The two were able to purchase supplies without any more surprise encounters interrupting them. Gideon led the way, first stopping by a man selling food to pick up some appropriate travel rations; Clara estimated the amount would be good for two or three days, but she wasn’t an expert on traveling. She was barely a novice, in fact. The two of them then located the town’s clothier, from whom Gideon purchased a few outfits suitable for Clara to travel in. They were of lower quality than she was used to, but not by much; with her family’s funds, they had never been able to afford the more exquisitely tailored clothes that some nobles had access to, especially not for the youngest daughter.
They returned to the inn after shopping; Clara went to her room to change into one of her new sets of clothes, leaving the old and ragged garments on the bed. Someone in the town could find a use for the cloth, certainly. She went downstairs when she was done, found Gideon seated at one of the common room’s tables, and sat across from him.
The Paladin had a map unrolled on the table’s surface. It seemed to be of higher quality than the one Clara had bought back in Almerra.
“I’ve been to the capital a few times, as you might expect,” Gideon explained. He pointed at the map as he spoke. “I find that this road tends to get me there the safest,” he said, tracing a line on the map. “There are ample villages along the way to rest and resupply. It’s not the fastest route - but the faster ones I’ve taken are the least populated, and therefore least safe.”
Clara nodded. She didn’t know why villages didn’t spring up along the most direct route, but she couldn’t control where they happened to be. There wasn’t any particular urgency in her getting to Calador; Holden’s familiar didn’t seem to imply any sort of time limit, at least. “We had might as well go with the safest route, then. I’ll trust your experience on this matter, Paladin.”
Gideon nodded, rolling up the map. “Then we should get moving as soon as we can. There’s an inn a few hours down the road, and a small farming village a bit beyond that. We should be able to reach the inn before dark, if not the village. If you don’t have any business left in town…?”
Clara shook her head and stood up. Gideon led the way out of the inn, then down the road and finally out of Rymoor. The surrounding country was as wide and open as it had been on the road into town; Clara felt like she could see for miles. The day wasn’t quite as pleasant as the previous one had been, yesterday’s clouds having stuck around and seeming to promise rain before too long. Gideon didn’t comment on it, though, so Clara assumed they would be fine for now.
She was surprised at how quickly she trusted the Paladin, despite him attempting to kill her only a few days past. It had not taken much effort on Clara’s part for him to decide to help her reach Calador, and Clara didn’t think he was being duplicitous. He was forthright and honest, and seemed to truly believe in the causes of the Church and his order.
Clara was not quite as honest. Gideon had no idea that he was leading her to the capital so that she could assist another group of infernalists. It made her feel a touch guilty; just a touch, though.
Once they had put some distance between themselves and Rymoor, Clara’s imp winged out of her rucksack to settle atop her staff. She saw Gideon look backwards and eye the demon suspiciously, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t say much of anything, in fact, though Clara saw him glance back and open his mouth to speak once or twice, before apparently deciding against it and fixing his gaze back on the road. She wondered if he was going to try to ask her about her use of magic. He had said he wanted to understand her. It still wasn’t something she wanted to talk about yet; it had been such a short time since she stumbled headfirst into the infernal magic and had her life turned onto its head as a result.
“How did you end up becoming a Paladin?” Clara eventually decided to ask, making Gideon’s history the topic of conversation before he could ask any questions about her own.
“Ah, well. That’s a bit of a story. I used to live in a village on the north border of the kingdom. It was distant and undefended enough to prove a ripe target for a raid from the barbarians that live beyond the border. We happened to be lucky, I suppose; a renowned Paladin by the name of Ilbert was passing through, and fought them off before they could so much as harm any of the villagers. Ilbert himself suffered a nasty wound to his leg, though, and to this day is unable to walk without a limp.” Gideon’s voice seemed somewhat pained at that last sentence.
“And how did that lead to you joining the order?”
“My house was one of the first to be struck during the raid, and I had taken up a pitchfork to help defend it without thinking. I fought alongside Sir Ilbert, and I suppose he saw something of note within me. After he was wounded it was my mother who tended to him, and he asked me if I wanted to come with him to the capital and become a squire. I accepted, of course. The raid made me want to do something to strike back against the wicked and defend the helpless.”
“You’ve some living family, then?” Clara asked, to keep the Paladin talking about himself. He didn’t seem reluctant at all to keep talking, but she hadn’t expected him to be. She doubted the man had anything he wished to hide.
Gideon nodded. “I helped them relocate to Calador after I became a full-fledged Paladin. My mother works as a healer in the city, and my father is a cobbler. I would move the entire village if I could, but alas. They haven’t had any incidents in the years since, at least. Perhaps the barbarians are not so quick to attack a village they presume to be protected by one of our holy champions.” Gideon paused for a second, before asking a question of his own. “And what of your family? I was in Almerra only briefly, but I’m aware that they are nobility at the very least.”
