I'm sorry I'm being a drama queen
Jun. 30th, 2007 01:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI'll try to stop now.
Umm. The scene I lost and am gloomy about was actually a flashbak with Rakken & Ambrose. I had written it once, but hated it. Rewrote it what seemed perfectly to me...but writing it means it leaves my head means I can't recreate it. I suppose I'll come up with piece of crap instead eventually.
But if you'd like the 'present' day stuff, I didn't lose the new stuff added to that. Most of it you've already read, I think, but the new stuff is pretty cool ^_^
So have. And thank you for putting up with my whining. What Megan really needs is a good STFU and I will do that now.
III. The Dark Paladin
Sorin stifled a yawn as he led the way down the hall to Cerant’s room. He suspected that even after he was crowned King, Cerant would insist on keeping his own rooms. Privately Sorin had always believed that Cerant would make the better King…though he wished the price had not been two murders. At least two murders. If a man could kill two people, he could kill more. The thought made him more tired than ever.
Gentle warmth spread through him, the soothing touch of the Goddess comforting, calming.
“What happened?” Koray asked beside him. Sorin resisted the urge to touch him, knowing Koray would just protest and draw back into his dratted hood. For reasons unknown, he’d largely given up wearing it while in the castle. Sorin did not want to be the reason he resumed. He liked seeing Koray, the way his strange, beautiful hair spilled over his shoulders…
Irritably he shook his head. He had more important things to think about than how much he’d like to touch Koray – though that definitely would require some serious thinking. Soon. “I wish I could tell you,” he said with a sigh. “Rofell escaped, we know not how, and while he was stealing the sword from the treasury a demon nearly killed Neikirk.”
“The sword?” Koray asked, glowering at the floor as he thought. “What sword?”
“Nothing that would matter to a skeleton,” Zaede said as he abruptly joined them, spilling in from a smaller hallway.
“Zaede,” Sorin said quietly. He was grateful when his oldest friend subsided. A moment later they reached the end of the hall and Sorin rapped on the door. It was opened almost a minute later by Cerant, who looked rather more cheerful than Sorin thought he should. “Highness,” he greeted, ignoring Zaede’s contemptuous snort. He shot the other Paladin a look and then led the way into Cerant’s rooms.
Cerant motioned for them to sit, resuming his own seat next to Neikirk. “Do we know anything?”
“That the dungeon leaves much to be desired?” Zaede asked.
Sorin rolled his eyes. “I could understand Rofell wanting his ruby back – except he did not try to get the ruby. That was left to the demon. Why would they care about the sword?”
“Master,” Neikirk said, his voice calm and level – even when he’d been nearly killed by a demon, Sorin did not remember that tone faltering over much. The alchemist could give priests lessons in how to appear humble and devoted…though he thought the devotion Neikirk showed Cerant was perhaps not quite what priests should be showing their Goddess. “What is this sword?”
If Sorin had any trace of a good mood remaining, it vanished at the mention of the sword. That Zaede and Cerant looked equally unhappy was poor consolation for dredging up a story that haunted the paladins and priests no matter how many years passed.
Cerant sighed softly. “As I said before, it is an unhappy story. Centuries ago, when my ancestors lived in the old palace, there was a Paladin…” He broke off, grimacing.
“He turned,” Zaede said flatly.
“Yes,” Cerant said quietly. “All that remains now is the sword.” He smiled faintly at the confused look on Neikirk’s face. “It’s a sad story, my dear, and one of which we know very little. A Paladin was seduced by a demon and turned to their side. As he died, the Goddess’s wrath and anguish consumed all who witnessed it…and when the fires were finally put out, all that remained was a single sword.”
Zaede shifted impatiently. “If you want to tell foolish legends, do it later. We have more important matters to discuss.”
“Yes,” Sorin said dryly. “Such as how we have no idea what is going on. We need a great deal more information than we currently possess.”
“We also need to find my brother,” Cerant said. “Clearly he has joined with the demons, which means he is probably headed north. Sorin, if you have not already done so, send out word to the Paladins in those provinces – all provinces I guess – of what has transpired. Tell them to be especially cautious, as Rofell is in league with the demons.” He sighed, hand sliding almost absently into Neikirk’s. “The last time one of the Goddess’s children joined the demons…”
Sorin nodded. “Word has been sent.”
“Which reminds me that we need to know how a demon was able to get into the castle, with none of my priests or knights aware of it. If they are able now to avoid detection…” Cerant didn’t finish the sentence.
“A demon was here?” Koray asked softly. “What happened to it?”
“I killed it,” Sorin said, and glanced briefly at Neikirk, “after Neikirk hit it hard with a devastating spell.”
“Lightning incantation,” Neikirk said. “War alchemists claim they are most effective.”
“It cooked him quite nicely,” Zaede said.
“So the power of the Goddess was not required to kill him?” Koray asked.
“No…” Sorin said slowly. “Why?”
“Then there may be a chance…” Koray’s words were barely audible as he abruptly stood and strode from the room. He stopped at the door and turned sharply back around, long hair flying about. “Where did you kill it?”
Neikirk told him, and Koray was gone.
Sorin stood up, glaring at the absent necromancer. “I’m going to wring his neck.”
“I’ll help,” Zaede said cheerfully.
“Don’t touch him,” Sorin retorted. Then he turned and chased after Koray.
He caught up with him in the hallway where the demon had died. “What are you doing?”
Koray didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. The fact that he was drawing out myrrh was answer enough. Sorin felt a cold chill, and the sudden ache in his chest was far from reassuring. “Koray, are you certain this is a good idea?”
“I’m certain it’s none of your concern,” Koray retorted.
Sorin stifled a sigh. Of course he would choose a thorny necromancer to grow fond of. The gentle fluttering in his chest told him that the Goddess was amused, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
It vanished as Koray started setting out sticks of incense in what Sorin realized formed the points of the Goddess’s star. Once more it was made clear that necromancers were not reviled practioners of black magic as had always been believed.
“Is this really necessary?” Sorin asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a tightening in his chest – whatever was about to happen, the Goddess wanted him to be alert.
Koray was prevented from replying as the others appeared. Sorin shot Zaede a look, and the other Paladin nodded minutely though he did not look pleased – even at the worst of times, Zaede could find something inappropriate to say.
“What are you doing?” Cerant asked.
“I am going to obtain answers,” Koray said shortly. “Do not speak. Do not interfere.” For a single brief moment, a too familiar sorrow flickered across his face. Sorin ached to soothe it, but he knew that right now, especially with other people around, Koray would only reject him. “Do not in any way break my concentration. Doing so will result in at least my death.”
Sorin shook his head. “No way. You’re not doing this.”
“It is not for you to say,” Koray snapped. “I am a necromancer. The ghost of the demon could hold answers.” He glared at Sorin, pale gray eyes fierce. “You would not prevent a soldier from doing what is necessary; do not stop me.”
To that, Sorin could only concede defeat. “Is there any way I can help?”
Koray ignored him. He rolled up the sleeves of his robes, binding them up out of his way. Sorin looked unhappily at the multitude of scars running the length of them, and wondered how many times Koray had cut himself in the course of his work. He tightened his hands into fists, and wondered when he’d started to care this much about Koray. Always he worried about his fellow Paladins, the knights, the priests, all the children of the Goddess. He worried far more about Koray, and the warmth pulsing in his chest was not as comforting as usual.
As they watched in silence, Koray drew out a small leather bag and pulled it open. Slowly he began to walk around the star marked out by incense, dispersing the contents of the pouch – ashes. Ashes of what?
Sorin wondered if he was the only one to notice how much paler Koray had gotten as he worked, the slight unsteadiness of his hand. Whatever he could see that they could not was severely distressing. Sorin forced himself to hold still. Koray had said interference could kill him – at least. Koray would not say such things lightly.
Finished with the ashes, Koray returned the pouch to his belt and withdrew a dagger. It flashed silver in the light of the braziers running the length of the hallway. Sorin could not hide a wince as Koray sliced open his right arm. The last time he’d seen Koray do it, the wound had been smaller, easily healed. This one ran the length of his forearm and Sorin could see the cut also ran deeper.
If the wound caused Koray pain, his face showed no sign of it. Sorin could feel Zaede vibrating with tension and curiosity beside him, and he settled a hand on Zaede’s shoulder to emphasize that he must stay silent. His hand was shrugged off, and Zaede shot him a disgusted look. Sorin would have snickered if all his attention hadn’t been focused on Koray.
He watched in reluctant silence as Koray began to scatter his blood the way he’d scattered the ashes. Sorin barely kept from moving as that deep sorrow again flitted across Koray’s face. That was it. He could not stand here and say or do nothing. “This is slightly different than the other times I’ve seen you work,” he said slowly.
“Those two were friendly,” Koray said, and Sorin knew he was the only one who could see Koray’s tension. “This…” his voice trailed off – then his expression turned into the mutinous, defiant one Sorin knew well. From his belt he drew out the familiar small, jingling bells that somehow helped Koray in his work.
Except…these ones Sorin didn’t recognize. The last time he’d seen Koray use his bells, they had been silver or gold. These…one set was copper, the other black. Koray’s expression turned hard as he stood at the northern-most star point and began to shake his bells.
No sound came from them, but in the middle of the star the air began to…shift, change…solidify. Sorin heard gasps all around him as it solidified into a pale, silver-gray form.
The ghost of a demon. Stripped of his human guise, the demon was truly horrific. It was skinnier than even Koray, limbs longer than was normal, joints almost sharp looking. His face was narrow, ears pointed, and all manner of scars covered his face. Ordinarily his skin would be a dark gray, giving the whole a nightmarish countenance. Sorin rather thought the ghost was actually worse.
He had not known such a thing was possible. The ramifications of it chilled him. If demons could produce ghosts, they had spirits…souls. He pressed a hand to his chest, which ached so deeply he winced. Beside him Zaede did the same. Whatever was occurring, upset the Goddess. The only question was – why?
Koray cried out, and his trembling was now blatantly obvious – but the necromancer did not falter, merely grew more stubborn, shaking his bells in one hand, the other held with palm out toward the demon. “Obey me,” Koray gasped, and gave another cry as the demon obviously defied him. “You will obey me, by the power of the Goddess!”
He gave another cry of pain as he continued to fight, but it turned almost immediately into an angry snarl. Muttering arcane words that sounded like a cross between prayers and forbidden black magic, Koray moved his arm so that the blood poured anew, dripping down his wrist and onto the bells. From his belt he drew out a handful of small, white bits – with a chill Sorin realized they were pieces of polished bone. He threw them at the feet of the ghost.
The ghost of the demon flickered, wavered, and Sorin could see it was fighting whatever Koray was doing.
Gasping in pain, Koray ceased chanting and spoke, “You will obey, demon, by the power of the Goddess. Your Dark God holds no sway here. Obey me!”
Sorin drew a sharp breath as the demonic ghost stilled, grew somewhat more solid…and fell to its knees, head bowed. Around its throat, violet light flared, then settled into what looked like a collar.
“Tell me why you came here. What Rofell wants with the sword. Tell me all that you know.”
Silence, deep and heavy, fell as Koray listened to words no one else could hear. Sorin remembered the ghost Koray had shown him. That one Sorin had heard speak…perhaps it was simply too difficult this time for Koray to share the voice.
He watched in misery as Koray visibly worsened as he listened to the demon’s soundless words. More than once it looked as though Koray might fall over, and finally Sorin could no longer bear it. He could not simply stand by while someone suffered so much, not when it was within his power to help. With a rough sound he crossed the room, circling carefully around the star to stand behind Koray. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to touch him…but he would be close, because he didn’t think Koray would walk away from this one.
The silence shattered as Koray dropped his bells, which until then had been silent. They jangled sharply as they hit the stone floor, and were a gruesome sight, the black and copper gleaming where the metal shone and dark where they were smeared with Koray’s blood.
From his pouch, Koray drew his gold bells and he began again to softly chant. In the center of the star the demon again began to struggle.
This time the demon looked as though it was winning, and Sorin realized it was fighting being banished.
Koray cried out, and the sound was more than Sorin could bear. He moved before he thought, stepping up close behind Koray and wrapping his arms around the necromancer’s waist, holding him tight. Too late he remembered he was not supposed to touch Koray – but rather than pull away, or something far more disastrous happening, Koray leaned back against him, letting Sorin take most of his slight weight, and with an angry half-shout he finished his spell. The ghost of the demon vanished.
