Chapter 2 - Exeunt Equites

It was a week before Edmund was ready to begin his journey, a fact the apothecary ascribed to the potent poisons that had nearly killed him. As the first to survive the ordeal without a paladin's powers, none could say how (or even if) he would recover from its effects and many were glad to see the squire finally able to dress himself and walk into the great dining hall.

Thus, he found himself sat on the bench of a wooden cart in the courtyard of the fortress one cold morning. Thick furs were piled up around him, but he still felt the chill of the mountain winds as the pair emerged from the protective walls of the fortress. Unwilling to move, lest the wind find an opening in his furs, Edmund stared resolutely at the mules in front of him. They were not as elegant of the warhorse of a paladin, but they were sure-footed and perfectly capable of descending the mountain.

The cart, he knew, was bare and unpainted wood. Behind his bench, packed next to straw for the mules, he had a change of clothes and a sword, though he fancied that he would likely not be able to practice his sword-craft for many weeks. The thought made him rub the callouses of his hands, sure that they had already softened in the time since he last held a weapon.

Beside him, Katya sat stiffly and directed the mules along the path, though they needed little encouragement to follow a well-worn path. He was still too scared to talk to her, noting her stern expression and the subtle signs of anger that had served as a warning for the sixteen years they had known one another. No more than a dozen knights had turned out to see them off out of hundreds, a slight that left her fuming silently. It was known that many knights disapproved of her actions during the rite of initiation, but to see so few willing to bid them a safe journey was a bitter reminder to her of the days when she had been forced to fight twice as hard as any male squire to gain approval.

Instead, Edmund watched the snow-covered rocks pass, soon accompanied by low-lying bushes and ferns, then later by trees. It was a bleak landscape, made bearable only by the ancient stone road that weaved down the mountain. When the silence became too much, Edmund risked a glance at Katya. She wore only half the protection from the cold that Edmund needed, but her face seemed to glow where the cold reached her, while his own face was snot-streaked and raw where the wind had mercilessly assaulted his nose and cheeks.

“I don't blame you.” she offered, still looking out over the road.

“You could if you wanted,” he replied, “since it is my fault.”

“We are all imperfect, or so the clerics teach. We all fail from time to time.”

“You didn't. He accepted you, but he left me to die.”

They continued in silence for a while, neither one wanting to follow that uncomfortable truth. Edmund knew he did not truly resent her, but he also knew that some note of bitterness must have escaped.

“Maybe,” she said at last, “but the Order never did, not really. Think about it. It is the first time it had ever been done, you know. I succeeded where even seasoned veterans did not. Surely they must see that the Lord of Morning guided me, mustn't they?”

“One day.” he assured her, though it was without conviction.

The irony was not lost on him. He had found it easy to be accepted by the other squires and their paladins, just another young lad who would grow up and fight the darkness, but he knew she had fought tooth and nail for the same acceptance and then lost it all in a moment of weakness and compassion. Perhaps that was why the Lord of Morning had accepted her, but not him; she tried harder, remained steadfast in the face of greater pressure and never let her resentment change her.

In contrast, Edmund knew that he had coasted somewhat since his arrival. He had been strong enough that swordsmanship came naturally, while Katya had been forced to beg a lighter sword from the armourer before they would let her practice. He had shared a sleeping room with the other squires his age, where she had been left all but alone in the women's barracks with those few female paladins who could bring themselves to remain in the male-dominated fortress. Perhaps she had simply deserved her place more than he ever had, only to risk it all saving him from his own well-deserved fate.

“What was it like?” Katya asked him.

“Pardon?”

“Dying, I mean. Most people don't get to come back and talk about it.”

“It's... peaceful,” he offered, “like a hot bath after a long practice session. It all falls away, all the pain and the fear, all the doubt and sadness.”

“And the Lord of Morning? Did you see him?”

“No, but I think I was not quite dead. Besides, why could he come to take me if he was helping you bring me back to life?”

“I suppose that makes sense. It didn't hurt though?”

“Coming back hurt, but dying felt more like someone massaging out a knot from a muscle that you had not realised was there.”

“It sounds like I should apologise for dragging you back here.”

“Don't,” he said, “it was obviously not my time. That's why he let you bring me back.”

Katya nodded, “It is good to know that death is one less thing to fear though, thank-you for sharing that with me.”

Looking at Katya, he realised that some things were still worth living for. She had been a constant friend for sixteen years and they had shared some great successes together with great failures, they and the other ten squires. Banishment was not so great a hardship with her as his travelling companion, he reflected, now matter how soon she must leave.

