Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (7 page)

This is a bad idea.
But his senses thrilled to the prospect of her soft, lovely hands on him. With the towel still wrapped around his waist, he lay down on his stomach on a sun-warmed stone beside the crystal pool, rested his cheek on his folded arms, and closed his eyes.

He heard the light brush of fabric as she rolled up her sleeves, then his eyes widened as he felt her step over him and lower herself to her knees, straddling him.

With a silent gulp, he shut his eyes again, breathless to find out what this strange girl might do to him next.

The warm oil dripped all down his back, and then she set the bottle aside with a soft tap. Then a deep moan escaped him as she began caressing it into his skin.

“Does that feel good?” she purred in amusement.

“What kind of question is that?” he retorted in a mumble, smiling from ear to ear.

She laughed. She had the most entrancing giggle. He wanted to stay here with her forever, this fey enchantress…

He kept his eyes closed and let her do her work.

He sighed with pleasure as her hands glided over his back, smoothing out all the kinks and knots with rhythmic strokes. He knew she was not trying to arouse him, but it wasn’t long before her ministrations had him throbbing and as hard as the rock on which he lay.

He cursed himself. He usually had such perfect control over his desires! But his flesh was so grateful to his beautiful healer that every inch of him wanted to thank her in the most primal fashion.

Stop it
, he ordered himself, to little effect.

Sanctus solis
, this was embarrassing. As her thumbs traveled down the taut cords of muscle alongside his spine, he strove heroically to act normal.

No, not
normal
. A normal knight would’ve probably had her on the ground right now, ravishing her whether she liked it or not, but he was Thaydor.

And while, by his own choice, he did not have very much experience with women, he was acutely aware at all times that he was the standard of chivalry the younger knights aspired to.

Just like he’d promised his mother on her deathbed that he would be when he grew up.

The one who could be counted on to thrash any of the young bucks who behaved in the old, barbaric manner.

So, no. He must not entertain such thoughts. If the Paladin of Ilios, of all men, could not control his lust, then who the hell else would even bother trying?

He was ashamed of what he was feeling right now toward this obviously virtuous young woman. The possibilities running through his mind were anything but honorable.

Either get yourself under control, man, or get the hell out of here now. This isn’t you.

Of course, if he married her, then he could…

“Thaydor?” she murmured, interrupting his silent argument with himself. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Uh, yes?” he rasped as she ended the massage, a fact that caused him a simultaneous pang of denial and a private sigh of relief.

As she went to wash the liniment oil off her hands in the pool, he took a deep breath to try to clear his head and shifted his position to conceal the evidence of his appreciation. His body was thankfully calming down, having let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he was very much alive. And more human than he liked to admit.

He cleared his throat. “What is it, Mistress Wrynne?” he asked, trying to focus and failing when he noticed the fetching shape of her backside as she leaned forward beside the pool and finished washing her hands.

“While you were asleep, I had a dream,” she said. “Or possibly a vision. I’m not sure which.”

“Oh?”

“I dreamed of a man all dressed in black, with black hair and coal-black eyes. He slipped into the gate tower, killed the sentries, and purposely let the Urmugoths into Veraidel.”

He arched a brow.

“The only reason I am telling you this is because he then showed up here, in the flesh. The same man from my dream.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “He came walking up the path calling for you. He seemed like a friend trying to find you, but I sensed a darkness in him. So I hid you and this place with a sanctuary spell.”

He stared at her. “You dreamed of him, and then he appeared?”

She nodded.

“Has this sort of thing ever happened to you before?”

“No. There is one more thing,” she said. “He wore the scarlet insignia of a ram emblazed on his surcoat.”

“Oh!” Relief flooded him. “Don’t worry, that was just Sir Reynulf, then. Sounds like the reinforcements I sent for finally arrived.” He snorted. “A little late, boys. Wonder what took ’em so long.”

“Sir Reynulf?”

