Stephan approached the town gate. A bow slung across one shoulder, six pairs of boots bundled up on the other, and two blades hanging from his belt.
The guard’s eyes traced all the pieces of gear, and a shiver ran down his spine at the threat Stephan possessed.
“What are your intentions, m’lord?” he asked, his voice tight with fear.
“A gang of bandits attacked me a few miles away. I couldn’t kill them, so I made life difficult for them, relieving them of their property. I would like to donate these to the temple, if you don’t mind.”
The Sentry’s lip twitched. His duty commanded him to say that he minded quite a bit. After all, his job was to keep armed and dangerous people outside town. But his survival instincts won the brief struggle.
“Just follow the main street; there’s no way to miss it.”
“Will do.” Stephan smiled. “Don’t worry.”
The man obviously worried, but there was nothing Stephan could do about it. A handful of minutes later, he was removing the excess boots and one of the blades he had confiscated.
“That’s one unusual donation,” the young Priest said with a chuckle after getting Stephan’s story. “And keep the dagger; we have no use for it.”
Stephan shrugged and replaced it at his belt.
“I didn’t take their belongings because I wished to rob them, but to ensure they have as much trouble as possible the next time they try to prey on anyone else. And while I’m here, I have one more strange request, if you don’t mind.”
The Priest motioned him to speak.
“Can I sleep here or in the hospice? I’ll make a separate donation. And before you ask, yes, I know inns exist, yes, I know the hospice isn’t an inn, and no, I don’t particularly enjoy lodging in inns, not even in the private rooms.” He wouldn’t have minded before he had become the Paladin. Or not as much. But after sleeping in a suite fit for the Marshal of the East, with all associated servants and hygiene, Stephan had no intention of sharing a bed with an assortment of vermin.
“Sure, I don’t mind.” The Priest seemed considerably less shocked than some others. “But you’ll still have to get your supper at an inn. I eat there myself.”
The inn was much like any other Stephan had seen along the way—a cacophony of clicking dishes, scrambled conversations, and smells. What was unusual was the talk with the bachelor Priest and his difficulties after coming into a new town.
“My mother is still the Priest in Berkton, my hometown, so I had to move away. Being an outsider is… tough. I think women have it easier; everyone trusts them at a glance, but I get dark looks from many fathers whenever I stay alone with their daughters for one reason or another. And that’s without considering the difficulty of getting married. I’m afraid I’ll remain a bachelor if things keep going the way they are now…”
Carl talked. He talked a lot. Which was fine; the background drone suited Stephan, steering his thoughts away from the bandits he had robbed.
He still didn’t think he had done the right thing, if something like the right thing existed when dealing with the problem he had faced.
Maybe I should’ve read those books on law Harold had in the library. At the time, pressing matters weighed on him, but perhaps learning about the law and how the country functioned was more important than understanding how to wage wars.
“Say,” he interrupted Carl, “what would have happened with those bandits had I brought them here?”
“Depends,” Carl took a spoonful of stew now that his personal life wasn’t the focus of their conversation. “Had they been murderers or rapists, we would have strung them up. As for common thieves? Mostly nothing. Maybe give them a good beating. We can’t be bothered to send a runner to the baron over something as small, and he’d probably ignore it anyway.”
The Priest took a long gulp of the thick ale, nearly a stew in its own right, before speaking again.
“To be honest with you, law handles such things poorly outside settlements with a lord present. Just about every town and large village ought to have a Knight or minor noble lording over it, but other than taxes, we have little to do with each other. Few lords manage their lands personally.”
Stephan thought so, considering how many Knights lived in Cliffort alone. As for the bandits, he’d already given them a beating and taken their trappings. It should be punishment enough, assuming they weren’t murderers.
He spoke and ate with Carl, then followed him to the hospice where he went to bed.
Despite the pleasant smell of herbs, Stephan’s dreams were restless. The robbers ambushed him again. They were the same men, but the forest was even darker and more ominous. Shadows stretched unnaturally wherever he looked. A wolf howled in the distance, interrupting the stare-down Stephan had with the bandits, and they all snapped their heads towards it.
