25th day of Breezedays, eleventh month of the year, 983

  “We have continued this back and forth for too long, high paladin. Cease this foolish endeavour already! You are acting like the minor paladins of the order. Without wisdom nor thinking about the large picture.” Adelene, bishop of the Cult of Elenia, sighed while caressing her forehead. A fifty years old foreigner from the central provinces, her looks were that of a southerner. Light brown eyes, hair braided in an exceedingly complex manner, and a snobbish way of speaking. “Remember your position. You should be a beacon of reason for our ranks, Sorak. Do not let yourself fall to barbarian behaviours.”

  Sorak clicked her tongue, doing her best for it to not be heard. “As much as I dislike having to reopen the discussion, Bishop, our church has been far too tolerant of our regent. While the status quo is stable, that doesn’t mean we should not strive for a better reality. Why wait for change when we can better it ourselves?” Sorak did her best to not glare around. The several statues, decorations and pieces of art always caused her claustrophobia. How much money had been spent on plain decorations and luxuries never used? Were silver idols more important than acting as their faith mandated?

  “You may be right but change should never come from bloody revolutions. Reformation is, was, and will be the way of our church, the way of our Goddess of Protection and Compassion. If a change can come without damage in time, why rush it? If patience can prevent unnecessary deaths, to act wouldn’t be the same as to murder those who would not have died?” Adelene turned towards a painting of a silent hallway. “Conflict is as senseless as swords in the society we strive to become. And, despite your lack of patience, the matter has already been dealt with, hasn’t it? Why try a foolish coup when the regency will end in due time? Or do you think yourself capable of preventing all the destruction a succession war could provoke?”

  “And what of the people who would have been saved if we had acted sooner? What should I tell to the families who lost dads, sons, under the pursuit of a fake justice we could have fixed? That their deaths were mandatory to achieve peace? They will never find it now.”

  “You are nearing heresy, high paladin Sorak with a surname no more.” Warned Adelene. The entourage of her paladins turned towards Sorak, while Sorak’s turned towards them. Yet they had no right to speak, so they stayed quiet. “Probe the frozen lake one too many times and it shall crack under your feet. I request of you, do not test me more.”

  “Bishop, I still will demand to be heard. What has the regent done for this barony? The Heiress has achieved dozens of accomplishments. Fairer guards, a new military, renewed trade deals with the outside. Why do you still support an iron fist?”

  Her gaze turned into a glare. “Oh, so those are accomplishments? Then, pray tell me, what is fueling the city with cheap wood, filling our homes with warmth? What does it mean for the millers to be working at full time, using our overabundance of grain? Under what legal code the guards act? How then, are the poor educated in the free literacy classes of the Library? The free, public baths? The sewer system? The rebuilding of the slums? What good are achievements that do not help the people, paladin? What good does a military or trade deals do? You speak of political manoeuvring and disregard the meaning behind it.”

  Sorak clenched her fist, not knowing what to answer first. Thanks to that, she lost the initiative.

  “I know what you are going today already.” Waved the bishop. “And I will admit that we have lost things. Our power and standing is not what it was. The city is devoid of prayers, unlike before. But everything has a price. If you ask any peasant if they would rather die in fear or die of hunger or cold, most would choose the first option. If you ask them about the regent, most will say that he does his work as a ruler, unlike the past baroness. But, if you ask the rich and wealthy, the merchants and landowners, they will say the regent is a terror, a criminal and an evil presence unlike the past baroness.” She sighed again. “Sorak, our world is unlike what our Holy Scriptures want it to be. Idealism without a firm grip on reality will end in travesty, for evil and good are two faces of the same coin. And, more often than not, they are both applicable to individual things from different perspectives.”

  “Yet that does not change the fact that the regent is a tyrant, bishop.” Unrelenting, Sorak continued.

  “The same could be said about the bishop before me, for she had supported both the assassination and the coup and posterior revolt. Our punishment, unlike the one you would impart, was the rescission of our tithe of the lands here, but letting us collect donations. Not extermination, unlike the other churches. Their buildings were repurposed, turned into guilds of the barony. But arguing with you is needlessly adding more into my workload, Sorak. You burn my time, for you won’t see reason, not even in pragmatism. You lot are dismissed. I refuse to let you bore me.”

