Chapter Text
‘Dispense justice in the name of the divine’ gods above he was pretentious. You stared at his back as he retreated from the bar and brought a hand to your neck so you could roll your head into it with a sharp cracking sound.
Bringing him here was a mistake, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Hell, he even smelled nice. When he swept into the room you were assaulted with the earthy musk of rosemary (what did he do? Bathe in the stuff?).
Normally you would rob him blind for the pardon in his pocket and let him stumble his way back to his brethren with far less faith in humanity than he had when he entered; but, he had surprised you. He seemed to truly believe that he needed you specifically for the job. He had certainly gone through a lot of trouble to find you. Normally no one bothered; everyone was content to leave your name to the dust and wind.
Either he was a stupid as you assumed him to be when he actually showed up to the meeting you set or he was one of the few souls left that had the childlike naivete to think that you were ‘good’ somehow.
You were betting on the first.
Though his tenacity had impressed you, not everything about his visit had been well received; when he had started waxing poetic about finding a suitor and settling down you were torn between beating his nose into his face and laughing.
You had held back from either, barely. Pulling your dagger on him had given you the result you wanted with much less broken furniture, and it had yielded a delicious result. The blush that had colored him was oh-so-pretty.
The instant the door closed behind his white coat the buzz in the bar went silent. You had chosen this meeting place for a reason, you owned it.
“Talk to me, how much of what he was saying was the truth.” you demanded an answer from the man behind the counter that had previously been playing the part of an amicable barkeep.
“Every word boss.”
Jared was an ex-pastor, among the many useful abilities that earned him a spot on your exclusive crew was his particular brand of magic. One of his spells gave him the ability to sense the deception of anyone in his presence. If he said that the Paladin was truthful then he was.
You stood from your chair with so much force that it went screaming across the stone floor.
“The Draconian Articles huh?” You had heard whispers of them. Recently your information network had been abuzz with rumors of magical disturbances on an unparalleled level. “So that’s what's been stirring up mana like a monsoon. Contact the Bookkeeper, I need to know what we’re dealing with here.”
“No need to go looking for me.” On instinct you drew a dagger and flung it across the room at the new voice.
The Bookkeeper did not flinch or dodge, but instead made you reach out with your magic and stop the knife a mear inch from where it was on course to land in their neck.
You guided it back to your hand in exasperation.
The Bookkeeper was a being (you were not sure what they were and you did not plan on asking) that you had the unfortunate luck of meeting years ago. They had attached themself to your crew like a leech, drinking your mead and disappearing whenever you tried to drive them out, only to appear again like they never left.
They may have been an annoying piece of shit, but soon after they started appearing at your base they proved themselves to be an unmatched well of knowledge.
At the right time, for the right price, they could provide information. They could provide any information. There was not a topic they did not know nor a stroke of writing they had not read.
It was useful, but the prices were steep. Once you asked them what the perfect drink was and they told you that the price for such a recipe would be your own tongue, shorn from your mouth.
You had not paid.
“You’re rather testy today, tell me, was it the meeting with your husband or the potential world destruction that has you so on edge?” You rolled your eyes at their comment about the paladin being your husband and sighed wearily. The one called the book-keeper was (plainly put) a little shit. Nonetheless you and your little band of thieves had grown strongly attached.
“It’s been a while, Bookkeeper, do try to knock next time.”
They always appeared as a person in an elaborate, embroidered cloak; but what was under the garment changed several times a minute. At that moment they had the appearance of a young teen with braided black hair and orange eyes that watched you with an unusual sharpness.
“Ask, time is short.” You had only seen them serious on a handful of occasions, and each had been a deadly matter. You straightened yourself and got back to business.
“You know what information I need, what will the price be for the location of the Draconian Articles?” They tilted their head at the words.
“The price is the salvation of the lives in this room.” A ripple broke out amongst your men.
You raised a hand to calm them. They were loyal to you, and you would be damned they all died like dogs, if saving them was the price then you would pay tenfold.
“So be it. I will pay.”
