Karin, the Goddess’s Sword, strode up the cliffside path past horned statues. A brimstone reek filled the air as she lowered her battered helm’s visor and moved forward. Her partner, the Goddess’s Shield, followed behind her, his armor in better shape—though his shield bore the scars of constant battle.
They’d been advancing for days. The Goddess had lit the path through Hell, and Her Sword and Shield had been in the vanguard. Now, they were the only two left.
The open maw of the Demon King’s final stronghold loomed in front of them. She held a gauntlet-clad hand out, and Zorin grabbed it, letting her pull him up the final oversized step. She grunted as his weight hung there for a moment before a surge of power rippled through her, and he landed on his feet next to her. “Thanks.”
“The Goddess protects.” This was it. The end of her crusade. The end of the war. Once they finished this last fight, her people would be freed, her kingdom could rebuild, and her sister’s children would grow up in a safe world—one where the Goddess’s light could guide them, and they’d be protected from evils like the Demon King. All she had to do was win.
“The Goddess avenges,” Zorin replied.
Karin nodded. Under her helm, her eyes glowed a silver-white light, and her fingers tightened on her greatsword’s grip hard enough to leave divots in its leather. She raised the blade, rushing forward into the Demon King’s fortress with Zorin at her back. A monster of fire and smoke raised a blazing saber, and she swung her blade into a parry that rang out in Hell’s smoke-filled air. Her fingers went numb from the impact.
They loosened on the rocking chair’s armrests as her eyes sprang open.
The monastery’s bell rang out over the Order of the Holy Sword’s training grounds, almost drowning out the sparring knights-in-training’s grunts. The whole parade field smelled of dust, sweat, and a hint of blood—the scents almost refreshing to ‘Great Grandmother’ Karin’s nose. She’d been dreaming again, dreaming of hellfire and brimstone, of blood and battle, and of the Goddess’s favor.
She hadn’t felt it in almost six years.
Gone were the days when she’d put on her gambeson. It still stank of brimstone—and of undeath and orc bile from a hundred battles. Nowadays, she wore the habit of a nun, and her greatsword lay wrapped in oiled wool under her bunk. Her fingers couldn’t dent the smooth softwood of the rocking chair, much less her blade’s hard-leather grip.
The bell rang again, and her eyes opened. The monthly roll call was about to begin, and the ceremony was where the Highlord would read the names of those who’d finally left the Goddess’s service. He’d also induct this batch of young paladins to replace the fallen.
Karin spared a wistful moment, remembering those days. Then she pushed herself out of her rocker and slowly walked toward the great hall.
Most importantly to Karin, he’d send the Order on its quests.
All around her, the flood of purpose-filled humanity pushed her along, flowing around her like a boulder in a relentless stream. The great hall had room for five hundred of the finest Swords and Shields the Goddess could muster, and on roll call days, it’d be full. She found her customary seat near the front, where the most honored knights sat. It had been hers for sixty years, ever since the crusade against the Demon King.
“Holy brothers and sisters, the time has come to honor those whose sacrifice has left the world safer,” the Highlord began, his voice booming across the hall. “Audric, Shield of the Goddess. Annette, Sword of the Goddess. Callum, Sword of the Goddess…”
Hadn’t Jessamine died three years ago? Or was it twelve? They blurred together, the names and the years, and the Highlord’s voice went on and on, names Karin swore she’d heard before. lulling Karin into a half-sleep. She’d sat through a thousand of these.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Besides, the names weren’t important. Their sacrifice was, and that they were honored.
Someday, it’d be her turn.
----------------------------------------
“…and Yreanne, the Goddess accepts you into her service,” the Highlord intoned, ending the induction. Three dozen new paladins, each replacing one of the fallen to keep Her holy warriors at a sacred, perfect five hundred. No one clapped. No one cheered. The solemn silence weighed down on the new inductees, smothering them in its seriousness.
