Paladin

Chapter 27 Part Tres

Never let it be said that Sam didn’t come prepared to do battle. As soon as the Uriel archer had loosed an arrow, the boy ripped his gown to his knees and withdrew three daggers from his garters – good gods, the boy actually wore garters – frilly scraps of white fabric peeking out from beneath his petticoat.

A girl ought to be ashamed of exposing so much leg, and the Uriel men – those who did not know her to be a he – gaped at the sight of pale white calves and ankles. The legs were deceptively feminine, slender, with only the finest coating of hair, so Tristan could understand their mistake.

“What do we do now?” Sam asked Tristan, clearly itching for a fight.  He clutched two daggers in each hand and holstered the third in the tight lacing of his bodice.

“We have no choice. We must fight,” Tristan said grimly, dismounting from the saddle. He couldn’t fight on horseback, not with Sander’s horse tied to his.

Adelard spat on the ground. “You disgust me. You would use an innocent woman to further the Paladins’ ambitions?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And to think I actually liked you.”

“Innocent woman?” said Sam. He shook his daggers at Adelard meaningfully. “Do I look innocent to you? And besides, I’m not a--”

“Sam, shut up,” Tristan ordered. Like always, the boy’s irrepressible mouth betrayed too much.

As Sander had done, Adelard began to laugh, but his laughter lacked real mirth. “Sam of Haywood? Oh, that’s rich.”

Sam edged his horse closer. “Laugh all you want, Uriel, while you still have breath for laughter.”

Adelard took a step forward and held his mace straight out in front of him. “There are ten of us, and three of you. This is a fight you cannot win.” He dropped his mace to his side. “Release Sander and it will be as if this never happened. You’ll go your way, and we’ll go ours.”

“I can’t accept that bargain,” Tristan said, with a touch of regret. He would have happily divorced himself from this Uriel business, but he knew his duty.

“There are two paths you can take to get to the same conclusion,” Adelard said harshly, “but only one way to leave Luca with your lives and dignity intact.”

“I have yet to be bested in combat, by man or beast,” said Tristan. “Perhaps it is your men who should consider turning tail.” He unsheathed his sword, the jet black obsidian of the scimitar’s blade nearly invisible against the dark sky. “Sam, Braeden, weapons at the ready.”

Braeden’s eyes flared with red for the second time that night, the telltale splotch of crimson wetness radiating out from his breast where his knife had found its mark. He jumped down from his horse and stood by Sam’s, one hand on the piebald’s flank and the other hanging down by his hip, a monstrous combination of claw and manmade steel. They as were as ready as they’d ever be.

“On my mark!” shouted Adelard. “Charge!”

Time slowed, the battleground stretching out before Tristan like a game of chess. He and Adelard careered from opposite corners down the same unobstructed path, while the Uriel pawns advanced towards Sam and Braeden. Braeden tore at his clothes and howled in murderous rage. A dagger, cast from Sam’s hand, parted the air in a graceful arc, seeking its fleshy target.

“Stop!”

The power in Sander’s voice could not be ignored, and both the Uriel and Paladins drew to a halt, thrown daggers and fired arrows falling harmlessly to the ground. Gone was the composed, insouciant man who had smirked and joked throughout his own kidnapping. Even hunched over his horse with his hands imprisoned, Sander exuded such authority that no doubt remained that this man could command five thousand men, and more.   

Straightening as best he could given his restraints, Sander said, “That will be all, Adelard. Return without me to the Beyaz Kale and let these men go in peace.”

“Sir!” Adelard exclaimed in protest, his mace still raised above his head.

“I made a promise to these men,” Sander continued, as if Adelard had never spoken. “I promised that neither I nor my men would harm them while they stood on Lucan soil.”

“The circumstances have changed. They assaulted you,” Adelard said. “Surely that releases you from your promise.”

Sander’s mouth hardened. “I will not be made a liar.” He spoke loud enough for all the Uriel to hear. “Nor will I condone human blood shed on my behalf. That is not what we do. That is not who we are. We must remember our purpose always, even when others forget theirs.”

Despite his unwavering loyalty to the Paladins, in that moment, Tristan could not help but believe that this was a man of honor, and that Sander shamed them with his speech. He looked at Sam and Braeden, reading confusion on their faces, and he wondered if they felt as ashamed as he.

With a shout of frustration, Adelard threw his mace to the ground. “So we should do nothing? We should just let them take you gods know where to do gods know what? That is folly, Sander! I can’t allow it.”

Tristan stared at the angry Uriel in disbelief. No one would have spoken to the High Commander with such freedom; no one would dare, not even he.

“Do you still follow my orders, Adelard?” Sander asked, his tone mild.

Adelard bowed his head. “I do, until death, be it yours or mine.” The words were rehearsed.

“Then you will do nothing. You will let them take me,” said Sander. “And you will lead the Uriel in my stead until my return.”

“If you return,” Adelard said bitterly.

“You must have faith in your fellow man. On that you and I have always agreed.” Sander looked to Tristan. “Will you release me, Paladin?”

The Uriel leader’s gaze held a world of expectations, and so Tristan averted his eyes. “I cannot say.”

Sander nodded. “Not yet, then.”

Arrogant man. Tristan owed him nothing and would promise him nothing. “I will do as my High Commander tells me, no more and no less.” He sheathed his sword and returned to the saddle. “By your leave.”

“By his leave, not by mine,” said Adelard. He turned his back to their horses. “Get out of my sight.”

A/N: Super cute drawing of Sam by @SirinyaTips!