The dusky gloom suddenly turned to dead of night. Only a sliver of moonlight forced its way through the branches to the ground. Just enough to make every shadow even deeper and more threatening.
A bush rustled, then something huge swished through the dark. A bandit screamed. Shrubs shook as a black shape carried him off into the night. Screams turned to gurgles, then stopped, replaced by the sound of bones crunching and flesh being ripped apart.
“What’s happening?”
“Did you see that thing?”
“It got Ben!”
The bushes rustled again. Stephan caught a glimpse of it in the moonlight. The pointy, triangular ears of a horse-sized lynx, the wide-open maw with too many teeth too sharp to be real, a strange hump on the monster’s back. Its long jaw snapped shut around a man’s torso, and then he was gone, only his screams remaining before that terminal crunch ended them.
The rest of the sobbing bandits ran towards Stephan, looking for any kind of protection, but the monstrous lynx picked them off one by one as the dark wood between the humans stretched into infinity.
Finally, there was only Stephan, completely unarmed, as he had been in the forest, and the giant predator. It came for him slowly, the leader of the bandits begged and sobbed, the monster holding his head in its maw, the rest of the body dangling freely. The jaws snapped shut with a crunch. The sniveling stopped, and the headless body fell to the ground, spraying blood.
The beast was a step away, its head clearly some cross between a cat and a wolf. It snarled, nostrils flaring, and Stephan was ready to fight, when instead of pouncing, the creature spoke.
“I found him, My Liege.”
“Well done, Hunt,” a voice of unquestionable authority said from the dark, and the forest shifted.
The world rippled as another Stephan approached, wearing exactly the same clothes as the real one. He crossed miles with each step, walking normally, yet breaking reality.
The darkness ripped, the moon shattered, and the midnight wilderness turned into a brightly lit salon.
The floor was a mosaic made of tiny polished blocks of wood, reflecting the impossibly bright chandeliers into which the motes of moonlight condensed. Chairs, sofas, and short tables came into existence as the forest bent and twisted. The room spanned acres of land, still spreading, and yet the danger and the terror of the dark night in the woods only grew.
“You may leave us, Little One,” the other Stephan scratched the monster behind its ear.
It snapped its maw at him, then jumped. The hump on its back unfurled into bat-like wings with which it soared towards the distant ceiling.
Stephan looked back down, and the forest was gone, not a trace remaining. Instead, he was in the infinite parlour, with his doppelgänger sitting on a plush armchair, legs crossed, nursing a glass of amber-colored drink.
“Please sit, Paladin Six.” A chair materialized behind Stephan, and with little choice in the matter, he sat.
A small table appeared next to him with a glass identical to the one his copy was drinking from. Stephan took a sip and grimaced. The smell was sharp and biting, not sweet, not bitter, just the solid intention to hurt him made into a taste. Then it burned. Like fire, like poison.
Stephan spat it out in a spray.
“Still green, I see,” the doppelgänger chuckled, then the color of the drink grew a deep red, darker than wine. “That should be more to your liking then.”
Stephan looked at him suspiciously, then smelled the drink. Sour cherries, with a bit of alcohol added to them and a lot of sugar. He took a careful sip, and the drink was like cherry juice, but much thicker and sweeter. It burned his throat and warmed his stomach just a little.
“I see you like that one better.” The doppelgänger smiled. “Do I need to introduce myself, or do you already know who I am?”
Stephan had no idea. It was obvious he was in a dream, and he was aware of it, but that wasn’t the first time he realized he was dreaming. After thinking a moment, he ventured a guess.
“You’re some kind of nightmare I’m dreaming?”
The doppelgänger laughed, the roaring sound something Stephan didn’t even know he could produce.
“Yes, you might say I’m your nightmare. You could say I’m humanity’s nightmare, but that too is too narrow. Regardless of who I am, I am a party interested in making a deal with you.”
“No,” a familiar feminine voice boomed, its rage shaking time and cracking space.
The very air of the parlor started fracturing, lines of pure brilliance spreading through it like blazing threads.
The gods who refused to speak with Stephan on multiple occasions suddenly became very loud.