by G. A. Aiken
“But I’m not.”
“That decision will be made by the grand master.”
“Fine. Whatever. I need to talk to him anyway.”
“But don’t forget. You are on sanctified ground,” the master sergeant pointed out. “That makes anyone in this territory subject to our rules and laws and punishments. None of which can be overruled by the laws of any king . . . or queen.”
Eyes wide, Laila turned to Gemma. “Is that true?”
Gemma shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“And you came here anyway?”
“Yes.”
Laila glanced around before asking Gemma, “Even though they seem to think you’re a traitor?”
“I’m not.”
“But they think you are.”
“But I’m not.”
Quinn leaned down and said to Gemma, “I’d move if I were you.”
“Why—owwwww! What the fuck was that for?” she yelled at Laila.
“Quinn, tell Gemma what that slap to the back of the head was for.”
“Bad decision-making.”
“And how do you know that, big Brother?”
“Because I’ve received many such slaps over the years for my own bad decision-making.”
“Exactly.” Laila turned her head, looked directly at Gemma. “Exactly.”
CHAPTER 7
Brother Katla led her battalion to the monastery. The drawbridge was pulled up so Brother Shona called up to those on the ramparts to lower it. Her brother Kir—not just Brother Kir, but her twin brother Kir—rode on her left.
At one time Katla and Kir had been called Katla and Kir No One. They’d actually been grateful that No One was their surname. Because it was better than “Bastard,” which some orphaned children had. But because they didn’t know where they’d come from or who their parents had been, they had no idea if they were bastards or not. So they were called “no one” instead. Not exactly nice but not cruel either.
Then, one day, the pair had been discovered stealing food from a local merchant. Caught in the act as they say. They hadn’t been caught by the local magistrate but, instead, by monks. Some monks, it was said, would simply feed young thieves and send them on their way. Some would chop off their hands. And some . . . some would give them jobs. The first few years, they were forced to live in the stables with the horses. Not that they minded. They loved the horses and didn’t mind the smell of their shit. And while they lived with the horses they learned to care for them. They learned to feed them and brush them and tell when they weren’t feeling well. They even learned when it was time to let them go, which was hard. Especially for Kir, who always cried. The monks hated that Kir cried but he kept getting bigger and stronger, so they learned to overlook those tears.
Then the twins learned to shoe the horses and ride them and defend them and help the monks with their weapons during battle and eventually how to fight themselves. They could have gone off on their own, made a life as warriors with no loyalty to any god. But they both felt it, Katla and Kir. They felt Morthwyl call to them. Felt they should wear his rune. Fight under his banner. They felt his power flow through their veins.
When they finally made their vows, Shona was with them. She wasn’t an orphan. She came from a wealthy family in the east, but she’d left her life of privilege behind to fight as a war monk. Now they were all majors, fighting battles anywhere the brotherhood sent them.
“What’s taking so long?” Katla asked Shona when the drawbridge didn’t come down immediately.
Shona shrugged.
Katla looked up at the ramparts.
“I want that drawbridge down in five seconds or I’ll rip it down with my bare hands!” she warned. She wasn’t worried about what was in the moat either. Because she had trained what was in the moat. And they still adored her.
The drawbridge came down and she took the lead across it. The gates opened and she rode in. Once she was far enough inside so the entire battalion could follow, she dismounted, and her squire assisted her by removing the saddle and gear from her horse.
As Katla stopped to stretch her back and legs before finding a bath and food, Brother Julia came rushing to her side. Katla wasn’t fond of Brother Julia. She seemed more of a lapdog than a warrior. And Katla had no time for lapdogs.
“Brother Katla!” Julia exclaimed. “So glad to have you back safely!”
Katla returned the greeting with a grunt.
“But,” Julia continued, “unfortunately, you and your battalion must go right out again.”
Katla stopped wiping some blood and brain off her white tunic and looked at the lapdog.
“What?”
Shona came to stand beside her. “Yeah? What?”
“Brother Shona,” Julia said with a head nod.
“Fuck your nods. What’s this about leaving again?”
“Unfortunately—”
“Stop saying unfortunately—”
“—Master General Pierce needs you and your battalion to go right out again to deal with land barons in the west. Immediately. It can’t wait.”
