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Galen shielded his eyes against the afternoon sun and looked out into the distance. It was a gorgeous day and his vantage atop the small hill gave him a splendid view of the picturesque countryside. Rolling plains of ripe wheat and pastureland dotted with fat, contented sheep and cows spread out before him. He could just make out a small town in the distance.
“Alright,” he said, turning to his team, “we should be able to make it before nightfall, but…” he held up a finger, “if we march doble-time we should be able to make it before the bakery closes.” He grinned at the junior paladins’ reactions: one eye roll, one snort, and one shy smile.
“Attention!” Galen snapped, puffing his chest out and using his best drill sergeant voice. All three of his subordinates snapped to attention, standing straight, with their hands by their sides.
Galen stepped in close to the young man who had rolled his eyes and put his face in close to the other man’s (well as close as he could, the kid was a bean pole!).
“Did you roll your eyes at me, solider?” Galen growled.
The younger paladin did not waver, looking straight ahead he answered, “no sir!”
“Then why did I see your eyes roll, solider?”
The man’s lips twitched the tiniest amount, “I was maintaining situational awareness, sir! Checking for threats, sir!”
“What threats would be coming from above?”
“Sparrows, sir!” the man barked back, trying to keep a straight face, “Really mean ones!”
Galen laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, “good answer!”
Galen’s team relaxed out of their stances, smiling and snickering. They were all well used to how his humor worked.
“Well, shall we double time it?” he asked them, “I promise the sweet buns will be worth it.”
“I don’t mind putting on some speed,” Franky said, “but I swear, I’m still stuffed from all that wedding food. If I eat anymore treats, I’ll have to start adding more rings to my hauberk!” Franky was a woman in her mid-twenties, of average height and above average bulk, most of which was muscle.
“Don’t worry about that,” Galen said, “with all the marching we have to do to get back on to Archon’s Glory we’ll all be lighter by the time we get home. We’re not even half-way there yet.”
He turned to the last member of his team, “What about you Eliah? You up for it?”
“Sure,” Eliah said with a hesitant smile. The youngest of the group at nineteen. The epicen was so shy that Galen often forgot that ne was taller than him. With neir strong slim build, golden tan skin, ink black hair, and astonishing silver grey eyes, ne had been the heart throb of the border village they all had been stationed at. Eliah was so shy however, that ne hadn’t even noticed that half the village had been pining after nem!
Galen had silently vowed a quest to build neir confidence up. What was the point of being that pretty if you didn’t enjoy it? Ne at least had become confident enough so Galen could tease nem about neir looks with a clear conscious.
“Me too,” said Dell, Galen’s personal crick in the neck. Also in his is mid-twenties the man was a good six and a half feet tall. He and Galen had gotten on like a house on fire, exchanging tall and short jokes. While Galen was actually a bit taller than average height, he appreciated Dell not letting facts get in the way of a good joke.
“Alright then,” said Galen, “let’s go.” They set off down the road in a brisk double time step.
It really was a beautiful day, the sun was warm, and a cool breeze was blowing, perfect picnic weather. Galen allowed his mind to wander as his team moved down the road. If Piper was here with him Galen could have packed a picnic for them. These little rural towns were the perfect places to find simple little delicacies. Salty little cheeses wrapped in herbs, cherries preserved in honey, maybe some homemade mead or ale. They would find a pretty secluded spot and Galen would lay down a thick picnic blanket. Galen would feed Piper tasty little morsels, feeling his soft lips and tongue as he placed food in Piper’s mouth. Piper would suck the sweet juices of the berries off of Galen’s fingers. Galen would do the same to Pipers fingers, perhaps drizzling the juices across the sensitive part of his wrists, his neck. Slowly working his way down to other places. He had never fucked Piper outside in the daylight before, it would be such a delight to see the sun shining on beads of sweat as Galen stroked and coaxed his husband to higher levels of pleasure. Galen could imagine the warm feel of the sun on his own bare back, the breeze cooling his sweat, the feel of Piper’s clever hands and mouth on his cock, one hand gently squeezing his balls.
