Max stared at the tall man, covered head to toe in heavy steel plate armor. The man’s eyes shone through his visor, filled with hate and malice. His once beautiful armor was adorned with spikes on the pauldrons, and the crest in the center was painted over with a thick black coat. He had a steel longsword strapped to his waist and a leather cudgel swinging casually in his offhand.

  The woman on the ground next to Max refused to meet the paladin’s gaze. She stared at the ground just in front of his feet, trembling with fear. Miranda’s breaths quickened, and her hand drifted to her dagger. Max did the same, setting a firm gaze on the man.

  “You deaf, boy?” The paladin shouted across the muddy plaza. His eyes flashed down to Max’s knife, his own hand hovering over his sword pommel. He didn’t tense, just waited, as if begging for Max to draw. “I said step away from the prisoner. Unless we have a problem.”

  “What’s her crime?” Max said back, not budging an inch. The paladin’s head retracted in shock for a moment, then he laughed.

  “I don’t have to answer to you! Her crime is whatever I say it is.” The paladin responded, waving the cudgel around like a threat. “We have strict rules on thievery here in our beautiful town.”

  “I was hungry… sir.” The woman said meekly. Then she shuddered in fear. The paladin panned his head down to her slowly, staring at her as if she had just slapped him. He took a step forward.

  “How dare you speak to me, lowlife!”

  Max shifted his foot so that he was positioned more in front of the woman, blocking her from the paladin’s sight. The paladin whipped his head up to Max, his hand now firmly gripping the handle of his longsword. He shifted his weight to a defensive stance Max immediately recognized. Shit. It was the same one Gerald had taught him, a sign of an experienced martial soldier. Miranda must have noticed the same thing because Max heard her curse under her breath and wince in pain. Is she preparing a spell?

  “No.” Max whispered. He glanced at Miranda, locking eyes with her, shaking his head slowly. He didn’t want to risk a fight in their current state. Max may have been well-rested, but he was clearly nowhere as skilled as this paladin. And Miranda was still recovering from the vampire fight.

  “Oh please.” The paladin said, slowly pulling the sword from its sheath an inch at a time. “I would love to see what little tricks your little friend has up her sleeve.” The man’s sword was halfway unsheathed when a voice caused him pause.

  “Sir!”

  The four of them flicked their heads to the left to see a young woman, roughly Max and Miranda’s age and about half a head higher than him.

  She was dressed in rough half-plate armor, similar in style to the paladin’s armor. Only hers did not bear the embedded spikes, and her crest wasn’t covered. In the center of her chest, the depiction of a blindfolded woman wielding a sword in one hand and a set of scales in another gleamed ornately. Her hair was pulled back in a functional ponytail; her eyes were blue and her hair was... Silver? Not the silver of age but a metallic silver that reflected the evening blue light.

  “What is it, initiate?” The paladin said with grating frustration. He white-knuckled the handle of his sword while he waited for a reply.

  “It’s Helena, sir, she’s looking for you.” The initiate said, her head high like a soldier at attention. The paladin stood straight at the mention of the name Helena. He let his sword drop back into its sheath and cleared his throat.

  “What does she want?”

  “I do not know, sir, just said it’s something important… Something about the mines.”

  Max could see the man’s eyebrows rise at the message. Then he looked back to Max, staying silent for a contemplative moment.

  “I’m enacting justice, initiate.” He said like someone had just taken his plaything. The woman just shrugged. The paladin let out a deep angry sigh before stowing the cudgel and walking past Max, shoulder-checking him as he passed. “Fine, you deal with them. And if they give you any trouble, break their fingers.”

  “It will be done, sir.” The woman said, maintaining the same monotone cadence in her voice. The paladin hesitated for a moment, glancing back and forth between the woman and the others. He looked like he didn’t quite believe her before he finally huffed loudly and stormed away, mumbling under his breath. They all watched the man leave until he was good and out of sight. The woman let out a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders and shaking her head.

  “Sorry about that, Rossen can get sort of petty.” The woman said with a roll of her eyes. She walked over to the woman on the ground and helped her up with a gentle hand. “Are you alright Triss? I can have the clerics take a look at you.”

  “I’m fine, m’lady. Under her grace.” Triss said, bowing slightly before quickly walking off, but not before shooting Max and Miranda a thankful smile.

  “I didn’t know how that was going to go, so thank you.” Max said, extending a hand to shake the woman’s. She smiled and took his hand.

  Max was surprised to find her hand warm and her grip strong. He quickly noted the signs of experience with a blade on her hands. She bore the same rigid callus on her palm Gerald had. From years of wielding a sword. Unlike his hands, which held the marks of physical labor, the sandpaper-like sporadic calluses. He let go of her hand and cleared his throat. “The name’s Max. And this is Miranda.”

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  The woman stared at him for a moment before talking, staring into his eyes. What is she looking for? She furrowed her brow before looking to Miranda, her face relaxing a bit.

  “Isabella,” she said softly. Miranda recoiled at the woman’s stark stare, and Max caught her fiddling with the strange piece of enchanted metal he saw her play with from time to time. When did she pull that out? “One of you has walls like I’ve never seen before. The other is… Missing.”

  Max and Miranda looked at each other knowingly. Well, I guess I am the missing one. “Yes, sorry, we are just suspicious of strangers.” Max said quickly.

  “Very.” Miranda shot out defensively. I don’t think she enjoys being read.

