"My lord, you should be riding Buttercup, not me."

  I held the bridle we'd fashioned out of some hemp rope Pemberton found in the root cellar. I was right. That was where he went. He'd managed to secure two rooms for himself in my limited household. Man, he was good.

  "Elanthe, Buttercup is the perfect horse for an elf maiden to ride, as she is small and beautiful. It is a terrible horse for a warrior to ride, for exactly the same reasons. Besides, think about what the villagers would think if they saw me riding while you walked barefoot next to me."

  "They'd think that you were a proper knight and that I was your faithful servant." She frowned but didn't protest further, then suddenly smiled, rubbed Noct—Buttercup's neck—and whispered in her ear. "He said that you're beautiful. Did you hear him?" I pretended not to notice.

  I'd only known her for a day, and it was already dawning on me that that did not mean that I had won this battle. It just meant that the battle was delayed. Until she decided to bring it back up. I needed to find myself a charger before that happened. There was no way my ego would let me ride a cute pony.

  I can't be sure what the peasants who saw us must have thought—a battered paladin leading an elf maiden on a pony. Elanthe was radiant, of course, in the way that only she could be, despite her tattered dress. I think it's an elf thing. I don't know, of course, because she was the only elf I'd ever met.

  I'd managed to scrounge up some knee britches for her to wear, and Calista was happy to supply a top. I have no idea what it looked like, however, as Elanthe insisted on wearing her tattered rags over it, I was thankful. There’s no telling what Calista thought was appropriate to wear in public. At least her ruined dress was no longer the only thing she wore. I didn't want to be forced into beating up any of the village boys who got the wrong idea.

  We passed a few outlying farms on our way into the village and saw a few of the residents. I'd nod my head in acknowledgement, while Elanthe would smile and wave, and even blew a kiss to an eight-year-old boy, who responded by running away and calling for his mother. One farmer was leaning against a fence, a stalk of grass in his mouth, as we passed.

  "That's a nice wardog you've got."

  I wasn't in the mood for a fight, so I chose not to take it as an insult. "She might be a small pony, but he's got the heart of an elven warrior." Take that, bunghole.

  "I'm not talking about the pony. I'm talkin' 'bout the dog. Looks like a pup but he's huge."

  Elanthe and I met eyes, then slowly turned around to see Boots behind us. He briefly considered diving into the ditch to hide, but from his expression, he knew he'd been caught. I couldn't help but laugh. "Elanthe, tell him to go home for me, would you?"

  Her forehead scrunched up as she used that elven ability to communicate with nature and get the message through to poor Boots. His head and tail drooped, but he turned around and shuffled off, back in the direction of the cottage.

  "Best trained dog I ever seen," said the farmer. "I'm a bit surprised to see a knight's master of hounds, a girl who hasn't even bloomed fully yet, though." His smile was genuine, but something lurked behind his eyes. "But now that I look closer, I see that that's no girl. It's been a long time since an elf has passed through here."

  I couldn't help but smile back. "I take what I'm given as far as staff goes. None of them is quite what I expect, but they're all good in their own way."

  "I'm Arthur," the farmer said, sticking out his hand, forcing me to walk off the road to shake it. "You look like you're new to these parts. In fact,” he switched languages,” you look like you might be new to this world."

  "What? How could you--" I hadn’t thought about it until now. All my conversations in this world had not been in English. I’d been speaking some other language as if born to it without conscious thought. When he switched to English, the realization suddenly hit me smack between the eyes.

  He smiled in that aggravating way a teacher does when they know you haven't done your homework. He continued in English. "It's obvious when you know what to look for. You're a transplant. I can tell because I'm one to. Well, I was one back when I was younger." He looked to be in his 60's, but was still fit in that way that men who do physical labor for a living never get soft and fat. "I've met a lot of transplants in my day. You're new as a fresh-baked loaf of bread, aren't you?"