In his arms, Koray abruptly fell forward. Shifting his hold, Sorin scooped Koray up and held him close. He bent his head to press his cheek to Koray’s, shivering at the ice-cold touch. Without a word, he strode past the others and away toward his own quarters. Answers would wait until his necromancer was well enough to give them.
Koray woke with a groan, clutching at his head – which felt as though someone had tried their best to split it open.
He didn’t, however, feel cold. Slowly he opened his eyes, expecting to se Sorin’s room – and he wasn’t sure what to make of the disappointment that crashed through him when he didn’t.
Where was he then? He didn’t recognize the small room. It was plain, and had the smell of a room seldom used. A lamp burned on a side table, moonlight filtering in through a small window. So he’d been asleep at least most of the day.
The bed was simple, and someone had covered him with a heavy wool blanket. A brown rug covered most of the floor. Throughout the room lingered a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. The room had been heavily purified and blessed. Koray suspected it would normally be occupied by a priest. Which meant he must be somewhere in the Church.
Not Sorin’s room though, where some small part of him had hoped he would wind up after he passed out. He hated passing out, but it always happened when he had to enslave a ghost. His fingers went automatically to his hair, and he pulled it over one shoulder, finding immediately the new strip of snow-white.
Koray swallowed and shoved his hair back, furious that his hands trembled. He balled them into fists in his lap and wondered how long he had until they asked him to leave. At least they wouldn’t throw rocks at him. As much as part of him still argued, he was willing to admit – to himself – that Sorin wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen. Sorin would probably even be polite about asking him to go.
Thinking about it hurt, and the fact that it hurt just made him angry. He should go before the whole debacle occurred.
He stood up and retrieved his belt and robe from where they hung on the wall, then sat down to tug on his boots. Would he have time to obtain some food? Perhaps sneak back to Sorin’s room? Pain lanced through him. No, he’d be fine with just the one robe. He’d dealt with worse for far longer. He could probably refill his flask. That would have to suffice.
Nothing, of course, would ever compare…angrily he broke the thought off.
He had his hand on the door when voices suddenly appeared on the other side – one of them angry, and unmistakably Sorin. Panicked, Koray drew back, colliding with the bed and sitting down hard.
The door swung open, and the anger on Sorin’s face abruptly vanished, replaced by relief. “You’re awake!” He strode into the room and immediately dropped down to sit next to Koray, arms coming up to embrace him. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake.”
“We finally had to drag him away to tend his duties,” the High Priest said in amusement from the doorway. “I am glad to see you awake, necromancer.”
Three days. Koray’s mind spun. He hadn’t been hit that hard by his work in a long time. Why was Sorin still embracing him? Why was Sorin embracing him at all? He scrambled for something to say. “Where am I?”
“In the living quarters of the Church,” Sorin answered, finally sitting up, arms slowly releasing him – though the one that slid down his back did not completely let go, but settled lightly around his waist. “I took you to my rooms initially, but you didn’t seem to be recovering. The High Priest finally suggested I bring you to the Church. He blessed you, and that seemed to finally break whatever was wrong.
The High Priest smiled in amusement at Sorin before turning to Koray. “We kept you here in case you relapsed.”
Koray could only stare.
“I will inform the others that you are awake,” the High Priest said, and closed the door as he left.
“You’re not sending me away?” The question spilled out before he could bite it back.
Sorin looked at him as though he were mad. “Why would we do that?”
Koray glared, refusing to look as confused as he felt. “For enslaving the ghost as I did.”
“I don’t understand why that makes you think we would throw you out.” Sorin shook his head. “We are rather hoping you learned something, though.”
All that he had learned suddenly flooded through him, and Koray froze to realize he’d almost left without telling them. He had been more panicked than he realized. “Yes,” he said, shivering at the memories. “They need the sword and jewel to break a seal…something to do with the old palace…the demon didn’t say much that was comprehensible. I know they need the sword and ruby to break a seal that was cast at a place not far from the old palace. Rofell…is their key to obtaining the North.”
Sorin glowered at the mention of Rofell. “That explains much.”
“I know how the demon got in as well,” Koray said quietly. “He used Rofell’s soul as a…disguise, of sorts. He wore it like a second skin. No one could sense the demon beneath.”
“Now I must wonder where else in the Goddess’s kingdom such creatures lurk,” Sorin said, looking grim and tired. The arm around Koray’s waist unconsciously tightened. “I did not know they could do such a thing.”
“It is supremely difficult,” Koray said quietly, fighting a sudden urge to lean in closer. Obviously he was not fully recovered, to be thinking of acting so stupidly. It was one thing to lie close to Sorin in the dead of night when no one was the wiser. Quite another to do so when Sorin was awake. “If there are any more, I think they would be few. Now that we know to look for it, I am certain the priests could devise a spell to search it out.”
Sorin nodded absently. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Koray said, shrugging the questions away irritably, glaring at everything except the man beside him.
Fingers combed through his hair, startling him, and he turned as Sorin pulled gently at a particular strand. “This white was not here before. It’s much brighter than the rest of your hair.”
“You noticed the change in my hair?” Koray asked, surprised.
“Of course,” Sorin said with a faint smile. He let go and stood up, offering a hand.
Koray ignored it. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing of terrible importance. Reports are coming in of trouble in the provinces. Supporters of Rofell are protesting, demon attacks have increased slightly.” Sorin sounded more strained that Koray had ever heard him. “Under the circumstances, we felt it best to assert that Cerant is King – we had a small ceremony yesterday. The real coronation has been postponed until the problem of Rofell and the demons has been resolved.” Sorin frowned in thought. “We sent communications to a man called Jythal. He is knowledgeable on every subject you can imagine. If the King had not brought home an alchemist of his own, Jythal is probably who we would have asked to the palace. Zaede had to return to his own province, and he will go to meet directly with Jythal.”
Koray snorted, but bit back a retort about Zaede’s competence. He’d put that idiot Paladin in his place if it cost him a strand of gray. Obnoxious halfwit.
Sorin laughed. “He told me to tell you good riddance, and that you were far more pleasant when unconscious.”
“I’m certain I can’t say the same for him. He’s repulsive conscious or not.”
Sorin merely chuckled and held out a hand. “Are you hungry? It is only just past the dinner hour and I’ve yet to dine myself.”
Koray ignored the hand, but nodded. “I would like food.”
“You never eat enough. You’ve been at the castle for weeks now and still I think a bird weighs more than you.” Sorin grinned as Koray only glared, and opened the door, waiting for Koray to precede him and then leading the way through the sleeping quarters.
Koray’s breath caught as they entered the church proper. Even in the moonlight, the glass and jewels seemed to shine. There was light and color everywhere, the scent of violets and incense in the air. More important was the warmth, the sense of welcome. Uncertainty froze his feet in the doorway.
The Church of the Goddess. So many years he’d spent dispelling ghosts in Her name, and not once had he ever been allowed into Her sanctuaries. He was seldom allowed even close to them. Now he stood right in the heart of all of them.
How many years had he secretly wanted to be right here? How many years had other necromancers wanted the same? To be welcome here as were their brother priests?
“Koray?” Sorin asked, frowning in concern. “Is something wrong?”
Koray swallowed and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Sorin’s frown deepened and he moved back to Koray, wrapping fingers gently around one arm. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Koray finally managed. He avoided Sorin’s gaze, instead drinking in the beautiful church, memorizing every detail in case he never saw it again. “I—I’ve invoked Her name a thousand times but was never…” He dropped his head, furious that his eyes stung. He would not cry over something so stupid. The last time he’d cried, he’d just seen his entire village slaughtered and burned. Being inside one stupid building was hardly worthy of tears. He would not cry.
Warm, gentle hands cupped his face, and Sorin brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “She is happy you are here, Necromancer of the Goddess.” The hands fell away to land on his shoulders, and Sorin leaned in to softly kiss first one cheek and then the other.
Koray gasped and jerked away. How awful to not only turn stupid, but to do so in front of Sorin. “Leave me alone.” He strode past Sorin and toward the center aisle – and abruptly stopped as he nearly stepped on a small figure standing in his path.
The small gray cat meowed up at him. Koray glared and shook his robes at it. “Shoo.”
Meowing again, the cat merely sat back on its haunches and continued to stare.
A soft laugh from behind him drew Koray’s attention around. The High Priest smiled. “I see you’ve found Claws. I have told her a hundred times not to play in here, but she is much like our Goddess – she will do as she pleases.”
Sorin threw his head back and laughed. “Only you, High Priest, could stand on the altar and say such things.”
“Oh, I think we all remember Paladin Zaede’s little speeches on this very altar,” the High Priest said dryly. “I hardly compare.” He stepped down from the altar and knelt on the floor, holding out a hand and calling quietly for his cat. With a soft mew, and another brush against Koray, the small cat went straight to the High Priest and curled up against his chest as he stood. “You are always welcome here, necromancer. Should you see your brothers, express the same to them. I bid you both a good evening. Goddess guide you.”
Koray nodded and turned sharply on his heel, then strode rapidly from the church. A moment later Sorin fell into step beside him, and he allowed Sorin to lead him to the paladin’s room.
He sat down as Sorin vanished again to order food, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the room. It had been almost hot in the church, a degree of heat he’d never felt. Sorin’s room was not quite that warm, but it was more familiar. He had been staying with Sorin for roughly five weeks now, sleeping every night beside the Paladin. Rumors flew about the castle, but after the slander and abuse he’d endured for so many years, a few trifling rumors barely registered in his mind. If anything, he thought it absurd that anyone would think Sorin would enter into a love affair with a necromancer. The High Paladin was far too grand to waste his time on someone unfit for polite company.
Koray hunched in his seat, trying in vain to ignore the way his cheeks burned where Sorin had so softly kissed them. He must still be recovering from the confrontation with the demon’s ghost, if his thoughts were this idiotic and scattered.
He started as the door opened and Sorin walked in, and desperately shoved his errant thoughts to the back of his mind.
“Food will be here shortly. I also told his Majesty all that you’ve told me. He says a more formal report from you can wait until morning,” Sorin said with a smile. He took the seat at the opposite end of the table, blinking sleepily at Koray. “So what precisely was it you did to that demon ghost? I did not know demons left ghosts…”
“Usually they do not,” Koray replied, fingers going to his hair, twisting the strands as he explained. “The holy power that kills them is usually enough to force them out of existence entirely. I was not certain enough of the demon remained, but hearing the explanation on how it died…”
Sorin nodded. “Neikirk nearly killed it. All I had to do was cut it down. None of the Goddess’s power was required.”
“So the demon left a ghost…one just as powerful and nasty as the living demon.” Koray tensed as he remembered pitting his will against that of the ghost. “In the dungeon and the garden, I had only to share my spirit and allow the ghosts to speak. This time was different.” He could not quell a shudder. “There are spirits that want only to steal my spirit to gain strength with which to cause harm. Such spirits must be given enough spirit with which to communicate, but not enough that they can overpower the necromancer. They must also be forced to obey, and speak only of those things the necromancer wishes to hear. That requires binding the spirit…enslaving it to my will. It is something necromancers are called upon to do more frequently than we like.”
He looked up to see Sorin’s eyes on him – on his hair. “I can see why you would prefer not to do it. What were the bells you used? The ashes and bone?”
Koray hunched his shoulders, hands dropping into his lap. He stared at them. Of course Sorin would ask about that. He’d never met anyone more eager to ask questions…except perhaps Neikirk. “Silver is for sharing power, for granting form and speech. Gold is for banishing. Copper is for binding, black a representation of my will. Together, they forced the ghost to obey me. So long as I maintain control of the binding, I can make a ghost do whatever I so choose. The ashes…were the ashes of a necromancer. Hard to obtain, as often we die the victim of a ghost, or simple maltreatment, and seldom are burned. They help to strengthen the barricade and enforce control. The bones…” Koray’s fingers tightened in his robes. “We take them from animals, most often, though human bones have been used. They are made into talismans and marked with various runes. Like the ashes, they strengthen our spells. I…I once met a necromancer who used to take the bones of priests from their tombs.”
Sorin grimaced. “I guess if anything would repel a ghost, it would be the bones of a holy man. Still, that is rather gruesome.” He snorted. “Though I have taken off the heads of enough demons, I do not know why I find it gruesome.”
“Graves are not such awful things,” Koray said, tension easing as he realized Sorin was not going to condemn him for the implements of his trade. “If nothing else, they are calm and quiet.”
