Sebastian led Sir Peregrine to the storage room where they kept the armor left by the knights that were given to their care. One of the acolytes had been tasked with cleaning Sir Peregrine’s gear that morning, once Sebastian had confirmed that the knight would be healed enough to ask for them. He had hardly thought he would need them yet tonight.

  It had been hard to tell exactly how tall the knight was when he had been lying in the cot, but since the cot ended at the knight’s ankles, Sebastian had guessed he was over six feet tall. His shoulders were broader than the width of the cot and his arms as thick as Sebastian’s head. Tattoos in an intricate blue design covered both arms from his fingertips to his neck and an ornate depiction of the coat of arms carried by the knightly order he belonged to was tattooed across his chest. Wild blond hair had come loose from a braid down his back and framed his face–what face you could see beneath an equally wild beard braided down his chest. Sebastian risked another brief glance at the knight. He’d heard the men of the North were giants, but he’d just ignored the rumors as myths and exaggerations. Now with Sir Peregrine towering over him at his back, Sebastian believed it. The knight was uncommonly strong as well, as his grip on Sebastian’s arm had testified. Loyal to his order, though in Sebastian’s opinion they ill deserved it, having abandoned both the city and Sir Peregrine himself. But what stood out to Sebastian curiously was the knight’s readiness to believe his vision. The older man struck him as worldly wise and not superstitious, yet he’d seen the vision for what it was, and while Sir Peregrine seemed less than thrilled to be included in it, he had not questioned it.

  “Why are you so quick to go along with this?” Sebastian folded his arms over his chest as he watched the massive knight examine a mail shirt broad enough to protect two men.

  “You mean ‘what’s in it for me?’” Sir Peregrine’s voice held a warning that he wouldn’t stand for being insulted much longer. In spite of his snide interpretation of Sebastian’s vision to include killing Sebastian himself, Sebastian felt quite confident the brash knight wasn’t going to hurt him.

  “If you wish.” Sebastian shrugged one shoulder. “But even the prospect of reward or atonement for the sins of your order can’t explain why you even believed me in the first place.”

  Sir Peregrine examined the cutting edge of a battle axe far longer than Sebastian thought reasonable, then turned to face Sebastian with the ax in hand.

  Sebastian caught his breath and prayed he was right about the brawny soldier not harming him. He didn’t move or even look away. The larger man wouldn’t need the axe to kill him if he decided to do so.

  “I guess you could say I have a gift as well.” The knight laid the ax gently on the mail shirt and gave Sebastian an evaluating look. “Nothing as bold or flashy as visions of the future. But I read people. I’m not fooled easily, and I am rarely wrong in my assessments of a man’s character. You may be asking for a punch in the mouth, but I don’t judge you to be the sort to make up something that grave.” Sir Peregrine tugged at the end of his beard absently. “Besides, have you seen someone have a vision like yours? That was real enough. I’ve been around the world enough to know I don’t have to like God’s messenger or His message to trust Him.”

  Sebastian frowned as Sir Peregrine returned to looking through the armor. Perhaps he’d misjudged the knight by the actions of his peers. “You don’t actually believe the vision is of you killing me, do you?”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “No, I do not.” Sir Peregrine picked up a sword that for any other man would have required both hands to wield, but he turned it in easy strokes with one. “Have you ever paid attention to a bird, even just chickens?”

  “The Scriptures speak of Jesus wanting to gather His people ‘even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings.’” Sebastian offered, ashamed to admit that his gift turned his focus away from outside duties early on. “Protection.”

  “Protection, responsibility, care.” Sir Peregrine found the scabbard to his sword and laid it in the growing pile. “Certainly not murder, as tempting as that may be. I’m not an expert in prophecies and visions, but a locked door and bird-me taking you under my wing sounds much more like we’re stuck with each other.” The knight offered Sebastian his massive hand. “Perhaps we might try not to make it more miserable than it needs to be?”

  Sebastian shook the knight’s calloused hand with a relieved nod. If anyone looked the part of “protector” it was Sir John Peregrine.

  “There’s a lot of armor and weapons here.” Sir Peregrine gestured to the miscellaneous items filling the room. “Is it too much to hope I can recruit anyone from the hospital to help defend the place?”

  “Father Anselm can handle a longbow, and Father Bart can shoot a crossbow with either hand.” Sebastian ran a hand through his curly tonsure thoughtfully. “There are other knights among the wounded, as well as some capable townsfolk. I’m sure you can recruit some of them.”

  “What about you?” Sir Peregrine asked the question almost casually, but looked Sebastian over as if evaluating how difficult his job as protector was going to be. “If you’re going to stand beside me out there, I’d feel better knowing you could at least wield a sword.”

  “I’m a healer, not a soldier.” Sebastian met his gaze unashamedly. “I made a vow not to kill.”

  “You made a vow not to kill ogres?” Sir Peregrine looked at him doubtfully. “What if a fox comes after Father Mattias’s chickens, did you make a vow not to kill the fox either?”

  “Father Mattias sends someone else.” Sebastian nodded to the faded wounds on Falcon’s body. “Prophesy isn’t my only gift, and I won’t use the same hands that God has gifted with healing to harm.”

  Sir Peregrine’s hand went to his side. He looked at the fading scar, then back at Sebastian. “Are all the priests here miracle workers?”

  “Everyone has gifts, mine are just a bit less common than most.” Sebastian shrugged. Again the knight didn’t question his claim to performing a miracle. Most people fought against believing him until there was no other option. “Father Mattias says that because I’ve known nothing but the Church, it’s easier for me to have the faith to allow God to work through me.”

  “That explains my role in this thing–to make sure you survive long enough to become Saint Sebastian the Innocent.” Sir Peregrine frowned at him with concern. “Okay, so what are the odds that the whole ‘shrouded in death’ thing means it's going to take a miracle to keep you alive tonight?”

  “If it does, God will provide the miracle, that part was clear. We both survive, and everyone within the walls of the hospital is saved.” Sebastian schooled his face carefully sober. “Though I suppose you could end up being turned into an actual falcon.”

  “No. You’re jesting. Ogres can’t do that, and there’s no report of them having a sorcerer with them.” Alarm flitted across Sir Peregrine’s eyes, but faded quickly to amusement. “You’re getting me back for the quip about murdering you.” The knight nodded. “Touché, Father Alexander. Well met.”

  “Please, just call me Sebastian.”

  “And you can call me Falcon.” Falcon reached out and squeezed Sebastian’s shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do about gathering an army, you might see how Father Mattias is coming with convincing the governor to heed your alarm.”

  “I’d wager not well.” Sebastian shook his head. “Few are as quick to believe as you were.”

  “In which case, you may have to compel the remaining residents yourself.” The knight gathered his armor into his arms. “Regardless, I need you back here by nightfall. Whatever the details of the vision mean, it’s clear the safety of the hospital rests with both of us.”