Before the guards even learned of the fight Dario was far away from that city, and well into the wilderness on the way to St. Archor's Abbey. True, he had no need to run. He'd broken no laws. But Arxian soldiers in the West were always suspicious of the justicars, and would often look for a reason to arrest them. An hour's march down the road, Dario stopped, took a seat upon a stump, and produced a needle and thread from his pocket to sew closed the gash on his face. A few stitches would have to do, until he could find an Acolyte of the Mother.

Winter was coming to an end, and flowers peeked through the white fields. The light dusting of snow was just enough to make Dario's boots slide along the ground as he walked. Still, the roads had stayed far more passable since the Arxians started maintaining them almost ten years ago. Before that, one good rain could wash away a Western road entirely, and none of the cities were willing to step up and fix it. Since the Arxians conquered the West when Dario was a boy they'd been surprisingly good at keeping everything between the cities maintained.

With the stitching done, Dario continued down the road, and within a few hours he reached St. Archor's Abbey.

The abbey was home to both Justicars of the Father and Redeemers of the Mother, as well as to a select few acolytes of both deities. Over the front gates stood three statues. Directly over the gate was the statue of St. Archor, one of the sons of Divi Filius, clad in his justicar armor and pointing his sword down at whatever traveler passed through the gates. On his left side stood a statue of the Father, clad in regal robes, his strong and bearded face looking down upon St. Archor with pride. On the left side stood a statue of the Mother, clad in an elegant dress that clung to her wide hips. Her beautiful face looked down upon St. Archor with pure adoration. The wooden gates opened for Dario and he entered the abbey under St. Archor's blade.

As always, the first thing Dario turned his gaze to was the graveyard, to check for any new justicars buried there to whom he should pay his respects. Each grave in the cemetery was marked not by a headstone, but by the sword the justicar wielded in life. Upon a justicar's death writing appeared on the blade, detailing their great deeds. One day, Dario's sword would stand as an eternal testament to all that he had done. As he looked over the cemetery from the front gates he breathed a sigh of relief that no new swords sat in the cemetery, and no dirt had been recently disturbed.

“Dario!” a young woman called out. Then, with considerably less enthusiasm, she said, “You're back!”

Dario kept his expression stone-faced as he enjoyed the sight of the beautiful girl before him. Azalea, one of the abbey's redeemers, but the one whose company Dario enjoyed the most. She had a beautiful face, with round cheeks and a narrow chin. Her black hair fell down to her neck and framed her face perfectly, with the bangs that stopped just above her eye-brows serving to soften even her already gentle features. Azalea wore the uniform of the redeemers, but Dario secretly thought she wore it better than any of the others. The uniform was a purple dress that exposed much skin, particularly between Azalea's ample breasts, at her hips, and her thighs. Every inch of fabric both present and absent accentuated her femininity. Over that the uniform included a full-body, translucent white robe. If one looked carefully at the threads of the translucent robe one could see the Mother's face embroidered into it in golden threads.

“Azalea,” Dario said. He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles, and tried to let his eyes say what neither his words nor his face could. Hopefully Azalea would understand the struggle in his heart whenever he met her in front of witnesses.

“It appears you're wounded,” said Azalea. “You should seek out an Acolyte of the Mother immediately.”

“True,” said Dario. “After that I will see if I can find you again and we may speak privately.”

Dario entered the Mother's Sanctuary, where Redeemers and Acolytes of the Mother all sat in prayer. The Revered Daughter, leader of the Acolytes of the Mother in St. Archor Abbey, stood from the altar as Dario approached. “A wounded justicar returns. Undress. Let us see and heal all of your wounds.”

Without even a moment's hesitation Dario undid the straps of his armor and placed every plate neatly on the ground. Once that was done he removed the cloth under-armor and stood naked before the acolytes and redeemers. The gash in his face was not the only wound he'd suffered. On his shoulder was the wound he'd received from the crossbow bolt. In his chest was a bruise from a fight he'd gotten into with a bandit on the way to the city. Nothing so serious that the acolytes wouldn't be able to heal.

The Acolytes of the Mother all gathered around Dario, each placing cold fingers on his skin. “Miserere Matris. Miserere Matris. Miserere Matris.” As they chanted Dario's skin grew back together over the gash on his face and the wound in his shoulder. The pain in his chest alleviated, and the purple of the bruise itself receded until it was no more.

“Thank you all,” said Dario as he reached for his cloth under-armor.

“Wait,” said the Revered Daughter. “You've just returned from another dangerous quest. Normally would you not seek comfort from one of the redeemers? Is there a redeemer here who would like to comfort Dario?”

