The First Fight
"…Just now."
I resettled my grip on the sword. Sweat had pooled in my palm, and the hilt kept slipping.
"Stop the carriage first."
"Sir Knight. There seems to be some misunderstanding."
"I'll hear it after you've stopped."
The coachman searched my face. He hesitated a moment, then nodded and drew in the reins.
Good. If he listens like this…
A shrill neigh ripped out of the horse. Tendons jumped along the arm locked on the reins, and as the carriage shed speed all at once my body pitched forward. The wrist I'd braced slammed hard into the window frame.
"Agh!"
My fingers sprang open. The sword slid out through the window and down beneath the driver's seat. I snatched for it and came up short, and in that same breath the coachman was already throwing himself off the side of the box.
"Sir Knight!"
From behind me, Ceria caught my belt. My face, a heartbeat from cracking into the frame, stopped just short.
The carriage rolled a little farther and then stood still.
I clutched my numbed wrist and looked ahead. The coachman was running down the road.
That bastard.
I grabbed the door handle and stopped. Couldn't I just let him go? We had the carriage, and we had the horse. All we needed was to turn around. There was no real reason to chase him down and fight.
I checked the direction he was fleeing.
Toward the monastery.
Ah.
What if he gets there first and comes back with people?
"Wait here a moment."
I threw the door open and jumped. The shock climbed through my soles and left my knees buzzing.
He must have turned an ankle coming down; he was limping on one leg. Still close enough to catch. I set my teeth and ran.
The body moves better than I thought.
Even hauling a shell of steel, my legs held. The gap closed fast. I reached, and his collar snagged in my hand.
"Wait—!"
He spun. Something flashed in his fist.
A dagger.
In that instant my hands moved ahead of my thoughts. My left arm knocked his aside, and my right closed on his wrist. A cold line grazed the back of my hand. The point wavered in front of my eyes.
…I blocked it.
He twisted at once, angling the blade toward my side, and I brought my left hand in as well and held on.
Let go and I get stabbed. That much I understand.
"Let go of—!"
"You let go first, you bastard!"
The curse tore out of me. There was no room left for anything cleaner.
He drove a knee into my stomach.
The armor boomed.
"Ghk!"
In the same instant a yelp burst out of him.
The one who landed the hit is the one hurting more. Decent armor, then.
I shoved into him at once. He went over backward, and I went with him. Dirt filled my mouth, and I had no chance to spit.
I pinned the knife arm to the ground first. Knee on his elbow, a wrench of the wrist, and the fingers that had been holding out finally splayed open. The dagger dropped.
I'm alive.
…Not yet. That has to go first.
I reached for it, and someone kicked the dagger well clear. I looked up. Ceria stood over us, the cord that had bound the luggage in one hand.
"Hold his hands behind him, please."
My breath was still short. I rolled the coachman onto his stomach and pulled his arms behind his back. Ceria knelt beside me and began tying his wrists. The first knot went slack; she pressed her lips tight and hauled the cord again. Her fingertips were trembling.
"I'll hold him. Take your time."
She gave a short nod.
Only after I'd checked the knots did I get off his back. I sank down where I was, and the breath I'd been choking back came out all at once.
This counts as doing all right, doesn't it? I caught a man with a knife.
I looked at my hand. A long cut ran across the back of the right one. Only after I saw the blood did it start to sting.
"Let me see your hand."
Ceria sat down beside me.
"It isn't deep."
"It still needs treating."
I held it out without argument. She supported my wrist and laid her palm over the wound. A brief prayer, and a faint light seeped between her fingers.
Warm.
The sting ebbed, and the parted skin drew together little by little. I watched and forgot to breathe.
I opened my hand and closed it again. The wound was gone without a trace. The wrist I'd cracked against the window frame no longer ached either.
So this is Divine Power.
"Thank you."
"That's what I ought to be saying."
Ceria let go of my hand.
"Thank you for catching him."
I turned my eyes to the coachman lying facedown in the dirt. There was still work left before I could take any thanks.
I dragged him back and propped him against a carriage wheel. With his ankles bound as well, he seemed to have given up on running. What he hadn't given up was the same line, over and over.
"I only did as I was told."
I crouched in front of him.
"And trying to stick me with a dagger—what was that?"
The coachman shut his mouth.
"Start with who gave the order."
"The monastery…"
"Brennan Monastery?"
He nodded. His eyes kept sliding past me to Ceria. The mouth that had worked so freely for excuses would hardly open now.
"They said I only had to see the Saintess that far. Nothing more."
