A Paladin's Training Ch. 17

"Not yet," Aran replied. "I haven't met with either of them in some time." The lad's face grew serious then. "But more importantly; you, Henley, are likely in danger right now!"

Smythe flashed Aran a grin. "I've been in danger before, Aran. I'll be in danger again, too, I'll wager."

Aran studied Smythe intently, not fooled by the grin. Yes, he was definitely different. He was becoming a leader. "Are there Heralds in Ironshire?"

Smythe nodded. "Four of them turned up a few days ago. They've been meeting with the mayor, I think. I've been keeping a low profile, but since they arrived, I've wanted to search just another day or two for any Gifted that might be around town."

Aran looked thoughtful. "It's possible they've a way to avoid being detected by the Gift. I hope this is not the case, but we must prepare for the worst. Do whatever you need to do, but get out of Ironshire, Henley, and take the women with you. Make for the Karvani Mountains, for Amina's Temple. I'm on my way there now with Sara and the others."

"Alright, lad," Smythe agreed. "I'll do what it takes, and get the women out safely. For what it's worth, I've been combing Ironshire for days and not sensed any Gifted. I'm convinced there are none."

"Well, that's one less thing to concern ourselves with, I suppose," Aran said. "Have you spoken with Amina or Elaina?"

"Not since Elaina told me to find Jeira," Smythe told him.

"I'll update them if I see them first. Either way, they need to know all this as soon as possible. Henley, the Heralds are undertaking some kind of huge territory expansion. They've got the Maralon City Watch at their beck and call, they've put the city on lockdown, and they have patrols all through the countryside, too. Them being in Ironshire can only mean one thing; that they want influence there, too."

Smythe saw the sense in this. "I think the mayor may be listening to them, too, else they would have left by now."

"All the more reason for you to get out, man," Aran urged.

"Right then," Smythe said, standing up. "I have work to do, so I'll be off. I'll speak to you soon, lad, I'm sure."

Aran stood too, and embraced Smythe again. "Take care, my friend. Get out safely, and give the girls a kiss for me. I'll see them soon."

As the last word left his lips, Aran winked out of existence, and Smythe followed, back to his unconscious body.

*

Smythe's head lolled, his chin on his chest as he came to, the room coming slowly into focus as his vision corrected itself. He was naked and roped to a chair in some sort of cellar or basement, with stone walls and pillars.

The only light was coming from the torch being held by none other than kind-faced Berrigan Stallen, the Mayor of Ironshire.

"Really, Henley," Berrigan began, for all the world as if he were a grandfather speaking to a favourite grandchild who'd gotten himself in trouble. Which was ridiculous, as Smythe had at least forty years on the man, but Berrigan didn't know that. "At first, I didn't want to believe it, but the more I got to know you, the more obvious it became."

"Berrigan, please," Smythe muttered thickly, finding it difficult to make his lips and tongue work. "Why am I tied up?"

The mayor ignored him. "You are the most talented smith I've ever seen, and you could make your fortune in Maralon, or Dun Arghol, not to mention one of the Great Cities! Yet, you decide on a backwater town like Ironshire?"

For the first time, Smythe truly regretted choosing Ironshire as the place to live for this part of his life. Small towns were gloriously quiet and unassuming, but in small towns everyone knew each other, and that could create problems. "Berrigan," he repeated, this time with more success. With an effort, he raised his head to look the man in the face. "I know you've been meeting with the Heralds. Don't listen to them! They lie, and are more dangerous than you know!"

Berrigan nodded sadly, unperturbed by Smythe's outburst. "It had to happen eventually, Henley. There were too many things about you that stood out, like your real age, or your birthplace, or your remarkable abilities with women!" Emotion had crept into Berrigan's voice, which cracked slightly as he spoke.

Smythe took the man's tremulous tone for sadness. He'd never seen the greying, grandfatherly fellow upset, and deeply regretted putting him in this position. "I have not been completely honest with you, my friend," Smythe began. "But I swear on my life, I am not what they say!"

Berrigan sighed and moved to slot the torch into a sconce on a nearby pillar. "Alas, Henley, perhaps I should mention that I have not been entirely honest with you, either." He continued talking in his gentle, kindly voice as he removed his cloak of office before beginning to undo the laces of his fine linen shirt. "There are depths to my own history that I have chosen not to reveal, until now, at least."