“The draconian articles are the words of three gods, they can only be activated once a millennia, if that. Speaking them gives great power, but only the gods' own children can wield them. They can only be used once during their activation, and if their words are spoken by the wrong person a backlash will occur. Failing to use one of the articles will unleash the power granted into the world itself. It is what fueled the last great plague, it is what wrent the earth in half at the Two Tongues, the consequence is always the death of thousands.”
You stared at them, piecing the puzzle together in your head.
“I see. The Paladin believes those he was sent to gather are the children of those gods, he is gathering us to be the fists that strike the articles back into the dark.”
The book-keeper nodded.
“That is what he believes.”
They left the rest unsaid. While the Paladin may have believed he was gathering the god-children; he was wrong.
You could not be the child of a god because you knew who your parents were. Neither an unfaithful nobleman nor a brothel matron were very godlike, and while your mother could have lied about your father's identity, it was more likely that the paladin was actually the third god-child.
So why were you needed?
“These three children, am I to assume that there will be one for each of the gods of the draconic church?”
“Why else would they bother to send a Paladin of their own?”
The three gods of the draconic church were some of the most widely worshiped deities on the continent. There was Tiamat; the goddess of magic and the head of the pantheon Ossayada; the goddess of light and life, and Nought; the goddess of dark and death.
You wondered where you fit into the picture. The most likely solution was that you filled a niche that the others did not, perhaps as someone to lead the way.
“I see, I am meant to be their guide.”
The Bookkeeper inclined their head to you, their form had become red headed and bearded in the span of your conversation.
“I knew you would understand. The Articles reside at your birthplace in the crown city of Regalia. The paladin will need you within the city gates.” You clenched your jaw, you would be loath to go back to that place; the early years you spent there taught you cruelty unlike anything you had yet to experience.
You had left many enemies in that place.
“I don’t suppose someone else would do?”
The Bookkeeper gave you a wane smile and did not answer your question (though in a way, that was an answer itself, confirming for you that the all knowing Bookkeeper was not able to see an outcome for victory without your aide).
“Don’t tell the paladin he is the god-child until he learns the truth of those that sent him, he will report to them otherwise, and he will become their hammer to strike a nail into the coffin of us all.”
You had known from the beginning that the church could not be trusted, the Bookkeepers' warning only served to solidify what you already suspected.
“I’ll heed your advice, besides, if they’re as bad as you say…” a grin stretched across your face. “Then I will feel no guilt when I rob them blind.”
Your crew began to perk up.
“Boys! Get the bosses bag ready and sew your pockets deeper! I have a feeling we’ll have lots to fill them with after this!” The raucous cheers that picked up did little to distract you from the Bookkeepers eyes on you.
You already knew what they were telling you.
There was little chance of you returning from this journey at all.
The foolish little Paladin was surrounded by the neighborhood residents. All of them were watching him like wolves watched their prey. Impressively, he was holding his ground.
He had one man pinned to the dirt, a boot firmly on the center of his back and his arm twisted to an uncomfortable angle.
One slight twitch and the man's arm would shatter at the elbow.
You would have just killed the guy, but you supposed the Paladins’ way worked too.
“I see you are disturbing my guest.”
You stepped out of the door to your bar, visibly angry. The paladin was here as under your protection, you had him marked the moment he arrived! Disturbing him was a direct disrespect to you that would not go unpunished.
“Don’t think of running.” You snarled at the gathering.
At your glare, the crowd froze where it was restlessly shifting. One man tried to bolt, only to be blocked by your subordinates and shoved back into the group. Your men had flanked those that dared to stand against you, they were trained well.
“Paladin, let’s take our leave, my men will sort out this...situation.”
He looked up at you and you were shocked at the sheer stupidity of the people that sent him. The man had golden eyes and hair the silver-white of snow capped mountains: how did they not know he was a god-child?
You flicked your eyes appreciatively down his uniform. Under the white shoulder-cloak was a black, curve-hugging set of leather armor. The sight was nothing short of inspiring.
“You’re not going to kill them, are you?”
He watched you carefully, obviously remembering your less than savory reaction to him in your ‘den of iniquity’. You were slightly proud of how far the naïve man had come in such a short timespan.
“Their lives are safe.”