  One of the paladins behind Sorak stepped forward and kneeled. “Your Excellency, if I may be…”

  Adelene glared at him. “I said dismissed, paladin.”

  “My apologies, your excellency.” Raising, he quickly retreated to his position behind Sorak. Having waited for him, Sorak gave the order to leave the church, struggling to repress the desire to tear the gold and silver statues.

  Biting her lips, she stopped by force any curse that could have left her lips as they crossed the lavish hallways. ‘As passive as the growth of her riches. I could sooner talk a rock into moving than explain to her that the sky is blue.’ Her pace slowly increased, for luxury was ever present in a big cult as theirs. The only last cult of the city to be precise. ‘Places of worship of Elenia, of our values of compassion. Do we really embody them when an arrogant megalomaniac beats us on helping the poor?’ If anything, the punishment faced by the church had revealed that their old taxes had been plain unnecessary. Donations alone gave them enough to thrive and even hoard resources. ‘How many had frozen because we had taken from them?’

  “If I may, high paladin.” Started Jimo, the one who had kneeled before and escorted her for the past months. “What will our course be? If this keeps up, we could end up excommunicated.”

  “If these past and exhausting weeks have teached me anything, it is that the church will refuse to do anything at all. I doubt that case in particular will happen, but I do not know how to progress.” Lacking both patience and finesse, Sorak had chosen to duel the bishop with words alone. She had failed.

  “Maybe we should…give up?” Muttered Jetlo, second paladin of her entourage, as he scratched old scars caused by shackles. “I do believe your efforts have bettered the barony. And maybe that is enough? Adelene could be right. Maybe waiting and seeing would be a prudent choice.”

  “Yet it was thanks to the soon to be baroness, not to time.” Her words lacked the usual volume and force. She was not as delusional as to not know all of their moves had been made possible because Noct had either let them or outright given them the victories. Sighing, her hand grabbed her hilt. Each day was harder to maintain her spirit. Year by year, she had seen herself slowly moulding her ideals, changing them to get smaller and smaller victories. It was pathetic. Those very same dreams that had caused her to be expelled from her family were not withstanding the test of time, of defeat. Of reality. She had failed them.

  ‘“She lacks both the skills and peace of mind to rule.” Said her mother. “While it may desprestige us, she only has left the path of sons. A warrior’s path.”’ She shook her head. Casting that old memory aside, she decided to postpone the problem. She had grown dangerously skilled on that front.

  “I will go to pray. Maybe I will get blessed with some new ideas. You are disbanded, men.”

  “Yes, high paladin!” The thump of gauntlets against plate renewed her spirits.

  ……………….

  On her way to the training grounds of the castle, available to all military orders of all cults if they helped with the training, Sorak met Andras in the middle ring of the city.

  Noticing her, Andras walked towards her with a half smile. “High Paladin Sorak, it is always a pleasure to see you. How's today treating you?”

  “High commander Andras.” A curt but fond nod. The amiability of the old warrior already numbing her edge, she added, “Like a kicking ball. Yours? How’s the training?”

  Andras rolled his eyes and exaggerated a sigh. “High paladin, I am off duty. Please, do not remind me of my work.”

  “And I am not?”

  Andras laughed at that. “You never are. It’s one of your personal traits. I have come to believe you are unable to.”

  Sorak glared at him. “Still, has the training been rough, sir?”

  A theatrical wave. “The usual. Amateurs tend to repeat the same errors and it is starting to get very tiring.” He sighed, showing real exhaustion. Changing the topic, his half smile returned. “Where were you questing towards, young paladin?”

  A small grin forming, Sorak kept her polite tone. “To the training grounds, high commander. Could I ask for your instruction, if you are not too preoccupied?”

  Andras’ eyes betrayed his enjoyment as he faked a defeated look. “And like that you have lost me, paladin.”