“There is that,” Sorin said with a laugh. “Certainly I cannot find those two things anywhere else but in this room – and then only when I lock the door and pretend not to be here.” He winked, and then laughed again as someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he called.
Servants spilled into the room bearing platters of steaming food and a cask of wine. In what seemed like seconds all was spread out neatly on the table and the two men were once more alone. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“That tapestry,” Sorin said, breaking the quiet, pointing to the wall behind Koray.
Koray didn’t need to look. He knew the tapestry in question – it portrayed one of the earliest Paladins. He knew that by the old-fashioned armor, the setting behind him of a castle that had not been used by the royal family for centuries. He waited for Sorin to continue.
“I found it years ago in a room of the treasury that’s mostly forgotten. Things for which people no longer have a use. I think Rofell sent me to find something else.” Sorin grimaced at mentioning the fallen king. “I didn’t realize until much later that it had been woven by the sister of the man in the portrait, some years after his death. That detail came to me only when I read some of the old records in the royal archives. A journal, actually, written by one of the earliest High Paladins. That man,” Sorin pointed again to the tapestry, “was Paladin Ambrose. He hailed from a province to the east. How he became a Paladin was lost…but when he was only twenty two another Paladin caught him consorting with a demon.”
“The one who was burned and left only the sword?” Koray asked. He turned in his seat to look more closely at the tapestry. The man in it was tall, or seemed to be, with broad shoulders and a strong build beneath his full armor. His under tunic and cloak were of rich violet, complimenting the gold-trimmed silver of his armor, clashing brightly with the fiery red of his curly hair. His eyes were a dark brown, and Koray could not for the life of him imagine such a stunning figure being tricked by a demon. Paladins were too strong to fall for such tricks, or so it had always been said. “How did the demon catch him?”
Sorin shrugged. “No one really knows. All that is recorded is that all who witnessed his death were overcome by sorrow. The few records existing never explicitly say what transpired, only that whatever it was devastated everyone present. More Paladins died in the following year than in any other. Ever since those events, the sword has been a royal heirloom. Kings and Paladins are all sworn in with that sword; it is the only time it is brought out of the treasury. No one knows how it came to be, except at the death of a Paladin whose death devastated those who executed him. We only ever call it ‘the sword’ but formally it is called ‘Sorrow.’
Sorin stared unhappily as Cerant bid the servants set the box down upon the table, noting the thick gloves they wore to carry it. Even with that added protection, they look miserable. Though the sword was gone, its pain lingered. Likely it would fade in time, but Sorin wasn't so certain.
They had chosen to gather in Cerant’s room for this second meeting. A fire kept back the chill of the night, and Sorin made certain Koray was close enough that he stayed warm as well. He’d slept better last night, with Koray beside him again, than he had in a while. Why that was, he’d given up questioning. He was enamored of the prickly necromancer. That was that.
The trick was getting the necromancer to reciprocate, but nothing worth having was easily obtained…though he wouldn't object to it being just the slightest bit easier.
Cerant opened the box, the clicking of key in lock painfully loud in the too-quiet room. Even Neikirk, normally expressionless, seemed troubled.
Sorin winced. Though the sword was gone, stolen by Rofell, the anguish it always emanated lingered in the oak box which usually held it. Only for the inducting of a King and Paladin was the sword drawn out. The sorrow that poured from it was simply too much to bear on a regular basis.
It was as though the sword had been forged from pain.
The Goddess had never explained to anyone, not even priest or paladin, the reason for the sword, the source of the pain. Many had asked, none had been answered. Sorin wondered if the age old mystery was soon to be at last resolved.
He finally looked up, watching as Cerant and Neikirk bent over ancient records and scrolls brought up from the archives. Cerant freed a sheaf of paper from a leather journal and set it atop the open case. The faded, delicate paper looked almost gold against the sheen of the dark violet velvet lining within the sword case.
“Master…” Neikirk frowned slightly, as though puzzled, bent over the piece of paper Cerant had set aside. It was a drawing of the stolen sword “You did not say the ruby was part of the sword.”
“What are you talking abo…” Cerant drifted off as he examined the image, realization flooding his features. The drawing had been made not too long ago, when Cerant's great-grandfather ordered a more thorough cataloguing of the treasurery, including depictions of all the most valuable items. So the jewel was missing, as it had vanished so long ago no one remembered how it went missing.
But picturing the ruby safely locked away in Neikirk's laboratory…it was plain as day that the ruby would fit perfectly into the pommel of the sword.
Sorin shared a look of disbelief with Cerant, shaking his head. “All this time, and we never noticed. Fools!” He looked again at the sword. It was a long sword, and though it was hundreds of years old it looks brand new. The hilt was laid with gold and silver braiding, winding down to a pommel that was obviously missing something – there had been several attempts to replace the missing jewel, but always the new one vanished within days. That the ruby Rofell had worn, that he had seen nearly every day for longer than he could remember, so perfectly fit…he felt like an idiot.
Beside him Koray stepped closer to the table, eyes locked on the drawing, the empty case.
“Don’t touch it,” Sorin said. He almost smiled at the way Koray’s mouth twisted in impatience, and knew that if he had felt like looking up, Koray would have shot him a particularly disgusted glare. "Trust me, you'll regret it. Enough of the sword's anguish lingers in the case that touching it for too long would be a bad idea."
"I'm a necromancer," Koray said scathingly. "Anguish is something I deal with every single day."
Sorin nodded, soundly put in his place. He would smile, to think how often Koray had done that right from the first, but the situation was not one which called for levity.
"So what precisely happened?" Koray asked softly, hovering over the case but not yet touching it. "Back then."
It was Cerant who spoke up, face pinched with unhappiness. "There is not much to the story, unfortunately. No one who knew anything recorded it. Only that tapestry in Sorin's room remains of the Paladin who died. He was of course recorded in the Church archives. His name was Ambrose Lior, and he was the last Paladin to be inducted until about five years after his death. He was only twenty-two when he was declared fallen to the heathens and burned at the stake."
"Hmm…so is the anguish to do with the perceived injustice?" Koray asked, voice low. "It is a hard thing to endure the hatred of your fellows when you feel what you're doing is right. If he was tricked by the demons to their cause…he must have been horribly confused as to where he truly belonged. I wonder if having the jewel would help…" He looked up. "Neikirk."
Neikirk nodded and reached beneath his robes, procuring the ruby. Sorin scowled at them both. "That should be locked up."
"It's of no use to me shoved into a box," Koray replied, cupping the ruby in his hands, staring intently at it. Setting it down in the box, he reached into one of his myriad pouches and drew out a stick of incense, lighting it with a nearby lamp before thrusting the end into a corner of the case.
He shot Sorin a look the Paladin could not puzzle out, then slowly began to speak, finger toying with the thing, trailing smoke. "I do not know if this will have any affect, but if this was once part of the sword, and the demons so badly want it, I think we can safely assume it is important and therefore might tell us something. Let us hope I can manage something."
"You and Neikirk are the only ones who seem to be of any help in this affair," Sorin said with a grimace. "So if anyone can achieve something, it would be you."
Koray nodded but did not otherwise acknowledge the words. Instead, he bent over the case and began to murmur words too low for Sorin to catch them, though they had the sharpness of black magic to them.
He twitched when Koray reached out to touch the ruby…which had begun to glow, every so faintly…Sorin blinked. When had it begun to do that?
In the next instant, he had to fight the urge to tear Koray away from it, as tears began suddenly to stream down his face, blood dripping from his bottom lip as Koray bit it to hold back a sob.
Cursing silently, Sorin made himself hold still. Why did the Goddess cause her necromancers such pain? Was it truly necessary?
The sharp throb to his chest was a reprimand, and Sorin bowed his head to acknowledge it, though he never took his eyes off Koray. The Goddess did nothing without purpose, and those blessed with her power paid some price for it. Necromancers seemed to pay a higher price than most, but he was biased…and perhaps that burden would ease if necromancers were treated properly. Goddess knew that if Paladins were reviled, his life would be an agony.
Shaking his head, Sorin waited anxiously for Koray to finally withdrew, springing forward the very moment he gasped and released his hold upon the jewel, catching him as he stumbled, pulling Koray close.
Odd, how well Koray seemed to fit against him. Sorin had not forgotten that moment in the temple, how soft those cheeks had been beneath his lips, his fingers. He wanted badly to feel that soft skin again.
He wondered when he had become so enamored of Koray. Looking back…it seemed he had been all along, though he knew that wasn't true. He'd been frustrated and annoyed, those first days. Not enamored. He'd been far more interested in wringing Koray's neck than caressing it.
Silently reciting a few choice curses, Sorin sternly reminded himself he was the High Paladin and should probably act like, which meant directing his thoughts properly and not letting them wander to inappropriate places.
"Anything?" he asked softly, holding Koray loosely about the waist, hoping he would not pull away, unreasonably happy when Koray remained in his hold.
Koray frowned, glaring at the ruby, which no longer glowed, merely gleamed in the lamplight. "You said a Paladin was executed."
"Yes," Cerant answered, and paper crackled as he shuffled them before setting the old book on the table, turning it so Koray could read. "Right here. It lists everything pertaining to his crimes and execution. 'Found consorting with a demon. Convicted of betraying the Goddess to serve the heathens. Refused to repent. Burned at the stake in the fifteenth year of King Corfall's reign, in the third month of spring."
Sorin grimaced. "I believe only a year later, King Corfall commanded a new castle be built. The work was completed with remarkable speed, and only two years later the old palace was abandoned. No one has ever returned to it, to the best of my knowledge." He stared at the ruby. "I guess the misery of burning a Paladin was too great to for anyone to bear…"
"No…" Koray said softly. "There is…more than Alfrey in this stone. Something stronger, deeper…and it is not a Paladin, if what I saw is to be believed." He looked up at Sorin, gray eyes the color of mist, pale and fine – and filled with pain and disbelief. "Sorin…the flickers of memory offered to me were those of a demon…"
"What?" Sorin asked, staring. "What do you mean a demon?"
Koray glared. "What else could I mean by the words 'a demon'. I meant a demon. The demon who was—consorting with Paladin Ambrose."
Sorin wasn't sure what stunned him more – the words he was hearing, or the faint pink flush that stained Koray's cheeks as he said the word 'consorting' and hastily looked away. "Consorting with Paladin Ambrose?" Definitely the flush. He'd never seen Koray embarrassed before. It was definitely interesting. "What sort of things did you see?"
Koray frowned, closing his eyes, fingers moving to twist and pull at his hair as he concentrated. "A field with a giant oak, a man and a demon beneath it…consorting…the demon attacked…falling…then fire…nothing more."
"So the Paladin really was seduced by the demon. How awful." Cerant shook his head, smiling faintly as Neikirk took his hand and held it. "At least they killed it."
"No," Koray said sharply. "That is not how it seemed to me. I think…." He shook his head, obviously confused, hair tumbling over his shoulders in a profusion of black and white and gray. His voice was a whisper when he resumed speaking. "I think they were in love."
"Impossible," Sorin said. "Demons are monsters who seek to kill all the Goddess's children. Time and again they have seduced knights, abused and broken them. It would be the greatest of coups for a demon to seduce away one of the Goddess's strong arm. You are saying they were in love? Preposterous. No child of the Goddess, especially a Paladin, would love such a dark creature. Nor have demons ever proven themselves to be capable of such emotion."
He felt Koray vibrate in his arm, then suddenly he wrenched away, eyes sparking with fury. "Here I was starting to think you were not the obnoxious hypocrite I first took you for! The mighty High Paladin, so gracious until he hears something he doesn’t like! So no Paladin could ever care for a dark creature, is it? Fine. Necromancers are only a step away from demons, you know. I suppose that makes me a dark creature. I must be a liar as well, as you say my words could not be true, but lying goes hand in hand with dark creatures, doesn't it? I will rid you of my presence then, oh grand and noble High Paladin." Turning sharply on his heel, Koray stormed from the room.
Sorin watched him go, mouth open. He shut with such force it made his jaw ache. "That was not what I meant," he said to no one in particular.
Cerant laughed softly, and gave him a sympathetic glance. "I see now why Zaede calls him thorny. I do not envy you the task of making that apology, Sorin."
"I didn't…" Sorin's shoulder slumped. He sighed heavily. There was no point in chasing Koray down now; he'd only somehow make matters worse. He fisted his hands tight, trying to banish the feel of soft skin and a slender body.
He'd apologize to Koray tonight, before they went to bed. Surely Koray was not so angry he'd seek his warmth elsewhere.
