A cold nose prodded her back, and Sam jolted awake. Shite. Braeden’s arms were still wrapped around her waist, her rear to his scantily clothed front. Tristan, meanwhile, must have shifted during the night. His face was pressed into her hair, and his long, bare leg was draped across her hip.
She was effectively pinned between the two men.
“Braeden,” she hissed. “Braeden!” He tightened his embrace and nuzzled her shoulder, letting out a light snore.
Sam panicked silently. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, she could avoid the incipient awkwardness when Tristan and Braeden awoke. She was all too aware of Braeden’s hands, which were spanned high across her ribcage, and Tristan’s mouth, which now rested against her forehead.
After what felt like hours, Braeden finally stirred. He froze against her body, his breath short and hot on her neck. He dragged his arm out from under her and rolled to the opposite side of the tent. “Gods damn it,” she heard him mutter.
Sam maintained her false slumber for a few more minutes, but grew impatient waiting for Tristan to wake up. His lips were descending, almost at the tip of her nose now. Unsettled, Sam turned her head and tried to wriggle out from under Tristan’s leg, to no avail.
The tip of Tristan’s tongue traced the rim of her ear. Sam sat up with a start, shoving at Tristan’s leg. “Get off me, you big lug!”
Tristan’s lids popped open. His gaze turned lucid after a few quick blinks. “Sorry,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I must’ve mistaken you for a woman in my sleep. You’re as slight as a girl, anyway.” He lifted his leg from her hips and kicked her lightly in the stomach. “And I was having such a lovely dream, too.”
Braeden cleared his throat. “I think the rain has stopped.”
Tristan pushed himself up onto his knees. “Excellent. Let’s see if we can locate some dry clothes. The weather will likely be cool in Pirama, so we’ll need to dress warmly. I want to be on the road in ten minutes.”
They arrived in Pirama just before nightfall. The city was built at the foot of the Elurra mountain range, with roughly a third of the city actually carved into the jagged rock. The remaining two-thirds of city land that stood underneath the sky was surrounded by a stone wall forged from the same mottled gray granite that formed the mountain.
The gates to the city were already closed, but after some wheedling from Tristan, the gatekeeper let them in through a small side door in the stone wall, just tall enough to fit them while on horseback.
“Be careful, milord,” the gatekeeper said, securing the door behind them. “I’d seek lodgings quickly if I were you. You don’t want to be outdoors after dark if you can avoid it. It's dangerous.”
“Dangerous? How so?” asked Tristan.
“Demons, milord. We’ve had attacks near nightly for more than a month now.”
Tristan scanned the empty street. “Where are the Paladins this eve?”
The gatekeeper shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. Paladin Reynard was stationed here for close to a year, but he was called back east four months ago. He was replaced by three new Paladins fresh off their apprenticeships, but they keep to themselves.”
Tristan looked up at the gatekeeper’s tower, frowning. It had only three walls; the fourth side facing into the city was completely exposed. “What about you? Are you safe at your post?”
“It's my job, milord,” the gatekeeper said. “You be safe now.” He climbed up the ladder to return to his post.
With the gatekeeper restored to his tower, the city was eerily quiet. Only the clip-clop of their horses’ hooves and the occasional nervous whinny cut into the silence. “I don’t like this,” said Tristan. “Braeden, do you sense anything unusual?”
The corner of Braeden’s mouth crooked into a sardonic grin. “Demonic, you mean?” He shook his head. “Not now, though I can sense a very recent presence.”
“Stay alert, both of you. There’s more than one threat in this city. And keep your eyes peeled for The Brass Monkey inn.”
After a few wrong turns, they found The Brass Monkey, nestled into the mountain side. A fleur-de-lis--the High Commander's emblem--was carved into the door, but half of it had been scratched off.
Tristan hopped off his horse and twisted the knob on the door, and found it locked. He rapped sharply on the wooden frame. An oblong window at the top of the door slid open, and two narrowed eyes peered down at them. “Who goes there?” a man’s voice snapped.
Tristan dipped his head in a slight bow. “Paladin Tristan Lyons, good sir. These are my trainees. Though I’d appreciate it if you kept our titles quiet.”
“Hmph. What do you want?”
“Two rooms and a bit of food and drink, if you have it.”
“You’ll pay for it?”
Tristan blinked. “Of course.”
There was a brief pause as several locks clicked, and then the door swung open, revealing a grizzled man with an unkempt beard to his chest. “Hope you’re more useful than the last Paladins. Eating my food and drinking my wine without paying a copper. And have they lifted a gods damned finger to help since they got here? No.”
“Watch your tongue, man. Your words border on treason,” Tristan warned.
“Bah, I got nothing against the Paladins. Reynard was a good sort, there’s no denying that. Don’t know why they sent him away. It’s these youngsters who have left Pirama in the lurch.”
Tristan arched a brow. “I suspect these youngsters are not much younger than I.”
“Perhaps not, Paladin Lyons. But so long as you pay me as you promised, I’ve got no problem with you.” The man ushered them inside, leading them into the tavern. The cave-like room tunneled into the mountain, the slate gray rock serving as a natural ceiling. The only source of light came from the small clusters of black and white candles scattered throughout the tavern. “Kitchen’s closed, but there’s fresh bread and jam,” the man said. “Find a free seat and I’ll serve you.”
