And that reminds me, Sir Branson said stiffly, you have five problems.
Wonderful. I now had more problems than I did gold coins.
There are four gold coins in my left boot.
I stood corrected.
Tonight, you must stand vigil and accept my cloak as my heir apparent, the anointed successor chosen by the God and the journey. Well, I say stand, but you must kneel in vigil throughout the night until the first blush of dawn. On your knees. Where it hurts.
“Great. Great. Great,” I said as if considering.
You should probably take the cloak now. If you can wiggle it out from under me.
He paused as if waiting for me to obey, and when I didn’t move, he went on.
And if the Aspect of the Rejected God speaks to you on this night and puts his mark on you, then you, too, will be a paladin blessed in the Holy Order of Vagrant Knights — the Paladins Rejected. And I’m sure he will, so no need to be skittish about that. It will work out, is what I’m saying.
If it wasn’t obvious by the fact that all my armor was sub-par and my cloak was ragged, or that little hint about the distinct lack of gold, my master and I were beggar paladins. Knights Vagrant. The God’s Own Rejected. Vagabond Paladins. Etc. Etc.
Only, Sir Branson, unlike me, was God-touched. He was a paladin called to the small places of this world, and if I were lucky — wait, we are not to say lucky — if I were blessed then I could be one, too. And I could join him in everlasting poverty and duty. Which might sound like hell to some people, but what can I say? I chose this. I actually want it. And if that didn’t make me God-touched then who knew what would.
Okay, problem one. Nighttime. I limped to where the gnarled, ghastly trees edged the clay riverbanks, hauling poor Brindle with me.
“Were it my choice, I’d set you free, Brindle,” I told the lanky dog as he looked at me with sad, liquid eyes. “I don’t like keeping you tied like this, but I do not know who controls your furry form and I do not want to have to kill you, too. Gifting death to Sir Branson was bad enough.”
I think I nearly have the dog under … aislhtrpoetn.
HHHTHERLJFPSDLKNG.
I gritted my teeth, falling to my knees as the two voices screeched over one another, whatever they meant to say lost in the tides of their private war. The sound was like the tearing of metal — a sound I’d heard once when the massive Oakencrest drawbridge closed over one of the Oakencrest guard, pinning him in its great jaws and tearing his steel plate chest guard in twain. I will not say what it did to his remains. It is enough to note that I’ve seen sorrier corpses than poor Sir Branson.
The pain in my head from the sound split it so hard that I forgot momentarily that I had a dog to mind and I dropped the chain, covering my ears as if I could block out the internal maelstrom.
Beside me, Brindle sat down, whined, and then shuffled forward, shuffling a little farther and a little farther until he could lick my hand.
When — at last — the screeching subsided, I was gasping and trembling. I blinked, the world buzzing with the sudden absence of sound. Brindle put his round head into my lap.
Blessed Saints.
Well. It must be the dog in charge of the body.
For now.
So, that was nice.
It’s hard to control another creature’s body for long even if one possesses it. Drains the strength.
I froze. The voice that had spoken just now was neither Sir Branson’s nor that of the demon but some terrible combination of the two, and it rang in my head with the terrible certainty of a hanging-day bell.
“Which are you?” I asked, shuddering.
Which, indeed, the voice replied, and then followed it up with, I’d think you would know, even if our voices have somehow merged into something new.
“How would I know?”
Well, you could hardly confuse the thoughts of a most holy paladin and a demon.
It would seem that I could easily mistake them. I did not know which was speaking to me now. This was like one of those puzzles where two keepers guard two gates, and one always tells the truth while the other always lies, and the puzzler must form the perfect question to discern between the two. I did not yet know the perfect question, but at least Brindle wasn’t currently trying to kill me.
