hadn’t even known existed, and his scream turned into a ragged gasp for air.
It was as if there had been a festering wound deep inside him and Wisdom had lanced it. As if he had been in pain so long that he had forgotten there was anything else, until the demon had broken it open and set it to bleeding again.
An abscessed soul. Of course I’d get one of those. If souls could heal and souls could scar, it only made sense. He gave a short huff of laughter, startling himself. He’d heard dying men laugh like that.
Well. That made sense, too. Perhaps the wound in his soul had always been mortal. He had simply been too stubborn to fall down and die. Perhaps now he finally would.
“Not until I’m done with you,” said the demon Wisdom, and used its host’s body to smile.
FORTY-FIVE
“IT’S TAKING TOO LONG,” said Marguerite.
Wren lifted her head and looked at her with an expression so unexpected that it took Marguerite a moment to recognize it. Pity? From Wren , of all people?
“You still don’t understand,” said the paladin gently. “It’s a demon. Five minutes would be too long. He’s gone.”
“He’d never give in to a demon,” said Marguerite firmly. “It’s Shane.”
Wren rubbed the back of her neck. “Normally I’d agree with you,” she said. “But it’s old. And powerful. When you get one like this, the temple sends out a dozen paladins and at least five priests, and they expect to lose people. Shane’s just one man.”
“I don’t believe for a minute that he’d be possessed by a demon,” said Davith. Marguerite turned gratefully towards this unexpected support, right up until he added, “He’d have to take the stick out of his ass to make room.”
“Not helpful, Davith.”
Wren wheeled around, teeth bared, and for a second Marguerite thought the other woman would strike him. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that!” she hissed. “He saved your life! He could have let that ground-wight eat you—he could have let the Sail’s people have you—but he’s been ready to die for you every step of the way and he doesn’t even like you! Because he is—he was—a good man!
And he just sacrificed himself because…because…just shut up!”
Davith stared at her in astonishment and, to Marguerite’s own private astonishment, obvious shame. “You’re right,” he said finally. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry.”