Katla felt an itch at the back of her neck. It was a feeling she’d heeded ever since she and her twin had lived on the streets. It had kept them safe. Kept them alive. Told her when something just wasn’t right.
Like this moment. Something wasn’t right.
“Shona. Find me something,” Katla ordered.
Shona moved to Julia’s side. Stood next to her. Towered over her, which at six-foot-two, wasn’t hard for Shona to do. She leaned in but Julia kept her gaze on the ground.
“She’s hiding something.”
“I’m not. Just relaying a message.” Julia’s voice was calm but her eyes didn’t move. Nor did her body. Normally Julia relayed orders, then stalked away, expecting those orders to be followed. The fact that she wasn’t doing so now . . .
Shona sniffed Julia’s hair before abruptly walking off, but Katla stood her ground and waited. A few seconds later her twin stepped closer.
“What are we doing?” he asked.
“Waiting.”
“But I’m hungry.”
Katla was sure he was. Her brother was three hundred pounds of muscle. When he wasn’t praying or killing, he was eating.
“We’ll eat soon, Brother.”
“How soon?”
“You’re irritating me.”
“Enough to feed me?”
“No.”
Shona walked out of one of the stables leading a horse. A gray stallion.
“Look familiar?” she called out to Katla.
Julia closed her eyes, cringing at Shona’s question, but Katla didn’t need that cringe as confirmation. Because she recognized that horse. She’d helped pull it out of its mother when it was born. Watched as it had taken its first wobbly steps, then as it grew strong and powerful. Then came the day she’d recommended it for placement among the warhorses.
Katla slapped her hand at the back of Julia’s neck and yanked her close, pressing her lips against the monk’s ear.
“Where is she?” Katla snarled.
* * *
They entered the Chamber of Valor, where many of the order’s major decisions, rulings, laws, and judgments were made.
“I know,” the master sergeant explained to the outsiders, “that you see all the weapons on these walls and think you’d like to handle them, but please understand that they are under the protection of ancient magicks. Touch them with the knowledge that you risk your very lives by doing so.”
Of course, as he spoke those words, the centaur siblings had already grabbed two weapons off the walls and were looking them over. Gemma immediately yanked the double-headed battle axe and skull-headed mace from their hands just as the monks faced their group. The master sergeant scowled at her.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
Gemma glanced at the weapons she held. “Just remembering how these used to feel in my hands . . . that’s all.”
She would have put t
he weapons back herself but they were quickly snatched from her grip by low-level monks and returned to their places of honor.
“Hands off, traitor,” someone hissed at her.
“Only those without disgrace may touch these weapons,” the master sergeant reminded her. And then he suddenly pointed at her. “And that I do not miss, Brother Gemma!”
“What?”
“That eye roll.”
“Thought you only did that with your sister . . . and me,” Quinn softly teased.
“Shut up,” she replied. But not harshly. She was glad, for once, of his humor. She needed it at the moment. They kept her from reacting harshly to such rudeness.
The monks moved around the chamber, getting into place.
“I thought all these weapons were bewitched or something,” Quinn remarked.
“They are. Which begs the question, why were you and your sister able to not only touch them but remove them from the wall and toy with them?”
He shrugged. “To most magicks, centaurs are considered animals.”
“What?”
“Most magicks can’t harm animals because in the eyes of most gods, they are innocents. So while spells and curses might cause you great harm, they do nothing to us.”
“That makes sense.”
“And, of course, every god has its favorites. Turns out, centaurs are the favorites of most if not all gods.”
“How do you know that?”
“Look at us. We’re gorgeous.”
She glared at him. “Why do I bother talking to you at all?”
“I have no idea.”
* * *
Quinn glanced at his sister and then at the room they were in. She gave a short nod, understanding him. This Room of Pestilence or Chamber Pot of Desecration or whatever the monks called it did not merely have a few weapons on the walls. Keeley’s forge had a few weapons. This room, however . . .
The weapons not only covered the walls, they covered the ceiling as well. And all of them were usable. If necessary.
“Brother Gemma,” the master sergeant called out. “Come forward.”
