Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Vagabond Paladin
“Let him go!” I gasped, grabbing for Brindle’s scruff and trying to rip him off of his victim.
The Poisoned Saint grunted, his breath coming in sharp gasps as one hand found the dog’s head and the other fumbled at his belt. His eyes were wide and shocked.
God, if you have mercy, please keep my thoughts clouded from him. God, if you have mercy, please don’t let my dog kill him.
I clenched my jaw. I had just ordered them to let him go and they’d vowed to obey me.
Surely you jest! The paladin knows what is happening here. We need to end him. Now. Go for his eyes! Go for his eyes!
He does not know, I assured him in my mind, hoping he could hear my thoughts. He only knows that I’m too young and that I killed Sir Branson. I can explain that to him. Unclamp your jaws!
My heart sped, making my fingers clumsy as they slid across Brindle’s teeth and into his gums, trying to force his mouth open.
The paladin hissed, eyes clouding with pain.
His hair fell in his face as he fought against Brindle, his brown eyes bright and wild.
They caught mine for just a heartbeat and my breath caught, too.
He was like an illumined page when he looked at me like that.
All bright and glorious and noble. It stabbed at something deep in my chest that knew I was terribly unworthy of all of this.
Enough. There was no time right now for self-recriminations. I needed to get Brindle in hand. I gripped his neck skin harder, shaking it, hoping the doggy within the dog would listen.
“Brindle, please, please let go.”
If the other paladins heard the girlish pleading in my voice, I’d lose any shred of respect I’d rode in with right there.
Brindle wasn’t letting go.
“Saints and Angels!”
I cuffed him — hard in the skull. Wrong move.
He didn’t break his grip at all but a desperate gasping cry tore from the other paladin’s lips.
His face was paler. He gripped the pillar beside him with one hand, pressed his forehead into it, teeth clenched in a rictus of pain, his other hand prying at the dog’s mouth right beside mine.
I turned to prayer. My last resort.
Merciful God in heaven, help me save this man!
I felt a whuff of something leave me. Was it only my breath? Only my breath, or a granting of the favor of the God?
I could not tell, but Brindle unclamped his jaw and the Poisoned Saint sagged in relief.
I caught him as he stumbled, his face twisted in pain.
It was more lined than before, which didn’t detract from the thoughtful warmth of it.
That warmth clashed badly with the purples and greens of his sickly coloring, but it was there, even as he huffed a laugh of disbelief.
“Brindle. Go stand by the horse,” I barked, not bothering to disguise my fury.
He stared at me, licking blood from his teeth and then stretching with a baleful glare in his eye. Was it my imagination, or was one eye glowing red?
I thought Sir Branson said he could manage the demon. I thought the oath would bind him.
Hasn’t anyone told you, little morsel? An oath is only as good as the one who swears it. Your knight tastes of plums and pain. You should take a taste of him yourself. Maybe you will, clinging to him as you do. I think I’ll watch. How would that make you feel?
My cheeks felt hot and my head was swimming. I’d made a terrible mistake thinking that together Sir Branson and I could manage this demon.
You’re right, you’re right, you’re right. Sir Branson sounded flustered. I’ll think of something.
He’d always thought of something. When the road was cold with nowhere to sleep. When we ran out of bread and no one would offer a crust. When I got that infection in my leg and we couldn’t find a healer … he always thought of something.
And if I killed Brindle, he’d never think of something again. I’d lose him forever. I was starting to worry that I’d have to do it anyway.
Trouble yourself no more. The God will show us a way.
Brindle slunk over to the horses and plopped down at Halberd’s feet with a stick in his bloody mouth. I let out a long, anxious exhale.
“Your dog bit me,” the Poisoned Saint said at last, disbelieving.
I was still holding him up, I realized suddenly. It felt far too intimate for a man whose name I still did not know.
I ran my eyes up and down him quickly. The bite had pierced through leather breeches and torn a hole big enough that I could see the bruised and bloody mess and the gouges in his flesh. I grimaced and found his gaze.
His eyes really were warm. Even as he looked at me with distraught …
something … they radiated an aghast humor.
I couldn’t read the “something” behind that.
Sometimes it flashed like flickers of guilt in a tension around his eyes, but other times since I met him it was like the sting of cinnamon on the tongue.
I had never encountered whatever that was before. I couldn’t name it.