By that you meant that your men would find the ringleaders and beat them bloody. They wouldn’t die.
Probably.
Maybe.
“Then let’s not waste any time.”
You nodded at him and signaled for your things.
One of your stable-boys scurried out of an alleyway with your horse, a massive black Clydesdale you had rescued from a less than ideal living situation in a nobles summer chateau.
He was already loaded with the standard supplies you used whenever you went on a trip.
Behind him, another boy was leading a second horse, this one a roan and presumably similarly equipped.
“We can call the church for a carriage if you wish to travel in comfort.” he frowned warily at the bulk of your steed.
“Afraid of little old Ares?” You teased, running a hand across the flank of your horse. You were not going to take anything from the church. The Paladin had arrived at your bar in an extravagant and ridiculous carriage that you would rob if you ever came across it on the street (and if that carriage happened to get robbed when it was attempting to rattle it’s way back to the church then you couldn’t be blamed! You weren’t even there!). You did think it was nice that he sounded concerned for you, but did he really think you were that delicate? “Too slow, and we will be able to preserve resources this way.”
You swung yourself onto Ares’ back and settled into the saddle, double checking the straps that held your bags and soothing a hand up and down your horse's neck. He was restless, stamping his feet. He had been a war horse at one point, he probably sensed the animosity in the crowd.
“Easy Ares.”
He immediately calmed and settled for fixing the paladin with a stare that you knew from experience was unnerving.
You rolled your eyes at your own horse.
“That one is named Aurora, get on.” you tapped your heels to Ares sides and propelled him away from the bar.
Behind you, the paladin scrambled to Aurora and swung himself up, urging her into a brief gallop until he caught up with you.
Your horses settling into a trot beside each other.
“We’ll head east first, then pass through the south on the way to Regalia.”
You wasted no time in taking charge. Time was too short for anything else.
“How did you know we are going to Regalia?” He rode well, clearly experienced with horsemanship. You were thankful, It would make your trip much faster.
“I keep my ear to the ground, every magic user from here to the sea knows that mana has gone into a frenzy, it's like a stone was dropped into a still pond.”
It was technically the truth. Besides, you had already made up your mind that you were not going to tell him about the Bookkeeper and their particular brand of magic.
“How much do you know?” He asked, cautious.
“Why do you sound so worried, are you hiding something little paladin?” You smirked at him.
“I-what no! Lying is frowned upon by the draconian gods!”
You snorted out a laugh. He really didn’t have any real world experience, it was like he had never had a conversation outside of a sermon!
“Relax, that was something we ruffians like to call teasing.”
He was flushed, riled up over something so small.
You conceded and continued your train of thought.
“I know the draconian articles are disasters on tattered parchment. I know that there is death waiting if anyone tries to use them and in order to stop that occurrence from happening we need to find two others on our journey. Am I right so far little paladin?”
His red flush grew and he cast his eyes down.
“Yes, so far you are correct.”
You did not plan on telling him you knew god-children were needed to activate the articles.
“What do you know?”
He bit his lip at your question.
“I'm afraid not much else.”
You held back a sigh, you were expecting that. The church held their secrets close, likely only the highest authorities knew the full story behind what was happening (along with any half-decent magic user this side of the sea).
“Then tell me just how these articles escaped your custody. I thought that something so important wouldn’t leave the temple?”
He hesitated, bit his lip again, and then answered you.
“I can not say for sure, most of us in the temple were unaware of the existence of the articles, we were only told once they had been taken from us.”
“Were they stolen from the temple?” To break into the temple required a lot of resources (and a lot of stupidity), you only knew three groups that had the ability to take something from the church directly. You could track those groups in Regalia to locate the articles if that was the case.
“No, they were being transported when they were taken.”
“Transported to where?”
“I-I was not told.”
He had hesitated, that meant he had some information he was not sharing.
“You weren’t told but you have a suspicion?”
It was a shot in the dark and it hit home.
“Yes.” You waited for him to continue. “I met with one of the people tasked with transporting the articles, they were delivering to a church just outside of Regalia, but I don’t know where they are now.”