A flurry of movement snapped Galen’s attention back to the present, but it was only a bird taking flight at their approach. Saint preserve him, but he was glad that the brisk exercise had kept certain parts of his anatomy in check. In the past he had been embarrassed by exercise induced shrinkage, but today, he blessed it. Galen was far from being a young man, so you wouldn’t think such things would be a problem for him. But with Piper back in the capital, Galen had been celibate for an achingly long time. Well, okay, thirteen weeks, three days and, about, six hours, but it felt like an eternity.
Galen reminded himself to be grateful that his assignment had actually ended early. Originally Galen and his team were meant to be gone for at least four months. They had been sent to the remote village to help the locals train and develop defenses against bandits. The village wasn’t important enough to the Archon’s Glory council for them to assign permanent forces to protect the locals, and so any defense was usually left to the impoverished local nobility and peasants.
However, unknown to Galen and his superiors, that noble had been involved in some sly politicking to make their region more important. Along with some other border lords and the teamster’s guild they had scraped together an enterprise to upgrade a network of local roads to create an alternative trade route that bypassed Archon’s Glory and that would join up to the, as of yet unfinished, northern trade road to Morstone.
The first stage of the plan was to make the route safe for travelers by building and maintaining a string of garrisons. Small armed forces would patrol between them protecting those working on improving the road and patrolling it once it was finished. The border village Galen’s team had been stationed at had been chosen to host one of these garrisons. Galen had no idea how the expenses and politics of the situation were being managed, and he actively did not want to know. He was just the muscle, thank you and move along please, no brains worth promoting here!
He was personally skeptical about whether any plans the authorities had would actually come to pass, but he hoped it worked out well for everyone. It had worked out well in the short term anyway, the soldiers that had been deployed with them had stayed to establish this new garrison. Several soldiers had married locals, including the captain, who had been allowed a sort of semi-retirement until the garrison was up and running. Afterwards she would fully retire to her new wife’s orchard. All the romantic happy endings had necessitated a number of weddings, which had, in turn, necessitated a number of wedding feasts, which were now taxing Franky’s hauberk, apparently.
The most important thing was that because of this new garrison, Galen and his team had got to go home early. Galen had practically been skipping when he got the news. Galen missed his husband with a constant ache. He couldn’t wait to have Piper in his arms again. He had some very specific plans for him when they reunited. According to his letters, Piper had some specific plans for him too. He and Piper had written to each other frequently during Galen’s assignment. Their correspondence had gone from longing, to steamy, to down-right filthy over the months they had been apart. Galen had a few of his favorite letters tucked away in his belt pouch.
It was possible that there was a new letter waiting for Galen it the next village inn. He had sent Piper his itinerary for their return to Archon’s Glory, so he knew where to send mail. Galen grinned to himself, it was a beautiful day, and every step took him closer to home, and closer to Piper.
A few hours later Galen and his team walked into the courtyard of the town inn. He had enlisted the help of a village child to bespeak them some of the bakery’s goods. The smell of the bakery in the street had sent everyone’s mouths watering, and Eliah’s stomach growling. No one had wanted to track road dust into the clean shop though, so Galen had arranged for a delivery of baked goods to the inn. That would give them some time to clean up a bit.
Hiding his smile at Eliah’s complaining stomach, Galen walked up to an expectant looking woman who had just existed the inn. The porter, he assumed.
“Afternoon, mam.” He said with a flamboyant bow, “I’m lieutenant paladin Galen. Could I trouble you for a few rooms and a heroic amount of wash water?”
The women looked a little confused, “yes, of course sir, I’m Mrs. Pottager, at your service” she said a little hurriedly, “we got your runner, I’ve set things up as best I can.”
“Runner? Beg pardon?” asked Galen.
“Oh, sorry sir,” the women said looking him over, “I just saw the armor and assumed you were The Dreaming God’s people. But no, you’re Saint of Steel, right?”
“Yes, we are.” Galen replied. He saw the women hesitate in confusion and knew exactly what she was thinking. Should she acknowledge the Saint’s resurrection? Congratulate him on his God’s return? That would, however, also mean acknowledging the Saint’s absence, and what had happened to his followers when the Saint died.