  "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

  "Smart to be cautious. You don't know how the world works yet, so you don't want to give anything away. Your gear looks battered, but your eyes are bright, which implies that you didn’t earn that damage. More likely, you just got geared up at the expense of a corpse. We transplants tend to get cleaned up as quickly as possible, wanting to show off our power early. Once we settle in, we take pride in the evidence of battle that we've earned. The puppy and pony seal it, though. That's starter equipment, if you will. If you'd been around for a while, you'd be riding a massive warhorse, probably jet black, just to look tougher. Am I right, or am I right?” My expression gave me away. “So how new are you?"

  "Uh, yeah. I arrived yesterday morning."

  He looked at me incredulously for a moment before he burst out laughing. "Ha ha ha ha ha! Yesterday morning? Oh my, you're in for a fun time. Looks like you came with a mace, which is good."

  I looked to where it was hanging from my waist. "I'd have preferred a sword. Looks more professional."

  "Do you like having all your limbs? Because trying to fight with a sword invariably leads to cutting oneself badly at least once. Trust me, I've got the scar to prove it, but I'm not about to drop my pants to show you. Better to start with a club to limit the damage you do to yourself while you learn to tell your ass from a hole in the ground. So what brings you here? I'd expect to find a rookie transplant in a city, not in the sticks."

  "I'm supposed to become lord of this village."

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  Arthur's face froze. "Well, it'll take a while to build a stronghold and raise a force to patrol the woods for monsters, bandits, and demons, but you should be able to manage it. It'll be a good way to raise some money and gain some power. There are plenty of monsters living in the hills south of the river. Within a few years, you should have gathered enough treasure be up and running."

  "I have two weeks."

  "You're taking the piss, mate. Two weeks?"

  "Yeah. Two weeks."

  He let out a long, low whistle as he processed the information. "Well, you'd better get a move on. Given your gear, I can see that you're a paladin of the Light--highly unusual to get transplanted as anything fancy like that. I sure hope that gear comes with a miracle you can use." He shook his head. I heard him mutter 'two weeks' under his breath.

  "Stop by any time if you want to chat. I might be too old to take the field as anything but the organizer of the militia, but I'll help you as I can."

  * * *

  Boots pressed his belly against the dirt behind a bush, tail still except for the very tip, which twitched despite his best efforts. Chuck stood just there, talking to the human who smelled like chickens and sweat. The human's voice rumbled low, mixing with Chuck's lighter tones. Boots wanted to play with the pony.

  Every muscle in Boots' body trembled with the effort of staying hidden. Chuck hadn't seen him yet. Good boy. He was being such a good boy, staying out of sight like—

  Chuck moved. Resumed his walk down the road with the girl who smelled like flowers on the pretty yellow pony.

  Boots scrambled from his hiding spot, paws scrabbling in the dirt as he bounded after them. He'd just gotten thirty meters up the road when a shadow fell across his path.

  "Whoa there, pup."

  The chicken-smelling human moved to block the road, hands on his hips. Boots skidded to a stop, haunches sliding.

  "Your master told you to go home, didn't he?"

  Boots' ears flattened. He looked past the human toward Chuck's retreating form. If he could just make a little jink…

  "Go on now. Home." Arthur pointed firmly toward the cottage.

  Boots whined, a pitiful sound that usually worked on Elanthe. Chuck was getting further away.

  "Home."

  His tail drooped. Boots turned and looked back toward the cottage. The old man's tone brooked no argument. Tail between his legs, he took a few tentative steps in the direction of home.

  "There's a good boy. Off you go."

  He was a good boy! He bounded once in a play lunge and trotted off towards the cottage. The chicken man thought he was a good boy. It was a glorious day. He’d have to come and visit sometime.

  * * *

  We continued down the road and made it almost a hundred yards before the question came. "What was that about? I know many languages, but have never heard that one before."

  I didn't know how to answer. I had more questions than answers and was still trying to figure it out for myself. They'd met in Hell, but it still seemed like a stretch to tell her that he came from a different world. I wrestled with what to say.

