A Paladin's Journey Ch. 13

Sara dropped her eyes again. "Yes, Priestess."

"I suggest you pay a visit to Sorla," Amina advised. "She has been eager to see you for some time. She asks about you often." A great part of Sara's training had been conducted in total isolation, so Sara had had little time for socialising.

The younger woman's expression brightened. "A fine idea, Priestess," she said graciously. "I will do so at once." Amina turned to leave, but was stopped when Sara added hesitantly; "Unless, of course, you would like to be with me, instead?"

Amina turned back to see Sara's gaze roaming over her body. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth and her cheeks were slightly flushed. Her pink nipples had hardened into stiff points atop her creamy breasts.

Amina felt a flutter in her belly as she studied the other woman in turn. It would be easy to make love with Sara, here and now. And most pleasurable, too, but unfortunately now was not the right time. She walked back to Sara and placed gentle hands on the girl's shoulders. Her soft skin felt wonderful beneath her palms. "Your offer is tempting, chatra, but I cannot indulge this desire today."

Sara gazed back at Amina, her brilliant blue eyes open, vulnerable, hot with desire. Despite herself, Amina found herself leaning in and pressing her lips to the other woman's. Sara moaned at the contact and pulled Amina close as she deepened the kiss, but Amina stopped her with a gentle finger on the chin.

"That is all, for now, child," she whispered kindly, but firmly. Sara nodded obediently and stepped back. For a moment, her hand strayed toward her womanhood as if she intended to pleasure herself, but she schooled herself back to composure.

Amina noted the discipline with pride. It was not an easy thing to resist the allure of a Priestess. Sara was learning well. "I kissed you not to tease," Amina explained. "But to promise our time together, as soon as you are ready."

Sara smiled. "As you say, Priestess. I very much look forward to it." Her voice was still a little smoky. "If I may be excused?"

Amina nodded, and Sara strode gracefully toward the archway that led out of the room. She walked seductively, each foot placed perfectly in front of the last, which set her hips and bottom swaying alluringly. That was one lesson she had taken to like a duck to water; the subtle -- and not so subtle -- arts of seduction. A Priestess' body was a useful tool with or without her vala. There were times when using the vala was dangerous, or inappropriate, hence the methods of simple, physical attraction.

Sara had commented early on in her training that she wished she'd known these tricks -- like how to walk to draw a man's eye -- while she was living on the streets. She jokingly said she would have spent every night in a feather bed with a full stomach, courtesy of an obliging man.

Amina watched Sara leave, admiring the way her slim back with its dimples just above her hips flared into her peach of a bottom, perky and round. Yes, she very much looked forward to sharing herself with Sara.

Expanding her vala, Amina checked on the rest of the Temple. Sorla and Jeira were bathing in one of the smaller bath chambers in the aronduri quarters. Jeira was washing the half-Orc's back as they chatted amiably.

Rayna and Bella were working on one of the chambers that were in disrepair, waving glowing sunstones over collapsed pillars of marble that fit itself back together as if it had never broken. That room would be guest quarters, once restored, though Amina wondered how long it would be until the Temple needed guest accommodations once again.

Lynelle was attending to some washing in the chamber designed for such; a large, square room fifty feet on a side with a huge fireplace on each wall that heated internal pipes in much the same way as the bath chambers did. Two rows of flat, stone cisterns ran down the centre of the room which could be filled with hot water for washing clothes.

Lynelle was standing at one such, stirring the clothes in the cistern with a long wooden pole. The pretty Elf was humming a gentle melody as she worked. Unclothed -- probably to save dirtying her own garments -- her slender body glistened damply from the heat and steam in the room. The sunstones in the washing chamber were unlit -- there was no arohim present to light them -- but that bothered Lynelle not; her Elvish eyes could see perfectly well in the dark.

Higher up, Ayla and Tavish were practicing their mohar, slowly and deliberately conducting each movement as they'd been taught. Tavish's vala flickered a few times as Amina watched. It would not be long before she would have to begin teaching him how to access it; the boy was learning quickly.

Ayla was applying herself, also, but her progress was a little slower due to her lack of access to her vala. Fortunately, she had her brother to help her along when she struggled.