  Sorak let out a laugh, her mood lightening. “Jokes aside, it is as I have told you. I would also appreciate a duelling partner. I fear I am getting rusty after all the bloated politics I have involved myself in.”

  “We will see, we will see.” Nodding a bit, his eyes turned serious, “Is the church being difficult?”

  Sorak grimaced. “Impossible is a better word. But, as you have said, time between friends should be free of terrenal blunders. You up for a beating, old man, or should I take you as a coward?” Her gaze found the hilt of Andras’ new sword, causing a joke unlike a paladin of her position. “You sold your kid for that sword? Beautiful but functional.” It was a piece of art that pulled at her heart strings, as its Elenia aesthetics were of her taste.

  “As if!” Andras waved his hand dismissively. “It was an old gift from an old friend. Never got around using it that much, ran out of work and the more, y’know? You could say that I forgot about it.” Lying to paladin’s was mostly impossible, as they could tell truth from lie. Still, that left half truths and omissions as options, things Andras had had to use while in the military.

  Sorak gulped, greedy eyes locking in the blade. “Still, could you present me the smith?”

  Andras smirked, “Oh, but I believe you have already met?”

  The walk towards the castle was a loop of small talk as Sorak returned to that same question, causing Andras to continually dodge around the issue. Nevertheless, this back and forth ended once they reached the training grounds, where a wannabe delusion against which they could not have prepared awaited them.

  “Again.” Lectured Noct in a calm voice to the soldier who had recovered her weapon. “Never let go of your weapon if you are not willing to die or run away.”

  The learner, a young woman, answered in grunts, trying to parry and block an obscure storm of unpredictable strikes. Backsteps, slides, ripostes, she was doing all humanly possible to hold her own. Nevertheless, she continued to lose ground, only managing to hold onto her balance by sheer experience.

  Yet the lessons came undisturbed. “Footing.” A parry, and a dodge. “The grip.” A block and a stab. “Follow my movements, not my weapon.” That simple last word was the prelude to a feint and a swiping kick, managing to knock down the soldier. Calm and collected, Noct stared at the tired soldier to be. “Again. I won’t run out of healing magic if that is what’s holding you back.”

  Gasping for air, Samil moved some of the red hair that had fallen onto her face. “So…sorry.”

  She was the perfect representation of exhaustion. Her toned and strong build was covered in dirt, snow, bruises and sweat. Her shivers were from both cold and drained strength. Her dark blue eyes were reddened thanks to the meddling of the environment. Unable to stand, she sat on the frozen ground, layered with bouts of snow.

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  Noct, dressed in training gear and his breathing as stable as always, sighed. “Do not be. You are performing well above my expectations. And that only brings problems, for it makes me want to push you harder.”

  Samil scoffed. “If I am that well performing, why haven’t I hit you yet?”

  Noct crouched to be at the same height and glared at her. “As I said before, what you lack is experience. Three days are not experience.” His gaze softened and he sighed. “If it serves of consolation to you, you are doing way better than me in my earl…” Noct detected the newcomers and roused to his feet. His eyes fixed on Sorak, he said not a word

  Andras enormous smile due to seeing the old Noct dwindled, noticing the spiking aggressiveness of both warriors. Sorak’s feet were already in a fighting stance, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

  Samil, seeing the dangerous atmosphere, eyes both of them. “Regent?”

  Seeing Noct stand by and not attacking caused Andras to let out a laugh disarming, by surprise, Sorak, who turned towards him.

  “Something funny, High Commander?” Noct’s flare fell now on him. Andras opened his mouth to answer but Noct’s words cut him. “It does not matter.” His eyes turned to Sorak. “I told you to come back with an army. I do not see it.”

  Sorak clenched her sword, debating whether to unsheath it and make her last stand here.

  Tired of her already, but never letting his attention deviate from her, he gestured to Andras with his head. “What brings you both here, High Commander?” Samil, knowing the training was called off, got out of the ground and switched sides, situating herself next to her father.

  “Well,...” Tried to start Andras before Sorak interrupted him.

