Ethan awoke on the rocky hillside with a start, his head surprisingly clear. He knew exactly where he was and remembered the killing blow he had delivered and his subsequent collapse. The Sword! Where was it? The night had fallen, and he scrambled briefly in the darkness as he got to his hands and knees, but his fingers soon fell on the blade’s hilt, and he relaxed. Within a few moments, his eyes became accustomed to the dark. The night was clear, and the moon, though not full, hung high in the sky, illuminating the forest with a soft glow. Ethan picked the sword off the ground and felt better immediately. He had cuts and bruises from his fight, and he could feel the fatigue wash over him, but it was only physical exhaustion, his mind and will were clear.

The smell of burnt grass filled his nostrils, and he more closely analyzed the ground around him. The plants and leaves three feet in all directions were scorched black. There was no fire or heat that he could feel, but it looked to him as if someone had started a fire where he lay. It confused him for only a moment as he felt a much stronger urge take over his attention.

“I must bring this weapon back to Sir Gerhold,” he said, the urging so strong that he spoke the words aloud without thinking. “I must keep this blade safe.”

Returning to the dead assassin, Ethan removed the sheath from his side and threaded his belt through the appropriate slots. Though he felt most confident with the blade in his hand, he found that his will and determination remained strong even with the sword sheathed on his hip. It took a few moments to recover his own sword, but it was soon hanging from his belt too. Ethan regarded the dead assassin for a moment, wondering if there wasn’t something else of value he should take, but it was too dark to assess his belongings accurately, and he just left him be for now.

Ethan turned to head back down the trail. After only the first two steps, the young man nearly fell to the ground, only catching himself on a tree limb at the last second. He looked down for the rock that had tripped him but saw instead the scrapes and blood that ran down his legs. Was he hurt? He felt no pain, at least, none that was worth mentioning. But as he continued down the hill, he found it was only possible if he grabbed onto tree branches for support.

Ethan looked at his arms as well and saw cuts and bruises. His perfect recall of the fight reminded him that the dead man had scored several hits against him, but Ethan didn’t want to worry about those petty injuries. He wanted to get back to the cabin, and his body would just have to comply. And, after a while, it did. He found how to walk with a limp and used both hands to guide him through the trees, his arms supporting him as much as his legs did.

Only when he finally emerged from the forest in the cabin’s clearing did he have trouble walking. It was a stumbling affair, but he quickened his steps, falling forward as much as running, closing the last 50 feet to the cabin’s back door with a dozen lumbering lurches. He broke it open more than opening it, and he stumbled through, again using his arms on the entryway walls to support him. He heard voices from the sitting room down the hall and hurried forward.

His body had decided this was far enough, and after he announced himself to Sir Gerhold and Sera, he collapsed.

Sera was by his side in a moment, muttering under her breath about how bad he looked. With her help, he was able to get mostly upright again, and he allowed her to guide him to the kitchen and up on the table. “I got it,” Ethan finally said. He had wanted to say it earlier, but his lungs had prioritized breathing above talking until he was resting on his back. “I got the sword.”

“I need to see him!” a call came from the sitting room.

Sera looked between her new patient and her old one, wondering which she was supposed to help first. Ethan was hurt and needed tending, but he wasn’t on death’s door. Sir Gerhold might pull his stitches if he tried to get up on his own, so she left to help the older man get up and into the kitchen. The knight was seated in a chair beside the table within a minute.

Ethan managed the strength to turn to his mentor. “I recovered the sword,” he said proudly.

“And it nearly killed you,” the paladin replied, though he too could see that none of the wounds were likely life-threatening. “How did you even make it back to the cabin?” But then reality struck him.

“Ethan,” the knight said slowly. “Please give me my sword.”

“No,” the youth replied quickly. “I mean, I, uh, I need to keep it safe. I think it best stay with me.”

“Ethan,” the older man said more sternly. “Give me my sword.”

“No!” Ethan surprised himself with the reply but quickly owned it. “It is mine. You lost it, and I will protect it now.”

Sera was over by the counter, preparing needle, thread, and bandages, but stopped what she was doing to regard the two men. Neither was in a position to do anything to each other, but their battle of wills was almost more violent than physical combat.

“You used the sword,” Sir Gerhold said solemnly. “You shouldn’t have done that. Now I must . . .” he tried to get up but couldn’t.

“You must sit still,” Sera rushed over to him, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he began to rise. It was more than enough to keep him in his chair. “Neither of you is in a position to make decisions right now.”

“But the sword is mine now,” Ethan protested.

“Be quiet,” she ordered.

Ethan shut his mouth.

The paladin looked on stunned. He struggled to find his voice. “The Savior demands the sword be unpaired until he-”

“Supplicate your Savior!” Ethan cursed. “I’ll have nothing to-”

“I said quiet!” Sera screamed. “And I will hear no blasphemy from you, is that clear?”

Ethan looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” but his voice trailed off as he remembered he was supposed to be quiet.

Sir Gerhold nearly fell out of his chair at the exchange.

The two men said nothing more as Sera went about her duties, cleaning the wounds on Ethan, stitching up the more significant cuts, bandaging everything, and finally administering one of the lesser elixirs her mistress had left for her. “You need to rest.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“Your heart and mind are not tired,” Sera agreed, “but your body needs rest.” She placed a hand on his forehead, said a prayer, and he was asleep within seconds. She turned to the paladin. “It is the heart Elemental, isn’t it?”

The man nodded, still shocked at what he had just seen and trying to figure out the full ramification.

“How did this happen? I thought you said the Elemental was inert while in the sword. How is it controlling him?”

“He must have used the blade to kill the assassin,” the knight replied. “The Elemental longs to be within a human, but it takes the power of life to do it. As you might assume, we weren’t at liberty to test it beyond the lives it took initially to secure the Elementals into the weapon.”