Amina risked opening her vala further to try and sense the whereabouts of Erik and Sylvia, but there was no sign of them for ten miles around the Temple. Where could they be? They'd been gone five days; more than long enough to inspect Suravale and return, unless something had happened to them. Amina dearly hoped they were safe. To lose even one of their own during such a fragile time for the Order was unthinkable.

Sending one of the others -- or going out herself -- to look for the two aronduri was a foolish idea. If the worst had happened, risking more lives was pointless, and Amina needed to be here to protect the Temple and her inhabitants. It hurt, however, knowing that Erik and Sylvia might be in danger.

No, she would not believe Aros would abandon them. Not now. Not when they had served Him so faithfully. "May Aros guide and protect you both," she whispered in prayer to Erik and Sylvia as she left the meditation chamber. The sunstones winked out as the passed through the archway.

Wanting to do something useful, she made for her own quarters, hoping to find at least one of the Paladins on the Plane.

***

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Chapter 13.2: Decisions

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Erik rode his dun gelding through the knee-high grasses of the Sorral Plain, the tall blades waving gently in the afternoon breeze. With the plain so flat, the motion of the grass looked like a vast, green sea undulating beneath a sky dotted with puffy grey clouds. The odd copse of pine or elm were like islands in the ocean. There weren't enough clouds to threaten rain, but they were numerous enough to frequently cast rolling shadows onto the plain as they crossed the sun.

Sylvia rode beside Erik on a short grey mare, her sharp emerald eyes scanning the plain for any sign of the refugees they'd been seeking since leaving Suravale. Erik had been tempted to head straight back to the Temple to deliver the news to Amina regarding Palavus, but the thought of leaving the refugees wandering aimlessly had stopped him.

"Where in the bloody hells are they?" She muttered as her head swiveled from side to side. Her voice was a strange blend of high yet husky. It was decidedly attractive.

Erik had asked himself the same question a hundred times since yesterday, to no avail. They were currently riding southeast, with the Karvanis looming to their west. The canyon that led back into Suravale was two days' ride back northwest, the way they had come. Erik had hoped to have found the refugees by now and led them safely into the abandoned city, but they were proving difficult to locate.

"For the tenth time," Sylvia began in an irked tone. "You could let me scout."

For the tenth time, Erik shook his head. "No," he said firmly, not taking his eyes off the horizon. "Splitting up now is a bad move. A battalion of Heralds could appear at any time." A sudden shift in the wind brought the smell of smoke to his nose. Sylvia sat up straight; apparently, she smelled it, too.

"You smell that?" She asked, turning to him. She was so pretty, with those delicate features and that golden hair that flowed free save for a narrow braid that ran over each lightly pointed ear. She wore a tight brown tunic and breeches that molded her petite body closely, making Erik wish they had time to stop and have some fun before continuing their quest.

He nodded. "That wind came from the west, over the foothills." Sylvia grinned and wheeled her mare around in that direction, but Erik held up a hand. "Wait. That could be a Troll's cookfire or a Herald camp for all we know. We should approach carefully."

Sylvia eyed him dubiously for a moment, but then nodded agreement. "Fair enough. I don't fancy being eaten today. Or questioned by Heralds."

"Nor do I," Erik agreed, studying the land. Less than a mile to the west, the plain began to slope upward into what were the foothills of the jagged-peaked Karvanis, home of Suravale and Temple Sura. "But if it is the refugees..."

"I'll handle it," Sylvia announced confidently as she smoothly dismounted. She doffed her cloak and tossed it across her saddle, then checked the several knives tucked into her narrow leather belt. Erik had seen her hit a target no bigger than his palm at thirty paces with one of those. She had more tucked up into her sleeves and strapped to her ankles, too.

She handed Erik her reins and he took them with a sigh. "Alright," he agreed. She was the obvious choice; she could remain unseen far more successfully than Erik. "But be cautious, yes? I don't want to explain things to Amina if you're pretty head ends up on a spear." He meant it jokingly, but he couldn't keep genuine concern out of his voice. He cared for Sylvia, and hated the thought of any harm befalling her.

In a feat of impressive agility, Sylvia hopped into the air, seized the cantle of Erik's saddle and lodged her foot over his where it rested in his stirrup. Pulling herself up, she raised herself to eye level with him and kissed him firmly. "Trust me," she purred. "They will never see me coming."