Sorin scowled at that thought, at the possessiveness that swept through him, glaring all the more at the warm fluttering of amusement in his chest. Even the Goddess was laughing at him. "I have duties to attend," he said stiffly, and stalked from the room.
All the while doubt clawed at his mind. A demon and a Paladin in love? Impossible. He thought back through all the demons he'd killed. The brutal way they fought, the cruel way they killed those who could not fight, the collars sunk into their skin…how did one love a creature such as that?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, yanked it restlessly through his hair. Only a few weeks ago he had believed necromancers to be little better. Yet now he stood here thoroughly enamored of one, miserable that he'd upset Koray so. He'd not meant it that way at all…but it was painfully obvious he did, indeed, owe an apology.
But it left his mind awhirl, and he saw with painful clarity what Koray might have seen along, or at least since whatever he saw in the ruby.
If they could all be so wrong about necromancers…could they somehow be wrong about demons?
The heat in his chest pulsed with enough fury he could feel it, the beat stronger than that of his heart, making it hard to draw a breath. The Goddess…excited. Excited by the idea that demons…
He shook his head, feeling confused and lost. But…
It would make sense.
If once upon a time a Paladin and a demon had fallen in love…
Then they had been wrongly sentenced, wrongly executed.
Had it been him, he would have died in anguish too. What did it all mean, then? The Goddess gave him no answers, merely that hard pulse that his thoughts were true.
Groaning, wishing longingly for the days when everything made sense, Sorin threw himself into his duties and mentally began to prepare his apologies.
*~*~*~*
Koray shivered in his robes, huddled on the hard floor of the mausoleum, miserable and angry.
Miserable because he could not stop thinking about the bed he sorely missed.
Angry because he missed the owner of that bed more.
Stupid.
He should have known better. Sorin had been nice to him, but that didn't mean the initial, fundamental belief had changed. Necromancers were just a step away from demons; that had always been the belief. Blood drinkers, black magic adherents…dark creatures.
Part of him tried to say that wasn't what Sorin had meant…but only five weeks ago he'd treated Koray like he was all but a demon. Hadn't even bothered to learn his name, at first. Now he said dark creatures couldn’t love, couldn't be loved.
Koray curled up in his robes and willed his mind to shut up. Why did he care? It didn't matter. After this odd mystery was solved, he would be back to his wanderings. What did the opinion of one stupid Paladin matter to him?
It didn't.
Yet here he was, hiding in the graveyard, back in his crypt, because he couldn’t bear to look at Sorin, who thought it impossible that dark creatures could love or be loved.
Over and over again, the words were a knife. No matter how many times he thought them. He knew Sorin hadn't meant…but not so long ago he had…and what if this entire time he was just doing as the Goddess bid and hadn't once meant….
"It doesn't matter," he told himself, voice a harsh whisper in the dark crypt, echoing and strange. He shivered and hugged himself tighter, struggling to remember all the ways he'd survived previous, sternly reminding himself this was the norm, this was the way it would always be.
That warm bed…warm figure…were only a passing dream. It had never been meant to last; he was astonished Sorin had permitted him to stay night after night.
He choked on a rough sound as memories of their dinner together tortured him. Not many, for Sorin was often called away to tend various problems, but it was always…pleasant when they dined together, just the two of them, at the table beside the fireplace in Sorin's rooms.
Harder still were the memories of the nights. Shame flooded him, to think how easily he'd let himself fall to own stupidity. Five weeks now he'd been at the castle, and save for the very first he'd spent every night in Sorin's bed.
With Sorin. So warm he was nearly too hot, and his most secret, guilty pleasure had been those nights when he'd woken in the darkest hours to find that somehow or another they'd moved toward each other. Sorin's arm a solid, somehow reassuring weight around his waist, soft snores in his ear somehow not grating, surrounded by all the wonderful heat, both spiritual and not.
He wondered now if Sorin had ever woken that way, and pulled away in disgust at finding himself clinging so to a dark creature.
"It doesn't matter," he repeated, but the words rang painfully hollow. For some stupid reason it did matter and he didn't know what to do about it. He wouldn't be an object of pity to a High Paladin who only cared for a dark creature out of duty.
Goddess, now how was he supposed to face the man every day? He'd rather liked not having always to be on edge. Against his will, he reached up to touch his cheeks, remembering the way it had felt when Sorin had kissed them. Snarling, he snatched his fingers away and buried them in his robes.
He should try to sleep, but the pile of blankets he'd commandeered earlier looked dreary and sad, so unlike the warmth he'd been stupid enough to get used to, come to crave…need.
Disgusted with himself, Koray nevertheless could not bring himself to move, merely huddled even deeper in his rooms and whispered a silent plea for morning to hurry up.
The muffled sounds of someone cursing – rather more fluidly than he'd ever heard from that particular voice – brought his head up sharply. He stood up and glared as Sorin appeared in the doorway of the crypt. "Go away, High Paladin," he snarled, because if he didn't snarl he'd do or say something stupid and weak. "We dark creatures are trying to get some rest and you are disturbing it."
"Lady's T—" Sorin cut himself off and stalked toward him.
Koray found himself taking a hasty step back – and then another. "Go away," he hissed.
"No," Sorin snapped. "I worked all day on my apology and it's not fair that you don't show up to hear it. Our food is cold, I'm tired – you are coming back to our room, I'm apologizing, and then we're eating and going to bed."
"You can't just—" Koray's words were cut off by a yelp, as Sorin reached out and snatched him up, hefting him up and over one shoulder, then turning and striding from the mausoleum. "Let. Me. Go," Koray hissed.
"No," Sorin replied. "I had it all planned and you messed it up. Suffer."
Koray wanted badly to hit him, but he could feel Sorin's armor, cool through the fabric of his robes and against his fingers. The rest though…already Koray could feel his chills fading, his body warming, his spirit replenishing. His face burned with the humiliation of being carried through the halls of the castle. "You will pay for this, High Paladin."
"Cease with the nonsense," Sorin said sharply, hand tightening in warning. "You have been using my name and will continue to do so."
It was entirely unfair that Sorin was wearing armor. Koray settled for delivering an awkward kick, only slightly mollified when Sorin gave a slight grunt of pain. "Let me down," he said, "or they'll be speaking of you in the past tense."
"When we get to our room," Sorin retorted, and squeezed him again in warning.
Koray settled for glaring at anyone who dared to look at them as they passed through the halls and thinking up all the lovely curses he would shortly be casting on Sorin for this abject humiliation.
He was most certainly not dwelling on the fact that twice now Sorin had said 'our' room. Once could have easily been a mistake…what did twice mean?
Furiously he reminded himself it didn't matter, because very shortly the North was going to be minus one High Paladin.
Finally they reached Sorin's room, and Koray was half-dropped, half-thrown into his seat. He leapt out of it. "How dare you—"
"No," Sorin snapped, glaring at him, angrily shoving back a stray bit of blonde hair as it traitorously slid forward into his face. "How dare you – to yell at me like, then run off and hide without ever giving me a chance to speak. I've waited all day to deliver my apologies, Koray, at the very least you could have given me a fair chance to extend them."
Koray opened his mouth, then closed it with his snap. "You didn't need to carry me," he finally said. "If your idea of apologizing is to humiliate me in such a fashion—"
"Next time don't run away," Sorin interrupted. "It might surprise you what people have to say when you stay long enough to listen to them."
"So speak," Koray said, folding his arms across his chest and forcing himself to keep looking at Sorin, not drop his gaze as he badly wanted.
Sorin rolled his eyes and then suddenly stalked closer, grasping his hands and forcing his arms to unfold, holding them tight. "I'm sorry," he said, blue eyes unflinching as they met Koray's. "My view of demons is a harsh one. In my life I have seen them kill men and women, the elderly and the young. Mere children. Not once have I ever seen anything about a demon to recommend them…so to hear that one of my own, a Paladin, could love such a creature…but I didn't mean to group you with them. It never even crossed my mind. You're not a dark creature, Koray."
"Yet not so long you did not think highly enough of me to even learn my name," Koray said quietly, dropping his eyes, unable to bear what he might see. "Once, you did consider me not much better."
Sorin sighed, the sound weary. "I was wrong, everyone was wrong. For longer than I like to think, we have been wrong." Gentle fingers grasped his chin and forced his head back up. "I concede I was wrong this time as well. It is hard to hear that what you have known your entire life to be true – is not. Twice now you have done that to me, in addition to turning my world upside down in other ways."
"What other ways?" Koray snapped. "You were not the one summoned to the castle knowing that at some point you very likely would be beaten or stoned, possibly to death. You are not the one being given things which will only be taken away again, when your skills are no longer required. Do not talk to me of worlds being turned, Sorin."
"At least you're using my name again," Sorin replied with a brief, faint smile. "Truly, Koray – I am sorry. I believe what you told me, and am sorry my words were so harsh and careless. You are most certainly a person capable of love…and worth loving."
Koray found it suddenly hard to breathe, and turned sharply away, feeling unsteady. He sat down in his seat and stared at the table. "I am sorry I ruined your dinner," he said stiffly.
"I should have fetched you before I had it prepared," Sorin said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He sat down in his seat opposite Koray and took up his wine goblet. "I'm sure it all tastes fine, if you are hungry."
Nodding, Koray obeyed. Though cold, the food was indeed excellent. He ate quickly, neatly, but with an appetite – after storming off, he'd thought of nothing but getting away. Neither one of them spoke. All things considered Koray suspected it was the wisest course
But as they both finished, and servants appeared to take it all away, Koray found himself faltering. Why did it feel like something was different? Muttering to himself, Koray shoved the strange thought away and stubbornly went about his usual routine. Stripping off his violet robe, he folded it neatly over the back of his chair. Next was his belt, laid over the robe after he checked that everything was properly stowed. He would have to go through and clean everything soon. He'd meant to do it tonight…tomorrow would work just as well. That done, he pulled off his boots and stripped down to just his leggings and undertunic, then swiftly crossed to the bed and burrowed beneath the covers.
Warm. Soft. The scents of fresh linen mingled with a trace of myrrh, a hint of steel. He closed his eyes and savored it, fingers clinging to the blankets, shuddering as the warmth of the blankets sunk into him.
The soft rustle of turning pages caught his attention, and he almost smiled. He wondered if anyone knew the grand High Paladin spent his evening reading musty books. What few evenings he could get, anyway. More often than not, Sorin was called way to solve one problem or another. "What are you reading?" he asked, a yawn slipping in at the end of the question.
"An alchemical text Neikirk lent to me," Sorin replied. "He says it is a beginner's guide, though I'm still having a hard time understanding all of it."
Koray snorted. "I am certain he can answer all your questions." Once Neikirk started talking, it was not hard to keep him going. Which made it all the stranger when he went for long periods without saying more than a word or two, if anything at all.
Sighing at his wandering thoughts, Koray burrowed further into the pillows and dozed as he listened to Sorin read. Ostensibly, reading was a quiet activity – but Sorin did not hold still for long, always shifting, crossing his legs, uncrossing, stretching them out. His glass clinked on the table every time he picked it up and set it down. Once he stood to throw another log on the fire. Pages rustling, fabric shifting, a soft chuckle or sigh here and there…
No, Sorin reading was anything but quiet.
He stirred as the room changed, and realized groggily that Sorin had put the lamp out. Some part of him tried to feel tense about that, but Koray was too groggy to recall why, exactly, and simply sank bank into his heavy doze.
The bed shifted as new weight was added to it, cool air washing over him briefly before the blankets settled. Koray stirred again and slowly opened his eyes, seeing Sorin's face only vaguely in the dim light of the fire on the far side of the room. He dropped his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes.
So tired. He hadn't realized he was this tired until he'd curled up in bed.
He startled suddenly awake as an arm slid around his waist and dragged him forward. Frowning, Koray flattened his hands on Sorin's chest and glared at him. "What are you doing?"
"Go to sleep, Koray," Sorin replied, then followed his own orders by settling down and closing his eyes.
Koray glared until his breathing evened out, soft snores filling the room.
What was going on? Sorin…had been awake…and was holding him…on purpose.
He didn't want to think about it. He was tired of thinking.
The arm around his waist was heavy, a sure and solid weight. Koray doubted he could get out of it without waking Sorin, and he sensed that would only lead to more arguing, somehow.
Giving up for the time being, he cautiously rested his head against Sorin's chest, and fell asleep listening to his heart beat.