“Will we be able to control him once his body is healed? If his body can respond to his heart’s urgings, he will be as tempestuous as a two-year-old.”

“Not with you around,” the paladin smiled.

Sera looked confused.

“Did you not notice how he reacted to you? He cursed me vehemently, no matter what I said, but a simple word from you, and he was completely docile, even apologetic.”

“He is never harsh with me,” she replied unconvincingly.

“He is never improper toward you, yes, but he is never improper toward anyone. But he was vulgar to me. I asked him to give up the sword, something he now desires above all else. It is the source of all his desires now. Only something equally dear to him, or nearly equal, could influence him more. You.”

“Me? Are you saying he desires me? He desires me equal to the sword?”

Sir Gerhold shook his head. “No, not equally. I don’t think that is possible. But his heart does yearn for you, perhaps unconsciously, but the desire is there. A young man is often confused about such things, but the Elemental is not. It recognizes your place in his heart, and while he might not be able to put words to that desire as he does to the protection he feels for the sword, it is there, and the Elemental will not allow him to deny it any more than it will allow him to give up the sword. Though, if it came down to a choice between you and the sword, he would be forced to choose the Elemental.”

“Let’s hope it never comes to that,” Sera said, looking back over the young man on the table. Her own heart leaped at the idea that he had feelings for her, even if they were beneath the surface, but she also realized they were second to his newfound desire.

“Do not abuse this,” the paladin advised. Sera turned back to him for a moment, and he continued. “You will find him very susceptible to suggestion by you. A young woman like yourself might be tempted to take advantage of this.”

Sera blushed deeply. “Sir Gerhold, I would never . . .”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I am not talking about that. But there are many other things – little things – that you might want him to do for you, people you might wish him to forsake, or actions you may ask him to cease. Perhaps you would want him to convert to our way. To say a prayer to the Savior. As much good as you might see in this, don’t do it. He must get used to acting purely, even if at times now over-passionately.”

Sera nodded, understanding the caution. Even though she had denied any desire to misuse this influence, the idea that he had feelings for her persisted, and she couldn’t help imagining the “what ifs.” “Can he be separated from this Elemental? Can we put it back in the sword?”

“I know of only one way,” his voice was heavy, and Sera didn’t have to ask him to elaborate. “It took a life to put the Elemental into the sword. And it took a life to take it back out. Now it is where it wants to be. Even Ethan’s death might not be enough to put it back into an inanimate object without the spiritual aid of one of my Order.”

“So, he just needs to live with it forever?”

The paladin shrugged. “It is written: ’What is impossible for man, is possible for the Savior, the true man come to save us.’”

“So, we wait for the Savior to come? And when will that be?” Even as she said it, Sera wished to take the blasphemous statement back.

Seeing this, the holy man did not reproach her further. “You must go. Both of you. It is not safe here. The enemy knows the Elemental is here, or, at least, it was. And when their assassin does not return, they will come looking for it. And if they do not come, my order will come, and they, like me, have sworn to kill anyone who chooses to wield the Elementals before the time. Even if they did so unknowingly.”

Sera blanched at the idea of one of Gerhold’s fellow knights killing Ethan, but then she remembered him trying to get out of his chair once it was clear what had happened. Would he have killed the young man? Sera didn’t want to contemplate it. “But where do we go? What safety can we find if both friend and foe are our enemies? What refuge can we find?”

At first, Gerhold did not have an answer. Everything about this situation went against his teaching and his oaths. Ethan should be kept here until his Order arrived. But then they would kill him, and even though that had been his initial reaction, now that he had time to dwell on it, he didn’t want that.

He prayed to the Savior for guidance, and as he looked into Sera’s desperate face, an insane solution came to him. “Become the enemy,” he exclaimed. “I know the guild my killer was a part of. He wore an armband that signified his allegiance. They work alone and do not know one another. If Ethan returns to the Supplanter with the sword, he will likely not know that Ethan is not the assassin. Likely they made a contract without knowing who would carry out the deed. You can accompany him.”

Sera also thought the plan sounded insane but waiting around for knights or assassins to kill them didn’t sound great either. “But how will that keep us safe? And, don’t we want to keep the enemy from having the weapon?”

“Trust me,” Gerhold managed to chuckle, “Ethan will be even more unwilling to give up the weapon to them. His bond to it should only grow over time. And, because they have a contract with the assassin’s guild, their first thought will not be to kill him, as my order would. Plus, I doubt the other three attempts to steal the Elementals went flawlessly. They would have gotten away with this theft if the two of you hadn’t arrived when you did, but only barely. I hope my fellow knights were able to put up a better fight than I was.”

Sera nodded, conceding that point.

“And if we are with the enemy,” Gerhold continued, “we will know how many Elementals they have, how they plan to get the rest, and we will be able to sabotage the attempt.”

“You keep saying ‘We,’ but I think you mean ‘Me.’”

The paladin smiled at the young woman but didn’t directly address her concern. “Meanwhile, it buys me time to meet with my order to find an alternative way to free Ethan from the Elemental’s hold. Hopefully, there is one.”

Sera shrugged her shoulders but didn’t see much of an alternative. “We will leave in the morning. I shall pray on Ethan again in an hour and then get some sleep myself. With another dose of elixir and a good breakfast when he wakes, he should be ready to travel. But where do we go?”

Gerhold did not know. “I imagine the assassin might have more information on him, as long as the bloodhounds don’t find him first. Hopefully, he drained most of his blood running from my house. I think I stuck him good.”

“There are a lot of ‘hopefully’s in this plan. I prefer to operate with more assurance.”

Sir Gerhold smiled. “Welcome to a life of faith, my dear.”