Two days later, a group of seven men and women wearing sets of gleaming full plate armor dismounted from their horses in the middle of the road and went down on one knee before Stephan and Tod.

  “We’ve come to escort Sir Paladin to the Knights’ Academy.” The captain lifted his visor, the rest following his lead.

  “How did you know I was coming?” Stephan asked with genuine surprise when a stifled snort escaped one of the Knights.

  “Sir Paladin has been traveling the towns and villages announcing that he is the Paladin,” the leader said in a serious voice. “Your secret wasn’t that difficult to uncover.”

  Two pairs of armored shoulders shook behind the captain’s back. Whether the Knight was mocking him or subtly reprimanding him, Stephan couldn’t tell.

  We’re close to the border, and far from reinforcements. Perhaps revealing my status as the Paladin wasn’t the smartest move. Still, I helped a lot of people, and I don’t regret it.

  He swallowed the thought and turned to his escort. “Tod, do you want to come along with us, or will you return?”

  The old watchman looked torn, his weathered face creasing. Then he shook his head. “I’d best get going. Brighthollow has only a single Sentry left. Kel must be close to collapsing.”

  Stephan stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. He and Tod had fought together, but they weren’t brothers in arms.

  Manhug? Should we shake hands?

  After a brief, clumsy pause, he opted for the latter and offered his hand. Tod clasped it firmly, the lines around his eyes deepening with kindness.

  “It’s a pleasure to know you, Sir Paladin. Keep going the way you’ve been, and you’ll get far. And don’t worry about your folks, I’ll die before I let harm come to them.”

  Stephan’s chest tightened, his eyes moistening despite himself. “Thank you, Tod. Have a safe journey back, and if my parents ask, tell them we had a smooth journey.”

  The Sentry nodded and walked away without looking back. Just like that, the last thread tying Stephan to Brighthollow was gone. He had the uncomfortable certainty that it would be a very long time before their paths crossed again, if they ever did.

  “Sir Paladin,” the captain said quietly. “If you wish, we can dispatch an escort to retrieve your family. Or any others you hold dear.”

  Stephan shook his head.

  “No, I think they will be safer far from me.”

  He didn’t voice the rest of it, that they would become living reminders of the price he would pay should he die ever again. The proof of how much more he still had to lose.

  “What’s the highest-level Priest you have at the academy?” he asked instead.

  “Lord Silas is over level forty, perhaps even fifty, and one of the luminars of Hope.”

  Stephan nodded. Other than the Saintess herself, that luminar sounded as good as he was gonna get. If anyone could explain Lacy’s condition, it would be him.

  “Please lead the way.”

  The captain nodded.

  “Do you wish to ride with one of us, or use the spare horse?”

  Stephan looked at the fancy horse and the dark-brown leather saddle. He had never ridden one before, and he had no intention of embarrassing himself before the knights.

  “Do you mind if I walk?”

  Two soldiers exchanged glances, but their captain didn’t blink. “Whatever you find comfortable, Sir. We will ride, if you don’t mind. That way we will be better able to protect you should anything happen.”

  I hope I don’t need your protection, Stephan thought, but nodded. “Please act as you see fit.”

  The knights mounted with surprising ease considering they had heavy armor weighing them. Two broke formation and pulled a hundred feet ahead, while the rest followed behind Stephan.

  The horses walked, and Stephan found the pace relaxing and slower than his and Tod’s from the past couple of days.

  Barely hundred steps later, he wanted to talk to his escorts, but things were awkward. The soldiers were behind him and mounted. They didn’t talk amongst themselves either, probably focused on looking out for threats, if the two at the front were an indication of what they were doing.

  Three hours and twelve miles later, Cliffort came into view.

  As the name stated, the city crowned a massive cliff, over half of its defenses built by nature itself. One side boasted towering stone walls, a dozen yards thick and just as tall. The rest based its defenses on the cliff face.

  Battlements overlooked a sheer two-hundred-foot drop into a roaring river below. The natural moat complemented the man-made one. And beyond the battlements stood a clearing large enough for mass military training and cavalry maneuvers, should a battle break out.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Stephan slowed despite himself, taking the sight in, but followed the winding path towards the heavy wooden gate. Beyond it stretched a wide street flanked by stone buildings with flat roofs connected overhead by thick arches. Entire bridges spanned from house to house, allowing people to visit their neighbors without ever touching the street.

  It was a very strange piece of architecture, especially for someone like Stephan, who had lived his entire life in a considerably smaller and less orderly town.

  As they walked through the meandering streets, people stepped aside, most eyes sliding past Stephan without recognition. Apparently, not everyone knew that he was the Paladin going around the countryside, healing the sick.

  The closer they got to the castle gates, the more soldiers they encountered, attracting attention. Finally, the escorts dismounted, and Stephan got a chance to catch his breath.

  “Not bad for a youth,” the leader said.

  Stephan nodded his thanks, wisely saying nothing as he focused on not embarrassing himself in the unknown environment. Lacy often joked he seemed smarter when he kept his mouth shut.

  “Sergeant,” the gate guards saluted as they reached the castle gate.

  “I bring a visitor on Lord Marshal’s orders.”

  The guards saluted again, and the portcullis rose.

  “Dismissed,” the sergeant said as they entered the yard, the rest of his squad peeling away, leaving him alone with Stephan.

