"You can tell what I am, can't you, Father?"

  I knew from his face the answer before I even asked the question. It was rhetorical. I needed to have this conversation with him. Best that he see that I was playing with an open hand.

  "You are marked. You are claimed by a demon."

  "Not just any demon, Father. I'm marked by—" I hesitated to even say his name as each time the power of it made me weak. "The Demon King himself has marked me." Nothing. Apparently, being present in the house of the Light had its benefits. Note to self.

  The color drained from the poor man's face as I took a seat in the front pew across the aisle from him. I sat and waited for him to collect his thoughts. He'd discovered that he had in his possession a relic of a saint and had a servant of The Enemy sitting in his church, both within the last two minutes. As I waited for him to collect himself, I studied the stained glass but gleaned no deep understanding of the mysteries of the Light.

  "Are you going to kill me and defile the relic?" He was quite serious.

  "What? No. Would I have told you that it needs to be hidden again if I were? I'm not here to destroy the village and this church, Father. I'm here to save it."

  His face shifted from fear to placidity to fear, and finally, once he'd managed to get a hold of himself, settled into the stern look of a teacher scolding a troublesome boy. "How are you a paladin? You can't be a paladin and serve the Demon King too."

  "I woke up in Hell, was ordered by the Demon King to sacrifice a maiden, and told him to piss off. Next thing I knew, an angel appeared and told him that I belonged to the Light and could not be claimed. Would it surprise you to hear that the Demon King didn't care and branded me anyway?"

  "A spontaneous grant!" He launched to his feet with wide eyes. "There are men who study theology and the combat arts for decades before the holy order is granted to them, but even then, it's by a cardinal or a bishop. One in a thousand—no, one in a million is directly touched to take up the mantle. It's the stuff of legend! I have to—I have to verify this…" He held his hand outstretched and came closer to me, clearly performing some mystical ritual.

  "It's okay, Father, I don't bite."

  "I can feel the light within you. It burns bright but sputters as if the wick is wet. You are dedicated to the path you walk and yet unsure of yourself." He edged closer. "It is wrapped around your soul, protecting it, repelling the mark you bear. You really are touched." His hand was barely an inch from my forehead. "You speak true." He touched me.

  My head rocked back as if I'd been hit in the face with a baseball bat, which was better than the clap of thunder that deafened me. Stunned, when I regained my vision, I was staring at the ceiling, still sitting in the knocked-over pew. I wrestled my knees under me and steadied myself on the pew only to see that the priest had been blasted back as well and was now sitting on the steps of the dais, looking just as surprised as I felt. I grunted and held on to the pew for dear life as the world swam around me, and the ringing in my ears faded away over the course of a minute or so.

  "Perhaps, Father, we should avoid doing that again." I pushed my feet under me, then stood up, unsure if my legs would hold me. I wrestled the pew back into position, then walked over to him and held out a hand to help him up. He hadn't meant for that to happen, I'm sure.

  He blinked at me for a few moments, mouth still hanging open, then hesitantly reached out his own hand. He tapped my fingers once with his own before accepting my hand. I pulled him to his feet.

  "I think perhaps I definitely should." Judging from his expression, mine must have reflected just what I thought about his idea. "Another day, however. I believe this day has been sufficiently theologically challenging as it is.

  "Now tell me, son, you said that The Enemy is coming. Explain." It was not a request. It was an order from the local representative of the power that I served. The power that I wanted to serve, at least, if I didn't find a way to brakk it up.

  "It would appear that the former resident of the cottage that I moved into made a deal with the devil."

  "I've heard that story. The toll-taker cut a deal with the devil to build the bridge and collect a toll from all who crossed. Planted it right at the only place for a two or three-day journey in either direction that had a ford, so everyone who wanted to cross the river had to pay him. You're not saying that it's actually true, are you? Surely not."

  "Father, given what I've witnessed in the last few days, I'd believe the sky was pink if you made a convincing argument, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that the Demon King believes that it's his and has ordered his forces to take ownership of the town within the next two weeks. Or eleven days now, actually, if my count is correct. Time moves differently in Hell. I'm unsure how long I was actually there."

  "Eleven days! There's no way to convince these people to give up the land that's been tilled by their ancestors for a hundred years or more. They'll stay and die, cut down like the very wheat they grow." He held his head in his hands. "My bishop is in a city a week's travel away. I don't have time to consult with him for direction."

  "Well, Father, that's where I come in. There's nothing I'd like more right now than to stick my thumb in the eye of any demon whose intention is to harm this village. I will die to protect it, and if you'd like me to swear to it on St. Charlemagne's toe, I will happily do so. But I'm going to need help. I'm going to need your help."

  "My help? What can I do? I'm no warrior."

  "I need your help to convince the village council to declare me lord protector of the village. If they do that, it alone is enough to stop any demonic incursion."

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  "But you bear his mark. How can I trust you? How do I know that this isn't some trick to get me to commit heresy and give up my church without a fight? I won't be tricked into damming my soul!"

  "I don't know what I can tell you, Father. You need to think it through and come to your own conclusion. I won't force your hand. But I do need to speak to the village council, and as soon as possible. There is plenty of time enough to wrap this up with nobody getting hurt."

  * * *

  It wasn't hard to find Elanthe. She was standing in front of an inn—I should really say the inn as this hamlet wasn't big enough for two, showing off Buttercup to two young farmers. I couldn't tell if they were more interested in chatting her up or in the horse. It's a farmer thing, I guess.

  She saw me and waved me over, which caused the two lads to decide that they had better places to be. Bold enough to chat up a maiden, but not daring enough to speak with her protector. Smart lads. They knew they'd only get another chance if they were still breathing. I respected them immediately.