Umm. The scene I lost and am gloomy about was actually a flashbak with Rakken & Ambrose. I had written it once, but hated it. Rewrote it what seemed perfectly to me...but writing it means it leaves my head means I can't recreate it. I suppose I'll come up with piece of crap instead eventually.
But if you'd like the 'present' day stuff, I didn't lose the new stuff added to that. Most of it you've already read, I think, but the new stuff is pretty cool ^_^
So have. And thank you for putting up with my whining. What Megan really needs is a good STFU and I will do that now.
III. The Dark Paladin
Sorin stifled a yawn as he led the way down the hall to Cerant’s room. He suspected that even after he was crowned King, Cerant would insist on keeping his own rooms. Privately Sorin had always believed that Cerant would make the better King…though he wished the price had not been two murders. At least two murders. If a man could kill two people, he could kill more. The thought made him more tired than ever.
Gentle warmth spread through him, the soothing touch of the Goddess comforting, calming.
“What happened?” Koray asked beside him. Sorin resisted the urge to touch him, knowing Koray would just protest and draw back into his dratted hood. For reasons unknown, he’d largely given up wearing it while in the castle. Sorin did not want to be the reason he resumed. He liked seeing Koray, the way his strange, beautiful hair spilled over his shoulders…
Irritably he shook his head. He had more important things to think about than how much he’d like to touch Koray – though that definitely would require some serious thinking. Soon. “I wish I could tell you,” he said with a sigh. “Rofell escaped, we know not how, and while he was stealing the sword from the treasury a demon nearly killed Neikirk.”
“The sword?” Koray asked, glowering at the floor as he thought. “What sword?”
“Nothing that would matter to a skeleton,” Zaede said as he abruptly joined them, spilling in from a smaller hallway.
“Zaede,” Sorin said quietly. He was grateful when his oldest friend subsided. A moment later they reached the end of the hall and Sorin rapped on the door. It was opened almost a minute later by Cerant, who looked rather more cheerful than Sorin thought he should. “Highness,” he greeted, ignoring Zaede’s contemptuous snort. He shot the other Paladin a look and then led the way into Cerant’s rooms.
Cerant motioned for them to sit, resuming his own seat next to Neikirk. “Do we know anything?”
“That the dungeon leaves much to be desired?” Zaede asked.
Sorin rolled his eyes. “I could understand Rofell wanting his ruby back – except he did not try to get the ruby. That was left to the demon. Why would they care about the sword?”
“Master,” Neikirk said, his voice calm and level – even when he’d been nearly killed by a demon, Sorin did not remember that tone faltering over much. The alchemist could give priests lessons in how to appear humble and devoted…though he thought the devotion Neikirk showed Cerant was perhaps not quite what priests should be showing their Goddess. “What is this sword?”
If Sorin had any trace of a good mood remaining, it vanished at the mention of the sword. That Zaede and Cerant looked equally unhappy was poor consolation for dredging up a story that haunted the paladins and priests no matter how many years passed.
Cerant sighed softly. “As I said before, it is an unhappy story. Centuries ago, when my ancestors lived in the old palace, there was a Paladin…” He broke off, grimacing.
“He turned,” Zaede said flatly.
“Yes,” Cerant said quietly. “All that remains now is the sword.” He smiled faintly at the confused look on Neikirk’s face. “It’s a sad story, my dear, and one of which we know very little. A Paladin was seduced by a demon and turned to their side. As he died, the Goddess’s wrath and anguish consumed all who witnessed it…and when the fires were finally put out, all that remained was a single sword.”
Zaede shifted impatiently. “If you want to tell foolish legends, do it later. We have more important matters to discuss.”
“Yes,” Sorin said dryly. “Such as how we have no idea what is going on. We need a great deal more information than we currently possess.”
“We also need to find my brother,” Cerant said. “Clearly he has joined with the demons, which means he is probably headed north. Sorin, if you have not already done so, send out word to the Paladins in those provinces – all provinces I guess – of what has transpired. Tell them to be especially cautious, as Rofell is in league with the demons.” He sighed, hand sliding almost absently into Neikirk’s. “The last time one of the Goddess’s children joined the demons…”
Sorin nodded. “Word has been sent.”
“Which reminds me that we need to know how a demon was able to get into the castle, with none of my priests or knights aware of it. If they are able now to avoid detection…” Cerant didn’t finish the sentence.
“A demon was here?” Koray asked softly. “What happened to it?”
“I killed it,” Sorin said, and glanced briefly at Neikirk, “after Neikirk hit it hard with a devastating spell.”
“Lightning incantation,” Neikirk said. “War alchemists claim they are most effective.”
“It cooked him quite nicely,” Zaede said.
“So the power of the Goddess was not required to kill him?” Koray asked.
“No…” Sorin said slowly. “Why?”
“Then there may be a chance…” Koray’s words were barely audible as he abruptly stood and strode from the room. He stopped at the door and turned sharply back around, long hair flying about. “Where did you kill it?”
Neikirk told him, and Koray was gone.
Sorin stood up, glaring at the absent necromancer. “I’m going to wring his neck.”
“I’ll help,” Zaede said cheerfully.
“Don’t touch him,” Sorin retorted. Then he turned and chased after Koray.
He caught up with him in the hallway where the demon had died. “What are you doing?”
Koray didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need to. The fact that he was drawing out myrrh was answer enough. Sorin felt a cold chill, and the sudden ache in his chest was far from reassuring. “Koray, are you certain this is a good idea?”
“I’m certain it’s none of your concern,” Koray retorted.
Sorin stifled a sigh. Of course he would choose a thorny necromancer to grow fond of. The gentle fluttering in his chest told him that the Goddess was amused, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
It vanished as Koray started setting out sticks of incense in what Sorin realized formed the points of the Goddess’s star. Once more it was made clear that necromancers were not reviled practioners of black magic as had always been believed.
“Is this really necessary?” Sorin asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, a tightening in his chest – whatever was about to happen, the Goddess wanted him to be alert.
Koray was prevented from replying as the others appeared. Sorin shot Zaede a look, and the other Paladin nodded minutely though he did not look pleased – even at the worst of times, Zaede could find something inappropriate to say.
“What are you doing?” Cerant asked.
“I am going to obtain answers,” Koray said shortly. “Do not speak. Do not interfere.” For a single brief moment, a too familiar sorrow flickered across his face. Sorin ached to soothe it, but he knew that right now, especially with other people around, Koray would only reject him. “Do not in any way break my concentration. Doing so will result in at least my death.”
Sorin shook his head. “No way. You’re not doing this.”
“It is not for you to say,” Koray snapped. “I am a necromancer. The ghost of the demon could hold answers.” He glared at Sorin, pale gray eyes fierce. “You would not prevent a soldier from doing what is necessary; do not stop me.”
To that, Sorin could only concede defeat. “Is there any way I can help?”
Koray ignored him. He rolled up the sleeves of his robes, binding them up out of his way. Sorin looked unhappily at the multitude of scars running the length of them, and wondered how many times Koray had cut himself in the course of his work. He tightened his hands into fists, and wondered when he’d started to care this much about Koray. Always he worried about his fellow Paladins, the knights, the priests, all the children of the Goddess. He worried far more about Koray, and the warmth pulsing in his chest was not as comforting as usual.
As they watched in silence, Koray drew out a small leather bag and pulled it open. Slowly he began to walk around the star marked out by incense, dispersing the contents of the pouch – ashes. Ashes of what?
Sorin wondered if he was the only one to notice how much paler Koray had gotten as he worked, the slight unsteadiness of his hand. Whatever he could see that they could not was severely distressing. Sorin forced himself to hold still. Koray had said interference could kill him – at least. Koray would not say such things lightly.
Finished with the ashes, Koray returned the pouch to his belt and withdrew a dagger. It flashed silver in the light of the braziers running the length of the hallway. Sorin could not hide a wince as Koray sliced open his right arm. The last time he’d seen Koray do it, the wound had been smaller, easily healed. This one ran the length of his forearm and Sorin could see the cut also ran deeper.
If the wound caused Koray pain, his face showed no sign of it. Sorin could feel Zaede vibrating with tension and curiosity beside him, and he settled a hand on Zaede’s shoulder to emphasize that he must stay silent. His hand was shrugged off, and Zaede shot him a disgusted look. Sorin would have snickered if all his attention hadn’t been focused on Koray.
He watched in reluctant silence as Koray began to scatter his blood the way he’d scattered the ashes. Sorin barely kept from moving as that deep sorrow again flitted across Koray’s face. That was it. He could not stand here and say or do nothing. “This is slightly different than the other times I’ve seen you work,” he said slowly.
“Those two were friendly,” Koray said, and Sorin knew he was the only one who could see Koray’s tension. “This…” his voice trailed off – then his expression turned into the mutinous, defiant one Sorin knew well. From his belt he drew out the familiar small, jingling bells that somehow helped Koray in his work.
Except…these ones Sorin didn’t recognize. The last time he’d seen Koray use his bells, they had been silver or gold. These…one set was copper, the other black. Koray’s expression turned hard as he stood at the northern-most star point and began to shake his bells.
No sound came from them, but in the middle of the star the air began to…shift, change…solidify. Sorin heard gasps all around him as it solidified into a pale, silver-gray form.
The ghost of a demon. Stripped of his human guise, the demon was truly horrific. It was skinnier than even Koray, limbs longer than was normal, joints almost sharp looking. His face was narrow, ears pointed, and all manner of scars covered his face. Ordinarily his skin would be a dark gray, giving the whole a nightmarish countenance. Sorin rather thought the ghost was actually worse.
He had not known such a thing was possible. The ramifications of it chilled him. If demons could produce ghosts, they had spirits…souls. He pressed a hand to his chest, which ached so deeply he winced. Beside him Zaede did the same. Whatever was occurring, upset the Goddess. The only question was – why?
Koray cried out, and his trembling was now blatantly obvious – but the necromancer did not falter, merely grew more stubborn, shaking his bells in one hand, the other held with palm out toward the demon. “Obey me,” Koray gasped, and gave another cry as the demon obviously defied him. “You will obey me, by the power of the Goddess!”
He gave another cry of pain as he continued to fight, but it turned almost immediately into an angry snarl. Muttering arcane words that sounded like a cross between prayers and forbidden black magic, Koray moved his arm so that the blood poured anew, dripping down his wrist and onto the bells. From his belt he drew out a handful of small, white bits – with a chill Sorin realized they were pieces of polished bone. He threw them at the feet of the ghost.
The ghost of the demon flickered, wavered, and Sorin could see it was fighting whatever Koray was doing.
Gasping in pain, Koray ceased chanting and spoke, “You will obey, demon, by the power of the Goddess. Your Dark God holds no sway here. Obey me!”
Sorin drew a sharp breath as the demonic ghost stilled, grew somewhat more solid…and fell to its knees, head bowed. Around its throat, violet light flared, then settled into what looked like a collar.
“Tell me why you came here. What Rofell wants with the sword. Tell me all that you know.”
Silence, deep and heavy, fell as Koray listened to words no one else could hear. Sorin remembered the ghost Koray had shown him. That one Sorin had heard speak…perhaps it was simply too difficult this time for Koray to share the voice.
He watched in misery as Koray visibly worsened as he listened to the demon’s soundless words. More than once it looked as though Koray might fall over, and finally Sorin could no longer bear it. He could not simply stand by while someone suffered so much, not when it was within his power to help. With a rough sound he crossed the room, circling carefully around the star to stand behind Koray. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to touch him…but he would be close, because he didn’t think Koray would walk away from this one.
The silence shattered as Koray dropped his bells, which until then had been silent. They jangled sharply as they hit the stone floor, and were a gruesome sight, the black and copper gleaming where the metal shone and dark where they were smeared with Koray’s blood.
From his pouch, Koray drew his gold bells and he began again to softly chant. In the center of the star the demon again began to struggle.
This time the demon looked as though it was winning, and Sorin realized it was fighting being banished.
Koray cried out, and the sound was more than Sorin could bear. He moved before he thought, stepping up close behind Koray and wrapping his arms around the necromancer’s waist, holding him tight. Too late he remembered he was not supposed to touch Koray – but rather than pull away, or something far more disastrous happening, Koray leaned back against him, letting Sorin take most of his slight weight, and with an angry half-shout he finished his spell. The ghost of the demon vanished.
In his arms, Koray abruptly fell forward. Shifting his hold, Sorin scooped Koray up and held him close. He bent his head to press his cheek to Koray’s, shivering at the ice-cold touch. Without a word, he strode past the others and away toward his own quarters. Answers would wait until his necromancer was well enough to give them.
