Max was speechless, tears welling in his eyes. Gerald blinked slowly, adjusting to the light. He sat up carefully, his face tensing in pain. When his gaze landed on Max, he looked confused, like he was dreaming.

  “Max?”

  Max rushed forward, hugging the old man. He collided hard with the old guardsman, knocking the air from his lungs.

  “Ah, boy, careful!” Gerald exclaimed, grabbing his side. Max apologized and released his mentor, giving him another lookover. He looked like hell, but he was alive. “I got a few busted ribs, lad.”

  “Right, sorry, it’s just… Gerald, I thought you were dead.”

  “I’m ok, Max… come here.” Gerald nodded, letting Max give him another hug. They embraced for a long moment before Max released his mentor. Gerald held him out at arm's length, looking him over. “You look like hell, boy. Is that blood?”

  “Yes, but most of it isn't mine,” Max said quickly. Gerald raised a concerned eyebrow. “I swear I thought they were going to kill you.”

  “I was just about dead there for a minute, Max, but as luck would have it, that morning when I saw the wanted posters, I knew something was off,” Gerald said, adjusting in his cot to sit more upright. “I sent a runner here to the temple requesting aid. The Isabella girl and another arrived just as those brutes left me for dead.”

  “Something I’m still in hot water for,” Isabella said as she approached with a handful of blankets and spare clothes. “Technically wasn't given permission to take that horse.”

  “Glad you did, initiate… glad you did.” Gerald chuckled before clutching his side in pain. He recovered and looked back at Max. “Gods, boy, it’s good to see you. For the past two days, I’ve been thinking of nothing except that I’ve failed you.”

  “You didn't fail me, Gerald; you gave me a chance to escape,” Max said, gripping the man's shoulder tightly. “Besides, I wasn't alone.”

  He turned to Miranda, who was standing silently in the background. She gave a smile and nodded. “I probably would have died if it wasn't for her,” Max said, returning the smile.

  “Ah yes, the little fugitive who stowed away on your farm. I remember her,” Gerald said, his friendly tone dropping for an inquisitorial one. He looked her up and down like a disapproving father. “You do know she’s the reason they were on your farm, Max? Be careful; this one hides secrets.”

  “Excuse me?” Miranda shot back. “You’re one to talk! Paladin.”

  Paladin?

  Max whipped his head to Gerald, who closed his eyes, blinking hard.

  “Yes, thank you, witch.”

  “Gerald!” Max snapped at the old man.

  Gerald recoiled at Max’s outburst. Miranda glared at the two of them, then stormed off past Isabella.

  “Well, I'll just leave these here… if you need anything, I'll be in the mess hall preparing dinner,” Isabella said, dropping the clothes and blankets on the cot before awkwardly hurrying off.

  “Max… I’m sorry, but you don't really know her. I can feel her hiding something… dark.”

  “Yes, Gerald, I know,” Max responded, rubbing his temples. He had missed the old man so much, yet he had forgotten how stubborn he was. Stuck in his old ways. And a paladin. Talk about hiding things.

  “No, Max, you don't know. These arcanists, especially this Conclave,” Gerald said, shuddering. “Let's just say they get up to some nasty things.”

  “Gerald. I. Know,” Max said, locking his eyes with Gerald's so that he understood. “I know the secret she hides. I know what this Fated Death is capable of. I know.”

  Gerald just looked at Max for a long moment before dropping his eyes with a deep sigh. For the first time the old man looked his age, and then some. “It’s been a long few days for you, hasn't it, son?”

  “Yes, yes it has.”

  It was there that Max noticed his own growth. How can someone change so much in just a few days? He looked at his hands, tainted by grit and blood, but still his own. He looked over to the old man, the former stoic captain of the guard persona; he was now broken and beaten.

  Max didn't lose any respect for the man, just saw him in a new light, maybe for the first time, who he really was. A veteran hiding in a small town, playing guard and getting drunk until the end of his days.

  “I should probably go check on her… you'll still be here when I get back, right?”

  “Oh yes, don't you worry about that, boy. This cot has become my home away from home as of late.” Gerald replied, patting the stained cot with a heavy hand. “You know, I recall giving you some fighting lessons back in the day. If you ever want to take those up again… well, I think it might be a good idea… given the circumstances.”