Sam wrinkled his forehead. “Are you the innkeeper or the barkeep?” Tristan had been wondering the same.
The man snorted. “Innkeeper, barkeep, maid, you name it. I lost all my hired help two weeks ago. I’d be cooking too, if it weren’t for the wife. I don’t know a compote from a custard, so I’m sure my patrons are grateful for that small favor.”
“You must be John Byrd,” said Tristan. “Glenn Collop of Gwent mentioned your name.”
“Aye,” said the innkeeper, crossing his arms. “What of it?”
“He said you were a true friend of the Paladins, although it seems your affection has faded.”
“Times change, Paladin. Pirama’s not the city it once was. It’s not even the city it was six weeks ago. I am not as ardent a supporter as I used to be, I suppose, but I’m no fan of the Uriel either.”
Tristan lowered his voice. “What know you of the Uriel, Master Byrd?”
John jerked his head towards the far right corner of the tavern. “There’s a table of Uriel men over there, Paladin, if you’d like to find out for yourself.
“You serve the Uriel?” Sam asked, aghast.
“These days, I serve whoever pays my bills.”
“Fair enough,” said Tristan, shooting Sam a quelling glare. “We’ll take that bread and jam now.” The innkeeper nodded and disappeared into a back room. Tristan turned to his trainees. “It’s time for a bit of reconnaissance. Follow my lead.”
Tristan strolled over to the table of Uriel. Sam and Braeden trailed behind him like obedient puppies. He draped his arm across the back of an empty chair. “Good evening, gentleman.”
Two burly men rose from their seats and assessed them coolly. “Sit,” one of them said finally, sinking back into his chair. A slow, amused smile spread across his scarred face.
Tristan felt an answering tug on his own lips. “Thank you.” He stuck out his hand. “Tristan.” After Sam and Braeden made their own introductions, he asked, “And you?”
The scarred Uriel returned his grip. “Adelard.” He flicked his companion’s elbow. “And this hulking brute is Donnelly.”
“Hullo,” said Donnelly, his soft voice at odds with his beefy build. Though his body was large and well-muscled, his boyish face put him of an age with Sam or Braeden.
“What brings you to Pirama?” asked Adelard.
“Just passing through,” said Tristan. “It seems like the city has fallen on hard times.”
“So it has,” said Adelard. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard the bell yet this eve.”
“The bell?”
“Aye. The old Paladin had it installed as a warning system when the demon attacks started to become more regular. The bell’s gone sour it’s been rung so often.”
Tristan nodded. The Center had a similar warning system in place. “So you must have known Paladin Reynard. Have you been in Pirama long?”
Adelard shook his head. “I never met Reynard, though I’m acquainted with his replacements. I came to town a month after he left. And Donnelly’s only been here two weeks.”
“Aye, I just moved from the Uriel base in Luca,” said Donnelly. He clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sir.”
Adelard patted Donnelly’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Donnelly. They already know who we are.”
“The Uriel?” asked Tristan, feigning ignorance, not that it was much of a stretch.
Adelard gave Tristan a dirty look. “Don’t be coy, Paladin Lyons. It doesn’t suit you.”
Sam gasped aloud, and Tristan resisted the urge to thump his head against the table. The fool boy had as much as confirmed the Uriel’s indictment. No point in refuting it now. “What gave me away?” Tristan asked at last.
Adelard’s gaze swept over him. “Golden hair, overlarge sword at your hip and arrogant enough to go by your real given name. Your reputation precedes you, Paladin Tristan Lyons. You can’t think to hide among fighting men.”
Tristan might be arrogant, but in truth he hadn’t realized his reputation extended beyond the Paladins. He colored slightly. “I confess you have me at an advantage, Adelard. Or is it Uriel Adelard? I know little of your people.” He tried for honesty. “I hadn’t known about the Uriel base in Luca.”
“Adelard is fine. We don’t stand on formalities. And we’ve nothing to hide, Donnelly or I or any of the Uriel. We’re not interested in playing your High Commander’s power games.”
Tristan bit back a few choice words. “What are you interested in, then?”
The Uriel’s dark eyes gleamed, and he leaned forward. “To protect the people of Thule. Our goals are not so different.”
Sam, who had been unusually quiet up to that point, spoke up, a scowl on his face. “What need has Thule of you when they have us?”
Tristan really had to teach the boy a lesson in subtlety. “Ignore him.”
Adelard waved his hand dismissively. “It’s good to question, to never accept at face value. It’s that basic principle that instigated the establishment of the Uriel.” He sat back in his chair. “Come to our encampment in West Pirama tomorrow morning. There, you can ask all the questions you’d like.”
“You would open your doors to a Paladin?” Tristan asked incredulously.
“We close our doors to none except demons, Paladin Lyons.”
Braeden lifted his head, the faint glow of candlelight accentuating the contrast of his slit black pupils against the white of his irises. “And to me?”
Adelard looked at him consideringly. “You’re no demon. I’ve fought and killed enough to know.” He drained his cup of wine and pushed back his chair. “Should we expect you on the morrow?”
“We’ll be there,” said Tristan.
Adelard helped Donnelly to his feet and offered Tristan his hand once more. “Until tomorrow, Paladin.”