  “I came here to request the High Commander for a bout. Yet, I fear I am asking too much of an already overworked man. If I could be as bold as to ask, would you be my training partner, regent?” Sorak’s eyes were as friendly as an assassin in the dark, their glint as sharp as a dagger.

  “I could be bothered, yes.” Trashing the paladin and dragging her along the dirty garden ground would certainly brighten his mood.

  “High Commander?” Asked both at the same time.

  Andras cursed under his breath. ‘I will be lucky if I only miss the exercise.’ “Yes, yes. I will administer the duel. Bunch of barbarians, the two of you.’ He mumbled while shaking his head. A few nearby soldiers started to spectate from far away.

  Sorak tugged the shield of her back, putting it into position on his left hand. A typical tear shield, it had been modified to allow for a better position, parallel to the arm. A reinforced end added to its intended use as another weapon. Her shortsword was next and, with little fanfare, she readied herself on her side. Her will shining through, her blade ignited in blue flames.

  Noct was going to unsheathe his sword before sighing. Acting as a mage, he activated specific spell circles over the armour plates of both his arms and his gauntlets. The metal turned into liquid, changing structures and adding more metal into his arms. His gauntlets’ claws turned sharper, longer and more resistant, a design inspired by the wolfmen of the Neverending forest. Clenching and unclenching, he nodded. The rest of the spell circles lit up. He was ready.

  “Not your sword?” Asked Sorak.

  “I cannot blunt it.” Simply answered Noct.

  It being not a lie, she nodded.

  Andras, tired enough already and with the rest of the day still up to enjoy, gave his permission. “Start!”

  Sorak started with a controlled dash. Reinforcing her body with her faith, her muscles bulged, ready for the fight. Shield first, she was already ready to feint an attack with her sword and hit with her characteristic shield bash, planning to hit with the pointed side of her shield, and that could produce grave internal bleeding as it stabbed, causing bruises through armour.

  Noct had crouched down. His feet firmly on the ground, he looked ready to pounce onto the charging paladin. Yet he did nothing when he came into range of Sorak’s sword. Her feint, which had already been read, flew a few centimetres before Sorak noticed Noct was not reacting. Changing her plan, she turned her feint into a slash, trying to cut into Noct’s shoulder.

  Having waited for that, Noct finally jumped, colliding shoulder first with Sorak. The sword rattled, unable to penetrate the armour. The shield was buried beneath Noct’s charge and Sorak grunted, being pushed a few metres backwards. Weakened by the pain, she was unable to react and a headbut broke her nose. Moving by instinct, she tried to counterattack with a stab towards the centre of mass. Yet her vision catched Noct dodging that by jumping three metres into the air. Back on her track, she quickly raised her shield, blocking a kick from Noct that dented the shield and helped him jump over her.

  Landing, Noct was the first to turn, launching himself against a now shielded Sorak. Batting away the sword with a slap, he punched through the shield and grabbed the now weakened shield by the inside. Her posture weakened, she tried a feint, a pommel strike Noct’s head. He raised his right arm to grab hers, only for her to change the target and hit his clavicle. The crack of bone resounded on the training grounds, making both Andras and Samil cringe. Yet Noct smirked and, unmoving to the pain, grabbed her right arm, claws tearing into the armour and flesh. A tug of war commenced between the two, both trying to wrestle control over the shield and her shortsword.

  Less of a duel, it looked more like a rabid bar fight that had gotten out of control. Still, Sorak didn’t wait for her slow win, hard kicking Noct in the knee, breaking it and causing him to fall into a kneeling position. That manoeuvre cost her her equilibrium, letting Noct gain control over the shield, which he promptly discarded to the side as a ravaged piece of wood and metal. In response, Sorak punched him in the face, her weakened arm not being able to do that much damage, and tried to, instead of punishing, retreat with her sword. If she managed to distance herself, the duel was hers, as Noct would be in no condition to win. The struggle restarted, even if it was never in doubt who would win. Sorak slowly pulled her arm away from Noct’s grip, her blood causing his hand to slip, letting her recover her arm in a strong motion.

