The priest of Ilmot applied a healing spell to Baldwin, and white points of light rained down on the body of the former paladin, and they were surprised to find that the healing technique was completely ineffective against Baldwin. But soon a clergyman of Cranvo handed an iron-tipped hammer into Baldwin's hand, and when it rusted at a speed visible to the naked eye, the priest of Ilmot, who knew beyond words, that the dying patient lying before them was a sinner who had been banished and abandoned by the gods he had once believed, and a little quarrel ensued. Healing techniques and healing potions are limited, healing techniques have proven useless, so should we spend precious potions for this blasphemous sinner, knowing that there are more noble and innocent people in the Holy Church who are worth saving.

"But he's a good friend of the elven ranger Kerryben," insisted one of the Elmot priests, "and elves don't associate themselves with the wicked." ”

Then he may have been deceived. The younger pastor said.

"This man is a warrior," said the priest of Ilmot, "and it is impossible for him not to touch the sword." ”

"No need to argue. Arriving just in time, Ilmot's senior pastor said, "The Ranger has explained to me about this man." He briefly repeated who he was and what had happened to him.

"His depravity is real. ”

"But there are excusable circumstances," said the priest, who believed that the elven companion could not have been a malevolent man, "that he may have been wronged." ”

"Stop," said Ilmot's senior pastor sternly, "you're questioning a deity. ”

The reprimanded priest immediately lowered his head, put his hands on his shoulders, and bowed deeply in apology for his gaffe.

"So what are we supposed to do?" said the younger of them, who did not consider himself victorious in the argument and, like his companions, felt some pity for the dying male.

"Treat him," said the senior pastor, "since healing is not available." Then use the potion we have concocted—we are going to delay his death as long as we can, like everyone else," he said, looking at Baldwin's face distorted by pain, and made a gesture of prayer, "The benevolent Ilmot asks us to help all the wounded and bear the suffering for others, and that's what we should do." ”

There was one more thing he didn't say, the senior priest with a gray teardrop under his eye thought that after a third of the day, the three companions of this human male, an elven ranger. A half-elven mage, and a human thief, are on a dangerous mission to save the Templar and beyond, and they probably won't be able to return safely, but if they do, he doesn't want to be greeted by the corpse of a close friend.

But he would not say that the two brothers who had the quarrel were too young compared to him to shake their convictions.

The healing potion was taken before the candle could drip a drop of new wax oil, and the priest of Ilmot carefully held Baldwin's head. Pouring the potion into his chapped lips - he hadn't seen the familiar black blood yet, and he thought the man could hold on a bit.

The potion worked and the pain lessened. They saw that Baldwin's brow had soothed and he had fallen into a peaceful sleep, and they withdrew from his room—there were others in the sanctuary who needed their care.

What they don't know, as soon as they leave. The pain returned to the face of the former paladin, but this time not physically, but spiritually - since escaping the Norman capital. For the first time, it was the first time that Baldwin felt so clearly that he had been abandoned by his gods—that he was a sinner, a fallen paladin, and that his sins were as vivid and deep as the rusty black spots on his sword. He didn't have time to think about it on the way to escape, and the near-total isolation from the outside world in the remote village of Aojiao left the villagers and their priests in the dark of what was happening in the royal capital, and the expensive and extraordinary weapons he borrowed from Kerriben cleverly helped him avoid any doubts and horrors he might have, and he fought monsters, resentful spirits, and half-dragons with pride, almost forgetting that he was no longer a follower approved by Tyre.

But it didn't leave, it was like a poisonous snake hidden in the shadows, it gave him a blow that caught him off guard when he was most vulnerable, most painful, most desperate, its venom seeped into his heart, and for a moment, the former paladin wished that he would die so that he would not suffer the similar torment that would inevitably come for decades to come, but he immediately denied the idea, he was not willing to die with his sin in his arms, he wanted to live, he wanted to atone for his sins, he wanted to praise Tyre's name, to re-enter his sanctuary, to offer his sword and loyalty to him。

He prayed intermittently, and every time he spat out the holy name of Tyre, the two words burned his tongue like a soldering iron, there was no light, no warmth, no sign of loosening of the iron wall, he burst into tears, how he wished that a hand would hold his hand, give him a little encouragement and courage, but only his voice echoed repeatedly in the dark and filthy room, empty like his heart.

So when there was a hand that took his hand, Birdwin almost jumped out of bed in surprise (if he could), he held the hand with difficulty, it was soft and small, it could not have been Kerribben, Cremar or any man, and it was still a little familiar to him, after all they had just touched him intimately the night before.

"Meimi?"

"Yes," said Memi, kissing and rubbing her cheek against the hand, "yes, my lord, it's me, I'm back, I'm coming back to you." ”

&&&

A raven flew over and landed in Leona's hand.

"Oh no," Leona cried out in annoyance, "No, you can't. ”

The crow tilted its head as cutely as a human being, its eyes were red, it looked very evil, and what it did next was not so good—it pecked Leona's hand fiercely.

The hand held most of Leona's weight, and the crow's peck nearly pierced the back of her hand, and she screamed in pain and fell off the wall.