“Sir … Sir, you have my humblest apologies,” I gasped out. I held his tabard bunched in my fists as he grimaced and tried to put weight on his leg.
His face was very near mine, tight with pain, his lashes thick around his dark eyes, and I thought he had likely been pretty when he was younger, before wear and hardship sharpened his features.
“Adalbrand,” he said tightly, his breath gusting out warm in the air between us as he huffed another laugh. “Sir Adalbrand.”
“Is this truly funny, Sir Adalbrand?” I asked as he pulled away from me, swaying, letting out little hisses of pain from between his lips. He was about as heavy as I’d expected, given that he was a knight in half armor, but he was far leaner than Sir Branson had been.
Excuse you.
And his close proximity to me felt … uncomfortable. But not entirely in a bad way.
I order you not to be attracted to this man. It will only embarrass us all.
You and the demon will be embarrassed? How terrible. I’m sure I’ll do everything in my power to spare you.
Little morsel, tasty morsel.
Oh great. The other one was going to weigh in.
We read the inscription the sorrow-drinker was trying to parse out, tasty morsel. His Indul is rusty, I think. We can use what it said to secure a place here. If you want to do that instead of tasting sugared plums.
“There’s something very wrong with your dog,” the Poisoned Saint — Sir Adalbrand — choked out.
“I won’t kill him,” I said immediately, frowning. “He belonged to Sir Branson.”
Sir Adalbrand held up his hands as if to ward off the thought. He was — I realized — treating me as if I were just as rabid as the dog might be. Just as likely to bite him. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from my face, as if it would warn him before I leapt.
“I’m not asking you to kill the dog.” He hesitated, like maybe he was asking that but wasn’t sure if that was going too far. “But if you won’t let me heal your injuries, then will you at least let me restitch your wounds and apply a poultice?”
My mouth fell open.
“I think maybe we should be worried about your injuries. The bite in particular.”
“Oh, don’t think for a moment that I can forget that.” The look on his face was wry as he prodded at the area around his wound. “Saints and Angels. It hurts like a bear.”
He gusted another laugh and I couldn’t help that I warmed to that, could I? Something about humor in the face of tragedy had that effect on me.
Mmm, you never told me you could be lulled by honeyed words and dimples. I can make my words drip with sugar. They can go down sweet and sprout like mushrooms until their spores consume you whole. I can have dimples, too, if it helps.
The Poisoned Saint did have dimples. They were showing now as he twisted back and forth looking at his leg.
“You might want to inspect your dog’s mouth. He seems to have dented some of the metal rings just here.” He pointed to a leather strap that went around his thigh. A very nice thigh, even if it did have a chunk missing now. “The dog’s mouth might be mangled.”
I waved a hand, keeping my tone dry as the desert. “Never trouble yourself about him.”
Excuse you.
I ignored whoever was offended.
Do you know what I read on that pillar, little luncheon?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. Was it not enough that he had bit a paladin?
Sir Adalbrand’s mouth quirked in an ironic smile. “Then may I suggest that we both stitch and salve these wounds together? You’ll owe me nothing. It will simply be the two of us being practical.”
I paused. Because here’s the thing about having nothing.
You can never pay anyone back. The simple things they give away as if they are of little note, are treasures to you.
What they take for granted, you are barred from.
So, he might say that I wouldn’t incur a debt by agreeing to take his help, but did he really mean it, or did he simply think I had something I could offer him later?
I tried to be in no one’s debt — for debts were not things I could pay.
All they ever did was drive wedges between those who could have been friends.
“I’ll owe you for the salve,” I said carefully, trying to keep any eagerness out of my voice. A salve would be a wonderful thing. My wounds were not doing well. Even I knew that they were infected. “But I have a way to pay.”
“Do you?” His smile deepened even though he still wasn’t putting weight on his bitten leg as he limped over to the saddlebags and rummaged around inside, his gaze shooting often to Brindle, who was playing innocent as he tore apart a stick and then shook it back and forth in mock play.
Adalbrand had a calm manner. I saw it in how the horses relaxed as he passed, as if he were a warm breeze blowing across their backs and taking with it the buzzing flies.
“I can tell you what is written on that pillar,” I gambled.
The voice in my head cursed so loudly that it sent me rocking back on my heels.
And Sir Adalbrand’s eyes shot up, his eyes narrowing as they settled on my face. “Can you, indeed?”