Often people would try to say someone to reassure him, or perhaps themselves, of something. Galen doubted they knew which one. It was usually terribly awkward. Soldiers were the exception, they usually said something like “Good to have you lot back,” and left it at that. Galen liked that one. He didn’t blame the general public for their awkwardness though, it’s not like he would know what to say if the roles were reversed.
Thankfully there seemed to be more important things afoot than navigating awkward social quagmires. “A runner from The Dreaming Gods people?” Galen interjected into the women’s awkward silence. “Are they in trouble? Do they need help?” He knew that each member of his team was now listening with total focus, he could almost feel the weight of their attention on his back.
“No, no trouble,” the woman said, waving her arms placatingly, “well not the sort of trouble you just run up and stick a sword into. They’ve got some wounded that need doctoring and are bringing them here. They’ve been hunting something on the other side of the river that’s been giving them problems.
“Anything we can do to help?” Galen asked, “I’ve helped The Dreaming God’s people before, and we all know basic field doctoring.”
“Well, I’ve sent my husband to find the doctor. Then they’re going to go down the road and meet up with the injured, and I’ve set up somewhere for the doctor to work when they all get here.” She explained. She thought for a moment then said, "But I don’t really know what I’m doing, I run an inn, not a hospital. If you could run your eyes over what I've set up and let me know if I'm missing anything?”
“Easy enough,” Galen said, “just let me have a quick wash up so I don’t get dirt on everything.”
“Of course, I have some water put on to heat”
“Cold water will be fine for me and…” Galen turned and studied his team, “Eliah. But I’m sure the others will appreciate some warm water. Do you mind if Eliah tags along? I’m kinda showing nem the ropes.”
“Oh no, of course I don’t mind,’ she said with a smile at Eliah, ‘I’ll just send Helen along to set up the washroom for you.” She smiled at the group again and bustled off.
It didn’t take long for Galen and Eliah to get cleaned up and for Mrs. Pottager show them what she had set up for the incoming wounded. She had converted a private dining room on the ground floor by removing all the chairs and light furniture, leaving only a long heavy table. On the table she had set out soap, towels and bandages made from torn clean bed sheets.
Galen surveyed the room. “This is good,” he said to Mrs. Pottager, “we won’t have to carry anyone up the stairs, everything looks clean, bandages, soap… anything you would add Eliah?”
“Maybe some water that’s been boiled and cooled? Some strong spirits for antiseptic? If that’s alright?” Ne added with a worried look at the innkeeper.
She laughed, “Gods bless you, that’s all easy enough. I don’t usually sell spirits, I don't like people getting rowdy. But I do have a bottle or two out the back. I keep it for medicinal reasons. I’d actually forgotten about it until you mentioned it.”
“Excellent,” Galen said, “the only other thing I would add are some candles or lamps for extra light.”
“Oh yes, of course,” she said, “I’ll see to it now. Thank you for your help, sir, about your rooms.”
Galen held up a hand, “Don’t worry about the rooms right now, let’s sort that out when you know how many guests you’ll have. We’ll get out of your hair for now, and please, just call me Galen.” He added with a grimace.
“Of course, Galen,” Mrs. Pottager said with another smile before hurrying off to collect the additional supplies.
Galen and his team were sitting in the inn’s common room quietly drinking ale and taking turns playing each other at checkers, having decimated the delivered baked goods. The light outside was dimming and a serving woman was going around lighting tappers. At first, she had attempted to flirt with Eliah, but when ney hadn’t reciprocated she had moved onto Dell.
Dell was currently facing off against Franky and was losing badly as he was using most of his strategic energy to exchange smoldering glances with the serving women without the innkeeper noticing. Galen and Eliah were sitting back and contentedly watching both forms of entertainment.
Dell was saved from a complete route in checkers when noise from the courtyard indicated the arrival of a group of people and horses. A tall man in the tabard of The Dreaming God strode into the inn with the porter trailing him.
“Ho innkeeper!” he called out, “we’re finally here, thank all the Gods!”