Erik smiled. "I believe that. Stay low and return quickly. I will wait here for ten minutes."

In a flash, she was on the ground again and racing away through the grass, which came up to her waist. It would be easy for her to hide in if things went wrong. It wasn't long before she disappeared from sight altogether, swallowed by distance and tall grass.

"Aros guide and protect you," Erik whispered as she vanished.

Ten minutes passed. Erik's hands tightened on Quill's reins as Sylvia failed to return. He forced himself to count slowly, deliberately.

Fifteen minutes. He realised his jaw was clenched, and he made himself relax it. Right on twenty minutes -- twice as long as Erik gave the girl! -- she appeared, dashing toward him at full pace. Erik tensed further, expecting to see a band of Trolls or Goblins on her heels, but none came.

"It's them!" She called when she was in earshot. "I found them!" As she drew close, Erik could see the excitement on her face. He relaxed and released a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"That's wonderful!" He exclaimed as his boots hit the ground. Sylvia cannoned into his arms.

"Sorry I took so long!" She said. "I thought I might as well introduce myself while I was there."

Erik wanted to be angry, but it melted as he held her. "It doesn't matter," he told her. "I'm just an old man, worrying over things."

Sylvia pulled back a little, so she could look him in the eye. "Old man?" She asked with a grin. "You're the sexiest old man I've ever seen."

Erik chuckled and kissed her, and she returned it hungrily. "Mmm," she moaned into his mouth. "If the refugees weren't on their way right now, I would have you right here in the grass, 'old man.'"

The thought of making love to Sylvia right here, out in the open in broad daylight, made Erik's cock twitch eagerly. "Wait, they're coming now?" He asked after a moment, once thoughts of a naked and willing Sylvia left his mind.

She nodded. "Yep! Thought I'd save you the trip. They're breaking camp and ready to move, through the night if they must. I get the feeling they've had enough of the Sorral Plain."

"Through the night, you say?" Erik mused, putting the half-Elf down. He considered it for a moment. "It might be worth the risk. We need to see these people safe and get back to the Temple. How did they look?"

Sylvia shrugged. "Tired, I suppose, but otherwise alright. I didn't see any wounded, so I don't think they've been attacked."

Erik made his decision as the first mounted man appeared in the distance, followed by another, and another. Then came the wagons. Erik's jaw dropped as they kept coming. "How many people did Aran say to expect?" He asked absently as he watched the line of refugees winding out of the foothills like a snake.

"I think he said around a hundred," Sylvia replied. "But there many more than that up there."

Erik's brow drew down, then. "Be ready," he growled. "If the Heralds have decided to lay an elaborate trap, they have us now."

Sylvia looked at him wide-eyed before dashing to her horse and vaulting up into her saddle. She pulled her cloak out from underneath her and threw it around her shoulders, ready to ride.

"If I go down," Erik said without looking away from the refugees. "Ride as hard as you can for the Temple and do not stop. Understand?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but a sharp glance from Erik stopped her. She nodded meekly. Meekly! Sylvia! Erik wished he knew what his face looked like so he could replicate it in the future.

As the train got close enough to see him, Erik held up a hand to halt its approach. When it ground to a stop, he heeled Quill forward at a trot. Sylvia followed a length or two behind him.

Two mounted men at the head of the long, disorganised column rode out to meet them. "Hail, friend!" The one on the left greeted once he was in earshot.

"Hail," Erik said in kind, reining in Quill. The two men pulled up before getting too close, perhaps because of the suspicious look Erik knew was on his face. One of them was a stout fellow roughly Erik's age, with graying hair on top of a round face. The other was taller and a little younger. Both had the weathered features of farmers, and their clothes were simple country garb, stained and worn from use and travel.

Their horses had seen better days, too. The stout man rode a dappled mare that was ready for pasture, while the other sat on a roan gelding in only slightly better condition. If these men were Heralds in disguise, they had certainly spared no detail.

"We were expecting many less than the numbers you travel in," Erik told the men as he gestured to the winding line of horses and carts and people meandering down from the hills.

"Aye," the stout man agreed. "We gathered more along the way. The Heralds fired many farms and houses, left hundreds homeless, so we took them in."

"And how many are you now, all told?" Erik asked.