A ball of ice formed in the pit of Smythe's stomach as Berrigan opened his shirt to display the symbol tattooed on his chest; a sunburst with pointed spikes radiating from the centre, the very same symbol that was emblazoned on red-and-yellow cloaks worn by Heralds.

Berrigan Stallen was a Herald of Dawn.

On instinct, Smythe opened his Gift and felt into the other's man's heart in an attempt to align with him, but found no resonance, no commonality with which to align. It was like trying to find emotion inside a rock. How was this possible? In all his long years, Smythe had never met a living creature he couldn't align with.

Berrigan barked a laugh. "Ha! Keep your filthy powers to yourself, Henley. They won't work on me, anyhow; I am a seasoned Paladin hunter, and I learned long ago how to resist your abilities. Your head will be the fourth on my mantle."

Paladin hunter? Fourth head? Rage began to burn in Smythe's gut. Paladins were scattered across the world, numbering probably less than twenty or thirty, and this man was hunting them?

Smythe slowed his breathing in an attempt to contain his fury, but it was difficult.

Leaving his shirt open, Berrigan stepped in front of Smythe and squatted before him, and for the first time ever that Smythe had seen, the kindly expression was gone, replaced by one that belonged on a beast of prey. Up close, Berrigan's eyes glowed with an unsettling light of zeal, bordering perhaps on madness.

The Mayor's voice was quiet, and his eyes bored into Smythe's. "Your order is lies and poison, Paladin, and your so-called Gift will not affect me. I am one of the High Council of Heralds, and have been for near twenty years."

Smythe met the other man's stare levelly, refusing to be intimidated.

Berrigan continued, his tone suddenly shifting to something bright and happy, making Smythe wonder if the man was in full control of his sanity. "Now, word is currently being spread about town regarding your true nature, and you are to be executed on the morrow in the town square. I expect a rather large crowd, Henley."

"Just like that?" Smythe spat. "You're going to kill a friend just like that? Oh, Berrigan, if you only knew the truth, you would stop this madness."

"Silence!" Berrigan's shout was punctuated by a loud slap and a stinging sensation on Smythe's cheek. "For long we have waited, Henley, we Heralds. We are rising again, you will see. Kedron!" He barked that last word, and there was a pause before doors creaked open behind Smythe and bootsteps made their way into the room.

A younger version of Berrigan stepped up to stand beside his father. He was tall and wiry, young Kedron Stallen, with short black hair and eyes of brown. The lad couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, yet he looked down at Smythe with contempt, his lip curled in a sneer.

Overall, the boy was a fair imitation of his father, though he had not yet the presence or the self-confidence to carry off the look of disgust believably.

Then Smythe saw something that rocked him to his toes. For the briefest second, a golden nimbus surrounded Kedron, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. If the lad had not been standing right in front of him, he might have missed it altogether.

Kedron Stallen had the Gift.

Smythe nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, captured by a long-time friend that was secretly a Herald, while searching for a Gifted youth that turned out to be the very same Herald's son? Aros worked in mysterious ways, indeed.

"You've met Kedron before, have you not?" Berrigan said proudly, clapping his son on the shoulder. "He is almost ready for his Cleansing. He is strong, and smart; he will make a fine Herald of the Dawn."

Smythe didn't know what a Cleansing was, but he didn't care. Kedron was Gifted! He chose to keep his mouth shut, for now.

"Son," Berrigan addressed Kedron. "We are giving Henley the rest of tonight to contemplate his impending execution, and you are being given the honour of guarding him."

The lad stood up straighter, eager to carry out his duty. "Yes, father!"

"He will try to lie, to coerce you, to make you doubt yourself, Kedron, but your faith is stronger than his deceit, is it not?"

"Yes, father!"

Smythe felt sorry for the lad; what things had his misguided father subjected him to in the name of their order?

"It is a great privilege for you to play a part in capturing a Paladin, Kedron," Berrigan said grandly. "Especially so young as you are. Be sure not to disappoint me, son."

At that, the older man gathered his cloak and swept from the room while doing up the laces of his shirt, only stopping to add, "do feel free to punish Henley if he speaks, son. Just don't kill him." The door closed behind him, leaving Smythe and Kedron alone.

Kedron stood stock still, staring over Smythe's head with his hands clasped behind his back. The lad meant to take this task seriously.