The walls of Dorin were certainly not as tall and thick as those of the Norman capital, but they were at least half as large. Losing her balance from a few dozen feet away, she fell high, and if it had not been for a sudden illusory hand holding her up, the Norman princess of the Highlands would have either fallen to her death or would have spent the rest of her life in bed—the hand that gently placed her on the ground, and then a huge beak was revealed at the battlements of the wall, and a priest of Cranvo appeared on the wall.

He waved his hands at Princess Leona, who knew he was urging her to leave.

"This persuasion is too rough!" Leona shouted at the top of the city wall as she lifted her intact hand to her lips and took a sip as she pulled out a bottle of healing potion and unscrewed the lid. Her hand healed quickly, but it didn't take much strength, and there was a dull ache.

"Tell me," Leona continued, "Is Baldwin Donkray in Dorling?" in fact, without the priest answering, she knew that Baldwin was close at hand, and she was about to be burned by the pendant clinging to her chest.

The priest of Cranvo looked down again, and after a moment, seeing that Leona did not seem to have any intention of leaving, he retracted his head. When a gray-robed Reverend Ilmort arrives, Leona looks up and is surprised to find that she knows him.

"Your Royal Highness the Norman Princess!" exclaimed the priest of Ilmot, helplessly, "you should not be here!"

"I have come to seek my friend," replied the princess, "and Berdwin Donclay and his companions—here they are. Right?"

The priest of Ilmut froze for a moment, and did not answer the princess's question: "The city is being controlled by a terrible plague," he said bitterly, "no one is allowed to enter here." You can't leave here. ”

"I know you have to make sure that the disease doesn't spread outside," Leona said, "but I have the same convictions and reasons as you do, and they tell me I have to go into the city." With my friends. ”

"What is the reason?" asked the priest of Ilmot.

Leona smiled, it was so pure, and so bright, it could compare to the sun at this time: "That is that I love Baldwin Donkray, I love him, I love him as I love my life!"

The priest of Ilmot fell silent.

"I'm sorry......," he said after a moment, his voice barely catching Leona in the distance, "If that's the unfortunate man you're talking about, Your Highness the Princess, please give up your original plans." ”

Leona stopped all movements, looked up, and listened with bated breath.

"He contracted the disease," said the priest of Ilmot, "and he was dying." ”

Leona closed her eyes calmly. When she was a carefree little girl, she could not understand why bards always lamented the cruelty of fate in their works, but she had tasted the bitterness of her father after his sudden death, and the man she admired was accused of his murderer, and now, it was only another bitterness, and she would not even cry for it.

She carried rune disks with her, from the Norman royal treasury, each of which contained one or more powerful spells, and if she wanted to, she could smash the walls of the Dorling so that it would crack a gap large enough for Leona to walk into, and her heart strongly encouraged her to do so, unscrupulously, without thinking about the consequences, but her sanity refused - she was still a Norman princess after all, and if the plague spread, it would be her people who would die.

But she also knew that the priests wouldn't let her into Dorling, and even if she was just standing here now, it would be enough to make them anxious.

"Princess Leona......" The priest of Ilmot was about to continue his persuasion when he was interrupted by a knight galloping from a distance.

The knight jumped off his horse a few dozen feet from Leona and bowed to her, as if he wanted to say something to Leona, but he chose to give up because he didn't know how to phrase it.

When he turned to see the priest of Ilmot, he could say with great joy: "Urgent!" he cried out, "Good follower of Ilmot, please inform your senior priest quickly, our master, Lord of Dorling, who has just received a noble and powerful guest, His Excellency Dylan Donclay, who has heard of Dormot, and has graciously decided to lend a hand. ”

"What kind of help?" asked Leona, if she didn't think her cousin would suddenly become a follower of Ilmort.

"He's going to burn Dorling," said the knight, gasping as he came all the way, not daring to delay in the slightest: "He's going to burn all Dorling," he cried out to the priest of Ilmut, "and our master has asked you if you have a cure for the disease, or else, please leave as soon as possible." ”

"What about the patient?!"

"Only you can leave. The knight shouted, "The honorable lord has brought a dozen mages and several warlocks, and they are cordoning off this place. ”

"And you," said the knight to Leona, "please come with me, Dylan Donclay wants to see you at once." ”

Leona's answer was a smile, and although the young woman standing in front of him was not pretty, there was unquestionable authority and solemnity in her smile: "Please tell Dylan Donclay, Princess Leona of the Norman Highlands, that his blood relatives are in the city of Dorling, and whatever he wants to do, please wait for one or two." ”

"But," said the knight stupidly, "you are not in the city. ”

Immediately after, he was hit in the lower abdomen by a powerful blow like lightning, slightly down - in order to reduce weight and reach as soon as possible, he even took off his close-fitting chain mail, which immediately made his eyes blacken, and he fell to the ground violently.

"Now you may let me in," Leona said to the stunned followers of Ilmot, perhaps adding a priest of Cranvo, who and his ravens never left, "Dylan Donclay is a terrible fellow, but not so bad that he would burn his blood relatives along with a city." ”

&&&

The lich waited until the footsteps outside the door had completely disappeared before returning to the desk, he didn't need to rest, but he needed time too, and the next task was unpredictable and dangerous, and he had to copy some scrolls. (To be continued......)