“I heard something and asked what was going on. I whispered,” Lars’s voice trembled as he explained to the soldiers, still holding the lamp in shock, “I was afraid I’d wake the others, but then I heard someone running away. By the time I lit my lamp and realized what had happened, they were already long gone.”
“Did anyone else hear anything?” the soldier asked, but everyone, Stephan included, shook their heads.
Bill was dead, Mark missing. The guards insisted no one had come in or out, but they concluded that apparently Mark, who had obviously slain Bill, had escaped through the chimney.
Fifteen agonizing minutes after the chaos erupted, Marshal Harrington stormed into the barracks in person. He marched to the covered body, not glancing once in Stephan’s direction. He pulled back the sheet and stared for a long moment before he respectfully and tenderly replaced the cover.
“The fiend worshipers have slain Sir Paladin.” His voice was cold and stoic, which required no talent for acting, yet the grim set of his face betrayed a torrent of suppressed grief and impotent rage.
Then, like a man accustomed to witnessing death on a grand scale, he squashed those emotions and turned towards the rest of the paladin lookalikes.
“I have given you my word. Your education here will remain free, and you may keep the coin we have given you for the dangers you’ve faced. You are free to leave or stay, but decide by the end of the week. I have a state funeral to arrange.”
With that, he left, not holding Stephan’s intense and furious gaze. While the marshal acted calmly, as if nothing was amiss, Stephan felt a tempest of nausea roiling in his gut.
Bill’s death is my fault.
The warmth in his chest didn’t diminish. The class hadn’t abandoned him, nor even penalized him in any way, but the pain from his mistake hurt more than any punishment could.
“Come along,” a soldier jogged into the barracks after Marshal Harrington whispered a few words into his ear. “We need to interrogate each of you separately. You’ll spend a day or two in solitary confinement. Don’t worry, this is standard procedure when we suspect infiltration. You won’t be bored. You will have writing boards so you can practice your numbers and letters, and you will get your normal meals, just isolated from the rest of the academy. Some people will visit you and ask questions; that’s all. Now, follow me to the dungeon.”
Unease rippled through the youths, but none dared protest. To Stephan, the soldier’s order sounded sensible. Even with a prime suspect, the marshal had no idea who the assassin was or how many were involved in the conspiracy. Interrogating them one by one seemed like the right thing to do.
Stephan was one of the first to follow the soldier, the rest listlessly falling in behind him.
The dungeon lay beneath the main soldiers’ barracks, a multi-tiered underground labyrinth of stone, built much like everything else in Cliffort; sturdy. The halls and chambers were carved from solid rock, the doors thick, blackened oak fortified with even thicker drawbars to secure them.
Each cell, though small, was surprisingly clean and smelled fresh. The soldiers ushered the students in, each into a separate one. The heavy door locked behind them with a finality that echoed in their chests. Like others’, Stephan’s heart raced as he awaited his turn.
When it finally came, the door slammed shut, and an eerie silence enveloped him. He turned to examine his new home, lamp flickering in the dim light.
Everything was quiet when a figure rolled from beneath the bed, nearly making Stephan jump out of his skin.
“Sir Paladin,” his sword instructor saluted.
Stephan tried to remain calm, but his eyes were wide as he suppressed his racing heart.
“I apologize for startling you,” she said, not a hint of apology in her voice or neutral face. “Please let me know when you can talk. I understand this was a stressful night.”
She waited for Stephan to gather his wits, and he really needed a couple of moments.
“What are you doing here?” he asked finally, once he was certain his voice wouldn’t betray him and turn into a squeak.
“I am acting under Lord Marshal’s orders, Sir. My mission is to explain everything to you and help you make the most of the time you will spend in solitary confinement.”
Stephan nodded, trying to wrap his head around how fast Marshal Harrington thought and acted.
What kind of mind can adjust to such impossible circumstances so quickly?
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
“First of all,” she continued, “you shouldn’t feel guilty or tormented. William volunteered to be the decoy, fully aware of the risks, including the assassination. He didn’t die randomly; he chose to sacrifice himself, knowing what it entailed.”
She paused a moment, seemingly struggling before repeating her words, a slight strain in her voice. “Including the assassination. He didn’t perish in a random attack. He knew he would die, and he volunteered for it, Sir. Mark, the other ‘youngster’ from your group, is Lord Marshal’s assassin in disguise. He was tasked both with watching over you while you slept and killing William when the time came.”
“What?” Stephan stared at her with horror, the room swaying. Who asked you to do that? Are you people insane?