Galen’s ears pricked up, that voice sounded familiar. He looked closer and, yes, it was Jorge! He hadn’t recognized his friend at first under all of the road dust.
The innkeeper hurried up, “Yes sir,” she said with a quick bow, “I’ve set up a room for the wounded.”
Jorge took her hand and bowed over it, saying gallantly, “Lord Jorge of The Dreaming God, at your service madam.” It would have been a flamboyant gesture for most people, but for Jorge this was brusk, almost dismissive. Galen hoped his friend wasn’t injured. He stood up and started to make his way over to the pair.
“I’ve three wounded,” Jorge was explaining to a pink and tongue-tied Mrs. Pottager, “your husband and the doctor met us on the road, they’re outside with the wounded.”
Galen walked up to Jorge grinning, “Jorge!”, he said clasping the other man by the wrist.
“Galen!” Jorge exclaimed with a laugh, returning the handshake, “what are you doing here?”
“Drinking ale of course!” Galen rejoined, then became serious. “But what of you? Are you injured? Can me or my people aid you?” He gestured back at his team, who were all watching attentively.
“Your people? Yes, maybe. Let’s talk later. I’ve got two walking wounded and a man on a stretcher. Your help with the stretcher would be most appreciated.” Jorge waved Galen’s team forward and they all leapt to assist him.
It was no small task to fit the six and a half foot, partially armored man horizontally through the narrow corridor, but with a fresh set of backs they were able to maneuver the stretcher and its occupant into the modified dining room with a minimum of jostling. One paladin was able to walk in without help, although she moved very stiffly. The final injured paladin could not put weight on one foot and had to be helped by two other people.
Once inside Galen and his team assisted the local doctor and a priest of The Dreaming God. The women paladin had a broken wrist. The doctor confirmed that it had been set well and only ordered the bandage replaced with a clean one. The limping man had a badly sprained ankle. The doctor examined it and declared that it wasn’t broken and prescribed the usual treatment; a poultice, rest, elevation and so on. The most serious injury was to the man on the stretcher. He had a messy laceration to the back of his thigh, it looked like he had been mauled or gored by something.
As the healers cleaned and stitched the man’s wound Galen and Dell helped by holding lamps, passing supplies and fetching clean water. Franky and Eliah played squire to the other two paladins, helping them remove their armor, bath, and dress in clean clothes. They then helped the man with the twisted ankle get situated in the common room. They had him settled in a chair near the fire with a stool to prop his injured foot on and an ale in one hand before they allowed him to shoo them away.
The serving women was also ostensibly helping the wounded, but her assistance was somewhat hampered by her excessive sympathy. Every time her eyes settled on one of the injured paladins her eyes grew rounder and brighter. Well, the two men paladins, she didn’t seem to notice the women paladin. The woman paladin had noticed her though, and her grin grew wider with each gasp of concern the serving women directed towards her colleagues.
When the healers were done the group left the serving women cooing over the paladin with the lacerated thigh. Jorge and Galen snickering behind their hands at how each solicitous remark from her caused the paladin to become even more stoic and nonchalant about his pain and injury.
When they were out of ear shot Galen slapped Dell on the back, saying cheerfully, “tough break Dell.”
“Ah well,” Dell said with a shrug, “I can’t blame her. I don’t usually go for men, and he almost turned my head!"
"On no!" Jorge said, half laughing, half apologetic, “did my man steal your admirer?”
Dell grinned at Jorge, “I don’t think there’s much he could have done after she saw him suffering so nobly.”
“Don’t let him off so easy!” Galen said raising a finger at Jorge. “They have a completely unfair advantage. Ridiculously pretty AND the lion with the wounded paw shtick? Together? Really Jorge, you need to make it up to my friend here.”
“Well,” Jorge replied, “I don’t usually go for men either, so I don’t know how much I can make it up to you, Dell. But I can buy you a drink.”
“Sure, a drink sounds good” Dell agreed.
“Excellent!” Jorge exclaimed slapping Dell on the back. Dell only staggered a little, Galen noted with a flush of pride.