  Then Isabella’s tone changed dramatically. Her smile returned, and she waved a hand dismissively with a chuckle. “Sorry about that, I’m trying to practice reading people’s emotions. It’s a paladin thing; I’m clearly not that good yet.”

  “Well…” Miranda said cautiously. “Don’t sell yourself short, we are both… experienced. And you appeared to handle that Rossen character well.”

  “Oh that? Nah, he’s just scared of Helena, as is everyone if they know what’s good for them.” A sad look crossed her face before she let the bubbly energy surface again. “Anyways, you guys traveling? Need a place to stay?”

  “Um, yes, sort of, we were just going to find a room at the inn.” Max said, still recovering from the woman’s burst of energy. Her rigid persona of an initiate was a stone mask to the bubbly young woman she really was.

  “Ugh, no, that won’t do. Yesterday another home sunk, so it’s full of residents currently.”

  “It sunk?” Miranda asked, looking at the ground like it might swallow her whole.

  “Yes, but don’t worry, it’s not happening over here. Just having a small sinkhole issue near the mines.” Isabella responded, her posture tightening, her tone clipping words into a formal cadence, like a soldier relaying information. After she was done talking her shoulders dropped again, and she looked around, her face reddening.

  “Um sorry, habit. Anyways if you need a place to stay or information for your journey, you can come to the temple.”

  “What temple?” Max asked innocently; however, Isabella winced. She slowly pointed to a stone structure in the background. Just by looking at it, Max could tell it must have been beautiful. Large archways, stained glass windows, a beautiful courtyard. Now the courtyard was trashed, full of rotting crates long since emptied. The windows were boarded up and the archways deteriorated to the point Max thought they could collapse with a strong breeze.

  “What happened?” Miranda said softly. She looked sad at the loss of such beauty and culture.

  “That’s Order problems. Not yours.” Isabella said tightly. She let her smile return and nodded for them to follow her. “Come, I think we have some food to spare and probably a new tunic for you.”

  Max looked down at his tunic, matted with blood, rot, dirt, and other grit he couldn’t even place. Miranda let out a small huff in agreement.

  “You do stink.” She said with a teasing smile.

  “And you don’t?”

  Miranda recoiled in offense as Max laughed and caught up with Isabella. He felt nervous about accepting the initiate’s offer, but part of him wanted to see it. The stories Gerald would tell about the glory of the paladins always filled his young mind with wonder.

  “And remember.” Gerald would say. “If you ever need help, seek a temple of the Lady. They are under oath to protect all who seek refuge.”

  Well Gerald, once again your strange advice and teachings have come in handy. The three of them passed stone homes, abandoned or falling apart. Nothing in the town looked new or repaired beyond a simple rough fix. Kids played, but they looked sick and lethargic. What is happening here?

  They walked through the courtyard, dodging rotting crates and spoiled supplies. Isabella’s face was rigid with shame as she navigated the waste. Finally, they approached the large wooden doors, banded with heavy iron. Isabella stopped them before entering, turning to face them, her tone serious.

  “Now before we enter, I would ask that you don’t stare, mock, or harm anyone here. This place isn’t what it once was. Without going into it, our order has fallen from the Lady’s grace… and completing our worldly mission has grown… difficult.”

  “Of course, and if our presence is too much, we can look elsewhere.” Max responded. He didn’t like the idea that he may be using resources meant for someone in a worse condition than him.

  “No, we don’t turn anyone away. I would feed a beggar the same bread I would offer the king, well maybe not our king, but you didn’t hear that from me.” Isabella said with a wink. She went to turn to open the door and stopped again. “Also, don’t mention me practicing my empathy sense. There’s a bitter taste for Her Lady’s gifts, and I don’t need to be singled out anymore than I already am.”

  “Of course.” Miranda said quickly. Max knew she understood hiding your ‘talents’ more than anyone. Isabella took a deep breath and pushed the large doors open. For their age and lack of care, the solid wood doors opened with relative ease and without the piercing scream you would expect from old iron hinges. Can’t have a temple if the doors don’t work, I guess.

  Inside the temple, Max was hit with a sickening wave. Isabella hadn’t prepared them enough. All the pews were pushed aside as rows and rows of rusty stained cots were setup. It’s not a temple; it’s a damn infirmary. Sick and dying townsfolk were moaning and rolling around on cots. Several people vomited within the first thirty seconds of them entering. Isabella looked at them, sadness in her eyes.

  “The town is sick; we don’t know why yet. But the normal apothecary couldn’t keep up, so we took the slack.”

  Now Max understood why everyone outside was depressed; half their family was in here dying from whatever afflicted them.

  “Is it a plague?” Miranda asked, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “No.” Isabella said softly. “They all experience different symptoms. Different diseases. It’s like they are weakened, aging fast, like their lifeforce is being stolen.” Miranda looked at Max, her eyes widened. She mouthed what he was already thinking. ‘Necromancy.’

  “Wait here, I’ll go fetch some clothes and blankets. And I’ll see if there’s a spare cot somewhere.” With that, Isabella scuttled off into a side door where clergy members were coming in and out holding blankets, sheets, and gauze.

  “I think we might fare better camping in the woods with the assassins.” Miranda said half-joking. But Max didn’t hear her. He was frozen, his chest tight. His vision tunneled on a cot near the center of the sea of people. He stepped gingerly toward the cot, ignoring Miranda calling his name.

  He approached the cot, staring at the figure sleeping in it. The man had several blankets laid over him that he was gripping tightly as if he was having a nightmare. Half his face was covered in bandages from serious burns. Max finally found his voice.

  “Gerald?”