  "How did it go, my lord?"

  I grunted and patted Buttercup's flank. "Some good, some bad. He immediately recognized me as a paladin of the Light. Let's go inside and get something to eat. I'm suddenly starving for some reason."

  "Oh, that's wonderful." She actually clapped at the news. "What's bad about that?" She slipped through the door that I held open.

  "He also immediately recognized that I'm marked."

  I strode up to the innkeeper, who had stopped cleaning a clay mug the moment I walked through the door. "Well met, travelers. I'm Franz, and this is my inn. What can I do for you?"

  I glanced around at the empty room. "Any food perhaps? And I could use a drink as well."

  "Ah, yes. I'm afraid I had no lodgers yesterday evening, so there's no leftover stew. All I can offer as food is bread, cheese, and cured sausages. But an ale I can provide, no problem." He looked into the mug, decided it was clean enough, then opened the spigot on a wooden keg behind the counter and filled the mug. It was a weak pour, but I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot, so I didn't mention it. I wouldn't forget it either. "Sit anywhere you like, I'll bring the food out shortly. An ale for the girl as well?"

  "Yes, please!"

  "No, thank you. Water will do fine for her." I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my head.

  I settled us into a table by the front window. It was convenient as it was both the furthest from where the innkeeper had been working and gave me the easy excuse that I wanted to look out the window. We could speak here without being listened to.

  "So the priest. He doesn't know what to make of me. He understands my position, understands that I want to protect the village, but doesn't know if he can willingly accept being a demon's subject, and doesn't believe that he can allow others into his dominion either. I tried to explain that I was no demon, but it wasn't enough for him. I don’t know that I blame him."

  She let me brood and sip my ale, which was surprisingly good. I'd order a cask for the house, which might help ingratiate myself with the innkeeper, as if I didn't miss my mark, he had brewed it himself. "How did you get on?"

  "Like you, some good, some bad, but a whole less important. There's no seamstress or store to buy clothing here, as the village is just too small for one, so everyone makes their own. There's also no grocer or costermonger, as almost everyone here farms. Those who need to supplement their own buy on market day. In fact, the only merchant in town is Stefania."

  "You mentioned her last night. One of the councilors as well, no?"

  "That's right." Elanthe beamed at the knowledge that I had listened to her. "To say that she was disapproving of my attire would be an understatement. When I explained that I'd been kidnapped and that the paladin who saved me wasn't equipped with ladies' clothing, she got a lot friendlier. She's going to go through her old clothes and find me something she doesn't wear anymore, but nothing is charity with that one. Additionally, she'll pull together some supplies and deliver them to the cottage later. I suspect that we'll pay a premium for the service. She is quite shrewd."

  "But practical. That should work in our favor." It was always easier when I would shake down a smart person—they knew that it was cheaper to pay protection money than defend against the gang. The thought shamed me.

  Franz returned with a wooden plank set with bread, cheese, the end of a salami, and an apple. "Oh, I thought you were bringing out something basic. Not fancy fare."

  He stared at me dumbly for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Ah, yes. City humor. What do they call it again? Sarcasm? Quite amusing—you caught me completely off guard." He was quite proud of himself for understanding the joke I didn't tell. "How is your ale? Ready for a second?"

  I was flummoxed for a moment by his response. I had meant what I said. What he brought out looked amazing. Inch-thick slices of freshly baked bread, a chunk of whole hard cheese and not something I had to peel plastic off of slice by slice, and a salami that would have cost $50 at my local Whole Foodstuffs organic supermarket. Call me a cynic, but I was still convinced that I was about to get fleeced in the name of neighborly relations.

  "No, thank you on that second ale. I've got a lot to do today, what with moving into the old cottage by the bridge and meeting the town councilors. You wouldn't know where I could find them, by any chance?"

  "The… The cottage by the bridge." Color drained from his face. "The cursed cottage?"

  "Ha ha." I tried to project friendly confidence. "I don't know if it is cursed, but it sure was in disrepair. I rather expected a better billet when I was assigned here, but beggars can't be choosers. Why is it called the cursed cottage?"

  "It's called the cursed cottage because it's cursed." My silence indicated that I needed more. He pulled a chair over and sat down. "I'm one of the council members in town. There are four of us plus Father Yaqub, who serves as a tie breaker when we need it."

  "Ah, yes, I spoke with him earlier. He's done a wonderful job with the flowers in front of the church. He tried to show me his garden, but I can't spare the time today."

  "Well, he's new in town, having only been here for ten or so years, but we've come to respect him and his council. So what is it that you need to tell the council?"

  I took a pull from my mug and tried to organize my thoughts.

  "The Demon King is exercising a claim to the village and intends for it to be subjugated." Elanthe smiled as she said it, no differently than as if she'd presented him with a bouquet of pansies.

  I choked on the ale I was drinking and suffered a coughing fit. "Sorry! Sorry." I tried to clean up with my napkin. "It's just when it's said like that—"

  Franz had gone white. "It's true then. The curse. It's true. We're doomed. We're all going to die." His eyes were wide as saucers. "Six generations of effort to build this inn…"

  "No, no. It's not like that." I took hold of his arm in that way that men do when we want to convey the seriousness of our words. "That's why you were sent a paladin of the Light." I shooed Elanthe away to the bar to get the poor man an ale. I winced when I realized that I would pay for it as well.

  He slowly turned his head, closed his mouth, and looked at me. "Really?" The words came out as a whisper.

  "Yes, really. My mission is to extend my protection over this village and all who reside in it. I have been tasked by the great power to do this. I will die before I allow any demon to harm any person in this village. To that, I swear."