A few days earlier. . .

  Atan’s horse trotted behind Nora's mule along the road to Knightshelm. It was blackest night, with nothing but the light of the moon upon the lake to light their path along.

  He had tried multiple times to convince the girl to rest, but even barely clinging to her saddle, she refused to heed him. She was not too different than his daughter had been in that respect, stubborn until the end. That might have been, in many ways, a winning factor when it came to joining the Order of the Obelisk: Orphans with a fire and determination to pursue their oath made for fine paladins, unwavering in their beliefs, and strong servants.

  “Nora, the road is often lost at this time, it curves and could take you into the waters,” Atan pleaded again.

  She did not respond.

  He sighed and continued to follow behind.

  Impressively, the cliffs of Knightshelm were soon reached. Dots of torches lit the terraced bit of terrain that twisted with houses, winding walls, and the high-sanctum at the top. Just beyond the night-shadowed stronghold was the coast where humans had first landed in Terragard many generations ago and either cursed or blessed the land, depending on who was asked.

  Atan wondered how his brethren would treat him as he returned. He had stood against his order, yet somehow retained the power of his oath to the Obelisk. The great entity had even granted the necromancer amnesty, at least temporarily. It was unclear why, but he was not of a station to find such answers freely.

  He and Nora ascended the twisting cliffs, which were illuminated by standing torches, up to a large gate that stretched the height of five men. It glowed amber with the fires that burned above and on its sides.

  Nora stopped her mule a foot from the gate, with Atan resting his horse beside her.

  “How do we enter?” the girl asked.

  Atan said, “You knock. But know this: should you enter as an acolyte, you will be put through many trials. You will not be allowed to flee from them. Should you fail or attempt to break your bond, you will be exiled from Knightshelm and never receive a chance at taking the oath.”

  Her eyes were hardset. “So, all orphans are thrown out who cannot handle your trials?”

  Atan shook my head. “No, typically they are adopted by a mentor and taught our ways for years before they are given the chance at taking on the role of acolyte, eventually squire, then Knight-Attendant, and lastly a full Knight. But since you are not a ward of any paladin, you will have to go through an expedited process.”

  The tide of the coast and rolling breeze filled the silence between them for some time.

  Finally, she asked, “Would you be able to adopt me?”

  He grit his teeth. He had not considered taking on that responsibility since the loss of his daughter and wife. It was also difficult to tell just how serious she was.

  “I would not take on that charge simply for the sake of manipulating the system,” Atan said.

  She turned to him finally, half her soft features in shadow and the other lit by flame. “How is my desire any less honest than another’s?”

  Atan sighed. “You do not understand. You may not for many years yet. But I have brought you to the gates of Knightshelm, and you may enter if you wish, but I will not go in with you.”

  “Do you fear your brothers and sisters?” she asked.

  He did not know how to respond. In many ways he did. Sure, the Obelisk had bid them to leave Jevrick alone, but would he be given the same courtesy? Or would they do the more likely thing, and throw him into a cell. Would the Obelisk intervene on Atan’s behalf as it did for Jevrick? Perhaps, but uncertain.

  “I fear some who harbor deep honor of which I may have slighted in serving the necromancer,” he answered.

  “Maybe that is deserved, and you are hiding from your honor,” she said. The torch fire danced in her eyes.

  Atan scowled. “Petulant child. . . How is it that you hold such resentment toward me? Have I not known you all of your days? Have I not protected you? You seek evil where there is none, and hard lines where they are blurred. You may do as you wish, but I will not suffer your judgement, as you will not suffer my wisdom.” He pulled the reins of his horse to leave back the way they’d come. Yet. . . he could not start the journey back. That cold long road awaited Nora to be thrown back into it. He would not be able to forgive himself should he ever stare at this road to see her bones resting upon it. It was not that he doubted her ability to succeed in the trials, but he doubted that her lust for vengeance would. If she did not set aside such passion, it would bleed into her oath. He had seen it before, knights who muddied their oaths with personal goals. Those knights often broke from the order and set out on their own, or were exiled for breaking their tenents. A knight’s oath to the Obelisk was one to serve and listen to the great entity. It was not an oath to serve one’s own personal vendettas. But he saw no way to convince her. She was too blinded by pain.

