talked. “I am elf, and my life is long, my sorrows great. I will hold to my duty because that will see me through all other pain. When all else falters, fails and fades away, my duty will not. I am paladin, the white knight. My life is a crusade, and my sworn duty is all that matters.” She felt her hilt for reassurance, and watched Isabelle’s eyes follow the motion of her hands. “I’m not going to draw a sword on you, it’s merely an action for emphasis.”
“Oh, good,” Isabelle said dryly, “though with you, it is hard to tell sometimes.” Isabelle ran her hands over the white robes that she wore, still a pure color even here at the front of the battle lines. “Very well, you hold to your duty then, your crusade, as it were. Though I did think most paladins chose a more spiritual crusade, something nobler and more aligned with grandeur and changing the world-like evangelism, or serving the poor, or defending the weak. Something to inspire the soul and fill it with a billowing, all-consuming purpose-”
“All piffle,” Vara said, and took the two steps to the entry of the tent. “Be as grand as you want in your inspirations, but most paladins fall short because they are all grandeur and nobility and little action on the ground. They say they want to free the slaves or evangelize or other rubbish, but then they do things on a daily basis that have little in common with their overarching goal. No, I glory in the small. Duty is a small thing and yet the largest. Every act on a daily basis that I use to serve my guild is a reward in itself, and leads me on to the biggest of goals-to serve my guild by defending it from harm. My crusade is the simplest, lowest, and yet highest and most manageable of all of them. No bombast, no bold proclamation, just simple service, day in, day out. And it is simple. All I need to do is get up and point my sword in the direction of the nearest threat, or pick up a shovel and begin whatever work need be done.” She knew her eyes flashed but didn’t care.
“You’ve developed into a very reasonable person,” Isabelle said, but she didn’t smile.
“I strive for reason in all things,” Vara said, and ducked to exit the tent. “Take care, sister of mine.”
“I didn’t say that was a good attribute,” Isabelle said, and Vara froze at the flap, her back arched. She almost stood up, but the brush of the canvas ceiling against her hair was already ever-present. “You might try being a bit unreasonable in your thinking from time to time.”
Vara turned back. “I might have been accused of being unreasonable from time to time, you needn’t worry about that.”
“Not an unreasonable pain in the backside,” Isabelle said. “Unreasonable in the sense of making a decision with your soft, yet-walled off and vulnerable heart rather than your thickly protected and indestructible head. There is a clear difference between the two.”
“If there is,” Vara said, and pushed open the flap to let the smell of the army camp outside wash over her, the faint foulness of the cooking and the latrines and all the bodies pushed together in this space, along with the warm evening air, “I can’t afford to discover what the former might be saying and still expect to hold to my duty. And that, really, is the essence of the crusade right there, isn’t it? A simple choice, and one that is already made.”
“Take care,” Isabelle said, “you and your choice. Take care that you don’t regret that choice later.”
“I am elf,” Vara said, as she left the tent, and let the flap fall behind her. “My life is long, and my sorrow is great-and what is the weight of one more regret on the top of that pile in the grand scale?” She knew Isabelle heard her, even though there was no answer from within the tent. She ignored the trolls that flanked her on either side as she crossed back over to Ryin, who waited by a fire. She ignored the thought of that weight, too, consciously at first, but by the time the return spell took hold and carried her back to Sanctuary, she had forgotten it entirely.
Chapter 45
Martaina
There was something wrong in the air, something she couldn’t quite narrow down. It was as if the breeze had shifted direction, and it carried with it an ill smell, something far away, something like death. She sniffed again, and it was faint, something dead, some blood, and it was too early and the woods too sparse for the camp to be getting fresh meat tonight.
There was a stir as the expedition returned, Aisling at the fore with Terian, bound and gagged on a horse that she led. Martaina caught sight of Partus, further down the line, untethered, riding a horse of his own. “Before you left,” Martaina called out to Aisling, who looked at her in return, “the dwarf was bound hand and foot, and Terian was loosed upon the world. You return and the dark knight is the one restrained.”
“Does that make you curious about what happened?” Aisling asked, a sly smile perched on her blue lips.
Martaina sniffed the air again, trying to tune out the dull, pungent scent of people and focus on what she was scenting from upwind. “Not really.”
“It’s quite the tale,” Aisling said, handing off her reins to one of the other rangers that Martaina had set to taking care of the animals. Mendicant hopped off his pony and took up the rope that was tied around Terian’s bindings as he started to lead him off. “Filled with adventure and derring-do.”
Martaina looked at the dark elf as she approached, the usual measure of thistles caught in her white hair. With another sniff, something else became obvious as well, something that was beyond the usual faint hint of cinnamon that Aisling used to freshen her breath, something primal and sweaty on her blue skin, something that wasn’t usually there, in spite of the dark elf’s self-proclaimed reputation. Martaina watched her evenly, not giving her much expression, though she knew that scent, would know it anywhere, as pronounced as it was. “And also,” Martaina said, “filled with much sex with your General, it would seem.”
Aisling’s face didn’t fall as expected, it almost flushed, near-aglow. “You can tell?”
“I can smell it,” Martaina said, and went back to her quiver, checking each arrow in turn for splintering on the shaft, and fussing about every fletching.
“Smell what?” Aisling stared back at her.
“Him,” Martaina replied, “on you. Every man in this guild has a unique smell when they sweat. His is faint most of the time, but after a long ride and strenuous activity, it gets more pronounced. It took me a minute to sort it out, because it smells like he might have been in a hot springs recently, and that sulphur really covers it over well, but no, it’s there, it’s obvious-oh, and his horse, too. Very different smell than other horses, and it clings to him like that thistle in your hair.” She watched with some minor satisfaction as Aisling’s face purpled about the cheeks, her race’s version of blushing. “Don’t fear; I won’t tell.”
“Much appreciated,” Aisling said tightly, “I doubt our esteemed general would much like it if this …” She searched for a word but admitted defeat after only a few seconds, “… this were to get out among the guild.”
“Because his last two relationships were something he actively tried to hide?” Martaina raised an eyebrow at her and watched Aisling flinch away, the fingers of one hand touching her lips almost self-consciously.
“Ah, good to see you’ve returned,” Odellan said, wandering in from the opposite direction. His smell was straightforward, clean whenever possible, just like him.
“Back at Enrant Monge,” Aisling said, all trace of her embarrassment gone. “I believe the general will be along shortly.”
The smell from the woods was stronger now, Martaina thought, something obvious about it, the blood. She hadn’t heard anything, but that was hardly an indicator given that the camp noise was so prevalent.
“Beg pardon?” Odellan looked away from Aisling, to her, and Martaina realized now she’d said it out loud.
“There’s blood in the air, a lot of it,” Martaina said with some chagrin. “I can track based on many factors, and that is one of them-one I don’t talk about much, obviously. It’s faint, but there, and it’s a ways off, so that means there’s a lot of it.”
“You’re saying-” Odellan began.