  "That's okay. If you don't want to answer, you don't have to."

  "It's not that I don't want to answer, Elanthe, it's that I don't know what the answer is. Before we met yesterday morning," I shivered thinking about the circumstances under which we'd met. "I lived in a different universe. I died, and woke up on the altar in that… that… that summoning chamber. The language we were speaking is what I would speak back home." Home…

  "This universe doesn't work like my universe. There was no magic in mine, and we have machines that do much of the work. There are no elves, no gargoyles, no demons. It's mundane compared to this."

  "I didn't know such places existed."

  "I didn't know places like this, or Hell for that matter, existed until yesterday. But the man we just met—Arthur. He knew exactly what I was the instant he saw me. He said that he was just like me, albeit a long time ago. I hope he can teach me about—"

  "About what?"

  How could I explain it? "About this world. About how things work here. About what I have become."

  "You have come from another world to help us in this one! You were confirmed by a herald from the lord of Light who touched you and made you his paladin. It is a miracle! A miracle that I witnessed. I pledged myself to you because I saw an angel intervene in Hell on your behalf. An angel came for you. What more could you need to know?"

  "Elanthe, please. Don't speak to anyone about this. To me, I'm still just plain old Chuck. I made a promise to an old lady that I'd be a good man if I got a chance to do it all over again, and all I'm trying to do is follow through. I don't know anything about being touched by the Light. I don't know anything about being a paladin. I'm just Chuck and scared as hell that I'm going to get everybody killed in eleven days. I feel… I feel responsible for all of you, which confuses the hell out of me. Two days ago, I’d have let you all burn."

  We walked in silence for a few minutes after that. "Well, my lord, if it is my fate to get cut down by your side in eleven days, so be it. I will do anything and everything within my power to see that you succeed in your quest. I pledge this to you."

  I didn't know what to say.

  "I don't know how to do this, Elanthe. How am I supposed to convince people who have never met me to bow before me? To accept that I'm here to be their lord and master? Nobody in their right mind would accept that. Nobody would accept subjugation to a lone random man who shows up one day and demands it."

  We continued in silence.

  "You don't. You don't ask them to accept you as their lord. You ask them to recognize you as their protector. You were ordered to subjugate the village, no? If the village recognizes your authority over it, however limited in scope, then you've accomplished the task. Demons are sticklers for technicalities. It should be enough."

  I chewed over the idea. She might have just saved the village.

  * * *

  I purposely avoided the center of town and went to visit the church. I'd never been religious before, but now, as a paladin, I thought that it would be better for my image with the villagers for them to see me stop there before heading to the local tavern. Or inn. Or pub. Or anywhere else I could buy the drink I so desperately craved.

  The church was on the east end of the village, backed into the trees of a forest that encroached on that side. It was a modest stone structure with a roof covered in wooden shingles. A small graveyard sat off to the side. I made a mental note that there was plenty of room for the man whose armor I was wearing to rest his eternal sleep here.

  I hope he finds peace.

  The thought struck me. I'd never wished peace on anybody before, and certainly not on the body of a man I didn't know. Not one I made, not one I moved, not even one of my gang-mates. I didn't even know this stiff; why would I care if he rested in peace or not? It was a reminder that I was not the same person I had been yesterday. I hated it.

  I sent Elanthe and Buttercup—it felt so weird calling a demon horse Buttercup—into town to see if she could find herself some decent clothing and arrange for some supplies. Supplies? Who was I kidding? To somehow scare up enough food for the squad to survive a few more days without eating each other. I wasn't convinced that that wasn't a possibility, and I didn't want to find out for sure.

  I climbed the two steps to the church's front door and steeled myself. My chest was aching. It had hurt more and more as I approached the building, as if trying to get me to shy away from it. I wasn't going to be told by anybody, even someone who could alter reality around himself, where I could and couldn't go. Brakk that guy. I grabbed the iron ring mounted in the center of the door and pulled it open, then took a step inside.