4 Chapter 4: In the Dark

Sorin realized he was crying again. He'd never felt more alone or lost in his life. Even the Goddess' reassurances, a gentle warmth easing through him and dulling the edge of his grief, did not truly help. If anything, She only emphasized the loneliness.

She also reminded him that in order to find Alfrey's killer, he would need the help of a dark stranger. That could mean many things, but black magic was the first that came to mind. Black magic made him think of demons, but that was impossible. Demons were the result of humans who fell into black magic and soon grew ravenous for the life and spiritual energies of the untainted.

Such foul feeding upon their brethren turned the corrupt into black-skinned, horned monsters. If they grew strong enough, they would grow wings and become so powerful that no one except a paladin stood a chance of defeating them. Maybe the stranger was instead someone who had been assaulted by a demon and so was forever haunted by that. Such victims tended to carry the taint of the beasts that had assaulted them.

It could also mean a necromancer, but that was as unlikely as a demon—necromancers were only steps away from being demons. Necromancers dealt in black magic and death. How could they possibly be of any use?

Sorin winced at the sudden, sharp throb in his chest. He'd somehow angered the Goddess, although he did not have the energy to decipher how. Instead, he rested his head against the trunk and stared up at the branches. The sky above was overcast, for which he was grateful. Sunlight seemed unbearable.

He should return to the castle, but just thinking about it knotted his stomach. All he wanted to do was rest, and it was entirely too easy to surrender to that urge and let his eyes fall shut. Sleeping in the middle of the Black Forest, far from help, was foolish, but he'd never known demons to lurk in the forest. The royal cathedral, the Heart of the Goddess, was too close to be comfortable for them.

Sorin focused on breathing slowly—in, out, in, out, trying desperately to clear his head so that he might be of some use to those who needed him. The Goddess' warmth spread through him, stronger than ever. Angelos was right: she would not let the murder go unanswered. It was that realization that soothed Sorin and allowed him to relax enough to fall asleep at the base of the ancient oak.

The snap of a branch jerked him awake. Within the space of a breath Sorin was on his feet with his sword drawn. He looked around for the source of the sound, noticing that it was past dark and the forest was too still.

He finally saw the reason: a figure stood in the shadows of the trees, right at the edge of the clearing. He was hidden by heavy, dark robes and carried a tall staff in one hand. "Who are you?" Sorin demanded. "Reveal yourself, in the name of the Goddess."

The only response was the rustling of fabric and the snapping of another branch underfoot. Around them, the forest remained silent. Had the stranger brought the odd current in the air that made the inhabitants of the forest too anxious to give away their presence? He was no demon, Sorin would have sensed that. He shuddered to think what might have happened to him if he had not woken.

Lifting his sword in warning, Sorin called out, "Reveal yourself, stranger, or suffer for your silence!"

"How like a high and mighty paladin," came a cold, sneering voice, "to opt for violence first and not care to ask the questions until later. I announce myself to no one, Paladin. I wanted only to assure myself you were nothing more than a fool, arrogant enough to fall asleep in the middle of the Black Forest." The man turned and disappeared into the trees.

Scowling, Sorin sheathed his sword and bolted off after him, whistling for his horse to follow. The power of the Goddess granted Sorin the ability to see well enough in the dark to traverse the treacherous forest, but the man he chased moved faster still, and far more easily.

Finally, Sorin managed to catch up, and he threw himself forward, catching the man about the waist—and tripping them both when his foot caught on a root. They went tumbling down a hill that Sorin had not previously noticed, and when they finally came to a stop, Sorin was not certain which way was up or which limbs were his. But there was no mistaking the lithe man tangled up with his much broader frame, or the hair which smelled of incense that covered his face.

"Bastard paladin," the man hissed, and Sorin recognized the accent of the East Mountains, the almost rolling, lyrical hint to it that was unique to that corner of the country. "You are lucky you did not kill us both, or that I do not shove a knife through your throat as you deserve. Unhand me at once!"

"All right, all right, I am sorry. I did not mean to send us tumbling so, I swear," Sorin said. He slowly started getting them disentangled—and froze in mortification when he accidentally touched where he should not have, until a hard smack made him hiss in pain and jerk away. Standing up, he righted his leather armor and shoved back his tangled, leaf-strewn hair to glare at the stranger.

"Paladins," the man repeated in obvious displeasure. "What in the name of Goddess are you doing out here at this time? It's not your style to go anywhere alone in the dark."

"Who are you, child of the Goddess, to go about in the dark? Demons will prey on you far sooner than they would dare touch me," Sorin retorted. He was arrogant? The man outpaced him by far.

He could practically feel the derision as the man replied, "I owe you nothing, Paladin, least of all my identity. Scurry back to your castle and leave the forest to those who can travel through it without practically killing people."