Before he could process the horrible news, she carried on. “The investigation will reveal that the family Mark supposedly came from doesn’t in fact have a son by that name, nor any member matching his description. Further investigation will end without discovering his real identity, signaling he was an enemy agent from the start. A part of a conspiracy against the Paladin.”
“Why?” Stephan stuttered, his hands shaking, but the sword instructor misunderstood the question.
“The ruse was necessary because we expect multiple groups are currently plotting against us and the Paladin. Lord Marshal expects several noble factions to have formed which seek survival through an alliance with the fiends, and killing the Paladin is a good show of loyalty. Then, there are the fiend worshipers, warlocks, and others, all of whom stand to gain something from slaying the Paladin. Levels, class evolutions, and there are bound to be other perks.”
Stephan was still processing the fact that the marshal himself had ordered a student’s death, so shocked he could barely follow what his sword instructor was talking about.
“But a multitude of divided enemies means many blind agents in the field. In the confusion, it will be impossible to track down who killed the Paladin and for what purpose. This uncertainty, other than sowing false claims which will further cement our claim, will divert focus away from us. It will spark another frenzied search for the Paladin. Lord Marshal has already placed several false paladins around the countryside to draw attention by healing people and using holy magic to emulate your better-known abilities.”
“Wait! Stop!” Stephan shouted in outrage. “That’s horrible! Won’t they get killed too? Can’t you call them back?”
“Sir Paladin,” her voice sharpened, “with all due respect, you’re just a kid. You know nothing of war, sacrifice, and what the Paladin means to all of us. The legacy of the Paladins is what we fight for. We have benefited from the training methods, tactics, equipment blueprints, and everything else the Paladins of old have left us with. All of them were wise men of great talent and greater minds, and we wish to help create one such Paladin for our children and grandchildren to look up to. And we will stake our very lives to achieve our goal.”
Her gaze pierced through him, hard and unyielding. But there were cracks in it - sorrow and outrage mixed into helplessness.
“William was ill, Sir,” her voice trembled, “dying of a magical disease which grew worse with each passing day and every time we tried to heal him. With the capital in ruins, the highest level Healers and Priests dead or scattered, he had no hope of survival.”
The words started spilling out of her, and she drew a breath to calm herself.
“He said that laying down his life for the Paladin would be his greatest honor in life, and he only regretted not knowing which one of the fine men he would train with was his real role model.” She held Stephan’s gaze. “Though, based on the looks I caught him giving you, I suspect he knew.”
Tears blurred Stephan’s vision, and a single drop slid down his cheek.
“None of this should’ve happened. I will do everything in my power to help him.”
Once more, the swordsmanship instructor misunderstood his words. She cleared her throat and her voice returned to the stern, hard steel.
“In that case, Sir, could you please sit and listen to what I have to say?” Stephan nodded, sat down on the edge of the bed, and tried to steady himself.
“You should try not to stand out. The weighted log we’ve given you has already made everyone’s interest move away from you, and your general lack of education is doing you great favors as well. You’ll learn about the changes to your training once you get out of here, but you will need to cause an incident or two that will get you locked up here in solitary confinement. Some lessons you must receive directly from Lord Marshal and Lord Silas, and this is the only place where we can do it quietly.”
“Wait! Stop!” Stephan put his hands between them. Too much information was crashing on him too fast, and he needed a moment to think. “Just stop.”
She regarded him without a word or emotion, and Stephan grabbed at the first illogical thing. “If Lord Silas is here, why didn’t he heal William?”
“He tried, Sir. Multiple times. The illness grew worse each time. In the end, he said the next healing would kill him, and that he didn’t dare risk it. The only one he would let take another attempt was the Saintess, assuming she was still alive.”
“And why didn’t you send him for healing earlier?” The story made no sense to Stephan. It was so needlessly convoluted. Why did William have to die? Why would anyone inflict such an illness upon a youth?
“Because he was cursed after the capital fell, Sir. Lord Marshal was the intended target, but the curse couldn’t land on him and struck his youngest son instead.”
Stephan blinked, trying to process what he’d just heard. Harrington’s son?
He jumped to his feet as the realization hit him. “What?!”
[Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 10
Class skills: In Living Memory XVI, Blessing of Healing I, Blessing of Arms I, Smite I, Blessing of Protection I, Inspiring Aura I, Blessing of Conviction I, Blessing of Intuition I, Blessing of Health I, Bane of Darkness I, Mercy I
Attributes: Agility: 18, Charisma: 18, Composure: 20, Dexterity: 18, Endurance: 19, Intelligence: 15, Luck: 17, Perception: 17, Presence: 18, Strength: 19, Toughness: 19, Vitality: 20, Willpower: 19, Wisdom: 18]