  They entered a hall, passing a few people too busy to pay them any heed. The sergeant knew where he was going, and they started climbing a spiral staircase. The stairwell was narrow, crooked, and poorly lit. Each step was banged up and uneven, polished and made slippery at the center by the centuries of boots walking them.

  Despite it only being late in the afternoon, there was next to no natural light. Lamps burned at regular intervals, but shadows still pooled in the corners. Without the light and without paying attention at every step, Stephan would’ve tripped half a dozen times.

  By the time they reached the top, his legs, already exhausted by the day’s march, trembled. The stairs ended abruptly at a heavy wooden door, not a single rest from top to bottom.

  The sergeant knocked and stood at ease.

  “Thank you, Rob,” a deep, manly voice called from within. “You are dismissed. Sir Paladin may enter.”

  It took some awkward maneuvering for Rob, who wore full plate armor, to squeeze past Stephan on the narrow, murderous stairs. Still, they managed, leaving Stephan alone in front of the heavy door. He tried pushing and pulling and eventually shouldered his way in.

  The chamber beyond was vast and formal, with massive wooden furniture, desks, and shelves. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a bald head stood at attention and saluted when Stephan stepped in.

  His face was wrinkled, his forehead locked in a perpetual frown. He wore a fine silk shirt and trousers, yellow-and-black, bearing a boar crest. His gaze bore into Stephan, drilling its way through his skull.

  Stephan saluted. It was a sloppy gesture, but the marshal didn’t seem to mind. They just stood there, staring at each other, before finally Stephan blinked.

  “Good day, Lord Marshal, I am Stephan Cobblerson from Brighthollow. I became the Paladin two weeks ago.”

  Lord Marshal nodded. “I am Marshal Harrington. My benefactor, teacher, and friend has entrusted me with safeguarding this academy and helping the Paladin, should he choose to come here. My duty and title is that of Marshal of the East, and I need to inform you that the Paladin has fallen.”

  Stephan’s throat tightened. Lady Clara had said as much, but hearing it from a figure of authority was another thing altogether.

  “As has the capital.” The marshal continued, his words landing like rocks dropped into a calm lake. Harrington said them relaxedly, as though discussing the weather. And he wasn’t done.

  “Cliffort should see a large number of refugees in the following months, since fiends will no doubt invade the land from the west. Fae have already been,” he sneered, “doing fae things. Massacring people, giving gold to the poor until they buried them in it, and in one town, they even made a house entirely out of candy, somehow without harming anyone.”

  Stephan clenched his fists, but the marshal just shook his head helplessly. “Nobody can understand the little devils, but without the Paladin to drive fear into their bones, they are going wild. And regarding your paladinhood. From the threat you pose, I can tell you are level ten or eleven, but that’s about all my ability can pick up. I can only estimate one’s combat potential, not class and skills.”

  He turned around and approached a white marble plinth with a satin cover on top. He removed the cloth and revealed a golden ring gleaming beneath.

  “This is the Paladin’s Burden.” His eyes shone with reverence as he stared at the ring. “None but the Paladin can carry it.”

  After basking in its presence, he once more faced Stephan. “If you’re really the Paladin, prove it.”

  Stephan paused.

  Why don’t you just bring a Priest over? But it wasn’t his place to argue with the Marshal of the East.

  Instead, he nodded and confidently approached the ring. He grabbed it, but it felt like he was grabbing a mountain or something that had melded with the small column or the castle itself. The ring’s slick surface slipped between his fingers. He tried again, and again, both times unable to lift the ring. Behind him, Marshal Harrington’s presence sharpened.

  Stephan glanced at his host. The marshal watched him with a frown, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His stance was relaxed, his message clear and terminal.

  Stephan then turned back towards the ring and tried two more times, but the ring kept slipping.

  Maybe it’s a test of wits?

  “Just a moment, please,” he said without looking back at the marshal.

  What if I pushed it and grabbed it before it fell? He obviously oiled it or made it slippery somehow.

  Stephan pushed the ring with his finger, but it didn’t budge. He then covered it with his palm and pushed it like that. Pain flared as metal bit into his skin, but even with all his weight, with all his strength, he couldn’t move it a hair’s width.

  Behind him, he heard the metallic scraping of a sword leaving its sheath.

  “Wait, please. Give me more time, I can do this.”

  “You will never be able to move that ring.”

  Stephan’s mind raced. The marshal was at least level fifty, almost certainly higher than that. Grabbing his mace was no different from suicide.

  He turned around, and despite how futile it was, he reached for his weapon, better die armed than begging.

  Marshal Harrington drew his sword, then went to one knee and offered it to Stephan with both hands and head lowered.

  “Forgive me for testing you, my lord. It was the only way I knew how to confirm your claim without a shred of doubt.”

  [Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 9

  Class skills: In Living Memory XVI, Blessing of Healing I, Blessing of Arms I, Smite I, Blessing of Protection I, Inspiring Aura I, Blessing of Conviction I, Blessing of Intuition I, Blessing of Health I, Bane of Darkness I

  Attributes: Agility: 17, Charisma: 18, Composure: 19, Dexterity: 18, Endurance: 18, Intelligence: 14, Luck: 16, Perception: 17, Presence: 17, Strength: 18, Toughness: 18, Vitality: 19, Willpower: 18, Wisdom: 17]