"I don't know," Angelos said. "Hopefully our new high necromancer will be able to tell us. For now, put him to bed, High Paladin. And …" Angelos cocked his head thoughtfully, clearly still mostly listening to whatever the Goddess whispered. "Keep touching him. The Goddess says it will help you both. I'll have the new clothes ready by morning." His smile boded ill for the priests he selected for the duty.
Sorin nodded and gingerly picked Koray up in his arms, cradling him close. "Thank you," he said and with the High Priest's nod, left the royal cathedral and made his way back to the castle. People scattered from his path like startled birds, no one dared to speak to him, and Sorin made it to his bedchamber with ease.
In his room, he gently deposited Koray on the bed and stripped away the ruined clothes. He stared in horror and dismay at the lurid scars covering Koray's body. Tears of shame and remorse stung his eyes as he delicately traced the gashes that could only have been left by demon claws. A set on Koray's shoulder, his hip, chest, both legs … he was not sure he could bear to see what further damage covered the skin he could not see. There was also a legacy of wounds from fire, knives, swords, and a few even he could not name.
No man deserved to endure so much pain. Did all necromancers suffer so?
The anguish that pulsed through him seemed to indicate that yes, they did. How had no one ever known? Sorin shook his head, setting the thoughts aside until they could be properly addressed when Koray was awake.
Everything was changing so quickly. In less than a day he had gone from despising necromancers like everyone to … he was not certain. But as he reached out to comb through the gray-streaked hair, he knew he would protect Koray with his life.
He sensed his men would not be so quick to do the same, but after what had just transpired, they also would not dare to defy him. If they tried it, he would remind them why
he
was high paladin and to be obeyed. There would be no more mindless beatings, not while he was the Goddess' battle avatar.
Sorin pulled the blankets up over Koray, did his best to see Koray was comfortable, and then went to stoke the fire. When it was going strong, he stood there watching it, lost once more to his whirling thoughts. His skin itched, almost seemed to burn, as though he was overheating and threatening to cook himself from the inside out.
It was a feeling with which he was long familiar, a price he paid for the power bestowed upon him as High Paladin. But suddenly all he could think about was Angelos' admonition to keep touching Koray and Koray's soft words before he'd passed out.
You're so warm.
Double-checking that the fire would burn strong for some time yet, Sorin stripped off most of his clothes, leaving only his hose and undertunic, and doused the lamps someone had lit after he'd stormed from his room. He slid into bed and resettled the blankets over both of them, settling comfortably into the soft mattress and pillow. Keeping to his half of the bed, not wanting Koray to be alarmed or feel crowded should he wake, Sorin stretched out his hand and carefully took Koray's, tangling their fingers together.
He started to feel better almost immediately. How had he not noticed it before when he'd touched Koray? It felt like his body was actually easing, like all the pent up energy that overheated him had somewhere to go … and already Koray's ice-cold fingers were warming.
So much to think about. But later, Sorin decided, as sleep pulled him under.
He woke some marks later to the smell of food and a growling stomach. Climbing out of bed, he relieved him in the chamber pot and then walked to the table near the fireplace and took his seat. Koray did not look at him—did not even acknowledge him—save with the sudden tensing of his shoulders. "How are you feeling?" Sorin asked as he poured himself a tankard of hot cider and filled a plate with warm bread dripping butter and honey, and fat roasted sausages.
"Fine," Koray said. He looked up, then away again. "Thank you. For last night."
"I am sorry you were treated that way and that I betrayed my word to keep you safe."
Koray shrugged. "I should not have gone walking about."
Anger at his men filled Sorin all over again. "The royal castle is haven to all. You should have felt safe to wander its halls. You are a guest—you're
my
guest. More importantly, you were called here by the Goddess. That supersedes all else. My men were at fault for attacking you; you were not at fault for walking around." He eyed Koray's torn robes. "The High Priest said he would see new clothes were procured for you. Have they yet arrived? What is the time?"
"Tenth mark," Koray said. "Is that what that bundle is? It was here when I awoke, as was the food and bath."