Smythe said nothing for a long while, just studied Kedron, who remained a statue except for the eyes that flicked down to Smythe's face every so often. Eyes that had not the complete certainty of Berrigan's, nor that light of borderline madness.

"I am not what they say, Kedron." Smythe got that much out before Kedron's fist struck him in the mouth.

"Lies!" The boy barked, flexing his hand. "Are you saying you're not a Paladin?"

"No," Smythe replied, working his jaw; the boy had a strong arm. "It's true, I am a Paladin, but we aren't evil, lad."

Smythe's head rang like a bell as another blow connected, this one splitting his cheek. "You're not your father, Kedron," he groaned. "I can feel it in you."

This time there were two punches, one on either side of his face. Hot blood dripped down Smythe's cheeks, and he could feel his pulse in his swollen lip. He couldn't hold back a grin; the lad had more spirit than Smythe had thought, which was a good thing; he'd need it.

"When will you learn to shut up?" Kedron sneered as he rubbed his knuckles.

Smythe needed to find a crack in the boy's armour. "Who is she?" He asked, preparing for another blow, but none came.

"Who?" Kedron had his fist raised, but was staring at Smythe curiously.

"The girl," Smythe said quickly. "The one you fucked recently. Is she someone special?"

Kedron's fist dropped to his side, and he whispered a question. "How can you possibly know about her?" Then his expression darkened. "Is this some sort of trick, Paladin?"

Smythe shook his head. "No tricks, lad. But you're not going to like what I have to say next. I only knew about the girl because the Gift only awakens after your first time. You carry the Gift, Kedron. It's new, but it's there."

"More lies!" Kedron growled as he stepped forward, his face contorted in fury and his fists raised threateningly.

Smythe hurriedly interjected with a question. "Does your father know about her?"

The lad stopped dead, considering the words for a moment, obviously unsure of what to do next. "Will you tell him? He will be furious, if you do. We're not supposed to fornicate unless it's to have children."

"No, lad," Smythe assured him, thankful that the blows had stopped. "I will tell him nothing, but ask yourself; is this really the life you want? To live as your father dictates? What do you want for yourself?"

"I shouldn't be listening to you!" Kedron hissed fiercely. "He said you would try and do this; get inside my mind and deceive me! I am no fool!"

Taking a deep breath, Smythe reached out to Kedron with his Gift, and the lad's own Gift responded, briefly flickering awake for a second or two before vanishing again.

Kedron inhaled sharply as he felt the power ever so fleetingly. Smythe knew the feeling intimately; warmth and light radiating from inside, like life itself distilled to an essence.

"Did you feel that just now, Kedron?" Smythe asked gently. "I know you did. There are no lies in that light inside you, no shadows in which doubt can grow."

Kedron met Smythe's gaze, his dark eyes wide. He put a hand to his chest as if trying to feel the memory of what had just happened. A moment later, he began to weep. "It can't be true!" He sobbed. "My father will cast me away, if not kill me!"

Smythe felt for the lad. A father's love was important to a boy, and Kedron was just doing his best to make the man proud, even mad as he was. "Kedron," he said softly. "Soon the Gift will begin to grow in you, and without training you won't be able to control it. I'm sorry, lad, but you'll be in the utmost danger if you remain in Ironshire, especially with your father so close."

Still in tears, Kedron nodded, understanding. "Will you help me?"

Smythe smiled, then immediately wished he hadn't due to the hits he'd just taken in the face. "I will help you with all my power, lad, and I know this is not easy for you, but how about we get out of here now?"

Wiping his eyes, Kedron moved behind Smythe and untied the ropes. "There's a hidden exit to this cellar. Follow me."

*

A short time later, Smythe burst through his front door with Kedron in tow and headed for his bedroom. He needed clothes, his sword, his horse, and the women. Everything else was secondary. "Rayna! Bella! Jeira!" He called as he strode through the house, not bothering to look for them. If they were home, they would come. Kedron stuck to him like glue, following him as close as he could without stepping on his heels.

Smythe was already pulling on a fresh set of clothes in his bedroom when the three women came spilling through the doorway to see what he wanted. Buxom, raven-haired Bella and equally endowed red-haired Rayna, followed by slender, dark-haired Jeira, none of them wearing a stitch between them.

Kedron's eyes were saucers as he took in the three naked beauties before getting a hold of himself and turning away in embarrassment.