“Comfort” was a deceiving word for it, Dario thought.

“I would be honored,” said one of the redeemers. She gave Dario an enticing look.

While he could not deny that she was an attractive woman, as were all of the redeemers, it was not truly what he wanted this night. He'd been hoping to spend the night with Azalea, let her be the one to “comfort” him. Dario tried to think of an excuse to get out of it. He wanted to pretend that perhaps he was too tired, or that he simply had no desire. Any good excuse he could think of to turn down this redeemer, however, would only make it more suspicious when he spent time with Azalea privately later on. They'd surely know he favored her, and possibly even that they'd fallen in love.

“Lucilla,” said Dario, “I'm afraid I'm not in the right spirits to have relations right now. I thank you for your kind offer.” Dario dressed and picked up the pieces of his armor to carry them back to his quarters.

On the way there one of the pageboys, in training to become a justicar, ran up to Dario to help him carry his armor. The boy was about twelve, and one of the smaller boys, but Dario didn't hesitate to hand over the heavy plates of armor. After all, how was this boy to get any bigger if everyone babied him?

“So, on your quest...” the pageboy began, “Who did you kill?”

“A slaver I'd been tracking for weeks,” said Dario. “I knew all that he'd done, I just didn't know his face until recently. Once I knew his face I could meditate and divine his location.”

“That's got to be amazing!” said the pageboy. “You just close your eyes, calm your mind, and think on your target and then you know where he is?”

“The Father reveals to me what direction he's in,” said Dario. “He doesn't tell me specifics.”

“Why not?” asked the pageboy.

“You're asking me why the Father does things the way he does?”

“Yes.”

“Feel free to ask him next time you pray, if you're feeling so bold. It is not our place to question the Father's will, only to fulfill it.”

Azalea stood just outside the door to the barracks, where the justicars slept. Her eyes met Dario's and she asked, “Sir Dario, your quest must have made you weary. Would you like my comfort tonight?”

Dario let his eyes express the regret in his response, but his voice betrayed nothing. “As I told the redeemers in the Sanctuary of the Mother, I am not in the right spirits for intimacy.” He hoped she caught on to the fact that he was merely repeating the excuse he gave earlier. Truth be told, he wanted to take Azalea in his arms and make love to her all night, and he wanted her to be the only one he ever made love to. Sadly, if the others in the abbey realized how much he valued her over the everyone else in the abbey it would earn them both terrible punishment.

“I understand,” said Azalea, her face as stone as his. “Would you prefer, instead, that I come to visit you in the morning?”

“I would appreciate that,” said Dario. He let that be the last word between them as he and the pageboy entered the barracks.

All throughout the barracks walked the Justicars of the Father. Each of them wore black armor and carried a grey-steel sword. Every breastplate had the Father's stern countenance upon it. Most of them were young men, though some justicars had reached middle age. Those who'd passed forty would retire their swords soon enough, and perhaps become Acolytes of the Father instead.

Walking amongst the justicars Dario could see some of the redeemers of the abbey. Some were just leaving a justicar's bedroom, with robes and hair all a mess, and others were just entering a justicar's bedroom.

“My quarters are over here,” said Dario, pointing to the door.

“I know,” said the pageboy.

The two of them entered Dario's quarters, and the pageboy took to placing each plate of armor on the stand so that it would be ready for Dario in the morning. “What's your name?” Dario asked.

“Ovid,” said the pageboy.

“In the morning I'll train you in sword technique. Be ready to begin as soon as the sun peeks over the eastern hills.”

The pageboy gave an excited smile and nodded his head. “Thank you, sir!”

Dario nodded to him and patted him on the head. “Go. I'm sure someone else needs help with something.”

Once the boy was gone Dario slipped out of his under-armor again and flopped down onto his bed. The springs gave a rusty squeak and the wooden bed frame creaked. He kept forgetting that with all of the activity this bed saw it was best not to jump, flop, or fall onto it.

Dario pulled the covers over himself and said his nightly prayer. “Divi Pater, Divine Father, may I be sinless in your sight, and if I be not sinless give me thy just correction and wise guidance. Deliver the enemies of justice into my hands so that I may perform thy will. As the wicked sleep bring upon them retribution. Divi Mater, Divine Mother, please show mercy upon me. I pray that thou wilt forgive any sins upon my heart, and sustain me in life until the morning sun wakes me. Shouldst thou decide my sins are unforgivable, and should the Father decide to visit death upon me for my wickedness, I pray only that thou wilt create one greater than I in my place.” And with that Dario closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.