Koray woke with a groan, clutching at his head – which felt as though someone had tried their best to split it open.
He didn’t, however, feel cold. Slowly he opened his eyes, expecting to se Sorin’s room – and he wasn’t sure what to make of the disappointment that crashed through him when he didn’t.
Where was he then? He didn’t recognize the small room. It was plain, and had the smell of a room seldom used. A lamp burned on a side table, moonlight filtering in through a small window. So he’d been asleep at least most of the day.
The bed was simple, and someone had covered him with a heavy wool blanket. A brown rug covered most of the floor. Throughout the room lingered a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. The room had been heavily purified and blessed. Koray suspected it would normally be occupied by a priest. Which meant he must be somewhere in the Church.
Not Sorin’s room though, where some small part of him had hoped he would wind up after he passed out. He hated passing out, but it always happened when he had to enslave a ghost. His fingers went automatically to his hair, and he pulled it over one shoulder, finding immediately the new strip of snow-white.
Koray swallowed and shoved his hair back, furious that his hands trembled. He balled them into fists in his lap and wondered how long he had until they asked him to leave. At least they wouldn’t throw rocks at him. As much as part of him still argued, he was willing to admit – to himself – that Sorin wouldn’t allow such a thing to happen. Sorin would probably even be polite about asking him to go.
Thinking about it hurt, and the fact that it hurt just made him angry. He should go before the whole debacle occurred.
He stood up and retrieved his belt and robe from where they hung on the wall, then sat down to tug on his boots. Would he have time to obtain some food? Perhaps sneak back to Sorin’s room? Pain lanced through him. No, he’d be fine with just the one robe. He’d dealt with worse for far longer. He could probably refill his flask. That would have to suffice.
Nothing, of course, would ever compare…angrily he broke the thought off.
He had his hand on the door when voices suddenly appeared on the other side – one of them angry, and unmistakably Sorin. Panicked, Koray drew back, colliding with the bed and sitting down hard.
The door swung open, and the anger on Sorin’s face abruptly vanished, replaced by relief. “You’re awake!” He strode into the room and immediately dropped down to sit next to Koray, arms coming up to embrace him. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake.”
“We finally had to drag him away to tend his duties,” the High Priest said in amusement from the doorway. “I am glad to see you awake, necromancer.”
Three days. Koray’s mind spun. He hadn’t been hit that hard by his work in a long time. Why was Sorin still embracing him? Why was Sorin embracing him at all? He scrambled for something to say. “Where am I?”
“In the living quarters of the Church,” Sorin answered, finally sitting up, arms slowly releasing him – though the one that slid down his back did not completely let go, but settled lightly around his waist. “I took you to my rooms initially, but you didn’t seem to be recovering. The High Priest finally suggested I bring you to the Church. He blessed you, and that seemed to finally break whatever was wrong.
The High Priest smiled in amusement at Sorin before turning to Koray. “We kept you here in case you relapsed.”
Koray could only stare.
“I will inform the others that you are awake,” the High Priest said, and closed the door as he left.
“You’re not sending me away?” The question spilled out before he could bite it back.
Sorin looked at him as though he were mad. “Why would we do that?”
Koray glared, refusing to look as confused as he felt. “For enslaving the ghost as I did.”
“I don’t understand why that makes you think we would throw you out.” Sorin shook his head. “We are rather hoping you learned something, though.”
All that he had learned suddenly flooded through him, and Koray froze to realize he’d almost left without telling them. He had been more panicked than he realized. “Yes,” he said, shivering at the memories. “They need the sword and jewel to break a seal…something to do with the old palace…the demon didn’t say much that was comprehensible. I know they need the sword and ruby to break a seal that was cast at a place not far from the old palace. Rofell…is their key to obtaining the North.”
Sorin glowered at the mention of Rofell. “That explains much.”
“I know how the demon got in as well,” Koray said quietly. “He used Rofell’s soul as a…disguise, of sorts. He wore it like a second skin. No one could sense the demon beneath.”
“Now I must wonder where else in the Goddess’s kingdom such creatures lurk,” Sorin said, looking grim and tired. The arm around Koray’s waist unconsciously tightened. “I did not know they could do such a thing.”
“It is supremely difficult,” Koray said quietly, fighting a sudden urge to lean in closer. Obviously he was not fully recovered, to be thinking of acting so stupidly. It was one thing to lie close to Sorin in the dead of night when no one was the wiser. Quite another to do so when Sorin was awake. “If there are any more, I think they would be few. Now that we know to look for it, I am certain the priests could devise a spell to search it out.”
Sorin nodded absently. “Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Koray said, shrugging the questions away irritably, glaring at everything except the man beside him.
Fingers combed through his hair, startling him, and he turned as Sorin pulled gently at a particular strand. “This white was not here before. It’s much brighter than the rest of your hair.”
“You noticed the change in my hair?” Koray asked, surprised.
“Of course,” Sorin said with a faint smile. He let go and stood up, offering a hand.
Koray ignored it. “What have I missed?”
“Nothing of terrible importance. Reports are coming in of trouble in the provinces. Supporters of Rofell are protesting, demon attacks have increased slightly.” Sorin sounded more strained that Koray had ever heard him. “Under the circumstances, we felt it best to assert that Cerant is King – we had a small ceremony yesterday. The real coronation has been postponed until the problem of Rofell and the demons has been resolved.” Sorin frowned in thought. “We sent communications to a man called Jythal. He is knowledgeable on every subject you can imagine. If the King had not brought home an alchemist of his own, Jythal is probably who we would have asked to the palace. Zaede had to return to his own province, and he will go to meet directly with Jythal.”
Koray snorted, but bit back a retort about Zaede’s competence. He’d put that idiot Paladin in his place if it cost him a strand of gray. Obnoxious halfwit.
Sorin laughed. “He told me to tell you good riddance, and that you were far more pleasant when unconscious.”
“I’m certain I can’t say the same for him. He’s repulsive conscious or not.”
Sorin merely chuckled and held out a hand. “Are you hungry? It is only just past the dinner hour and I’ve yet to dine myself.”
Koray ignored the hand, but nodded. “I would like food.”
“You never eat enough. You’ve been at the castle for weeks now and still I think a bird weighs more than you.” Sorin grinned as Koray only glared, and opened the door, waiting for Koray to precede him and then leading the way through the sleeping quarters.
Koray’s breath caught as they entered the church proper. Even in the moonlight, the glass and jewels seemed to shine. There was light and color everywhere, the scent of violets and incense in the air. More important was the warmth, the sense of welcome. Uncertainty froze his feet in the doorway.
The Church of the Goddess. So many years he’d spent dispelling ghosts in Her name, and not once had he ever been allowed into Her sanctuaries. He was seldom allowed even close to them. Now he stood right in the heart of all of them.
How many years had he secretly wanted to be right here? How many years had other necromancers wanted the same? To be welcome here as were their brother priests?
“Koray?” Sorin asked, frowning in concern. “Is something wrong?”
Koray swallowed and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Sorin’s frown deepened and he moved back to Koray, wrapping fingers gently around one arm. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Koray finally managed. He avoided Sorin’s gaze, instead drinking in the beautiful church, memorizing every detail in case he never saw it again. “I—I’ve invoked Her name a thousand times but was never…” He dropped his head, furious that his eyes stung. He would not cry over something so stupid. The last time he’d cried, he’d just seen his entire village slaughtered and burned. Being inside one stupid building was hardly worthy of tears. He would not cry.
Warm, gentle hands cupped his face, and Sorin brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “She is happy you are here, Necromancer of the Goddess.” The hands fell away to land on his shoulders, and Sorin leaned in to softly kiss first one cheek and then the other.
Koray gasped and jerked away. How awful to not only turn stupid, but to do so in front of Sorin. “Leave me alone.” He strode past Sorin and toward the center aisle – and abruptly stopped as he nearly stepped on a small figure standing in his path.
The small gray cat meowed up at him. Koray glared and shook his robes at it. “Shoo.”
Meowing again, the cat merely sat back on its haunches and continued to stare.
A soft laugh from behind him drew Koray’s attention around. The High Priest smiled. “I see you’ve found Claws. I have told her a hundred times not to play in here, but she is much like our Goddess – she will do as she pleases.”
Sorin threw his head back and laughed. “Only you, High Priest, could stand on the altar and say such things.”
“Oh, I think we all remember Paladin Zaede’s little speeches on this very altar,” the High Priest said dryly. “I hardly compare.” He stepped down from the altar and knelt on the floor, holding out a hand and calling quietly for his cat. With a soft mew, and another brush against Koray, the small cat went straight to the High Priest and curled up against his chest as he stood. “You are always welcome here, necromancer. Should you see your brothers, express the same to them. I bid you both a good evening. Goddess guide you.”
Koray nodded and turned sharply on his heel, then strode rapidly from the church. A moment later Sorin fell into step beside him, and he allowed Sorin to lead him to the paladin’s room.
He sat down as Sorin vanished again to order food, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the room. It had been almost hot in the church, a degree of heat he’d never felt. Sorin’s room was not quite that warm, but it was more familiar. He had been staying with Sorin for roughly five weeks now, sleeping every night beside the Paladin. Rumors flew about the castle, but after the slander and abuse he’d endured for so many years, a few trifling rumors barely registered in his mind. If anything, he thought it absurd that anyone would think Sorin would enter into a love affair with a necromancer. The High Paladin was far too grand to waste his time on someone unfit for polite company.
Koray hunched in his seat, trying in vain to ignore the way his cheeks burned where Sorin had so softly kissed them. He must still be recovering from the confrontation with the demon’s ghost, if his thoughts were this idiotic and scattered.
He started as the door opened and Sorin walked in, and desperately shoved his errant thoughts to the back of his mind.
“Food will be here shortly. I also told his Majesty all that you’ve told me. He says a more formal report from you can wait until morning,” Sorin said with a smile. He took the seat at the opposite end of the table, blinking sleepily at Koray. “So what precisely was it you did to that demon ghost? I did not know demons left ghosts…”
“Usually they do not,” Koray replied, fingers going to his hair, twisting the strands as he explained. “The holy power that kills them is usually enough to force them out of existence entirely. I was not certain enough of the demon remained, but hearing the explanation on how it died…”
Sorin nodded. “Neikirk nearly killed it. All I had to do was cut it down. None of the Goddess’s power was required.”
“So the demon left a ghost…one just as powerful and nasty as the living demon.” Koray tensed as he remembered pitting his will against that of the ghost. “In the dungeon and the garden, I had only to share my spirit and allow the ghosts to speak. This time was different.” He could not quell a shudder. “There are spirits that want only to steal my spirit to gain strength with which to cause harm. Such spirits must be given enough spirit with which to communicate, but not enough that they can overpower the necromancer. They must also be forced to obey, and speak only of those things the necromancer wishes to hear. That requires binding the spirit…enslaving it to my will. It is something necromancers are called upon to do more frequently than we like.”
He looked up to see Sorin’s eyes on him – on his hair. “I can see why you would prefer not to do it. What were the bells you used? The ashes and bone?”
Koray hunched his shoulders, hands dropping into his lap. He stared at them. Of course Sorin would ask about that. He’d never met anyone more eager to ask questions…except perhaps Neikirk. “Silver is for sharing power, for granting form and speech. Gold is for banishing. Copper is for binding, black a representation of my will. Together, they forced the ghost to obey me. So long as I maintain control of the binding, I can make a ghost do whatever I so choose. The ashes…were the ashes of a necromancer. Hard to obtain, as often we die the victim of a ghost, or simple maltreatment, and seldom are burned. They help to strengthen the barricade and enforce control. The bones…” Koray’s fingers tightened in his robes. “We take them from animals, most often, though human bones have been used. They are made into talismans and marked with various runes. Like the ashes, they strengthen our spells. I…I once met a necromancer who used to take the bones of priests from their tombs.”
Sorin grimaced. “I guess if anything would repel a ghost, it would be the bones of a holy man. Still, that is rather gruesome.” He snorted. “Though I have taken off the heads of enough demons, I do not know why I find it gruesome.”
“Graves are not such awful things,” Koray said, tension easing as he realized Sorin was not going to condemn him for the implements of his trade. “If nothing else, they are calm and quiet.”
“There is that,” Sorin said with a laugh. “Certainly I cannot find those two things anywhere else but in this room – and then only when I lock the door and pretend not to be here.” He winked, and then laughed again as someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” he called.