“Great,” Galen said. “We can all have a quiet drink, and Jorge can catch us up on what he’s been doing.”
Galen woke up the next day with a pounding headache and an awful taste in his mouth. He groaned and rolled off the bench he had been sleeping on. One thing you could say about The Dreaming Gods paladins, they sure knew how to party.
After saying his morning prayers, he got to his feet with a groan. He ached all over and his stomach roiled. He looked around the common room at the aftermath of last night, trying to piece it together. The common room had gotten very crowded, it seemed like half the town had turned up. Some of them were still asleep and scattered around the common room.
There had been toasting and singing. Galen vaguely remembered the bottle of ‘medicinal’ spirits being passed around. The common room floor was liberally dotted with dropped and trampled food and sticky patches of ale residue among the rushes. No vomit though, another memory surfaced of Jorge and The Dreaming Gods priest encouraging people to drink water and eat periodically throughout the night. God’s balls, Galen thought, how virtuous can someone get?
Shit, Galen thought as more memories surfaced, I don’t think I’ve partied like that since my twenties. He started to make his way outside to the well in the courtyard. His hamstrings twinged as he stepped over a sleeping reveler. The memory if a dare involving spin kicks briefly surfaced, but he couldn’t bring any details into focus.
He reached the well with a sense of accomplishment and started the monumental task of drawing himself a bucket of water. It was not fun. He claimed his prize by slurping cool well water directly from the bucket. After a few mouthfuls his tongue no longer felt furry. He slowly poured the rest of the water over his head. Slightly better, he thought as he shook the water out of his ears, I almost feel human.
Next to him Jorge chuckled, “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Feeling?” Galen groused, leveling a glare at Jorge, “I drank too much and forgot that I was over forty. How do you think I’m feeling?”
Jorge grinned widely. He was freshly washed and shaved and dressed in a clean set of clothes. Galen almost started to resent him a tiny bit, until he noticed the tightness around Jorge’s eyes and saw him wince slightly as someone squeaked a door open. Good, Galen thought, natural justice does exist.
“Can I talk to you?” Jorge asked, holding out a mug of something steaming towards Galen. He was holding two mugs of tea.
Galen refused to feel guilty about his previous thoughts as he took the offered mug. No definitely not feeling guilty. Not at all. Being that chipper and put together this early in the morning, after a night like that? It had to be some kind of deep character flaw. His conscious twinged anyway. Dammit!
“Of course,” Galen said, hoping his inner turmoil wasn’t showing, “as long as it’s out of the sun.”
“Agreed,” Jorge said and lead him over a step in front of the stables. The barn like doors had been opened to let fresh air and light in for the animals. They didn’t go inside though, Jorge understood about horses and berserkers.
“Er, I didn’t do anything too embarrassing last night did I?” Galen asked Jorge as they sat down in the shade.
Jorge thought for a bit, “do you remember giving a solo performance of your original milkmaid song?”
Galen groaned, “how bad was it?”
“The singing? Quite bad. Nothing you need to ask absolution for though. The town’s people seemed to like it.”
Galen groaned again, “you are such a bad influence on me!”
Jorge looked into his tea and gave a long sigh, “yes, I know” he said suddenly serious.
“Go on,” Galen said, also serious, “tell me what you need. I’m always here for you.”
Galen screamed silently in frustration, knowing that he was about to agree to do something unpleasant because it would be the right thing to do. He took a mouthful of tea, hot and strong. See! Galen shouted silently at the gods, you can’t not help someone like this man.
“I know,” Jorge said, looking guilty, “I feel bad asking, I know your retired from active duties. But I need your help.” Galen nodded at him to continue.
“There’s a demon over the river.” Jorge explained, “It’s taken a wolf and enthralled the rest of the pack. It’s pretty smart in that it’s using cut and run tactics, attacking at random and then moving on. It will set the pack at a group of travelers one day, then two days later it’s forty miles away slaughtering an entire flock of sheep.”
“Shit!” Galen had been in countless battels with humans, but something primitive inside him flinched at the idea of being hunted by a wolf pack.