"Just over seven hundred," the man replied. Erik got a sudden sense that this man was the one in charge of things. "We understand if your sanctuary cannot hold us all."

Erik grunted softly. Suravale was big enough for a hundred times this many people, and then some. "How are you called?" He demanded. "And who directed you here?" Erik knew the answer to the second question, but he wanted to hear it from the man's mouth.

"I am called Harl," the fellow said. "And this is Brom," he added while gesturing to the man next to him. "The one who gave us direction was called Aran. Handsome fellow with blue eyes. He had two companions; a big chap called Henley with arms like a blacksmith and a nose like a beak, and a younger lad with dark hair, dark eyes."

Erik heeled Quill forward. Sylvia hissed in warning behind him but he kept on, flinging a hand behind him to stop her following. He drew rein a few paces away from Harl and Brom. "These are dark times, Harl," he said softly. "Before we go any further, I must know; what happened the day those three men rode into your farm?"

Harl grimaced. "A bloody freak storm, that's what! Damn near levelled my house and barn. Your friends came to check on us though, soon as the weather passed. Good men, they were."

Erik nodded as Harl confirmed the truth. "Thank you, Harl. Where we are taking you is a place hidden from the eyes of the Heralds. Can you promise there are no Heralds hidden among your caravan?"

Harl exchanged glances with Brom, who shrugged. "We have been damn careful," Harl explained. "All us farmers on the Plain, we know each other, see? And if we don't know someone directly, we know someone who does know 'em, understand?"

Erik inclined his head, catching the man's drift.

"Brom and I kept track of it secretly," Harl finished. "But we're reckoning everyone back there-" he jerked his thumb over his shoulder "-is accounted for by association. No strangers."

Erik found himself impressed by Harl's diligence. It wasn't perfect, however, but it would have to do. "I am Erik," he said, riding closer and offering his forearm. "Erik Gorian." Harl took it with a ready grin. Erik decided he liked the fellow; there was an earnestness to him that was often lacking in city folk.

"Gather your people, Master Harl," Erik said warmly. "I know a place where you can all be safe and hidden." Looking back, he saw a relieved smile on Sylvia's face. Nodding at her, he turned back to Harl and Brom. "We'll leave as soon as you're ready, and we'll be moving as quickly as we can."

Harl and Brom voiced their assent and trotted their horses back toward the ever-growing mass of people and horses and wagons in the near distance. Erik watched their retreating backs, hoping he had made the right decision.

Sylvia pulled up next to him a moment later. "What are you thinking?" She asked quietly.

Looking down at her, Erik lost himself in her clear green eyes for a moment before answering. "Just hoping that I made the right move."

"I think you did," she said, peering after the men. "But even if you didn't, Suravale is separate from the Temple, and therefore protected still."

Sylvia was right. She had a keen mind for one so young. Erik had been thinking the same thing, also. Besides, Erik was probably being a little paranoid about Herald spies. Still, you couldn't dismiss the probability entirely.

Shaking his head to stop his thoughts from becoming muddled, Erik smiled at Sylvia. "Come on, then," he said as he gathered Quill's reins. "Let's get a good start before nightfall." As they heeled their horses northwest, a shadow fell across the plain as the sun slipped behind the Karvanis.

Erik didn't know why, but he couldn't shake the sudden feeling that he was being watched.

"Do you feel that?" Sylvia asked, her brow furrowed as they cantered toward the refugees.

"Like there's a knife poised to plunge into my back?"

She nodded.

"I do." He looked over his shoulder, though he knew there would be nothing there.

Sylvia opened her mouth to say something, but whatever she said was lost as the earth groaned and began to heave.

***

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Chapter 13.3: An Old Foe

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Aran sat cross-legged at the peak of a mountain, staring down at the land miles below. Beneath him was a sheer cliff face, worn smooth by time and the elements. Wind raged around him, but he felt it not. The icy blasts parted before they reached him, never so much as brushing his skin or shifting his hair. Similarly, the rock beneath him was warm and smooth, quite comfortable against his bare skin.

Somehow, the Plane had taken shape of its own accord when Aran arrived, as if there were something it thought he needed to see. Curious, he'd perched himself on the rock and studied the scene. So far, however, he had seen nothing save for hills and valleys, sprawling forests and winding rivers.