You nodded, without realizing it he had shown you that he was willing to share information, in the world of thieves it was a display of trust that demanded return.
“They are still going to Regalia.”
He jolted and turned his head towards you.
“How do you know that?”
“There have been whispers about it for months, a contact of mine tracked them to Regalia.”
“Months! They were only stolen a week ago!”
You looked up at him in shock.
“Don’t you use magic?”
He reeked of magic, anyone born gifted could sense the mana of another person if they were trained to do so. He practically radiated the stuff!
But, if he used magic, then there was no way that he didn’t feel the disturbances that started when the articles became active again. The mana blanket that normally lay around you like a gentle pool had become turbulent, waves lashing at your own magic and causing it to rear like a spirited horse.
“I have no aptitude for it.” you bark out a laugh at his answer.
“You’re having a piss?” He looked at you, shocked at your language but otherwise serious. “You’re not having a piss. What halfwit told you that you had no aptitude?”.
“Shouldn’t you keep your eyes on the road.”
He was deflecting.
“Ares knows where to go, now what idiot told you that you had no aptitude?”
“I was tested by one of the contracted wizards at the church!”
That was unexpected, the contracted wizards were among the most powerful magic users under the empire, any one of them would easily be able to sense someone with as much raw power as him.
Unless they had some sort of ulterior motive.
You grew suspicious, eyeing the gold pin on his cloak that marked him as a warrior of the gods.
“How long ago were you taken to the church?”
“I was taken to the church when I was about ten, after the magic raids.”
Your fists tightened on the reins. You remembered the magic raids that came through Regalia when you were a child.
The perpetrators claimed their goal was to destroy illegal magical artifacts, but you knew that had not been the only thing they were after.
When the magic raids hit the red light district you were counting your daily haul with the first and only member of your ‘crew’ , a mimicry that you picked up from the older men and women that came through your mother's brothel.
To the adults around you, ‘crew’ meant members of the same band of thieves, to you though, it just meant your friends.
Jax was the only other child to be born in the brothel, all of the women at your mother's business had access to birth control charms and spells, so children born to a working girl were fairly rare.
You were born because your mother was supposed to be too old to conceive when your father bedded her, Jax was already two when her mother began to work at the establishment, the product of a father killed in service to the empire.
“Wow! You made such a great haul!”
You preened under the praise, showing your loot of five silver coins and three coppers.
You were the best pickpocket in town and you were only twelve! Your magic really helped, but you liked to think you were so good because of your natural cleverness.
“I only got two silvers and these weird cards.” Jax pulled a pack of cards out of her pocket “there are too many face cards.”
You scrunched up your nose at the deck.
“Them’s cheater cards, Ma said to throw them away if you ever found them, no one likes a cheater.”
Jax looked at them with a disgusted expression and chucked them into the drainage ditch behind the cart you had used for cover.
“Think we can get those books with these?”
You had been saving up for weeks to afford a book on mana and magic, both you and Jax had magic that no one could teach you.
Yours was like an elastic band, you could stretch it and shape it however you wanted and sometimes you could make things move if you pulled on them with it.
Jax couldn’t shape her magic like you did, hers sat under her skin and refused to come out. When she used it, her skin rippled and shifted into different colors and textures.
It made her the sneakiest; the only one who could get into the bakers and come out with fresh cookies instead of the day-old ones that sat in the back. She never got caught.
Both of you were desperate to learn more about your magic, it could be something that kept you alive, and it was one of the only things you could have that was truly yours.
“Yeah! We can get at least one! We should even have enough to start saving for the second volume!”
Jax grinned, her black eyes glittering eagerly.
“Lets g-”
The cart you were crouched behind blew up.
You and Jax were blown apart. She went rolling into the drainage ditch and you slammed into the wall with a sickening crack, a part of one of the wheel spokes from the cart lanced through your chest. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt very much at all.
You slid to the ground and coughed wetly, stunned.
“There the little rats are, I knew I smelled magic.”
You pulled your head up with difficulty, a group of men were standing in front of the wreckage of the cart.
One of them was walking towards you with a grin on his face, he scared you. He had what you assumed to be his crew with him, and trailing behind them was a man that stuck out like a gold in the coppers, dressed in a shiny white cloak and black velvets.