Following the direction of Koray's nod, Sorin saw a large, black cloth bundle, recognizing it as the style of clothes worn by the priests. Standing up, he fetched the bundle and gave it to Koray. "If there are any problems with the clothes, just let me know. When we have time, we'll see that you are properly outfitted. We'll see about getting you a good winter cloak, too, since all too soon winter will be upon us and makes the castle miserably cold."
"Am I going to be here that long?" Koray asked, mouth twisting. "I am here to identify a murderer; that will not take more than a few minutes. We can go any time and be done in the span of a prayer or two. I hardly need to be properly attired to do that and I can be on my way before the castle breaks for the midday meal."
Sorin frowned, dismayed that Koray had no compunctions whatsoever about simply leaving before the day was out. But he supposed Koray had no reason to stay beyond duty. "What about the ghosts?" he asked. "Surely you would not just leave them now that you are aware of the problem."
The bitter set to Koray's mouth turned into a sneer, and Sorin wondered why he was relieved by the return of Koray's aggravating rudeness. "I am more powerful than the other necromancers I've met, but even I would require help to purify this castle, unless you want me to be stuck here for months on end. The ward alone would take an age because some of those ghosts are so long established. I doubt I could count the number of ghosts that infest this place. It's like the castle has not been purified in centuries."
Sorin shook his head. "Have so many people really died here? It does not seem …"
"This castle has been standing for longer than anyone can remember, so far as I have always heard. It is therefore not just possible, but expected that so many have accumulated over the centuries. Think of all the men who would have returned badly wounded after battling demons, wounds from which they never recovered. That alone would account for at least half the ghosts. Then there is disease, hard winters, starvation, and of course the usual assortment of murders, suicides, old age, childbirth deaths, executions … So, yes, it is quite possible that thousands of ghosts linger here."
"I see," Sorin said somberly. He pushed his food away, no longer hungry. "Well, certainly you have every motive to be on your way as soon as possible, but I would like for you to stay. If it is help you need, then help you should have, of course. But we can discuss that in more detail later. I am going to speak with the king and make my rounds. Enjoy breakfast and your bath and find me at your leisure."
Koray nodded.
Sorin smiled briefly at him, not surprised that Koray ignored him, and set about getting cleaned and dressed. When he was ready, he left his room and made his way quickly through the castle to the great hall. Why was it so much easier to breathe when Koray was not around?
Down in the great hall, conversation stopped with his entry. He ignored them all save to cast a stony look. If they thought his displeasure was going to subside any time soon, they would quickly learn they were grossly mistaken. Reaching the high table, Sorin frowned at the empty seat where Rofell should have been. "Where is the king?"
"In his chambers," the steward replied. "He awaits your report on what transpired last night."
Holding back a grimace, because it would not be a pleasant report and it sounded as though Rofell was already displeased, Sorin left the hall and headed for the king's solar.
Two paladins guarded the door, sparking his ire. Knights were for guard duty; paladins were never given such tasks because they could be called away at any moment, leaving such positions abandoned with a chance that no one would notice until too late. He had told Rofell that any number of times. The regular knights were more than capable of guarding his door; he did not need to keep stealing the paladins.
Nodding to the men, stifling his irritation, Sorin knocked on the door and stepped inside when it was opened.
"Leave us," Rofell ordered the servant who had opened the door.
The servant obediently departed, leaving Sorin alone with Rofell … and whatever unfortunate individual Rofell had in his bed, Sorin realized, mouth tightening. The sheer drapes of Rofell's bed hid details from his view, but did not hide the way Rofell brutally used whatever poor bastard he had ordered to attend him. Yet another thing about which Sorin had spoken to Rofell, another thing that Rofell ignored.
He listened as the king had his way, heard the muffled, dismayed noises of the other man, until finally Rofell managed to finish. Rofell slapped the man's ass and ordered him out, sliding from the bed and pulling on a robe as the door closed behind the shame-faced man who fled.
