The piercing cry woke Torrin from his slumber. The dream he had been having was pleasant; finally, a night to relax after the weeks of sleeping on the ground. But now, the muffled cry of an infant was reverberating through the oak door. He sighed. What on earth was a baby doing here?
Slipping into his tunic and donning his sword belt, he quietly opened the door and peered into the hallway. The priests, draped in their customary purple robes, were huddled near the altar at the far end of the main chapel. The crying child was clearly over in that direction as well. Torrin made his way down the aisle of the small church of St. Brigitta, past the few rows of pews. The priests had been kind enough to offer him the spare room for the night; the accommodations were sparse, but certainly better than roughing it on the hard earth. But nobody warned him that being woken by wailing infants would be part of the arrangement.
“What’s happening here? Whose child is this?” Torrin directed his questions to no one priest in particular.
The head priest, Godfrey Bawden, turned to him and gave a quick, forced smile, framed by his dark beard. “This...child...was left on the front steps of the church this morning. We are seeing what can be done to remedy the situation.”
“Remedy what situation, exactly? Don’t tell me you’re trying to produce milk...”
The priest ignored the jab. “The child is...afflicted. She is...well, see for yourself.” The other priests parted to make some room for Torrin, which revealed a small bundle laid on the altar. Carefully, the head priest peeled back the blanket wrapped around the child’s small figure.
It was the colour that first caught Torrin’s attention. The child’s skin was a strange lavender colour, as if she had come packed in a crate of blueberries. The next most obvious features, however, were the small but unmistakable horns protruding from the infant’s forehead. They were a dull brown, less than a half-inch, but slightly curved backward. As Torrin leaned over, staring at the curious sight, the child opened her eyes for a moment, and two brilliantly violet eyes suddenly stared back at him. The crying subsided for a moment.
The priest continued. “As you see, the child has been cursed. No doubt her parents were speculating in some devil’s magic, or made some deal with an evil fiend. Her grotesque figure is clearly the work of some dark heritage. We have been beseeching Sunell for her mercy, to cleanse this child of its foulness, but it seems Sunell has not elected to provide her favour.”
Torrin was not much of a religious man. He respected those who were, but he never put much faith in the gods, who seemed distant and capricious. Who was Sunell to give or withhold favour? Why must we put our trust in such a god? But one thing Torrin instantly knew, with the speed of a bolt of lightning—this child was no monstrosity. There was nothing grotesque or foul about her. Just the soft, innocent eyes of a child. A child currently surrounded by strange men deciding her fate.
“What is to become of her, then? If Sunell has not shown mercy, then what?” Torrin asked, his eyes still fixed on the child’s.
“Well, we shall send her to the Night Sisters. They will show their own mercy, after a fashion, and release the child’s soul from this vile body, into the grace of the gods.”
At this, Torrin recoiled, and in a single fluid motion, took one step back and immediately drew his sword from his scabbard. “You will do no such thing.” His voice became daggers of ice.
“Sheathe your sword—you are in a holy place!” the priest hissed in return. “This child was given into our protection, and you are but a guest under our roof!”
Torrin’s eyes flashed with fire. “Aye, but your guest is Torrin Reis, knight-errant of the Banner of the Silver Lake. I am bound by my oath to the Code of Valour, and am sworn to protect the weak and the innocent! You would sentence a helpless child to death, but I will defend her with mine own life if need be. Fools that you are! You chant your empty prayers to your goddess for mercy, but perhaps Sunell herself sent me here, at this moment, to be the living instrument of her mercy. Your charity may have run dry, but mine still flows for this girl. So you will hand her to me—now.”
The priest stared hard into Torrin’s eyes for a moment, and then another. In them he saw nothing but firm conviction. There was no doubt he would slaughter a church full of unarmed priests if it came to it. The priest chose his words very carefully. “Very well. Know that the creature you guard is the product of evil, but perhaps such evil runs in your veins also. There will be no bloodshed in this place; I will not have it. If you must prevent us from doing our duty, then take the child and leave. Immediately. You are no longer welcome here.”
Torrin stepped forward, his eyes still locked on the priest’s, and without a word, carefully lifted the child and backed away.
---
He had been travelling for weeks now. Upon leaving the tiny church far west of New Cresthill, he had crossed through to Greymeadow, and then down the long road to Clareview. There, he had stopped in to talk to a friend, Bertol, to get advice about what to do with his new charge. The life of a knight-errant didn’t afford much room for child-rearing. Bertol had advised him of a small enclave of tieflings over in Goldcrest. It was nearly a 10-day journey, but it seemed his best chance to find a place to keep Taina safe.
Not knowing what to call her, he had named her Taina, “the star of mystery.” It seemed as fitting a name as any. Her lavender eyes twinkled like the stars. Whatever her heritage, Torrin was thankful that she slept well. He still had many sleepless nights, and had spent more money on cow’s milk than he had ever had before, but at least most nights she slept well, even out on the road. At nights, he did his best to arrange the blankets so she was off the hard ground. He kept her away from the sparks of the fire, but close to his body’s warmth.
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If his oath was to protect the helpless, then he would die to protect this small, precious gift.