Clara considered the question. It wasn’t about the infernal magic, at least, and her family’s state was no secret. “In name only, in recent years. My grandfather lost our land ages ago - though I’m not sure exactly how, I can only assume he committed some shameful act. My father never spoke of exactly what it was, and I never chose to press the matter. My mother… she came from a family that shared an equal footing with ours before whatever my grandfather did, or so I’m told. She was only betrothed to my father when that disgrace happened, but her own family cut contact with her when she insisted on marrying him despite the fall in status. Illness claimed her when I was but a child, however, so I… never really knew her.”
Gideon was silent for a moment, but he moved to make the sign of the angel’s wings across his breast. Clara had never really spoken at length about her family before, but its history was preferable to talking about her own recent events. Her choices had stripped her of everything she thought she could rely on, and she still wasn’t sure how deeply the magic had affected her soul - though it had marked her physically, she thought, looking at her fingers. The burns from the poorly cast spell had stopped hurting, but they had resolved into blackened scars on her fingertips, shot through with faintly smoldering orange tendrils. No one could mistake that for anything but the sign of demonic magic, she thought. It wasn’t particularly noticeable at a glance, at least.
The two travelers were quiet for a time, keeping to their own thoughts as they walked down the road. Minutes stretched into hours, and Clara could see the gathered clouds in the sky darkening. Gideon looked up at them, and Clara saw him scowl. “That will mean rain. I don’t think we’ll be making the village today, but we should be able to reach the inn at the very least. Let’s press on.”
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It started raining before they reached the inn. It wasn’t exactly a downpour, but it made the road harder to traverse and limited their visibility. Clara was thankful for the new clothes she had been given, and pulled the hood of her traveling cloak up. It kept her dry well enough, and she was still surprisingly warm by the time the inn came in sight through the rain. Her imp retreated into her rucksack without needing to be commanded.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
It was a small building, only a single story tall; Clara supposed she couldn’t really expect much more from the average roadside inn. It had a sign out front, likely denoting the establishment’s name with some colourful picture, but the rain obscured it, and Clara didn’t linger to try and discern the sign’s contents. Gideon pushed the front door open, and warm light spilled out from within. A hefty man stood behind a counter in the inn’s small common room, and he looked up as the two travelers slipped inside and closed the door behind them, shutting the cold and the sound of the rain out.
“Rough day, aye? Expect you’ll be wanting a room, and some warm food too.”
Gideon stepped up to the counter. “We’re looking for both, thank you.”
The innkeeper eyed Gideon’s holy symbol, then looked up at his face, apparently recognizing the Paladin. “Sir Gideon! Been a while since you’ve stopped by. Well, we’ve only one of the former, though I can have a second bed hauled into the room. Sorry we can’t offer better to one of the Church’s finest.”
Gideon waved him down. “It’s fine, Berolt; any room is a welcome respite from the rain. Now, you mentioned warm food?”
“Of course. Only the finest for a Paladin and his companion.”
Clara and Gideon were seated at one of the few tables the inn’s common room had, and the innkeeper disappeared into a back room. There was another group sitting on the opposite side of the common room, and they seemed to be playing some sort of game with dice. After a few minutes, a young woman with similar features to the innkeeper exited the back room, carrying a tray with two wooden bowls, two mugs, and a loaf of bread. She set the tray down and retreated back into what was presumably the inn’s kitchen.
The food was simple fare, heavy stew and fresh bread, but Clara was thankful for the simple fact that it was hot. They ate in silence, and when they finished Berolt showed them down the hall to their room. It was, as Clara expected, nothing special, but she was quickly growing used to sleeping in places she would have never considered before. She wondered if she was ever going to sleep in her own room back at home again.
Gideon sat down on the edge of one of the beds and looked up at Clara. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“Go ahead,” she responded warily.
“Why is it that you use the sorcery of demons?” Gideon asked.
Clara sighed as she stood in the doorway. She had expected a question like this while they were on the road, and she still didn’t want to dwell on what she had done. She supposed that she trusted the Paladin, but to the extent that she didn’t expect him to suddenly turn her in to the Church, not as a confidante. But Gideon was her easiest ticket to the capital, and maybe he would appreciate some honesty.
“I have been trying to learn magic. Any magic,” she replied.
“And why not something less sinister, such as wizards use?”
“I tried,” she said simply.
Gideon seemed to expect more of a response, as he waited for a few seconds before speaking again.
“Is there a reason you seek magic so eagerly?”
“Does it matter, Paladin?” Clara snapped at him. “I don’t see why you’re so interested.”
He persisted, though. “I told you back in Rymoor - I want to understand why someone would do what you have done, yet still seem to be a decent person.”
Clara let out another sigh. “And like I told you on the road, my family is falling apart, Paladin. My entire life, I have been powerless to stop it from happening. I sought magic to change that, and I tried for years to learn the secrets of the arcane. I couldn’t afford to attend a school, so I scrounged and scraped for the barest scraps of lore that I could find.” Her voice was steadily rising.