“It also seems to know that it needs to avoid people like me, it won’t close with us, but it’s happy to attack other groups of people. It’s awful,” he continued, worry and anguish crossing his face, “the locals have started abandoning their farms. It’s almost the beginning of harvest. If they don’t get their grain in, not only will they be financially devastated but the people that would buy that grain will go hungry. A lot of people could starve.”
“I wanted to ask for assistance from the Archonhold army. But the council of faiths is concerned that if the army sends troops that far into unclaimed territory it could push the tensions between Archonhold and Anuket into open warfare.”
“Yeah,” Galen said, eyes widening, “with Anuket claiming this end of the western trade road, if Archon troops move north and west, it will look like they’re trying to flank the Anuket forces claiming the road.”
“The Dreaming Gods temples are sending me as many paladins as they can spare, but you know we’re always spread thin these days. And the paladins they can send keep getting delayed by finding other demons along the way. I don’t know if it’s just bad luck, or if the wolf demon is displacing other demons from their territory, or what."
"So what tactics are you using?" Galen asked, headache and uneasy stomach forgotten.
“I’ve got four hunting parties,” Jorge explained, “each has an experienced hunter or tracker, a priest or two, and two to three paladins. I tried having more civilian volunteers, but murderous wolves and the demonic influence together is too much for them. They all panic and scatter. They were all brave people, just not experienced with demons.”
“Yeah,” Galen said, “I was an experienced solider the first time I helped with a demon, and I still almost pissed myself. And that was with the help of the Saint and the battle tide.”
“I almost lost all the volunteers the first time I tried to use them in a hunting party, the mortality rate was atrocious.” He said looking into the middle distance grimly.
Galen reached out and squeezed his shoulder. Jorge looked at him and gave him a brief smile before his face fell back into worry.
“We almost had it a few days ago, but we were defeated by the terrain! We had tracked the pack to a valley. One side was scree, nothing could get up it. We had it pinned. The demon set the pack on us, and we would have had it if we were on even ground. But we were fighting on a hillside dotted with rocks. I was very lucky not to lose anyone. We had to put down half the horses.”
Galen winced in sympathy, he didn’t like horses, and they didn’t like him, but he hated the idea of anything suffering. Jorge was an experienced and skilled horseman, it must have been heart wrenching for his friend.
Jorge looked at him, “that’s where you and your people come in. If you join me, I could have this hunting party back in the field within a day. Over rough terrain we’ll moved faster without horses. Otherwise, I might have to wait a week for reinforcements, by that time the pack could be anywhere.”
“Yes, we’ll do it, obviously.” Galen said immediately. Technically Jorge didn’t have to ask, he had the lawful authority to commandeer almost anyone or anything in pursuit of a demon.
“What am I pulling you away from though?” Jorge asked.
“Nothing important that I know of,” Galen answered, “we were on our way back from a training assignment. We didn’t see any action and none of my people are injured. Though after last night I suppose my intel might not be up to date.” He smirked. “I guess I should go do a head count and make sure they all survived.”
“I’ll write to my temple and let them know what’s going on. And I’ll write to Piper” Galen groaned and put his head in his hands. Allowing himself a moment to feel sad and guilty about what he was about to do to Piper in the name of the greater good. “He is going to kill me! I told him I wasn’t going to be doing anything dangerous.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Jorge said, putting a hand on Galen shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Galen replied, not lifting his head, “He’ll understand. He’ll still want to come after me, and you, with a bone saw, but he’ll understand.”
“I know,” Jorge said, “that’s why I’m sorry.”
Galen knew how he felt, he had been in charge of putting people in harm’s way before. That was one of the reasons why he hated being in charge. They sat there together for a long moment in silent solidarity.
“Umm, hello?” called a voice from the stable hay loft, “sorry to interrupt, but I need some help getting down.”
“Sonnel?” Jorge asked looking up, it was the paladin with the twisted ankle. “How the devil did you get up there?”
“I don’t know, sir.” The man called down sheepishly, then added plaintively, “also, I can’t find my pants.”
Galen lay down on the ground and laughed. It hurt his head and his stomach, but that didn’t stop him. He laughed and laughed.