The idea that even the clergy needed human companionship and consolation was a growing ill ease these days with the people. It was both unfortunate and becoming all too common; especially in such days when human numbers were low and cities lay waste in ruin and rubble. Trysha, massaged a chill from her arms, mentally pushing away the loneliness and sadness such thoughts brought upon her. The level of consolation for one small group of people—the priests—to bear was growing increasingly heavy. To try to lighten the days of others, and to try to keep a positive front, and to be expected to do so with only the consolation of one's faith, was becoming an impossible burden.
Her mind wandered unbidden to battlegrounds that would not leave her nightmares. Places she had been. Visions she had seen. So many vicious battles scarred the land where broken bodies and skeletons of the fallen littered the countryside, their bones part of the landscape. What started the war? She couldn't remember. She did not want to remember. It had not even begun in her lifetime. It was not her quarrel. It wasn't even a war any longer. It was scattered skirmishes that flared up and refused to go away. It was conflicts made up of racial hatreds and clan scores with blood-pacts of vengeances that ran deep and would not be mended, wounds that would not heal—would not be allowed to heal.
No human or dwarven city was untouched. All gnomish cities were gone. What gnomes remained took refuge mostly in dwarven towns. Elven cities were barely whispers amongst trees a full continent and half a world away. So many families were torn asunder, shred apart like paper and withering in the rain. Decay and disease obliterated any who remain behind unslain, yet they were just as beset under the foot of armies on both sides. Entire clans were exterminated in single clashes.
So many surviving peoples of all races were in need of comfort of all kinds: emotional, spiritual, physical. Humans were so few—while at the same time seemingly so many—and the clergy even fewer; so overwhelmed. So few to do the job presented to them by need beset upon them by the ravages of war from all sides. The people wanted leadership and they wanted their leadership undistracted by personal interests. It was a matter of time before the church buckled to the pressure of popular opinion and passed decree to forbid their leading members to seek the private company of others even to the point of spousal interests.
"A sad turn of events," Trysha murmured and sipped at her juice-sweetened tea. She set the bronze cup back down upon the splintery tabletop. The table was thick and dark and able to withstand many abuses as it bore deep gouges and stains and burn marks of many abuses already. The battered table reflected the mindset of its visitor.
Trysha watched patrons come and go from the common room of the inn, nodding her head at one or another as her dark eyes met this one or that in social accordance. She was a priestess of the Light of the Land and the everyday folk looked to her for spiritual comfort and social graces to which she was accustomed to providing, especially for the children. It was the children who fared the worse in these times of war. There were so many, many orphans. Trysha sighed, thankful that she was no orphan matron. That was the job of other good souls.
So many patrons moving through the inn today, young, old, she thought. There were those with grand designs on becoming mages, and a few others with skills of the darker arts alongside their summoned demonic pets. Although the warlocks were sinister denizens of darker powers their presence did not perturb the priestess of the Light, the war had made for some unusual alliances, of which warlocks and priests was one. Some powerful warriors walked side-by-side with their roughish companions, who were often enlisted in the armies as spies and scouts for their now-valued skills. Hunters were readily available along with their combat-trained animal companions. Occasionally, a dwarf wandered through with a grand snow leopard or wolf at his side. Other patrons of the inn were also clergy, but their numbers were few. Most of the patrons of the inn were paladins.
So many paladins, she mused.
Paladins came and went in droves these days because of the war. Their numbers continued to climb staggeringly. They came in younger and stronger and eager. But, unfortunately, most of them lacked the understanding of what they really stood for. Most of them were no more than glorified warriors. They were bullies with a shiny suit of armor who were promised a free horse when they passed the test of their paladinship. When they passed their test of vigil.
She watched as a fight broke out in street between new paladins. One of them in particular was bullying all-comers who passed by. He strutted about clucking like a chicken taunting those who refused him and laughed at those he deemed inferior.