  Noct, as if weighed by no injury, jumped to that fabricated opportunity. Returning to his feet as fast as a coiled snake, he punched both the pommel of her sword and her hand with such force that it flew out of her grip, falling far away behind. Fully disarmed, with no weapon to which materialise her faith, readied her fist, not willing to give the duel away. Glaring at her opponent, she repressed a shiver.

  Noct, face tainted in blood, was smiling maniacally, looking full of energy. Not showing any hesitation, he returned his clawed gauntlets into his usual ones and, ignoring his broken knee, punched her right in the abdomen. Welcoming the enthusiasm, she answered with a knee to his guts. Both lost themselves to the chaotic fist fight. Noct slowly gained the advantage, thanks to his higher speed and his ability to not feel pain that let him tire the stronger paladin.

  Tanking a final punch to her face, Sorak dropped to the ground, no longer able to keep going. A disappointed Andras sighed next to a both impressed and appalled Samil. “Are you happy after winning your bar fight, regent?”

  Noct spat a tooth bathed in blood together with its bath contents. “Very, High Commander.” His wide smile stood as he turned towards Sorak and, standing above her, he added. “Was this the training you wanted, high palagin?”

  “Why would you disarm yourself, bastard? Wanting to make light of me using any and all opportunities?” Hissed Sorak. Energy spent, she had no way to vent her ire. Nor fear, as she had not the energy to stand up.

  “Training? What sort of training would have me not levelling myself to your capabilities, high paladin?” He crouched, wounds healing thanks to the spells in his armour. “I can read your reckless moves like a book, Sorak. Why in the nethers would I want to stomp such an easy duel when it is for training purposes?”

  “Jester.” Sorak snarled. Her hate went both ways, as Noct smirked and, returning to his standing position, stepped on her left arm until he heard a crack. Sorak smirked, not giving him the satisfaction of a scream. Andras paled and he held her daughter in her place.

  “So I am the fool, huh. Not you, the one working under a corrupt bishop? What weird rules you live under, paladin. Only you can insult others. Only you can be right. Only you can be just. I would like to believe your shoulders weigh under that enormous amount of hypocrisy, but I see you are well built. I will save my prayers.”

  “To hear the regent speaking of hypocrisy. If my shoulders hurt, your back must be broken.” Grabbing his leg, her hand was set aflame. She tried, and failed, to melt his armour. She willingly ignored the two truths she had detected from him

  “Your faith is as weak as your excuses. Not surprising, as both are one and the same.” His job done, he kicked Sorak’s hand and turned his back to her,

  “And yours aren’t?” She roared. Her legs slowly healing thanks to her faith, she slowly got on her feet. Her shortsword too far, she reignited her hand into an inferno.

  Noct eyed the surroundings, noticing several soldiers whispering between themselves. His hand went to the hilt, dying to unsheathe his sword as he turned around. “I do believe I have been ample lenient, paladin. But do not presume infinite patience from me.”

  “Lenient?! Y…” She stopped in her tracks and glared at him. He had lied twice. And the bishop…?

  “Stop.” Ordered Andras in a loud whisper, ready for combat. Samil, right behind him, was also ready. “I will join the fight against the one who utters another grievance. For Gods’ sake, keep your spats to more private spaces.” Growled Andras. What they least needed right now was for the two groups of spectators to join in the fray too.

  Noct also gazed at the men at arms, some with the swords already out. Nevertheless, his glare returned to Sorak, making his hate flare up again. It could be so easy. He even had allies. Murder the injured paladin, purge the unloyal soldiers, restore order to his castle…His hand left the handle. “I will repeat myself today, paladin. Come back with an army or do not.” His glare turned towards Andras and, wordlessly, he entered the castle.

  “Your intervention is…welcomed. I may have let my impulses get the better of me.” Sorak apologised, letting out a sigh.

  Andras looked at her and shook his head.

  Samil, on the other hand, was replaying the terrifying duel the two of them had had. Her pride was gone, replaced by the certainty of knowing she would have died today if the outcome of this conversation had been different. She lacked everything and that had been a fist fight. She shuddered

  The hand of her father fell on her shoulder and, with a warm smile, reassured her. “You doin’ great, sweetie, those are just monsters. Two blockheads who could charge a bull and come on top.”

