“The plan is simple,” Wisdom said. “The Dreaming God’s people will come here, and they will tear this keep apart to reach me, correct?”
Shane nodded. That was about the shape of it.
“Most of my people cannot fight, and I will not ask it of them. They are leaving even now. First to the raider’s camp you cleared, then on. Better to be refugees than casualties.”
Shane licked dry lips. “The Dreaming God’s paladins wouldn’t…” he began, and then stopped. He’d never dealt with a demonic cult before. It had never come up in his time with the temple. He was sure that they wouldn’t put everyone to the sword—almost sure—but they probably weren’t going to send them on their way with a stern lecture either. At the very least, Wisdom’s followers would find themselves in a very uncomfortable position, and it was likely that some of the leaders would be treated as heretics or accomplices or both.
Even in the very best case, families would be split up and people held as the priests attempted to sort the innocent from the guilty.
He thought of Erlick and his niece and his heart sank.
“Exactly,” said Wisdom, reading his thoughts. “I will not gamble with the lives of my followers. We have gathered enough here that they need not go completely penniless into the world. That encampment you cleared will serve as a staging ground for those who cannot travel quickly. The rest will spread out as they can, and spread the word of a god called Wisdom.” It laughed, a little ruefully. “It is my hope that my worship will continue long enough for me to find a way back if I am banished again.”
“Do you expect to be banished?”
Wisdom spread its hands. “It does me no good to run. They will follow like bloodhounds, and I risk leading them directly to my people. So I am going to stay here, as are you. As are enough of my people to make a good showing fighting back. And when we have fallen back, you and I shall make a very dramatic show.”
“And what is my part in this show?”
“Simple.” Wisdom grinned its slightly-too-wide grin. “You’re going to kill me, where everyone can see.”
“You know, I could just kill you now and tell everyone that I did,” said Shane. “It would save a lot of steps.”
Wisdom rolled its eyes. “Yes, and they might believe you. But what they’ll actually think happened is that I jumped to someone else, and they’ll round up anyone that might have been associated with this keep, which puts us back where we started. The only way that this will work is if I do enough demonic tricks to convince them that I am very much present, and then you kill me. Preferably where they can see it.”
Shane opened his mouth to say, But they’ll think you jumped to me, and then closed it again. “Ah,” he said instead.
“Now you understand.”
“And they will capture me, and you will have left enough of a demonic taint through the bond between us to be convincing.”
“Precisely.” Through the bond, he felt a wash of something like…regret? Apology? He would not have thought that a demon could feel such things. “Though they may choose to kill you outright, of course, and try to bind me with your death. I am sorry for that.”
Shane shrugged. I have been a dead man walking since I left that cell for the first time. “And you plan that they should be binding the wrong person.”
“Exactly. I will already be gone, back to hell but unbound. From there, I think that I can follow the faith of my people back.”
“You think? You’re not sure?”
“It’s not as if I can test it. The only thing I know is that no demon comes back once the Dreaming God’s people bind them to hell. This is the only way that I can think of that keeps both myself and my people free.”
Unspoken between them was that Shane would be in a great deal more trouble if he was taken alive. The punishment for a paladin convicted of heresy was burning at the stake. It didn’t happen often, but Shane had read too many tales of martyrs not to have some idea how that would work. Better to die fighting.
He only hoped that he didn’t take too many of his old brethren with him when he did.
“Right,” Marguerite said, late that night. She and the others had gathered in Magnus’s quarters. The artificer had been given a large room on the ground floor, in deference to her difficulty with stairs. She had brewed a pot of tea and Marguerite had already checked the door twice to make sure no one was listening.
No one was. The Dreaming God’s people were apparently even worse than the Saint of Steel about subterfuge. No wonder they can’t spot demons that are good at lying. Though I suppose if you’re mostly expecting levitating cows, you don’t have much experience.
“Are we doing what I think we’re doing?” asked Judith, in her almost eerily calm voice.
Marguerite eyed her warily. The new paladin was the wild card, and Marguerite still didn’t know what to make of her. “Give me your word that what I say does not go beyond this room.”
“Mmm.” Judith considered it. “No.”
Marguerite blinked at her. She wasn’t used to flat denials like that. Usually people at least tried to lie. “What?”
“I said no.” She crossed her hands over the hilt of her sword. “I will not give my word to that. Do you want me to leave?”
“No, I want your assistance.” Marguerite rubbed her forehead and looked at Wren. “Help me here, Wren.”
Wren screwed her face up in thought, then said, “Can you promise not to tell anyone for at least a day?”
Judith considered this. At least, Marguerite thought that she was considering it. Hadn’t she thought Shane was hard to read once? Compared to this woman, he was an open book. Printed in large block letters. With accompanying illustrations.
“Very well,” Judith said. “I will swear not to reveal what you say for a full day, unless it is necessary to save a life.” She inclined her head to Marguerite. “Will that serve?”