Trysha felt her heart fight itself in her chest at the conflict of what paladins really stood for and of what the order had degraded into. A fraternity of mean, selfish, arrogant…
"Fruit or bread pastry, my lady priestess?" the innkeeper's wife asked her breaking the priestess from her contemptuous thoughts. Bread pastry was made available only because the little inn was so close to the capital city and it was well protected due to the closeness of the recruits' training grounds, but even it was prone to occasional raids.
"Please," Trysha replied with a brave smile. When she reached into her bag for copper to pay the woman pressed her hand closed to it.
"Not this time," she smiled. "It's been paid for."
"By whom?"
The woman indicated a rather good-looking man across the room near the large fireplace. "That young paladin over there," she said.
"A paladin? No."
"The lad's had his eye on you for a while now."
"I fear my appreciation for paladins is about as good as their order's reputation."
"I don't believe he knows your mind, miss," she smiled.
Trysha gazed over toward the paladin at the fireplace and nodded her thanks as the innkeeper's wife left her side. As she completed her nod the paladin slid his booted foot from the iron rail it rested on and made his way over to the benefactor of his generosity.
Trysha felt her throat constrict.
No! Not this way
, she thought. It was just a thank-you, not an invitation.
By the Light he's yummy. No! Go away!
A smile warmed the young man's face. It was a smile that made his blue eyes sparkle. "Is the pastry to your satisfaction?"
Trysha swallowed hard. The fruit baked into the flaky bread was sticky and everything balled up into dough and absorbed all moisture in her mouth. She reached for her tea for more than a sip. Had she not froze socially the pastry would have been very much a delight. Swallowing was made easier with the tea but for her near choking on the fluid trying to go down the wrong pipe. "Oh! I—" she coughed. "I'm s-sorry."
His smile turned to surprise as he gently took her arm and made ready to pat her on the back. "Are you all right?"
Trysha nodded and sipped a bit more at her tea to clear the bread. "Sit," she motioned. "Please sit. I'm sorry. I'm just not accustomed to rich food."
"Everything is fine?" he asked, genuine concern showing on his face.
"Yes, yes," she said grabbing up the loose sleeve of her robe to cough into. She watched him move as he sat down. There was grace in his muscular lines as he moved. A noble, she thought.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
He recomposed himself. His deep black hair rested in twin braids over the front of his armored shoulders framing a fair-complected face that, at present, was fixed in some unease. "This is not how I intended to make introductions."
"I've made things difficult, haven't I?" Trysha replied.
The paladin tilted his head as he looked back at her. "I've never seen a young woman with white hair like yours," he told her. "It's quite fetching. Especially against your darker skin."
Trysha felt herself straighten back taken completely by surprise. "Thank-you. I think."
"Amber," he said.
"What?"
"Your eyes," he said. "They're amber, not brown. Not really."
Trysha grabbed her tea, downed the whole thing and made ready to leave. "I have vespers I need to attend."
"It's early morning. Vespers aren't for hours. I do vespers too."
"I need time to prepare and reflect."
"You just got here."
"Don't you have a vigil to do? You're a paladin, right?"
He smiled again. "I'm not like any paladin you know."
Panic made Trysha's heart beat faster. He was staring her down. His eyes dared her to move. She knew that if she moved he would be in front of her serpent-quick. This was a man who when he knew what he wanted he went after it with no remorse. "Who are you?" she demanded in an attempt to regain her self-composure.
The paladin stood and bowed, metal and chain from his mail suit rattled as he moved. "Sebau en el Iskandaria, at your service, my dear lady." He gently took the trembling priestess by the hand and brushed his lips across the back tasting hints of fruit juice and tea along with the hint of her natural skin. The fingers of his other hand traveled lightly up the underside of her arm up from her wrist until she just shivered. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing who it is the company I have been graced with this morning?"
"Trysha," she said, envious that Sebau was a man who knew his lineage, who knew his family. She was orphaned young and raised by the church. She didn't even know if Trysha was her family given name from birth.
By the Light
, she thought,