Weariness washed over Sorin, doing nothing to quell the familiar, deep burning rage he tried so hard to bury. The castle as it was bore no resemblance to the castle in which he had grown up, a place he had loved enough when he was only a page surviving on scraps to join the priesthood and then the knights.
Alfrey was dead, his men were increasingly volatile, winter was going to be particularly brutal, the demon attacks were worsening, and on top of all that, he had a prickly necromancer and an excess of ghosts. That was only the most obvious of his problems—problems he should have been helping the king address, not addressing for the king. Instead, he was struggling to do the king's job on top of his own while the king buggered unwilling men and ignored his kingdom.
He missed Cerant. Life had not been so dark and dreary before Cerant had been removed from the throne and exiled. But Sorin did not dare think of his lost friend—the rightful king, so far as he was concerned—or he would give in to the despair that ever loomed over his shoulder, just waiting for Sorin's guard to lower. "Sire, I came to report on last night's proceedings."
"I have heard there is a necromancer in my castle," Rofell said, ambling over to his bathing tub, discarding his robe, and sinking down into the steaming water. "Why would you invite a necromancer and then imprison your own men for beating him as he no doubt deserved? Why did you let him wander about without supervision?"
Sorin balled his hands into fists at his sides, and when he spoke, his words resonated with anger—his, and that of the Goddess. "He did not deserve to be beaten. I welcomed him into the Goddess' stronghold because that was Her will. I told all that he was my guest and to be treated accordingly. He was brought here by the Goddess to help me discover Alfrey's killer. Do you dare defy Her will and word, King?"
Rofell recoiled, pasty skin paling further. "No. I do not like the idea of those death-lovers here, but if She says it must be so then fine. But if he continues to be a source of contention and threatens disorder then he cannot remain. I do not need added fear and panic; there is enough of that already."
"Yes, Sire," Sorin said stiffly and bowed himself out of the room before he said something he would regret. Free of the king for the time being, he headed for the practice yards to see to his men.
They went still and silent when they saw him and lined up neatly in rows without his having to give the order. Sorin did not waste time with a long dressing down or dramatic speech. Instead, he simply said, "I am ashamed of you and the Goddess is ashamed of you. That you retain the title of Paladin, any of you, is only because there must be men equipped to fight the demons. If not for that, I would strip you of your honors here and now. I cannot do that, so I shall strip you of privileges and any ability to climb the ranks. Until you prove to me you deserve to be paladins, I will treat you like new soldiers. Am I understood?"
"Yes, High Paladin!" the men chorused.
"Get to your drills," Sorin said and fell back while they obeyed. He watched the proceedings from a distance, stony and silent where normally he would have encouraged, even helped, happy to join his men.
But he would not forget Koray's battered face any time soon, or the anguish of the Goddess that tore through him. So he set his jaw and watched his men work and ignored the looks on their faces conveying their remorse.
The bells had only just finished ringing the twelfth mark when the men nearest to him faltered, stopped—and one by one the others in the yard stopped as well, staring at something past Sorin. He turned and immediately went still himself, gawking, not certain he could drag his eyes away should a horde of demons saunter into the castle.
If he had not encountered Koray, dirty and hostile, in the woods, or seen his battered state the previous night, Sorin would have thought him a noble—a prince, even. To say that Koray cleaned up well was so vast an understatement it was absurd.
Angelos had not lied about working his priests to death to ready clothes for Koray. The result was an intriguing combination of priest and paladin, which Sorin supposed was apropos. Koray wore black hose and undertunic overlaid with what had once been a priest robe, but had been converted to a sleeveless tunic. It was deep violet, split up the middle and trimmed with runes in silver thread.
He had also pulled on an open robe of an even darker violet trimmed in more runes, the deep hood lined and the embroidered the same as the rest of the robe. Koray's hair fell perfectly straight, halfway down his chest. It gleamed blue-black in the afternoon light, and the streaks of gray and white seemed somehow to be a final touch to it all. His eyes gleamed violet, and held a power that definitely was the purview of the elite, the high avatars who served the Goddess most directly. He was truly a high necromancer.