“Aw, this one’s no good.”
The group stopped in front of you. From the corner of your eye you saw a flash of movement as Jax rose from the ditch she was in. you locked eyes with her.
‘Run.’ you mouthed, making no indication to the men that she was there.
She nodded and vanished into thin air with a ripple.
One of the men took a foot to your shoulder, pinning you to the wall. You glared at him and refused to scream.
“Think this one is still worth a gold Preacher Man?” the leader of the crew asked the man in the white coat.
He was holding a handkerchief to his nose in disdain, looking down at you like you were something unpleasant the cat dragged in.
“No, this one is useless. It won’t survive the night anyway; not with that in its lungs.”
“May as well put it out of its misery.” The crew leader leaned down and wrapped his hand around the wheel spoke in your chest.
Your magic acted for you.
A whip of it lashed out like an extra limb and struck your attacker across the chest with such force that one of his ribs broke with a sickening crack. He flew backwards, his crew instantly steadying him.
“You little-”
He started towards you, fists balled and mana glowing in his chest, a self healing ability or charm clearly active.
“Hey!”
Your head snapped up. No, she couldn’t have come back for you.
“I was the one that hit you, so come and get me!” Jax met your eyes with a faint smile, then her expression hardened and her magic enveloped her in a cloak.
“That one is worth ten gold, find it!” The man in the preachers garb suddenly seemed frantic, grinning in sheer delight. The other men immediately sprinted towards her last known location.
The preacher made to follow them, but paused in front of you.
He crouched, and yanked the wooden dowel out of your chest.
“Just so you won’t get in the way.”
You couldn’t breathe, blood was bubbling up from your mouth. The man swept away in a cloud of murre scented air and left you there, slumped in the alley, dying.
You coughed, struggling to bring your hands to your chest. The puncture wound in your chest went into a lung. You felt out the location of the hole and shoved a tube of your magic into it. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but it also made it a lot easier to breathe.
You didn’t know a lot of medicine, but you knew that you should never pull a knife out if you didn’t have a healing charm on hand.
With some of your breath back your body relaxed.
You couldn’t move your legs. One of them was twisted so fiercely it had to be broken in at least two places.
The world was going fuzzy and black at the edges, you wanted badly to get up and find Jax, but you couldn’t, you could barely keep your eyes open.
‘Jax, please be safe, you’re the only friend i’ve got.’ You got the closest you ever had to praying in that moment, but you didn’t have much hope that it would be answered.
Your mother found your crumpled body at three strikes past midnight, you were still breathing, barely.
You never saw your mother cry, not even as she took you in her arms, her gray hair a halo of wire around her head against the burning of the slum around you. She just held your face in her hands and whispered words of her homeland far to the north.
The chant in your first language was something that you would remember for the rest of your life.
“Strong child, brave child, survivor. May Mother, Lady, and Dowager take revenge, may you have your revenge.”
she held a warm palm to the hole in your lung and felt where you had saved yourself with magic.
“Let go now, you did well, I’ll take care of the rest.”
Her hand burned branding-iron hot against your chest, and you found the strength to scream.
You found Jaxes body nearly a week later, decomposed and lying face up in the burned out husk of a building. She was surrounded by the bodies of two men and her hand was still clutching the silver coins that she had stolen.
When they went through with the magic raids they had been after children. Children with exceptionally magical ability or unusual physical features, children that could be born of a god.
Not all of those that went missing had been found.
“Where did you live before that? Before you were taken to the church.” You asked with a light tone, not letting your whirling thoughts show on your face.
“I actually don’t remember much from when I was young.” He was only a few years younger than you. He should remember something from the time before he was brought to the temple. His suspicious lack of memory was unsettling. “What about you?”
You were so caught up in your thoughts you almost missed his question.
“I grew up in Regalia.”
He smiled at you as you spoke. It was….stupidly handsome.
“Does that mean you can be our guide? Show us all the nicest places for lunch?”
You perked up an eyebrow.
“Was that an attempt at joking?”
He shrugged.
“How did I do?”
“Like waste.”