“Second in command. The Bloodletter of Xoltheus. Sort of like a paladin, only, well, for the war god,” he said in mild disapproval, leaving her to draw her own conclusions about what that might entail. “Reynulf probably saw the Urmugoth remains down there and wondered what the devil happened to me.”

“So this man is your friend?” She stared intently at him. “Are you sure about that?”

“I don’t know if I’d call him a
friend
. More of a colleague. Acquaintance.” He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”

“Is he capable of doing what my dream showed?”

“Well, tactically, of course. It’s not that difficult. The sentries are common soldiers, and by the middle of the night, anybody’s tired. Plus, their attention is fixed on looking out over the walls, not watching for someone coming up behind them.”

“Devotees of the war god are known for being ruthless,” she said meaningfully.

“Yes, but they’re loyal. The perfect soldiers. For them, virtue consists of victory and following orders, period.”

“Exactly,” she said, still staring at him, seeming to will him to put the pieces together on his own, but he would not.

Not when they made a shape that he stubbornly refused to consider. Reynulf was not what anyone would call a
good
man. He actually rather delighted in being a bit of a bastard, but no one could be that dishonorable. Not someone who had fought by his side many times in the past.

So he just furrowed his brow and shook his head at her obtusely. “What are you trying to say, Wrynne?”

Frustration flashed in her gray eyes. “Very well, since you’re too chivalrous for your own good. I
do
think my dream was real and that this Reynulf
was
following orders. Someone told him to let the Urmugoths in on purpose, knowing you would come, and then held back the reinforcements that you asked for. Don’t you see what this means?”

He just looked at her.

“Thaydor, I think the king is trying to kill you.”

Chapter 4

Grim Work

T
haydor stared at her for a long moment. It wasn’t as though the thought had never occurred to him. He had merely refused to entertain it.

Now that she had spoken it aloud, however, he simultaneously knew deep in his bones that it was true—and still refused to believe it.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Thaydor, it’s one thing to be loyal and another to be willfully blind,” she said, gazing up at him.

“Why would the king want to kill me?” He stirred his finger in the air impatiently, gesturing to her to turn around so he could get dressed.

She did. He let the towel fall and reached for his braies.

“I heard you yelled at him,” she said.

“I never yell. Well, except in battle.”

“He’s a king! You must have said
something
he didn’t like.”

He scoffed at her suggestion. “Do you think in all the years I’ve served His Majesty we’ve never exchanged harsh words before? I’ve never been one to bow and scrape or merely tell him what he wants to hear. Baynard knows that. He doesn’t always like what I have to say, but he knows my opinion is usually valid. He trusts me.”

Her back still to him, she rested her hands on her hips. Waves of her dark, silky hair danced down her back as she shook her head with a long-suffering air.

“Furthermore, I am the Paladin of Ilios,” he clipped out, drawing on his chausses next and angrily lacing them. “I am bound by sacred oath to represent the just might of God upon this Earth. To strike at me—and in such a cowardly fashion!—is as good as a slap in the face to the Almighty himself.”

“I’m not trying to upset you—”

“I’m not upset!” he insisted. “What you’re saying cannot be true, that is all. Not after all I’ve done for him.” He reached for his magically cleaned and mended shirt.

She sighed. “Let me ask you this,” she said, obviously trying another approach. “When you were on your way here, did you hear of the king sending troops to our aid? Did you see any soldiers on the road?”

“No,” he said defensively.

“And the knights that you sent for didn’t come?”

“They were delayed! I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“All right, then,” she said, her patience fraying, “why were you sent away from the court? I’ve heard the gossip, but why don’t you tell me in your own words so we can sort this out.”

“It wasn’t Baynard’s fault.” He scowled at her slender back. “It was because of his new advisor.”

“Aha!” She spun around as he was lacing up the loose V-neck of his shirt.

“Aha, what?” he retorted in amusement.

“Who’s his new advisor?”