  Stolen story; please report.

  But, perhaps beneath all his concern for her, there was something else that lingered. How could a girl who was not even his fill the void that his lost child left? Perhaps. . . that was the bond of ward and mentor. Perhaps he could shape her, help her avoid the pits she stumbled towards, and see her into a strong knight with a steady hand. Perhaps he was simply driven by the mourning, guilt, and nightmares of his past.

  Either way, he stopped himself from riding away. He turned back to Nora, “Very well. If they admit you into the trials, then I will sponsor you. Should you prove your commitment to the order, then I will motion to adopt you as my acolyte. Though, should you desire to abandon this path, or be exiled, then I will be here to guide you home.”

  She swallowed. She nodded. She turned toward the gate, and knocked.

  ***

  …the present.

  I lay Atan upon the apothecary table as Fern and Lysa looked over his wounds. The paladin had passed out and now wheezed with each labored breath.

  “Will he wake soon?” I asked them.

  Lysa cut away his rags and laid a sheet over his body. “It is hard to say,” she said. “We can heal his wounds, but the will for a man to recover from such trauma is often up to them.”

  Fern mashed some plants with a mortar and pestle. “His head had sustained grievous blows, though it is hard to tell by what. We are no clerics, unfortunately. We are quite limited in our skills when it comes to total healing.”

  I thought about my own abilities to resurrect the dead. Often the physical damage of such subjects would be reversed, but my powers did not necessarily wipe away all ailments. Von Jakoby was evidence enough of that, who was still in an endless slumber.

  Who were they? The first guess of mine would be the paladins. But why would they beat him or pose a threat to our town after their deity, or whatever, seemed to want to spare me? Though, who else in this region could possess the power to harm my paladin friend so grievously? Then there was my last question: where was little Nora?

  The answers would have to wait. I would put my trust into the apothecaries to restore Atan, and in the meantime I would need to turn my attention to matters of Maplebrook.

  However, as I stepped outside, I was met with none other than Clyde.

  “That paladin dead?” he asked.

  I was surprised to see the knight still here. I was a little annoyed by how relieved I was to see that he had not left yet.

  “No, he will recover,” I said.

  “Hmm. Who do you think he meant when he said, they?”

  I shrugged. “What is it that you care about in this regard? You were to return to Stone Summit I recall.”

  Clyde squinted, slipped a flask from his belt and took a swig from it, then returned it. “I care not.”

  “Very well, if you excuse me.” I brushed past him. I was astonished by my brazen attitude toward him. Evidently my subconscious had formed animosity toward the knight for any number of reasons of which I had previously reflected. But such abrasiveness would not gain me the answers I sought in his regard. So, I turned back, “Forgive me, ser. I mean no abrasion. It has been a long day, and I need some time to reflect upon all that has transpired. Please, if you do hope to stay, you might find a restful night at the Sleeping Dragon. I will pay for your accommodations for as long as you linger.”

  He looked down to his flask, then back at me.

  “Yes, as much drink as you desire.”

  He smiled. “Very well, I suppose I can spare a couple nights. I will gladly take you up on that offer.”

  I attempted to smile, but was reminded about how difficult it was for such an expression in my skeletal nature. I simply nodded my head and continued on to my office. There was much to take care of for this town’s prosperity.

  ***

  Ronald slumped over his bowl of stew, resting his head on one hand, and stirring the meal eternally with the other. “How could he win?” he asked Tobi, who sat at the same table as he.

  The young guardsman shook his head. “I suppose people liked that resurrection trick, and that he killed all the bandits, stopped the Nightfire, and got the kobolds to stop being a nuisance.”

  Ronald gave the boy a side-eye.

  Tobi cleared his throat. “Uh, or he cheated.”

  Ronald sighed. “Oh, what does it matter? Years of serving this town, and I get passed up for a dreadful undead lover.”

  Tobi said, “What do we do now, Master?”

  Ronald took a sip of his stew. “Mmm. Ehm. Well, I suppose there is nothing more to do except what I’ve always done.”

  “Watch over Maplebrook?”

  Ronald nodded. “Watch over Maplebrook.”