There was a smile on your mouth, letting him know that you appreciated his attempts.
You didn’t tell him that the only time you ever went to a café in Regalia was when you were robbing the place.
“So you are a trained warrior? I assume you are actually able to use that sword.” you gestured to the huge, gaudy thing on his hip.
It was covered in gold filigree, in your line of work swords like that were worth more melted down than actually used.
“Yes, I can wield the sword or a spear and shield, it’s the standard for those that are chosen as paladins.” When he talked about the church he got a tone in his voice like he was reading from a script. Those words had been drilled into his head like code of thieves was into yours.
“Wrap this around it.” you toss him a dark cloth “Flashing that thing about will only get you in trouble with bandits.”
He fumbled to keep a hold of the reins and catch the cloth at the same time.
“Why would bandits attack a man of the church?”
“Money.”
He frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but a loud coo from above you drew his attention away.
A large owl was circling above your head. You whistled and extended your arm offering a perch to the bird. The owl was heavy, with vicious talons held back from gouging you by your leather greaves.
You stroked a finger across its gray head, its eyes watching you sharply.
Enclosed in the messages bound to its leg were the papers you had told your men to prepare, they would be sent ahead to the towns you planned on visiting, warning your allies that you would arrive soon with a Paladin in tow. You signed them with your seal and sent the bird back into the night sky.
“What was that.”
You inclined your head to the man beside you.
“That was, colloquially, none of your business.”
You turned your head back to the dark road as he continued to speak.
“How did you get yourself mixed up into all of this? Shouldn’t you be-”
You glared at him, if he said ‘settling down’ you would tie him to the horse and gag him while you traveled.
He cleared his throat, thinking better of what he was about to say.
“I was born into this Paladin; you may have been raised in the church, singing the praises of gods and receiving three meals a day courtesy of the people's taxes, but some of us weren’t sure if we were going to eat or go hungry.” you watched him steadily. “I understand that you were raised to believe that the king's nation was blessed, but outside of the gilded gates no one feels that blessing. Do you understand, Paladin?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t hesitate in answering.
Many of the people you met from the church clung to what they had been told, wanting to believe that there was such a thing as ‘good’ and ‘evil’ in a world that was as gray as slate.
You were glad that he was not doing the same.
“How did you know about the articles?” He blurted.
He was so full of questions.
“I can feel them stirring the mana as they come to life, I doubt there’s a single experienced magic user in the world who has not been warned of their return. We won’t be the only ones looking for them.”
“You can use magic? What kind of magic?”
Everyone had their own unique type of magic, you would describe yours as a sheet of rubber, flexible, able to push or pull an object so long as you were the center of the motion.
“My kind of magic.”
He was easy to tease.
“You have your own type of magic?”
You frowned, what type of things had they taught him in the church?
“Everyone has their own type of magic. There is not a guarantee, but sometimes it depends upon the magic of your parents. That's often why the church has cases of nepotism generations long, certain bloodlines can be catered to produce their famous ‘divine powers’.”
“The church wouldn’t do that!”
You snorted. Children were born and bred for the powers of their bloodline diligently. Often a person of power in the church would have their pick of citizens that had no magic, just so that there was nothing to interfere with the passing of such valuable skills.
Still, sometimes things did not go to plan. If a child did not receive the powers they were ‘supposed to’ they were disposed of. That was why Jared had left the church.
“They would, and they do.” You focused forward on the road. “You have much to learn about the world, little paladin.”
“You can call me Abel.”
“As you say Little Paladin.” You bet he blushed as you said that. “Judging from the poem your oracle provided, the person in the land of Rapture is a retired warrior of sorts, perhaps a royal guardsman. That one will be the challenge. The person down in Lakedon is a necromancer, they’re easy enough to track when we come to it. For now you should just know that there will be a room ready for us at the Tree House Inn in Rapture, just find that inn if we get separated.”
“Why is a necromancer easy to find? Their craft is outlawed, would they not be hiding?”
You grinned at him. It was a dark smile; you had been in a number of unpleasant encounters with necromancers.
“It’s easy enough once you get the hang of it, all you have to do is follow the smell.”