  “You know what, I think that's a great idea, Gerald,” Max said, patting the old man on the shoulders. “Soon as you have the energy for it, I could use a brush-up. The basics you taught me really came in handy out there. But if I want to survive this… I think I'll need more than that.”

  “Settles it then. A couple days at most, and we can begin where we left off.”

  “Get some rest, old man. I'll see you in a bit,” Max said, giving him another heavy hug before pushing away. Maybe things won't be so bad anymore. Max was ready for some good news, and the thought of getting back into the rhythm of training with Gerald sounded like the best way to reclaim a little bit of normal. Now where did Miranda go?

  Max found her fuming in a side hallway, away from the people. She was pacing back and forth in the center of the walkway, deep in thought. She stopped pacing when Max arrived, her arms crossed, giving him that inquisitive hazel stare.

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  “Look, Miranda… I’m sorry about that. Gerald is just… protective,” Max said in his best diplomatic tone.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “He’s right, Max. I led them right to you. I led them to your farm,” Miranda said with an edge to her voice. Max tried to interject, but she continued. “I am a walking timebomb. One bad day, one overextension of my magic, and poof, I'm dead.”

  “Stop, don't talk like that.”

  “It’s true! He’s right, you don't know me. We have traveled together for only a few days… I spent my whole life in that Conclave, years learning from the worst people this world has ever seen,” Miranda said, her arms outstretched in a defeated gesture.

  “And you left. You fought against them. And I'm sorry to say this, but you are just as much a victim of their evil as anyone else. Did you choose to join them?”

  “No… I was born into it… but that's not something I want to talk-”

  “And you don't have to,” Max said, crossing his arms and looking her in the eyes. “As far as I am concerned, they are the problem… not you. They drove you to hide on my farm; they destroyed my farm. Miranda, remember what I said the other day. I have your back. Damned be whatever we were three days ago. Today we are a team, today and as long as it takes, it’s you and me.”

  Miranda didn't say anything; she just stared at him, breathing hard. Eventually, her face relaxed, and she leaned against the stone wall, looking up to the ceiling. Max joined her, and they just sat there saying nothing. They sat there for a long time before Isabella showed up.

  “Oh, hi, there you two are,” she said with a warm smile. “We just finished preparing meals for everyone… and I was wondering if it wasn't too much to ask… would you be willing to help pass bowls of soup to the sick? Our staff is overworked as is, and it would be a tremendous help.”

  “Of course,” Max and Miranda both said almost in unison.

  “Great!” Isabella said, clapping her hands together. “I knew I had a good feeling about you two!”

  “You did?” Miranda asked skeptically.

  “Well yes, I mean sort of,” Isabella said, tilting her head up as if to recall a memory. “I saw you two and there was sort of this… glow… well not around you, Max, you just seem to be there with nothing going on.”

  Max nodded with a dry smile. I want a glow around me; that sounds great.

  “Me?” Miranda said, glancing at Max. He gave her a shrug that said ‘told you so’. “How do you know it wasn't a warning glow? Watch out, this mysterious woman is here to cause trouble.”

  “Oh, I most certainly think you are going to cause trouble,” Isabella said with a laugh. “But to be honest, I think this town needs that. Something is going on here, something the paladin Knights refuse to talk about. And as for the glow, my empathy sense; I have seen Rossen’s. His aura glows red with malice and ill intent. The Lady does not like that one. She doesn't like any of the knights really…”

  Isabella trailed off, a sad look in her eye as she stared off into space. Max and Miranda shared a glance. This one is confusing. Another moment passed before Isabella seemed to snap back into reality.

  “Right, um, sorry… anyhow. Dinner?”

  Max and Miranda followed the paladin initiate to the mess hall. The room was long with tables that stretched most its length. The tables were in surprisingly good condition, all clearly made with care and love. Ornate murals of brave paladins saving the innocent and defenseless were carved into each end of the four massive tables. Each table was fitted with just as impressive bench-style seats.

  “Wow,” Max said, his mouth gaped at the size of the hall. “You could feed a small army in here.”

