The paladin arrived the following day. Safe in the sunlight, it had been the children who played out in the fields that first saw him, riding down the road on a massive gray charger. From head to toe, he was clad in white platemail and silver chainmail, and the golden crest of Sontael, the righteous god of light and justice, gleamed upon his breast and shield. Though a wing-crested helmet hid his face, he waved to the children and spoke to them kindly as they clustered around his horse, a mare that didn't even snort as little hands shyly reached out to pat her dappled sides.

The children were his escort to the center of town, where the council were quickly rousted from their homes and discovered they were apparently the last to learn of the paladin's arrival. As the holy knight had been led down the streets, the jangle of his armour and the hopeful laughter of the children had called people from their homes until a full parade of curious townsfolk followed behind.

The paladin slid off his horse as the eldest councilman approached. He was a sticklike, grey-haired man who nervously wrung at his hands, with the other council members--two men and two women--following close behind. "Thank the gods you've come!" he exclaimed.

"I only wish I could have gotten here sooner," the knight replied, removing his helmet and revealing a strong, friendly face. His hair was blonde and cut short, his deep blue eyes were both warm and concerned, and his smile of greeting was quickly replaced by a look of worry. "How have you fared?"

The council's spokesman shook his head in distress. "The foul creature attacked again just last night, and killed man for the first time. That makes ten attacks on our people in the past three months! And thrice as many attacks on our cattle and sheep, if not more."

The paladin's face was open and honest and this statement clearly pained him as he looked around at the crowd. It seemed like at least half the town had already showed up. "Would that I could have been here three months ago rather than today...but now that I am here, I will put an end to this horror." He turned towards the council and dropped to one armored knee, placing a fist over the golden eye-in-a-sun crest on his breastplate. "I am Roland de Torre, of the order of Sontael. I shall not leave until the nightwalker plagues you no more."

"I am Elwood Thorpe," the councilman answered and quickly introduced his fellows as well. "Whatever we can do to aid you in your task, please, let us know."

Roland thought for only a moment. "The attack last night. I need to see the body. There are rites I must perform to prevent it from rising again."

Elwood nodded, though his face paled. His was not the only one, for two of the other council members and several of the nearer people in the crowd went white at the mention of the man who would have been standing among them the day before. "Hal...the body was turned over to our priest--a minister of Osraheir."

A measure of relief passed over Roland's face. Osraheir was the god of life and virtue, brother to his own patron, Sontael. "Good. I would see to that first." He turned back to his mare to take her reins, though she hadn't budged an inch since he had dismounted. "Have you a stable that could take my horse?"

Elwood could see a dozen of the closer faces in the crowd lighting up with eagerness to offer lodgings to the holy knight and his steed, and hurried his answer. "Would you accept a room and stable at our inn?" The Dancing Duchess more often served as a tavern, and had only five rooms that for the most part only saw use when some man had been kicked out of his home by his wife for a while, but as a public building it would hopefully keep anyone from getting a bloated head over privately housing the paladin. At least the barkeep was a sensible man. "We wouldn't make you pay, of course, but it does have a stable and the meals are quite good...."

Roland nodded agreeably. "That would be fine. Now, if someone would take my horse there for me...."

Somehow the council folk managed to shoo the crowd off, leaving Roland's mare in the capable hands of the barkeep, who they discovered among the many that had followed the paladin into the town square. Father Byron, the priest, was also tracked down. He was a tall man with a surprising frizz of bright red hair, and greeted the paladin with warmth and camaraderie, rather than the other villagers' awe, as was appropriate for a follower of Osraheir meeting one of Sontael's warriors.

The body, Father Byron explained, had been taken to the church, settled on the southern outskirts of the village where it was the first building to greet the sun every morning. "Be welcome in Osraheir's House," he said with a smile, as he led Roland--and only Roland, as the paladin had asked to be able to do his holy duties without an audience--up the steps to the stone building.

Roland smiled at the formal invitation, and then with pleasure as he stepped into the holy sanctuary and looked around. Though built from stone, the building was mostly windows and skylights, all in decorative stained glass murals that let in the light of Osraheir's brother sun at the same time that they told the story of Sontael, Osraheir, and the rest of the Ten Gods. It was undoubtedly one of the largest buildings in the entire hamlet, with a nave large enough to house at least two hundred people.

Father Byron led Roland through a door at the right-hand side of the nave, just before the chancel. On the other side, the ceiling had no skylights and the windows were smaller, so the passage was pleasantly cool. Another door at its end opened into a small room, also with small windows and no skylights, and tapestries detailing Osraheir's silver heart-in-a-hand sigil. There was a pair of stone biers in the center of the room. One of them was bare.

The other was marked with only a bloodstain.

Father Byron could only stare in horror and dismay as Roland hurried past him to the bloodstained bier. The paladin touched his fingers to the stain, and ran his thumb over his fingertips as they came away tacky. "When was the last time you checked on the body?"

"Just...just before dawn, before I rang the welcoming bell."

"Had you performed any rites on it?" Roland asked, looking around the room.

"I didn't know any," Father Byron confessed. "That's Sontael's realm. I left a cross on his chest, but...."

"This one, I assume," Roland grimaced as he bent down behind the bier, and stood up again with a silver cross--the symbol that mirrored the holy swords Sontael and Osraheir had used to fight their enemies in the days of yore--in his gauntleted hand. "Unfortunately, the crosses of our gods only work in warding, in the hand of a believer. Leaving this on his chest would have hurt him, but as you can see, he could knock it off to relieve himself of the pain."

"The Brothers preserve us," Father Byron murmured, signing the cross over his heart and brow. "I thought he would lie still, with dawn so close...but now we have two of them?"

"Yes," Roland sighed, his eyes troubled as he handed the cross back to the priest. "Now there are two."