He thought back to the day that they had been paired in squad-based weapons-training. He must have been no more than ten, piqued at having been teamed up with 'the girl' instead of towering Erik or quick John. She held her wooden shield low, leaving his chest and shoulders undefended, while her sword was resting on top instead of beside it. The weapon-master had berated her, mocked her, but her shield would always droop in the end and she would be forced to move her sword.

Eventually, they had been set against Lucas and Erik to demonstrate the weaknesses of her unusual style. Edmund found himself hard-pressed to defend himself from Lucas without Katya's shield to help defend him, while simultaneously being repelled alternately by the shields of both opponents, but he was holding his own for the moment. Suddenly, he heard Erik cry out and turned to see the young man's shield down and the pommel of Katya's sword striking him square in the nose. Lucas took advantage of the distraction to force Edmund back, but froze in surprise as a slender wooden sword landed on his shoulder and Katya asked him to yield. Flanked by two enemies, he was obviously defeated and ceded her the victory.

Asking later, he discovered that Katya had slammed her shield into Erik's shin, losing it in the process. As Erik lowered his defences, she found herself too close to use the sword's reach and so had simply punched him as hard as she could in the face. With the sword in her hand, the blow had broken his nose and loosened two of his teeth. Thus, 'the girl' had managed to defeat both opponents and rescue her partner.

An irritated sigh, almost a growl, woke him from the silent daydream. Katya was staring at the sun, hanging much lower on the horizon than seemed plausible. They would soon have to make camp, since making for the lesser fort in the dark would be too dangerous. A suitable camp-site revealed itself before long and he watched as Katya unloaded bedrolls and canvas to build their shelter for the night.

“We should get an early night, so that we can set out at sunrise.” she suggested as they enjoyed a supper of salted pork and melted snow warmed over their meagre fire.

“You are probably right, though don't expect me to thank you for waking me in the morning.”

“I don't see why you should care,” she offered with a smile, “when you can just sleep away the day curled in your blankets while I drive the mules.”

“There was a time when paladins had more respect for the infirm.” he said, affecting a long suffering tone, “Besides, if your own bed-roll is cold, you are free to share my furs any night you wish it...”

He saw her expression fall, her back straighten. Something in his tone had gone too far, he had offended her. For all that he told himself that he loved her like a sister, there was some part of him that had always wished for more. She was possessed of no great beauty, her figure boyish and solid from years of sword-craft, but the scarcity of female company in the fortress had raised her to a paragon of the female form in the minds of her fellow squires. That she held herself aloof from such advances only made her all the more desirable for her unattainability.

There had been other objects of desire, visiting paladins and noblewomen come to seek aid or offer patronage, but Katya had always been a constant reminder of those desires which the Order seemed to find so shameful. In the fantasies of his youth, he had thought first of escaping the fortress and marrying her in secret to live their lives as outcasts. Later, he had imagined that they might find one single night alone together where none might see their sins, that she might finally confess her love for him. Perhaps it was that latter dream which had driven him to such folly; alone at last, he had given voice to his shameful wish.

“The twelve virtues teach is that chastity is the duty of the paladin.” she said.

“I know, but it is not easy to ignore the way you make me feel.”

Her expression softened, “If it were easy, it would not be much of a virtue.”

“So you do feel... such things?” Edmund asked.

“Of course. Paladin or no, I am only human. That is why I would not want to share your bed, even chastely. Part of resisting temptation is avoiding it.”

“The you are tempted?”

Katya sighed, “Honestly? No.”

Edmund felt his heart sink at her blunt words, but some part of him was relieved to know how their relationship stood, to know that he could finally set aside his foolish fantasies.

“Can we talk of something else?” she asked, “I do no want you to go to your bedroll dwelling on such things.”

Edmund pondered the possible double-meaning in her words, but dutifully changed the topic.

“What of the rite?” he asked her, “Nobody would tell me which of our brothers became true paladins after I... failed.”

“I think they did not want to upset you so soon after your recovery.”

“Why would it upset me? We all knew that some of us would be taken to squire for the Lord of Morning in his golden hall. It is sad that some of us must die, but I was ready. Truly, I was.”

“Someone should have told you...”

“Told me what?” Edmund asked, growing impatient.

“You were the only one to fail. Nine paladins were invested into the Order of Morning.”

“But... That is good news.”

“Perhaps, but what do you think it means? What does it mean when the Lord of Morning will take a simpleton like Erik, but reject you?”

“I don't understand...” he began, but realisation soon dawned on him.