  ………….

  “I have excellent news for you, Sorak.” Started Soral. “I thank you for coming here tonight. I know the situation is far from…well, from everything but I have important information to give you today.”

  Sorak nodded, her gaze never exploring Soral’s room. All her instincts screamed to her that the castle was not a safe place. She could have sworn that the shadows were observing her, taunting her. If she didn’t know she was paranoid she would be pointing at the two red points that were glaring at her from a corner. Her right hand grabbed her sacred symbol out of habit. It had been long since she had felt this repulsed. Since the last undead she had felled she thought.

  Noticing her unease, Soral swallowed hers. Getting out of the chair of her desk, she handed Sorak a few documents. “I have recently found these documents, detailing all of the agreements and deals under the table of the bishop. Proof of her conspiring against my mother, fighting with the rebels and giving them financial support. All just to turn this barony into a diocese of Elenia.”

  That shook Sorak out of her fear. “How…how did you find these?” Her eyes scanned the papers, not willing to believe this level of corruption.

  “They happened to find their way to me. I don’t think, taking into account your position and work ethic, that you would want to know the specifics.” Dodged Soral, sitting back down.

  Sorak turned to her, not detecting any lies, and nodded.

  “Can I trust you with this? If you are able to unify the church under me, this spring we will be able to put our plans into motion. The merchants and farmers are with us. The army will be loyal. The only problem is y…the church of Elenia.” Soral didn’t let her doubts show in her face. Maybe choosing Sorak had been a bad idea.

  Sorak did her best to not jump at the increased intensity of those two eyes. She turned her head and they weren’t there. “Yes…Yes!” Snapping back to Sorak, she nodded and hit her chest with her gauntlet.

  Soral frowned a bit, seeing her more uneasy. “And, even if this does not work out, I doubt they would not support me. They have no other choice.”

  “You can trust me, my lady.”

  Soral gave her a smile and she left.

  Her gaze investigating every corner and shadow of the passages, she cursed. What would she give to recover her unbending rage from the first time she had faced tyranny. The flame of her old idealism had been burning a long time, and little remained of that candle. Adelene too? She may have never agreed with the woman, but she believed her to be pious. Her flame had always dazzled her. And it had been a lie.

  Yet, could faith burn so bright after such depravities? Had these been forged? Didn’t their, hers, Holy Scriptures dictate how a paladin gained and lost their powers? She stopped on her tracks, turning to look around. Were her powers, the powers of the church, a farce of compassion, of protection? She shook her head and restarted her walk.

  Her truths kept showing as lies, and the lies spread around her kept coming up as truths. She cursed out loud. Now, how could she blame the regent from dispensing his own justice when the judges of the barony were Adelene’s? What right did she have to moral superiority when she and the church had rejected theirs by their wills alone?

  ‘The only real thing in this barony are the gold idols in the church. The riches, the invaluable art pieces. The ostentatious and lavish meals and rooms. Not the work. Not the ideals. Not the faith.’ It was a sharp comparison. An empty, desolate castle and a shining and golden building. A reality of humbleness against another of excess. She crossed a window and was able to see the new outer ring from here. Real change. Made by a bastard with no other explanation than because he had wanted to. A betterment they could have also made. That they should have done. That their belief system obligated them to want to do.

  Her grip tightened around the documents. She unsheathed her sword and willed the flames out. Blue light dispelled the shadows. She breathed out, letting her faith in her goddess pour onto it. The metal turned red, yellow, white. It fell with a splat to the ground, yet the fires remained. Highly unusual for a paladin of her order to manifest her faith in a weapon, she continued to stare at it. It would not right the wrongs but, maybe, she could save her church. Return order, return faith, return compassion to it. The flames increased in intensity. She could just be a common paladin, a dime a dozen, but she would step forward. She would better the world. And she would start tonight. She would never not fight for her ideals.

  …………………………