  “Two hundred; at fifty a table,” Isabella said with pride. “And not an army, whoever is hungry. This is where everyone used to eat. Paladin knights, their initiates, clergy, the sick or wounded found on their travels. All together, as equals.”

  “That sounds… beautiful,” Miranda said softly, her face full of the same amazement as Max’s.

  “Come on, let's get to work.”

  Together the three of them hurried into the kitchen. The staff, most of who were volunteers, filled large trays with bowls of vegetable soup. Max lifted one tray and almost spilled the soup immediately. The whole contraption was awkward at first, but after he watched Isabella and a few others carry them, he adjusted the weight on his hand and found a balance point.

  Miranda took a few more tries to get the plate balanced and cursed several times under her breath as she tried to navigate through the doors. Max could see that she was still jumpy from the altercation earlier. She waded through the people like she still had weight in her mind, resting heavy on her shoulders.

  They handed out bowls of soup to the people in the cots first, receiving many warm greetings and gratitude. Max worked his way up one column of cots until he reached Gerald. He handed the old man a bowl of hot soup, which the guardsman eyed skeptically.

  “It’s no Brock's special, is it, lad?” He said, poking at the sparse carrots with a wood spoon.

  “You'll eat it and appreciate it,” Max scolded before continuing down the column.

  “Oh, I know, I'm just saying… ah damn, you're right… give my compliments to the chef.”

  Max chuckled and rolled his eyes before moving down the column. When his tray was empty, he returned to the kitchen, where Isabella was already returning her second tray. An older, kind-looking woman approached him with a bowl of hot soup.

  “Here you go, dear. That'll do.”

  “Oh, if you're sure, thank you,” Max said sincerely, taking the bowl from the woman. As an afterthought, he turned back to her. “Gerald sends his compliments.”

  “Oh, that pesky legacy can shove it,” the old woman said, waving her spoon like a weapon. “Man’s been here for three days and all I hear is complaints. I swear if I have to hear the phrase ‘that's not how Brock makes it’ one more time, he's going to find nightshade in his bowl.”

  “I’m here now; I'm an expert at keeping the grumpy man in line,” Max said, chuckling. He walked out of the kitchen and found Isabella and Miranda sitting together at one of the benches. Isabella was barely eating, talking like a summer storm. Miranda's eyes were wide as she nodded politely every few seconds, trying her best to focus on the warm meal in front of her.

  Max approached the two and sat opposite them. He eyed the soup for a moment before braving a bite. Hmm, it’s not bad; Gerald's going senile. He started eating emphatically.

  “How is it, Max?” Isabella asked as Max was shoveling another bite into his mouth. He awkwardly nodded, almost choking on the food as he tried to say ‘good’ with a mouth full of soup. Miranda gave him a teasing smile as Isabella started up another conversation, this time going off about how embarrassing it was that the temple was in such disrepair.

  “And of course the knights aren't going to help, and we have almost no legacies in the area and-”

  “What's that? A legacy?” Max said, cutting her off with an apologetic look on his face. “I heard one of the kitchen staff call Gerald that. Is it because he used to be a paladin?”

  “Yes, exactly,” Isabella said, nodding her head rapidly. “A legacy is sort of a high honor in our order. Not many paladins make it to retirement; the ones that do become legacies. They are highly respected, their wisdom and counsel sought after by many. A good legacy could be visited by paladins seeking guidance from all over.”

  Max nodded and returned to his meal. Why didn't Gerald stick around with the paladins? If he was supposed to retire in glory… why did he hide in an old lumber town?

  The three finished their meals, cleared their table, and returned to the main hall. The second Max walked through the door, he stopped, Isabella and Miranda following suit. At first, he didn't notice anything specifically wrong, just that everyone looked disturbed, their eyes flicking around nervously. He was about to ask Miranda what was happening when he noticed Isabella's posture.

  She was upright, at attention, her eyes locked forward. Max followed her gaze to the main hall's doors. Standing there at the doors were three paladin knights. Rossen, another man dressed almost identical to him, and a woman. She was average height, but her posture spoke loudly of a true soldier. Her hair was a deep brown; her eyes had a suspicious, hungry look to them.

  “Isabella. Tell me exactly what you have let into my temple.”