Servants spilled into the room bearing platters of steaming food and a cask of wine. In what seemed like seconds all was spread out neatly on the table and the two men were once more alone. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“That tapestry,” Sorin said, breaking the quiet, pointing to the wall behind Koray.
Koray didn’t need to look. He knew the tapestry in question – it portrayed one of the earliest Paladins. He knew that by the old-fashioned armor, the setting behind him of a castle that had not been used by the royal family for centuries. He waited for Sorin to continue.
“I found it years ago in a room of the treasury that’s mostly forgotten. Things for which people no longer have a use. I think Rofell sent me to find something else.” Sorin grimaced at mentioning the fallen king. “I didn’t realize until much later that it had been woven by the sister of the man in the portrait, some years after his death. That detail came to me only when I read some of the old records in the royal archives. A journal, actually, written by one of the earliest High Paladins. That man,” Sorin pointed again to the tapestry, “was Paladin Ambrose. He hailed from a province to the east. How he became a Paladin was lost…but when he was only twenty two another Paladin caught him consorting with a demon.”
“The one who was burned and left only the sword?” Koray asked. He turned in his seat to look more closely at the tapestry. The man in it was tall, or seemed to be, with broad shoulders and a strong build beneath his full armor. His under tunic and cloak were of rich violet, complimenting the gold-trimmed silver of his armor, clashing brightly with the fiery red of his curly hair. His eyes were a dark brown, and Koray could not for the life of him imagine such a stunning figure being tricked by a demon. Paladins were too strong to fall for such tricks, or so it had always been said. “How did the demon catch him?”
Sorin shrugged. “No one really knows. All that is recorded is that all who witnessed his death were overcome by sorrow. The few records existing never explicitly say what transpired, only that whatever it was devastated everyone present. More Paladins died in the following year than in any other. Ever since those events, the sword has been a royal heirloom. Kings and Paladins are all sworn in with that sword; it is the only time it is brought out of the treasury. No one knows how it came to be, except at the death of a Paladin whose death devastated those who executed him. We only ever call it ‘the sword’ but formally it is called ‘Sorrow.’
Sorin stared unhappily as Cerant bid the servants set the box down upon the table, noting the thick gloves they wore to carry it. Even with that added protection, they look miserable. Though the sword was gone, its pain lingered. Likely it would fade in time, but Sorin wasn't so certain.
They had chosen to gather in Cerant’s room for this second meeting. A fire kept back the chill of the night, and Sorin made certain Koray was close enough that he stayed warm as well. He’d slept better last night, with Koray beside him again, than he had in a while. Why that was, he’d given up questioning. He was enamored of the prickly necromancer. That was that.
The trick was getting the necromancer to reciprocate, but nothing worth having was easily obtained…though he wouldn't object to it being just the slightest bit easier.
Cerant opened the box, the clicking of key in lock painfully loud in the too-quiet room. Even Neikirk, normally expressionless, seemed troubled.
Sorin winced. Though the sword was gone, stolen by Rofell, the anguish it always emanated lingered in the oak box which usually held it. Only for the inducting of a King and Paladin was the sword drawn out. The sorrow that poured from it was simply too much to bear on a regular basis.
It was as though the sword had been forged from pain.
The Goddess had never explained to anyone, not even priest or paladin, the reason for the sword, the source of the pain. Many had asked, none had been answered. Sorin wondered if the age old mystery was soon to be at last resolved.
He finally looked up, watching as Cerant and Neikirk bent over ancient records and scrolls brought up from the archives. Cerant freed a sheaf of paper from a leather journal and set it atop the open case. The faded, delicate paper looked almost gold against the sheen of the dark violet velvet lining within the sword case.
“Master…” Neikirk frowned slightly, as though puzzled, bent over the piece of paper Cerant had set aside. It was a drawing of the stolen sword “You did not say the ruby was part of the sword.”
“What are you talking abo…” Cerant drifted off as he examined the image, realization flooding his features. The drawing had been made not too long ago, when Cerant's great-grandfather ordered a more thorough cataloguing of the treasurery, including depictions of all the most valuable items. So the jewel was missing, as it had vanished so long ago no one remembered how it went missing.
But picturing the ruby safely locked away in Neikirk's laboratory…it was plain as day that the ruby would fit perfectly into the pommel of the sword.
Sorin shared a look of disbelief with Cerant, shaking his head. “All this time, and we never noticed. Fools!” He looked again at the sword. It was a long sword, and though it was hundreds of years old it looks brand new. The hilt was laid with gold and silver braiding, winding down to a pommel that was obviously missing something – there had been several attempts to replace the missing jewel, but always the new one vanished within days. That the ruby Rofell had worn, that he had seen nearly every day for longer than he could remember, so perfectly fit…he felt like an idiot.
Beside him Koray stepped closer to the table, eyes locked on the drawing, the empty case.
“Don’t touch it,” Sorin said. He almost smiled at the way Koray’s mouth twisted in impatience, and knew that if he had felt like looking up, Koray would have shot him a particularly disgusted glare. "Trust me, you'll regret it. Enough of the sword's anguish lingers in the case that touching it for too long would be a bad idea."
"I'm a necromancer," Koray said scathingly. "Anguish is something I deal with every single day."
Sorin nodded, soundly put in his place. He would smile, to think how often Koray had done that right from the first, but the situation was not one which called for levity.
"So what precisely happened?" Koray asked softly, hovering over the case but not yet touching it. "Back then."
It was Cerant who spoke up, face pinched with unhappiness. "There is not much to the story, unfortunately. No one who knew anything recorded it. Only that tapestry in Sorin's room remains of the Paladin who died. He was of course recorded in the Church archives. His name was Ambrose Lior, and he was the last Paladin to be inducted until about five years after his death. He was only twenty-two when he was declared fallen to the heathens and burned at the stake."
"Hmm…so is the anguish to do with the perceived injustice?" Koray asked, voice low. "It is a hard thing to endure the hatred of your fellows when you feel what you're doing is right. If he was tricked by the demons to their cause…he must have been horribly confused as to where he truly belonged. I wonder if having the jewel would help…" He looked up. "Neikirk."
Neikirk nodded and reached beneath his robes, procuring the ruby. Sorin scowled at them both. "That should be locked up."
"It's of no use to me shoved into a box," Koray replied, cupping the ruby in his hands, staring intently at it. Setting it down in the box, he reached into one of his myriad pouches and drew out a stick of incense, lighting it with a nearby lamp before thrusting the end into a corner of the case.
He shot Sorin a look the Paladin could not puzzle out, then slowly began to speak, finger toying with the thing, trailing smoke. "I do not know if this will have any affect, but if this was once part of the sword, and the demons so badly want it, I think we can safely assume it is important and therefore might tell us something. Let us hope I can manage something."
"You and Neikirk are the only ones who seem to be of any help in this affair," Sorin said with a grimace. "So if anyone can achieve something, it would be you."
Koray nodded but did not otherwise acknowledge the words. Instead, he bent over the case and began to murmur words too low for Sorin to catch them, though they had the sharpness of black magic to them.
He twitched when Koray reached out to touch the ruby…which had begun to glow, every so faintly…Sorin blinked. When had it begun to do that?
In the next instant, he had to fight the urge to tear Koray away from it, as tears began suddenly to stream down his face, blood dripping from his bottom lip as Koray bit it to hold back a sob.
Cursing silently, Sorin made himself hold still. Why did the Goddess cause her necromancers such pain? Was it truly necessary?
The sharp throb to his chest was a reprimand, and Sorin bowed his head to acknowledge it, though he never took his eyes off Koray. The Goddess did nothing without purpose, and those blessed with her power paid some price for it. Necromancers seemed to pay a higher price than most, but he was biased…and perhaps that burden would ease if necromancers were treated properly. Goddess knew that if Paladins were reviled, his life would be an agony.
Shaking his head, Sorin waited anxiously for Koray to finally withdrew, springing forward the very moment he gasped and released his hold upon the jewel, catching him as he stumbled, pulling Koray close.
Odd, how well Koray seemed to fit against him. Sorin had not forgotten that moment in the temple, how soft those cheeks had been beneath his lips, his fingers. He wanted badly to feel that soft skin again.
He wondered when he had become so enamored of Koray. Looking back…it seemed he had been all along, though he knew that wasn't true. He'd been frustrated and annoyed, those first days. Not enamored. He'd been far more interested in wringing Koray's neck than caressing it.
Silently reciting a few choice curses, Sorin sternly reminded himself he was the High Paladin and should probably act like, which meant directing his thoughts properly and not letting them wander to inappropriate places.
"Anything?" he asked softly, holding Koray loosely about the waist, hoping he would not pull away, unreasonably happy when Koray remained in his hold.
Koray frowned, glaring at the ruby, which no longer glowed, merely gleamed in the lamplight. "You said a Paladin was executed."
"Yes," Cerant answered, and paper crackled as he shuffled them before setting the old book on the table, turning it so Koray could read. "Right here. It lists everything pertaining to his crimes and execution. 'Found consorting with a demon. Convicted of betraying the Goddess to serve the heathens. Refused to repent. Burned at the stake in the fifteenth year of King Corfall's reign, in the third month of spring."
Sorin grimaced. "I believe only a year later, King Corfall commanded a new castle be built. The work was completed with remarkable speed, and only two years later the old palace was abandoned. No one has ever returned to it, to the best of my knowledge." He stared at the ruby. "I guess the misery of burning a Paladin was too great to for anyone to bear…"
"No…" Koray said softly. "There is…more than Alfrey in this stone. Something stronger, deeper…and it is not a Paladin, if what I saw is to be believed." He looked up at Sorin, gray eyes the color of mist, pale and fine – and filled with pain and disbelief. "Sorin…the flickers of memory offered to me were those of a demon…"
"What?" Sorin asked, staring. "What do you mean a demon?"
Koray glared. "What else could I mean by the words 'a demon'. I meant a demon. The demon who was—consorting with Paladin Ambrose."
Sorin wasn't sure what stunned him more – the words he was hearing, or the faint pink flush that stained Koray's cheeks as he said the word 'consorting' and hastily looked away. "Consorting with Paladin Ambrose?" Definitely the flush. He'd never seen Koray embarrassed before. It was definitely interesting. "What sort of things did you see?"
Koray frowned, closing his eyes, fingers moving to twist and pull at his hair as he concentrated. "A field with a giant oak, a man and a demon beneath it…consorting…the demon attacked…falling…then fire…nothing more."
"So the Paladin really was seduced by the demon. How awful." Cerant shook his head, smiling faintly as Neikirk took his hand and held it. "At least they killed it."
"No," Koray said sharply. "That is not how it seemed to me. I think…." He shook his head, obviously confused, hair tumbling over his shoulders in a profusion of black and white and gray. His voice was a whisper when he resumed speaking. "I think they were in love."
"Impossible," Sorin said. "Demons are monsters who seek to kill all the Goddess's children. Time and again they have seduced knights, abused and broken them. It would be the greatest of coups for a demon to seduce away one of the Goddess's strong arm. You are saying they were in love? Preposterous. No child of the Goddess, especially a Paladin, would love such a dark creature. Nor have demons ever proven themselves to be capable of such emotion."
He felt Koray vibrate in his arm, then suddenly he wrenched away, eyes sparking with fury. "Here I was starting to think you were not the obnoxious hypocrite I first took you for! The mighty High Paladin, so gracious until he hears something he doesn’t like! So no Paladin could ever care for a dark creature, is it? Fine. Necromancers are only a step away from demons, you know. I suppose that makes me a dark creature. I must be a liar as well, as you say my words could not be true, but lying goes hand in hand with dark creatures, doesn't it? I will rid you of my presence then, oh grand and noble High Paladin." Turning sharply on his heel, Koray stormed from the room.
Sorin watched him go, mouth open. He shut with such force it made his jaw ache. "That was not what I meant," he said to no one in particular.
Cerant laughed softly, and gave him a sympathetic glance. "I see now why Zaede calls him thorny. I do not envy you the task of making that apology, Sorin."
"I didn't…" Sorin's shoulder slumped. He sighed heavily. There was no point in chasing Koray down now; he'd only somehow make matters worse. He fisted his hands tight, trying to banish the feel of soft skin and a slender body.
He'd apologize to Koray tonight, before they went to bed. Surely Koray was not so angry he'd seek his warmth elsewhere.