"And me?"
"Sir?"
"After you delivered the Saintess, what was supposed to happen to me?"
His lips twitched. Before an answer could come, I asked first.
"Were you meant to take me to the well?"
His head jerked up. Once again, the answer was written across his face.
"Who told you…"
"I'm the one asking."
There was no need to raise my voice. A chill settled under my ribs. A moment ago I'd been riding the relief that the fight was over. One look at that face, and it finally felt real.
This man had meant to kill me.
Ask me to draw a little water. Say the horse was short. Something careless like that, to coax me along. If I hadn't known, I would have gone.
"…They told me to say one of the horses was hurt."
The coachman bowed his head.
"That it was tied behind the well, and I should ask you to have a look."
"And after that?"
"I don't know. Truly. I was only supposed to call—"
"That's enough."
It was Ceria. The coachman flinched and closed his mouth.
I turned. She had one hand locked tight around the other. It was not the face she had worn while she healed me.
"You'll say the rest before the guards at Roen."
Low, and final. She looked at the coachman a moment longer, then turned to me.
"Sir Knight. May we depart?"
"Yes. Only…"
I don't know how to drive.
I couldn't quite make myself say it. A paladin who couldn't even use a sword properly, and now he couldn't handle a carriage either.
Ceria followed my gaze to the driver's seat.
"I'll drive."
"You know how?"
"When I went out on charity rounds, I drove from time to time. I can't go very fast, though."
That's plenty. Better to live slowly than to die in a hurry.
I moved the coachman into the carriage, checked the bindings, and sat him on the floor between the benches. I meant to sit directly in front of him and watch. I also fished the dropped sword out from under the driver's seat.
Trying to sheathe it, I missed the mouth of the scabbard twice. He was watching, so I scowled at him for no good reason.
What are you looking at. I don't care to fight you twice. Sit still.
Ceria climbed up into the driver's seat. I passed her the reins and started to turn, and a careful voice caught me.
"Sir Knight."
"Yes."
"How did you know what he just said?"
There it is.
Nothing easy to deflect with came to mind. I rested a hand on the scabbard, then spoke.
"It's a little difficult to explain."
Ceria waited in silence for the rest.
"There are things I still need to confirm myself. I have no intention of harming the Saintess."
It sounded worse the moment it left my mouth. The sort of line a swindler would reach for.
Her gaze dropped to the back of my hand. She took in the dried blood and the grime, then met my eyes again.
"All right."
No hesitation in it. I hadn't expected that.
"When you're able to tell me, though, please tell me as well."
"…I will."
"I'll need to know, if I'm to be careful."
I nodded. She was right. What use was turning it over in my head alone? She had to know what was happening, too.
Before I climbed into the carriage, I added one more thing.
"Even if you know someone at the monastery, it would be best not to contact them for a while."
Ceria's face went still. She looked down at the reins for a moment, then nodded slowly.
The carriage began to move. We went back the way we had come, and at the fork we turned toward Roen.
A little farther on, the bridge appeared. It was perfectly intact. From the far side, a cart piled high with goods was even crossing toward us.
I looked at the coachman. He ducked his head.
Right. Thoroughly collapsed, that bridge.
As the tension let go, I sank deep into the seat. My hands were still trembling, faintly, and the clothes under the armor were soaked with sweat.
I don't want to do this again.
A good body, it seemed, did not make everything solve itself. Beating his arm aside had been the good part. After that I had only hung on so I wouldn't lose him.
If I'm going to survive, I need to learn how to fight. At least enough not to drop the sword first, next time.
"Sir Knight. I can see the town."
I turned toward the window. Beyond a low wall, rooftops. Smoke lifting from the chimneys, and at the gate a guard looking over a cart.
Welcome sight. I really am going to eat tonight.
The carriage stopped at the tail of the line. The guard coming over recognized Ceria and bowed, startled. A few words passed, and another soldier ran in through the gate.
I got ready to step down with the bound coachman. Then hoofbeats sounded outside.
"Saintess."
At the woman's voice, I leaned out the door.
A red-haired woman was swinging down from her horse. Gold embroidery traced her white cloak, and a longsword with hardly any ornament hung at her hip. A face I knew.
Leona, commander of the Dawn Knights.
Her gaze moved from Ceria to me—past the blood on my hand, to the coachman bound on the carriage floor.
"Sir Ethan."
My back straightened before I knew it.
I ought to be glad to see her. And the first thing that comes to mind is climbing the same scaffold as this woman.