Edmund was flawed; the Morning Lord had rejected him. Each of them had their vices, excepting perhaps Katya, but Edmund was the only one whose sins were too grave for the life of a paladin. Erik was forgiven his rage, his blind anger when roused. Quentin had been accepted in spite of his cowardice. Even Ben, who they all knew was one step shy of a sneak-thief, had passed the rite. What fatal flaw must Edmund possess, he wondered, to be thought of as less than these imperfect paladins?

“Pride.” he said at last.

“The greatest sin of them all, the most insidious.”

“I never took pride without cause.” he countered.

“Perhaps that is the issue; baseless pride is self-delusion, but pride well-deserved is much harder to put aside. It is hard-earned and no man could tell you it was not justified. You deserved your accolades, but you still took pride in them.”

“Humility, chastity... How else might I fail to live up the twelve virtues?”

“Well, you have never had a chance to indulge your tastes for wealth, strong drink or rich food.”

“Perhaps it is just as well that I shall live out the rest of my days as a monk.”

Katya fell silent. Edmund could not read her expression, but he could see the subtle signs of a helpful suggestion forming in her mind and braced himself.

“The rite is held every five years. Perhaps five years of peaceful meditation and the monastery's simple life will purge you of your pride. After all, no rule states that a squire may not retake the trial at a later date, only that they must be twenty years of age when they make the attempt.”

“No squire was able to retake the trial; until you saved my life, every squire to attempt it was either killed or rose to knighthood. Even if the Order did allow it, there are only twelve virtues and twelve squires undertaking the rite at a time.”

“So? There were only ten of us when we stood vigil.” Katya retorted.

“Ah... So you think I should pray for the death of a squire just to give me a second chance to take the trial?”

“What are you talking about? Lucas didn't die, he left of his own accord.”

“Only after his six elder brothers died. Even then, he went off to fight in a war you and I both know his father could never hope to win.”

“Only the gods know their own wills.” she said at last, “You are yet alive, so you must have a part to play.”

“Yes, but what if my part is just to serve as a warning to others?”

“Where is your faith?” Katya asked, tears in her eyes.

“I think it died last week, at the same time the Lord of Morning betrayed me.”

Edmund did not see how it happened, but Katya was standing and her sword was suddenly in her hand. In their childish games, they had always held out their stick-swords, point placed melodramatically beneath the chin of the 'heretic' as a threat of mortal consequences if he did not recant. Tonight, he saw that she held the sword upright and ready to kill in earnest; this was no childish gesture, no idle threat.

He realised with sudden fear that she stood impassively, a paladin in all her glory ready to slay one of the Fallen. In the hilt of her sword, he saw a Tear of Dawn glowing brightly, its light suffusing the whole of her sword. Rare stones, gifted only to the most promising of paladins by the Lord-Commander himself it was said, a Tear of Dawn was a promise of death to evil. It's glow was an ultimatum; save himself or be saved. Suddenly, she was a perfect angel of mercy and swift, final redemption.

“Do not make me do this.” she begged, her body taut.

“How can I fall if I never rose first?” Edmund asked her, his voice rising in anger, “How can you call me evil when I still stand ready to fight all the foul things of the world?”

“I don't know...” she confessed, but her sword still hung like a threat above him.

Even with death so near at hand, Edmund found that he still could not summon up the words to recant falsely. Some cowardly part of him scrabbled for a convenient lie to save his life, but he could not lie to a paladin in all her glory, he had spent too long a squire of the Order of Morning.

“I cannot reject the Lord of Morning, but do not ask me to forgive him.” Edmund said.

“He has a plan. Why can you not just trust him?”

“Because he left me to die. You were the one who brought me back, who saved my life.”

“Then trust me instead.” Katya offered.

“What are you talking about? Of course I trust you.”

“Even knowing that I have devoted my life to the Lord of Morning?”

“Yes.” he said without hesitation, “I trust you.”

“Then trust me when I say he has a plan, that he has not forsaken you...”

Edmund watched the light of the sword dim as he realised that he would trust in the Lord of Morning, perhaps even come to forgive him in time, if only for the sake of Katya's faith. He had known her too long, trusted her too long without ever once regretting it, to believe that she was mistaken.

“If you tell me he knows what he is doing,” he told her, “I will believe you.”

As her sword turned dark once more, Katya sighed, “Thank-you. Perhaps there is hope yet.”

“Hope?” he asked, “A moment ago, you were ready to kill me before I could join the Fallen.”

“And then you saw the error of your ways, the danger in your pride.” she explained.