"Who's the boy? And what in the world happened to your face? Have you been fighting?" Rayna inquired, one hand on her hip and completely unfazed at a stranger seeing her naked.

"It's Kedron Stallen," Smythe said in answer to the first question. He ignored the second and third.

"The Mayor's boy?" Bella squeaked. "What's he doing here at this time of night?"

"I'll explain soon enough," Smythe replied, his words muffled as he pulled a shirt over his head. "You three need to get dressed and pack your things. We're leaving."

"Now?" Rayna asked, a disbelieving look on her pretty face. "But we've got our work, and shops to run, we can't just-"

"NOW!" Smythe roared, sending the three women scurrying like rabbits. He'd never raised his voice to any of them, but they were in danger, and explanations would take precious time.

A short time later, they were moving quickly through the streets in a tight cluster, with Smythe leading Thunder by the reins. He had almost left the stallion behind, but found at the last moment that he could not. He'd owned many horses over the years, and Thunder was one of the best.

"It's almost dawn," Kedron whispered, looking up at the sky. The star-studded indigo blanket was turning grey in the east. "My father will be checking on me, soon."

"We'll be gone by then, lad," Smythe assured him as they approached the gate. With luck, old Arl would be on gate duty. Arl was trustworthy.

Sure enough, a bald head with a few wisps of gray sticking up poked out of the gatehouse. "Henley? Is everything alright?"

"Morning, Arl," Smythe said quickly. "If you could be so kind as to let us out, we need to be on our way."

At that moment, the town's alarm bells began to sound.

Arl looked torn. "I'm not supposed to open these gates when the alarm sounds, Henley, you know that."

Smythe stepped up to the weathered old man, hoping he would be able to do this without hurting the fellow. "Arl, remember when I took care of that drunkard that was beating your granddaughter, and you said if I ever needed anything, you'd help?"

Arl nodded.

"This is that time, Arl. I need you to open the gate, and to forget you saw us this morning."

"Alright, Henley," the wizened old guard said after a moment. "I'll do it."

Smythe exhaled in relief. "Thank you, Arl. You've done a very good thing today. You should get out of Ironshire, too, you and your family. This town will be changing for the worse very soon, I fear."

Arl just waved him off and came out to work the crank on the gate, muttering all the while about being too old to go anywhere. His mutters came to a stop when Jeira darted forward to give him a kiss on his wrinkly cheek as they passed through the gate.

Smythe looked back over his shoulder to see Arl standing there, watching them leave for a moment before pulling the gate closed.

"Come," Smythe said, leading Thunder off the Maralon Road. "We'll keep off the roads, and travel across the grasslands to the Karvanis. I'll find us some horses if I can. If you start getting tired, you can take turns riding Thunder."

"The Karvanis?" Rayna asked curiously. "Why there? And why are we leaving? And why is your face all busted?"

They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for answers. All but Kedron, who walked along staring at his feet in grim silence, and who could blame the lad? His life had turned upside down in a matter of moments.

Smythe took a deep breath. He loved Rayna, and she had every right to know everything, especially since her life had just been uprooted because of him. He explained everything, from being captured, to Mayor Stallen being a Herald, to Kedron's Gift, and that they were headed for a Temple in the mountains.

They all listened in silence, even Kedron, though he never raised his gaze.

"The Heralds will be searching for us," Smythe told them. "But with luck, their numbers in this region are still thin. We stay low, we stay out of sight until we are in the mountains."

Smythe kept a keen eye out for anyone following them, but none came that he could see. The women had many questions as they walked, which he answered as best he could. Kedron remained silent, and Smythe gave the boy space.

"Sounds to me like these Heralds are very unpleasant people," Raven-haired Bella remarked off-handedly at one point, adding a quick, "no offense," when Kedron looked over and frowned at her.

"They believe that Paladins are evil," Smythe explained. "Using allure and seduction to bewitch minds in slavery. It's preposterous, really, but there you have it."

Jeira giggled. "I, for one, quite like your allure, Henley!"

Bella and Rayna laughed outright, and Kedron reddened.

The boy spoke for the first time in hours. "What did happen to the Paladins, then? Why did they fall? My father said it was because the Heralds brought them down."

"That, lad," Smythe said quietly. "Is something you will learn about soon enough." He offered Kedron a reassuring smile. "One step at a time, ey?"