“One day, after so long, I was given an opportunity. That opportunity happened to be infernal in nature, but I took it anyway. After so many years, I was tired of feeling unable to do anything.” Her fingers clenched around the wood of the doorway.
“I wanted to use this magic to help my family, regardless of its origin. It was going to save them, Paladin. Do you know what my father did when he found out? He banished me. He told the Church I was a witch. All I wanted to do was help, and they cast. Me. Out.” Clara’s voice had become a shout by the time she finished. The wood beneath her fingers was smoking and blacked, power surging through her to mirror her emotions. She reined it in, and her voice wavered.
“They’re still my family, though. I will still do whatever I can to aid them, even if they never accept me. That is why I use this infernal sorcery, paladin.”
Gideon had flinched back, surprised at the sudden outburst.
Clara turned away and stalked out of the room. The conversation had exhausted her, and she no longer wished to be around the Church’s lackey.
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Clara struggled to walk, rather than storm, back into the common room. She would have preferred to go outside - put some more distance between her and Gideon - but the rain didn’t show any sign of letting up. The group was still playing dice in the corner, and Berolt was sitting at the table with them. If any of them had heard her outburst from down the hall, they showed no signs of it.
She hadn’t expected herself to lash out that way. But she had been on the move for days, hunted and chased, and had barely had time to sit down and reflect on what had happened to her. The Paladin had forcefully drawn her thoughts out with his prodding, and she hadn’t had time to realize just how angry she was at her father, how helpless she felt about the situation, and the myriad other emotions she was experiencing.
Clara sat down at a table, trying to calm herself. She took her tome out and, after a wary glance around the room, started reading. It took her mind off the Paladin and - despite how closely related to it the book was - her current situation.
Clara wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but at some point she was pulled out of her reading when the inn’s front door crashed open, and a group of hooded - and armed, Clara noted as she saw the swords on their belts - men streamed into the common room, looking around. Berolt had looked up in surprise at the noise, and the leader of the bunch swaggered over to him.
“We’re here to collect, Berolt. And me and the boys are gonna need a place to stay tonight.”
“You’re days too early - and all of my rooms are taken by paying guests. You’ll need to find somewhere else.”
“Ain’t nowhere else, you slug. You see that rain outside? Me and the boys ain’t walking another step in that.”
“Well, you’re going to ha-.” Berolt’s protests were cut off by a backhanded blow from the lead man - some sort of bandit, Clara had gathered.
“Look, slug. You don’t talk back to me, alright? You talk back to me, you’re talking back to the King of the Forest, and you know what happens to those who disrespect him.”
“Is there a problem out here?” That voice came from the inn’s hallway. Gideon had walked out while everyone was focused on the conversation between Berolt and the thug. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stepped into the common room.
“Yeah, there’s a bloody problem. This slime here won’t-.” The bandit turned and stopped as he fully registered who he was talking to, taking in the Paladin’s mail armour and holy symbol of the Church. “Well, you know what? There won’t be a problem here if…” The bandit suddenly jerked across the room, drawing the short blade at his hip and trying to lunge at Gideon. The Paladin caught the man by the wrist, wrenching his arm away to force him to drop the weapon, then kicked it away.
“If…?” Gideon let go of the bandit and he stumbled backwards, nursing his bruised wrist.
“Okay, fine. He’s off the hook for now, but he’s going to have to pay eventually,” the bandit declared as he slunk out the door, his gang following him.
“What was that about?” Gideon asked the innkeeper as he picked the short sword up off the ground, inspecting its blade and grimacing.
“Some new group of bandits,” Berolt replied. “They’ve taken over some ruined castle in the woods, and their leader calls himself ‘The King of the Forest’. He’s been demanding a ‘protection fee’ from the inns and villages around here. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but they’re going to be back eventually, and probably angry.”
“Unless we take care of them,” Gideon said, placing the blade on the inn’s counter.
“I should warn you, Sir Gideon, these are no ordinary bandits. I haven’t seen it myself, but I’ve heard that they’re supported by some sort of powerful enforcer. A group of adventurers went to put an end to them a week or so back - no one has heard from them since.”
“I’m no simple adventurer. These sorts of things are what Paladins are trained to deal with. You don’t mind taking a bit of a detour, do you, Clara?”
Clara started, surprised to be addressed. The innkeeper looked at her and the Paladin hopefully. “It would be out of our way… But I suppose it can’t hurt us,” she finished when she saw Berolt’s expression shift towards dejected.
“Great,” Gideon replied. “We should start tracking them soon; I don’t want to lose them in the rain.”
“Tonight, you mean?”
Gideon nodded.
Clara wanted to protest, but she couldn’t think of a good reason beyond wanting to rest - though it wasn’t particularly late, the rain made it feel further into the night than it actually was. She sighed and stood up, stowing her tome away, then grabbed the short sword off of the counter. “I should be able to to use this to follow them. We won’t need to rely on physical tracks.”
Gideon nodded again and stepped out the door, back into the rain. After a moment’s hesitation, Clara followed him.