“The Lord Hierophant, Eudo Vecbarin, also known as the Silver Sage.” Thaydor curled his lip in disgust. “Ever heard of him?”

“Of course. High priest of the cult of Harmonium, worshippers of the false goddess, Efrena.”

“Right.” Thaydor was heartened but not surprised by her disapproving tone.

There were many religions in Veraidel, but to the followers of Ilios, theirs was the only true one.

The pagans regarded the Creator as the father figure in the pantheon of gods, but stalwart crusaders like Thaydor scoffed at the existence of any other deity. The other so-called gods were silly, made-up delusions, and the vapid cults they spawned were downright unhealthy, in his view.

However, since mercy and tolerance, charity and goodwill to one’s fellow man were all principles of the Light, Ilios did not mind other faiths existing. Every human being had to find the truth for him or herself. So taught the church. Father Ilios was a big enough deity to be patient with his children and much too gentlemanly to force his worship on anyone.

Of course, it was not always easy for people with radically different values and views of the world to get along in society. There was inevitable friction that sometimes came to the surface. But it helped, in Thaydor’s view, that Veraidel—and many other surrounding kingdoms—had long since adopted the Ilian church of the Light as the state religion. It had been the exclusive faith of a long line of Veraidel’s kings, and explained the close alliance between the military arms of church and state.

His own order, for example, the Sons of Might, was aligned with the church, but pledged an oath of fealty to the king. When Thaydor rode into battle for Veraidel, he went with knights of other faiths arrayed around him, and he was glad to have them.

The red knights of Xoltheus, the war god, led by Reynulf, were particularly useful in combat. They were not afraid to die.

Of course, privately, to Thaydor, there was no such thing as Xoltheus. If he existed at all, he was probably a demon masquerading as a god. But Thaydor knew full well it was not his place to say so. In public, the servants of the Light were instructed to treat all men with brotherly respect.

The followers of Ilios were not
so
very virtuous, however, that behind closed doors they never complained or aired their exasperation with all these ridiculous idols their countrymen bowed down to.

The bloodthirsty war cult of Xoltheus, and its sister faith, the sex cult of Fonja.

The gloomy, self-flagellating hermits in the desert, followers of the sorrowing god, Irditay.

The mysterious wizards of Okteus, Lord of Shadows.

And of course, the cynics who believed in nothing at all.

But none were so obnoxious in his view as the condescending followers of Efrena the Silver, hermaphrodite goddess of harmony.

She—or he, on certain feast days—was called “the One” and depicted as a silver mist that symbolized the blurring of the boundaries between good and evil, male and female. She was neither; she was both. Silver or gray were her colors, because to her followers, nothing was ever simply black and white.

Indeed, that they had transcended good and evil was the Harmonists’ most cherished fantasy. The silver cult was terribly popular with philosophers and thinkers like Lord Eudo—those who deemed themselves wiser than the common man and didn’t deal much in the real world.

Thaydor didn’t like them.

As pacifists, they certainly didn’t get their hands dirty fighting wars, and why should they, when, to them, there was no such thing as an enemy?

They “loved” everyone without judgment, even the Urmugoths, whom they claimed were just misunderstood. After all, hadn’t Veraidel once belonged to the Urmugoths before the warlord founders of the kingdom drove them out? Perhaps the Urms had a right to be angry.

Such was the nonsense the Harmonists spouted, Thaydor mused. Sometimes the Harmonists even sent missionaries out to the Urms to see if they could establish some sort of rapport. The fools were usually never heard from again.
Probably served up as supper.
He shook his head. He had often wondered if they regretted their good intentions while they were turning on an Urmugoth spit.

But so be it. They were entitled to their views, however unrealistic. To them, all was good, all was permissible, and if you disapproved of anyone’s behavior, that was merely your biased, small-minded opinion. Those who clung to right and wrong as independent absolutes were merely rigid, backward remnants of a narrow-minded age on the wane.