---
He wandered around the village of Goldcrest for a while, getting the lay of the land. Torrin had never been here before, but it had all the trappings of a village sprung up around a very brief gold rush. It was somehow a mix of wealth and rustic existence. Well-crafted stone buildings stood beside wooden shacks. Ellandrian flags, once bright and vivid, now flew dirty and faded over muddy roads.
He wandered around for a while, but didn’t see anyone that looked like...her. He had fashioned a simple sling to fasten over his shoulder like a sash, to keep Taina close to his chest. It kept his hands free, but more importantly, kept her face shielded to avoid drawing attention—or at least, no more attention than any knight carrying an infant would draw. Finally, he took a chance with a woman who was leaning against the side of the inn, smoking tobacco. She looked indifferent, so he hoped that perhaps she might lack the curiosity that could arise from the questions he was about to ask.
“Excuse me, Miss, I was hoping you could help me.”
She gave him a dull look, idly chewing on her fingernail for a moment before responding. “Yeah, sure, whadd’ya need?”
Torrin cleared his throat. “I’ve heard talk that there were some, hmm, some tiefling individuals in this place. People with horns, tails, that sort of thing. Do you know where they might be?”
She squinted for a moment, probing his face intently. Her eyes took on a more serious look. “That all might depend on what you would be wantin’ ta do with that information. If you’re thinkin’ a swinging that sword around to lop the heads off some devil folk...well, there ain’t no devil folk ’round here. Maybe you ought’a head west, spend your time looking for orcs to fight.”
Torrin took a step closer, gently reaching his hands outward, as if to clarify his intentions. Taina was still nestled in sling on his chest. “No, I think you misunderstand. I’m just looking to speak with them.”
She squinted again, nodding in the direction of the bundle he carried. “You knights goin’ around stealin’ children now? If any of mine were still that young I might say you could have one of ’em, but I ain’t in the business of helpin’ out kidnappers.”
“No, I—” Torrin stopped, sighed, and carefully turned Taina around to face the woman. As he did so, he stepped in close, to avoid the gaze of any other onlookers. He peeled back the cloths enough to show the woman the small horns. “Like I said...I just need to talk to them. I need to keep her safe.”
---
The woman had directed him north, half a mile outside the village. Following the river was not difficult, and sure enough, soon the tents came into view. Despite being tents, they had the trappings of permanent dwellings; sturdy, decorated, lavishly draped with furs and fabric. Many were topped with the skulls and antlers of deer or elk—vaguely menacing, but offset by the pretty baubles and trinkets that decorated every tent flap and fringe.
Outside, several people were milling about, drawing water from the well or chatting with others. As Torrin approached, they stiffened up, alert eyes darting about to detect possible danger. Torrin raised his hand in a friendly gesture, and called out to ask if he could speak to whoever might be in charge. After a brief moment of murmured consultation, one of the tieflings, with bright red skin, horns like a ram, and a long and twisting tail, led him to the most lavish tent. Wind chimes tinkled as the tent flap was opened, and he was led inside.
The woman inside had skin the colour of teal, slender horns like an antelope gently twisting backward. Her face showed the signs of age, kind eyes framed with the sort of wrinkled lines that mark wisdom and discernment. Her ears and nose were gilded with gold rings, and each finger of her right hand, resting on a slender wooden cane, was also so adorned.
She stood, but said nothing. As the tiefling who escorted Torrin into the tent began to speak, she raised a hand for silence, and simply peered at Torrin for a long moment. “Kyris, you bring me a guest, unannounced. What business does he have in this place?”
Kyris stumbled over his words. “I—I am sorry, Valshoon. He arrived unexpectedly, and demanded to speak with you.”
“Demanded, did he?” Her eyes remained on Torrin, fixed and piercing.
Torrin bowed slightly in deference. “I requested to speak with you, Miss Valshoon. I am in need of your help. Weeks ago, I rescued a tiefling child from death at the hands of some priests, and since then I have been travelling to find a safe place for her. I was hoping that this might be her refuge.” He carefully unfastened the sling around him, cradling the girl, and gently unwrapped Taina’s tiny face once more to show the elder.
Gazing at the child, Valshoon’s tired face broke into a smile. “Ahh, you have brought one of the devil’s children to us. That is...kind. You have shown goodness to this child, shown her mercy in a merciless world. Yes, you did right to bring her here. She will be safe with us; on this you have my word.”
As the elder reached out to lift the child from Torrin’s hands, he found himself taking a step back, involuntarily. Valshoon stopped, surprised, but Torrin’s face showed as much surprise as hers. “I—I have travelled for many weeks with this child, and finally, at the last step...” He looked down once more into Taina’s sparkling lavender eyes. “...at the last step, I find myself unable to give her up so easily.”
The woman relaxed, gently placed on hand on Taina’s forehead, and smiled again. “Ahh, yes. The devil’s children can have that effect on people. It is no sorcery. It is...love.”
Torrin found tears welling up in his eyes. Yes, love. That must be it. The violet eyes had enchanted him. He knew he must stay here, with the elder’s permission, and care for Taina, while she grew up among her own people. His oath bound him to protect the innocent, and it was clear in that moment that his task was not yet complete.