Sorin scowled at that thought, at the possessiveness that swept through him, glaring all the more at the warm fluttering of amusement in his chest. Even the Goddess was laughing at him. "I have duties to attend," he said stiffly, and stalked from the room.
All the while doubt clawed at his mind. A demon and a Paladin in love? Impossible. He thought back through all the demons he'd killed. The brutal way they fought, the cruel way they killed those who could not fight, the collars sunk into their skin…how did one love a creature such as that?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, yanked it restlessly through his hair. Only a few weeks ago he had believed necromancers to be little better. Yet now he stood here thoroughly enamored of one, miserable that he'd upset Koray so. He'd not meant it that way at all…but it was painfully obvious he did, indeed, owe an apology.
But it left his mind awhirl, and he saw with painful clarity what Koray might have seen along, or at least since whatever he saw in the ruby.
If they could all be so wrong about necromancers…could they somehow be wrong about demons?
The heat in his chest pulsed with enough fury he could feel it, the beat stronger than that of his heart, making it hard to draw a breath. The Goddess…excited. Excited by the idea that demons…
He shook his head, feeling confused and lost. But…
It would make sense.
If once upon a time a Paladin and a demon had fallen in love…
Then they had been wrongly sentenced, wrongly executed.
Had it been him, he would have died in anguish too. What did it all mean, then? The Goddess gave him no answers, merely that hard pulse that his thoughts were true.
Groaning, wishing longingly for the days when everything made sense, Sorin threw himself into his duties and mentally began to prepare his apologies.
*~*~*~*
Koray shivered in his robes, huddled on the hard floor of the mausoleum, miserable and angry.
Miserable because he could not stop thinking about the bed he sorely missed.
Angry because he missed the owner of that bed more.
Stupid.
He should have known better. Sorin had been nice to him, but that didn't mean the initial, fundamental belief had changed. Necromancers were just a step away from demons; that had always been the belief. Blood drinkers, black magic adherents…dark creatures.
Part of him tried to say that wasn't what Sorin had meant…but only five weeks ago he'd treated Koray like he was all but a demon. Hadn't even bothered to learn his name, at first. Now he said dark creatures couldn’t love, couldn't be loved.
Koray curled up in his robes and willed his mind to shut up. Why did he care? It didn't matter. After this odd mystery was solved, he would be back to his wanderings. What did the opinion of one stupid Paladin matter to him?
It didn't.
Yet here he was, hiding in the graveyard, back in his crypt, because he couldn’t bear to look at Sorin, who thought it impossible that dark creatures could love or be loved.
Over and over again, the words were a knife. No matter how many times he thought them. He knew Sorin hadn't meant…but not so long ago he had…and what if this entire time he was just doing as the Goddess bid and hadn't once meant….
"It doesn't matter," he told himself, voice a harsh whisper in the dark crypt, echoing and strange. He shivered and hugged himself tighter, struggling to remember all the ways he'd survived previous, sternly reminding himself this was the norm, this was the way it would always be.
That warm bed…warm figure…were only a passing dream. It had never been meant to last; he was astonished Sorin had permitted him to stay night after night.
He choked on a rough sound as memories of their dinner together tortured him. Not many, for Sorin was often called away to tend various problems, but it was always…pleasant when they dined together, just the two of them, at the table beside the fireplace in Sorin's rooms.
Harder still were the memories of the nights. Shame flooded him, to think how easily he'd let himself fall to own stupidity. Five weeks now he'd been at the castle, and save for the very first he'd spent every night in Sorin's bed.
With Sorin. So warm he was nearly too hot, and his most secret, guilty pleasure had been those nights when he'd woken in the darkest hours to find that somehow or another they'd moved toward each other. Sorin's arm a solid, somehow reassuring weight around his waist, soft snores in his ear somehow not grating, surrounded by all the wonderful heat, both spiritual and not.
He wondered now if Sorin had ever woken that way, and pulled away in disgust at finding himself clinging so to a dark creature.
"It doesn't matter," he repeated, but the words rang painfully hollow. For some stupid reason it did matter and he didn't know what to do about it. He wouldn't be an object of pity to a High Paladin who only cared for a dark creature out of duty.
Goddess, now how was he supposed to face the man every day? He'd rather liked not having always to be on edge. Against his will, he reached up to touch his cheeks, remembering the way it had felt when Sorin had kissed them. Snarling, he snatched his fingers away and buried them in his robes.
He should try to sleep, but the pile of blankets he'd commandeered earlier looked dreary and sad, so unlike the warmth he'd been stupid enough to get used to, come to crave…need.
Disgusted with himself, Koray nevertheless could not bring himself to move, merely huddled even deeper in his rooms and whispered a silent plea for morning to hurry up.
The muffled sounds of someone cursing – rather more fluidly than he'd ever heard from that particular voice – brought his head up sharply. He stood up and glared as Sorin appeared in the doorway of the crypt. "Go away, High Paladin," he snarled, because if he didn't snarl he'd do or say something stupid and weak. "We dark creatures are trying to get some rest and you are disturbing it."
"Lady's T—" Sorin cut himself off and stalked toward him.
Koray found himself taking a hasty step back – and then another. "Go away," he hissed.
"No," Sorin snapped. "I worked all day on my apology and it's not fair that you don't show up to hear it. Our food is cold, I'm tired – you are coming back to our room, I'm apologizing, and then we're eating and going to bed."
"You can't just—" Koray's words were cut off by a yelp, as Sorin reached out and snatched him up, hefting him up and over one shoulder, then turning and striding from the mausoleum. "Let. Me. Go," Koray hissed.
"No," Sorin replied. "I had it all planned and you messed it up. Suffer."
Koray wanted badly to hit him, but he could feel Sorin's armor, cool through the fabric of his robes and against his fingers. The rest though…already Koray could feel his chills fading, his body warming, his spirit replenishing. His face burned with the humiliation of being carried through the halls of the castle. "You will pay for this, High Paladin."
"Cease with the nonsense," Sorin said sharply, hand tightening in warning. "You have been using my name and will continue to do so."
It was entirely unfair that Sorin was wearing armor. Koray settled for delivering an awkward kick, only slightly mollified when Sorin gave a slight grunt of pain. "Let me down," he said, "or they'll be speaking of you in the past tense."
"When we get to our room," Sorin retorted, and squeezed him again in warning.
Koray settled for glaring at anyone who dared to look at them as they passed through the halls and thinking up all the lovely curses he would shortly be casting on Sorin for this abject humiliation.
He was most certainly not dwelling on the fact that twice now Sorin had said 'our' room. Once could have easily been a mistake…what did twice mean?
Furiously he reminded himself it didn't matter, because very shortly the North was going to be minus one High Paladin.
Finally they reached Sorin's room, and Koray was half-dropped, half-thrown into his seat. He leapt out of it. "How dare you—"
"No," Sorin snapped, glaring at him, angrily shoving back a stray bit of blonde hair as it traitorously slid forward into his face. "How dare you – to yell at me like, then run off and hide without ever giving me a chance to speak. I've waited all day to deliver my apologies, Koray, at the very least you could have given me a fair chance to extend them."
Koray opened his mouth, then closed it with his snap. "You didn't need to carry me," he finally said. "If your idea of apologizing is to humiliate me in such a fashion—"
"Next time don't run away," Sorin interrupted. "It might surprise you what people have to say when you stay long enough to listen to them."
"So speak," Koray said, folding his arms across his chest and forcing himself to keep looking at Sorin, not drop his gaze as he badly wanted.
Sorin rolled his eyes and then suddenly stalked closer, grasping his hands and forcing his arms to unfold, holding them tight. "I'm sorry," he said, blue eyes unflinching as they met Koray's. "My view of demons is a harsh one. In my life I have seen them kill men and women, the elderly and the young. Mere children. Not once have I ever seen anything about a demon to recommend them…so to hear that one of my own, a Paladin, could love such a creature…but I didn't mean to group you with them. It never even crossed my mind. You're not a dark creature, Koray."
"Yet not so long you did not think highly enough of me to even learn my name," Koray said quietly, dropping his eyes, unable to bear what he might see. "Once, you did consider me not much better."
Sorin sighed, the sound weary. "I was wrong, everyone was wrong. For longer than I like to think, we have been wrong." Gentle fingers grasped his chin and forced his head back up. "I concede I was wrong this time as well. It is hard to hear that what you have known your entire life to be true – is not. Twice now you have done that to me, in addition to turning my world upside down in other ways."
"What other ways?" Koray snapped. "You were not the one summoned to the castle knowing that at some point you very likely would be beaten or stoned, possibly to death. You are not the one being given things which will only be taken away again, when your skills are no longer required. Do not talk to me of worlds being turned, Sorin."
"At least you're using my name again," Sorin replied with a brief, faint smile. "Truly, Koray – I am sorry. I believe what you told me, and am sorry my words were so harsh and careless. You are most certainly a person capable of love…and worth loving."
Koray found it suddenly hard to breathe, and turned sharply away, feeling unsteady. He sat down in his seat and stared at the table. "I am sorry I ruined your dinner," he said stiffly.
"I should have fetched you before I had it prepared," Sorin said, a hint of amusement in his voice. He sat down in his seat opposite Koray and took up his wine goblet. "I'm sure it all tastes fine, if you are hungry."
Nodding, Koray obeyed. Though cold, the food was indeed excellent. He ate quickly, neatly, but with an appetite – after storming off, he'd thought of nothing but getting away. Neither one of them spoke. All things considered Koray suspected it was the wisest course
But as they both finished, and servants appeared to take it all away, Koray found himself faltering. Why did it feel like something was different? Muttering to himself, Koray shoved the strange thought away and stubbornly went about his usual routine. Stripping off his violet robe, he folded it neatly over the back of his chair. Next was his belt, laid over the robe after he checked that everything was properly stowed. He would have to go through and clean everything soon. He'd meant to do it tonight…tomorrow would work just as well. That done, he pulled off his boots and stripped down to just his leggings and undertunic, then swiftly crossed to the bed and burrowed beneath the covers.
Warm. Soft. The scents of fresh linen mingled with a trace of myrrh, a hint of steel. He closed his eyes and savored it, fingers clinging to the blankets, shuddering as the warmth of the blankets sunk into him.
The soft rustle of turning pages caught his attention, and he almost smiled. He wondered if anyone knew the grand High Paladin spent his evening reading musty books. What few evenings he could get, anyway. More often than not, Sorin was called way to solve one problem or another. "What are you reading?" he asked, a yawn slipping in at the end of the question.
"An alchemical text Neikirk lent to me," Sorin replied. "He says it is a beginner's guide, though I'm still having a hard time understanding all of it."
Koray snorted. "I am certain he can answer all your questions." Once Neikirk started talking, it was not hard to keep him going. Which made it all the stranger when he went for long periods without saying more than a word or two, if anything at all.
Sighing at his wandering thoughts, Koray burrowed further into the pillows and dozed as he listened to Sorin read. Ostensibly, reading was a quiet activity – but Sorin did not hold still for long, always shifting, crossing his legs, uncrossing, stretching them out. His glass clinked on the table every time he picked it up and set it down. Once he stood to throw another log on the fire. Pages rustling, fabric shifting, a soft chuckle or sigh here and there…
No, Sorin reading was anything but quiet.
He stirred as the room changed, and realized groggily that Sorin had put the lamp out. Some part of him tried to feel tense about that, but Koray was too groggy to recall why, exactly, and simply sank bank into his heavy doze.
The bed shifted as new weight was added to it, cool air washing over him briefly before the blankets settled. Koray stirred again and slowly opened his eyes, seeing Sorin's face only vaguely in the dim light of the fire on the far side of the room. He dropped his head back into his pillow and closed his eyes.
So tired. He hadn't realized he was this tired until he'd curled up in bed.
He startled suddenly awake as an arm slid around his waist and dragged him forward. Frowning, Koray flattened his hands on Sorin's chest and glared at him. "What are you doing?"
"Go to sleep, Koray," Sorin replied, then followed his own orders by settling down and closing his eyes.
Koray glared until his breathing evened out, soft snores filling the room.
What was going on? Sorin…had been awake…and was holding him…on purpose.
He didn't want to think about it. He was tired of thinking.
The arm around his waist was heavy, a sure and solid weight. Koray doubted he could get out of it without waking Sorin, and he sensed that would only lead to more arguing, somehow.
Giving up for the time being, he cautiously rested his head against Sorin's chest, and fell asleep listening to his heart beat.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-02 06:08 pm (UTC)