Edmund was not sure how much her words truly explained, but reluctantly accepted that his heart felt lighter now. It had taken a paladin's promise of death, but he had shaken at least the smallest part of his bitterness, of his anger at being rejected.

“Just because he does not want you numbered among his paladins does not mean that the Lord of Morning has rejected you.” Katya began, repeating her earlier theme, “I thought so at first. It was fear and anger that drove me to give you the gift of healing, not compassion. I felt that he had cheated me when I saw you fall, that he had betrayed my trust. I think that just for a moment, I might almost have hated him. Even in the face of all those feelings, he saw fit to bless me with the power which gave you back your life. How could I not forgive him when he gave me back my brother?

“I could tell myself that he gave you back to me, I did at first, but I know now that I was wrong. He gave you back to yourself, for reasons which we may never know. Perhaps he means for you to sire a great hero, many generations hence; the histories show that his plans span many human lifetimes. All I know is that you were given back your life for a reason and to reject his mercy would be the unkindest thing of all.

“Ah, I am rambling. It is growing late and I am tired. All I ask is this; forgive him or not, just don't give up on him quite yet.”

Katya watched him expectantly until he finally nodded his acceptance. He was troubled by the memory of her sword and the way it glowed as it prepared to take his life. How close had he come to falling? No wonder the Lord-Commander had warned him of the temptation. Even without the efforts of daemons and their human agents, he had started to doubt.

“Go and rest.” Edmund said at last, “I will take the first watch.”

“You are sick...”

“You are tired. Besides, I will be able to sleep on the cart tomorrow, you will not.”

For a moment, he saw duty and fatigue battle in her expression, before she finally succumbed to her exhaustion and turned wordlessly to the makeshift shelter. Soon after, he heard a gentle snoring so out of keeping with how he imagined her that he laughed quietly to himself. Finally, he took down his sword from the cart, tossed more wood onto the fire and settled down to keep watch.

* * * * *

The first hours of the night passed without incident, the thin air and bitterly-cold winds encouraging even the most aggressive of predators to wait for morning. Edmund sat with his sword unsheathed, knowing well how the the cold could freeze a sword in its scabbard and leave its owner defenceless.

He considered the sword as he kept watch, feeling the comforting weight of the weapon he had been given three years ago as he prepared to take the first of the tests which would later culminate in the rite of initiation and his failure. Through thick, fur-lined gloves, he could still feel how cold the metal had become. His thoughts turned to the empty niche in the hilt, where each true paladin would place a holy relic or other symbol of their patron's favour. Katya's lighter sword was finished with a Tear of Dawn, as he knew was the Lord-Commander's and a handful of other high-ranking knights. Other knights, the majority in fact, finished their swords with a gem called the Morning Ruby, a variety of jacinth the colour of the rising sun and common in the region around the fortress, which was said to be blessed by the Lord of Morning.

Edmund considered his own sword; the hollow niche was the sign of a squire, usually met with distrust outside the fortress as a squire in the outside world would be a runaway or a thief. Were it not for Katya's presence, young as she was, he would no doubt be delivered back to the fortress by strong men of the first village they reached. Instead, Edmund reflected bitterly, they would simply think him her squire.

Time passed and the moon began to fall, Edmund stoked the fire and brought out a battered iron kettle which he filled with snow and left to warm. As he waited for the water to boil, he drew out the small packets of tea that were such a boon on long winter night-watches and added them to the gently-warming liquid.

He woke Katya with a tin cup of unsweetened tea, as he had done so many times before when handing over the duty of the watch on the walls of the fortress. At least back then, he thought, I got to shelter in the tower-dormitory for a moment. Edmund walked back to the fire as she woke and sipped at the bitter brew, almost wishing he could have smuggled some honey from the kitchen, but remembered Ser Bryan's advice that the taste would help wake you up if you left it bitter.

“Thank-you.” Katya said as she sat beside him at the fire.

“For waking you up in the middle of the night?”

“In a way... Thank-you for letting me take my turn instead of patronising me with chivalry.”

“It wouldn't do either of us any good if I fell asleep and we were eaten by bears...” Edmund told her.

“Ah, so you are being chivalrous by defending me from hungry bears in your own way?”

“In a way,” he smiled, “I suppose I am.”

“Then I relieve you, squire. If you hurry, the bedroll should still be warm.”

The squire took her advice without another word. As he settled into the body-warm depression Katya had so recently vacated, he felt a subtle thrill at the lingering scent of his travelling companion, more of familiarity than of lust, and was asleep in moments.