Karin sat at the edge of her seat, her heart pounding like a hammer against her breast. Surely, this role call would be different. Surely, the Highlord would call her name this time. There had to be a Goddess-given quest she could complete—something she was still worthy of.
The Highlord cleared his throat, the customary words filling the silent chamber. “And now, Tasks.”
She waited as the new initiates joined with veterans in groups of four, bound for the kingdom’s borderlands to fight the monsters that even now, a half-century after she’d thrown them back, tore at the fringes of the Goddess’s realm. She waited, heart racing, as the bonded duos paired off on long quests into the world’s darkest corners on quests only they could hope to accomplish. And finally, she waited, heart sinking, as nearly two hundred of the Order’s finest young men and women filed out of the great hall, bowing before the Goddess’s statue on their way to the Eighth Crusade against Hell.
Her name hadn’t been called.
Her name hadn’t been called.
And the great hall was empty. The statues of a dozen knights stood silent vigil over the abandoned pews. Tapestries swayed slowly on the walls, then slowed as the sounds of iron-clad footsteps faded. Even the Highlord had gone to lead the Crusade. She, Karin, the Goddess’s Sword, had been left behind.
A single acolyte, too young and weak to ride with the knights, started down the hall with a candle-snuffer, then stopped when he saw Karin. “I apologize, honored elder.”
“You are forgiven,” Karin said, trying not to let her frustration show.
“I apologize,” the acolyte said again, fleeing the empty cathedral’s great hall. She was alone.
Karin pushed herself out of her seat of honor with a soft groan that echoed in the silent, empty hall. The Highlord’s voice didn’t echo; too many people filled the space. But alone in the Goddess’s presence, her every footfall sounded like a dozen. Even so, she hobbled to the Goddess’s sandled marble feet and knelt.
The statue was older than the cathedral that surrounded it, older than the monastery itself. Silas the Learned said it might be older than the kingdom. Her robes plummeted toward the floor, their folds enveloping her ivory skin in a style Karin had never seen a living person wear. Her nose was sharp, her eyes piercing, and she carried an expression both stern and kind at once. The stone sword’s tip hovered inches over Karin like a hanging doom waiting in judgment.
“Have I been found wanting?” Karin asked. Her voice cracked and echoed as she stared at the Goddess’s feet, unable to meet Her eyes. “Have I failed you somehow?”
The Goddess said nothing.
But Karin couldn’t stop herself. “I beg you, just once more, let me be your Sword again. Let me deliver justice to those who wish to harm your people. I can still carry the sword. I can still ride. Am I not fit for your service like the others? Am I not your Sword?” Tears ran down her face, and she prostrated herself before the being she’d devoted her life to.
The Goddess didn’t answer.
And, after almost an hour, Karin slowly picked herself up and, limping on stiff joints, left the great hall behind.
----------------------------------------
The call came the moment she stepped through the door.
Karin almost couldn’t believe it.
She’d experienced it dozens of times, and every time felt like the first. The crashing feeling as Her warmth filled her. The shimmering halo of silver-white light at her vision’s edges. The power—the raw, holy power. And, of course, the voice.
This time, it thundered out from the poor boy with the candle-snuffer, who’d waited all this time for her to leave. A strong soprano, firm and unyielding, but motherly at the same time. It felt like grace. Like love.
“Karin, my Sword, you are called to action once more. Accept my strength. Wield my power. Protect my people.
“Goblins are raiding a small, poor village to the south. The people lack the strength to protect themselves or the money to pay for mercenaries and so have turned to me. Without help, the raid will become a massacre, and you are my Sword. Will you protect my charges? Will you push back darkness once more?
Karin’s muscles screamed as she raced across the parade field and pushed the door to her barracks open. The acolyte ran behind her, the Goddess’s presence left behind. “My sword and armor, hurry,” Karin breathed, dropping slowly to one knee to dig for the blade. The boy was already undoing straps to loosen the glistening breastplate and fit it to her frame.
She felt alive. For the first time in six years, she had purpose.
The time had come to be the Sword once more.