“It’ll do,” said Marguerite fervently. “Since I’m trying to save a life here. Maybe you can help.”
“Mmm. I assume that you wish to stage a suicidal raid on the demon’s stronghold in order to extract our possibly-possessed brother before the Dreaming God’s people kill him?”
Marguerite paused, her teacup halfway to her lips. “That was…succinct.”
Judith raised one shoulder in a bare approximation of a shrug. Davith snorted into his tea.
I suppose it’s not like it was hard to guess. I just hope that Jorge doesn’t guess it too.
“I am not actually opposed,” Judith said. “But do you truly believe that he is still in there?”
“It’s Shane,” said Marguerite, frustrated that she didn’t have a better argument to muster. “You know what he’s like. Do you think he wouldn’t fight against possession tooth and nail?”
“Fighting will not always serve,” Judith said. “And having borne a demon is not easy. Do you think he would wish to survive?”
To Marguerite’s surprise, Ashes Magnus was the one who spoke up. “I knew a paladin who was possessed once,” she said. “Or had been possessed, anyhow. Nice lad. Ridiculously good-looking, and thicker than a short plank of wood, mind you.” She pursed her lips. “Had an ass you could bounce a coin off.”
There was a brief pause while everyone gave this comment the attention that it was due. Davith made a choking sound and took a hasty swig of tea to drown it.
“Anyway,” said Magnus, “he’s most of the reason we don’t have clocktaurs anymore.” She dropped a dollop of honey into her teacup and swirled it, ignoring all the eyes on her.
“After he was possessed?” Wren asked.
“Because he’d been possessed before,” Magnus said. “Couldn’t happen to him twice, apparently. Demons don’t share or something like that.” She gave a vast, almost tectonic shrug. “Don’t ask me to explain it. I make machines. Demons are somebody else’s problem.”
“And this paladin was…happy?” Judith wanted to know. Marguerite looked up, slightly surprised by the question.
“Either happy or completely miserable,” Ashes said. “But that was because he was madly in love, and like I said, thicker than a short plank of wood. That bit didn’t have anything much to do with the demon either way.”
Judith leaned back in her chair, expressionless once more.
“I’m just saying, don’t write the lad off just because he’s possessed. You never know.”
“I’m not even sure it’s the same sort of possession,” Wren said. “He said it felt more like when the Saint would touch people. In his soul, not his mind. And the demon was still in somebody else’s body. We saw it.”
“If he’s not really possessed, do you think they’ll let him live?” Marguerite asked.
Judith and Wren looked at each other, then back at her. “Maybe,” said Wren. “I won’t swear that they won’t shoot first and ask questions later.”
“They are deeply committed to their purpose,” Judith added.
“You can say that again,” muttered Marguerite. She absolutely believed Jorge when he said that Shane was his friend, and she also absolutely believed that he would put a sword through the other man’s heart without hesitation.
The truly infuriating thing was that she knew exactly why the Dreaming God’s people were doing it, and under other circumstances, she would probably have agreed that it was the right thing to do.
Judith tapped her fingertips together. “Given what you say, I think there is a chance—a slim one, but a chance—that Shane can be saved from the demon. It is much more difficult to save someone from an arrow in the eye.” She nodded. “I will help you.”
Marguerite sagged with relief. There was something about Judith that inspired…not confidence, exactly. She feels like a power. A strange, rather damaged power, to be sure, but one that I would much rather have on my side.
“Right,” said Marguerite. “Judith, Wren, we’ll leave tonight. Davith…” She glanced at him, shaking her head. “Go where you please. Any debt you owed me is long since paid. I’d prefer you didn’t go running to the Sail to tell them about Ashes, but if you do, I suspect the paladins will be more than able to handle it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Ashes. “They loaned me a scribe this morning. There are three sets of instructions for my salt-maker already, and the scribe promised to make another dozen tonight. We’ll send copies to every temple of the Forge God within a hundred miles.” She looked more than a little smug.
Davith scowled fiercely, looked at Marguerite, looked at Wren, then looked at the ceiling. “Fine. That’s fine. That’s just fine. Gaaaaah.” He rapped his fingers on the arm of the chair, stood up, kicked over a footstool, set it back upright, then dropped into his chair again and muttered something almost too low for Marguerite to hear.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said,” Davith growled, enunciating every word, “I’ll come with you.”
“What?” said Marguerite.
“What?” said Wren.
“Heh,” said Ashes.
Judith said nothing, but one of her eyebrows lifted a fraction.
“The stupid armor-plated bastard saved my life, okay?” said Davith. “And I’m not saying I like him, but…” He made a frustrated gesture that was somehow both meaningless and surprisingly eloquent.
“My god, Davith, is that guilt I’m hearing?” asked Marguerite.
He glared at her. “I try to pay my debts. Besides, there’s something you’re forgetting.”
“Oh?”
His annoyed expression vanished under a broad smile. “You’re going to want to move fast, and I know for a fact that I’m the only one here who knows how to take care of a horse.”