It bothered Quinn that these monks who kept calling Gemma a traitor also insisted on calling her “Brother Gemma.” Especially when she wasn’t wearing her tunic. Quinn got the feeling they were doing that for a very specific reason and not a good one.
Gemma walked forward and Quinn motioned Samuel to his side.
“Tell me what’s going on, Samuel.”
“Tell you? Won’t you just get bored?”
The boy had a point. Most things bored Quinn and monk-based ceremonies would probably top the list if he’d been forced to go to any before.
“Fine. Go tell my sister then. Keep her apprised so nothing takes her off guard.”
Samuel patted his shoulder. “That does make more sense.”
Quinn glared at the hand on his shoulder and Samuel quickly removed it before turning to Laila and whispering to her.
Unable to make out what was being said, Quinn simply watched what was happening around him.
Gemma waited in front of a raised dais that the master sergeant stood upon. It took a moment to realize that she was positioned in the middle of the rune of their chosen god. Once again, something that Quinn felt wasn’t necessarily a good thing, but perhaps not bad either.
“So,” the master sergeant said, “tell us why you’ve decided to return here two years after abandoning our order.”
“It wasn’t abandonment, but that’s neither here nor there. There have been brutal attacks on monasteries, temples, and churches throughout the lands. We’re not sure who is behind the atrocities, but until we are, Queen Keeley of the Hill Lands is offering safe refuge for all religious orders.”
“And you expect us to trust you? A traitor?”
“I’m not a traitor, but in this instance, you don’t have to trust me. You can trust the queen.”
“Which queen? I’ve heard there are two.”
“Yes, but one comes with the son of the Old King attached.”
“And the other comes with the Amichais and a treacherous cow.”
Quinn glanced over at the wall. Saw a steel spear he liked the look of, that he could do a nice bit of damage with. Since it was starting to seem as if that would be necessary.
But he’d barely moved when the doors to the Alcove of Annihilation were flung open, startling everyone. Three monks—appearing as if they’d just stepped off a battlefield—stormed inside. They pushed past the monks attempting to stop them and crowded around Gemma.
“Wait—” was all Gemma got out before she was grabbed by the scruff of her chainmail and yanked back toward the doorway.
“Brother Katla!” the master sergeant yelled from his mighty dais.
“Back off!” was all one of the monks barked before absconding with Gemma.
Laila immediately went after Gemma, and the rest of their unit immediately went after Laila. The monks attempted to stop them, as well, but Farlan and Cadell easily shoved them aside so the rest of them could get through without much bother.
They didn’t have to go far. The foursome were standing right outside the doors. A dark-haired woman, a little taller than Gemma, threw out her arms. At first, Quinn thought it was an open challenge. But then she said, “So where have you been?”
“Before you start yelling—” Gemma began.
“I’m not yelling.”
“You have to let me explain, Katla.”
“I don’t have to do a gods-damn thing.” She gestured to Gemma. “She’s all yours, Kir.”
“Katla, no!” Gemma cried.
The big man quickly moved forward, wrapped his arms around Gemma, and lifted her off the ground while he . . . sobbed?
Quinn leaned around the large man so he could look Gemma in the eyes and mouthed, Is he crying?
Gemma stroked the big monk’s shoulders and soothed, “It’s okay, Kir. It’s okay.”
“But you just left!” the big monk openly sobbed. “You just left us!”
He is! Quinn continued, shocked. He’s sobbing!
Stop it! Gemma mouthed back.
But I love him. I love him, Gemma!
Quinn moved around so he could study the hugging monk. He was huge. Wide as a house. Quinn had hunted bears that were smaller. Had arm-wrestled dwarves that weren’t as wide. But those big blue needy eyes filled with copious tears utterly confused Quinn. As did the nasty scar across his neck that said this sobbing monk had almost lost his life at least once. When their eyes met, Quinn smiled at him.
“Hello.”
The hugger scowled. “Who are you?”
“I’m Quinn. I’m traveling with Gemma. Part of her protection unit.”
“Brother Gemma needs no protection.”
“That’s very true. But she’s Princess Gemma now.”
“You’re a princess now?” the sobbing monk asked Gemma.
Gemma didn’t respond. She was too busy crawling onto the sobbing monk’s shoulder so she could get into what appeared to be a whispering fight with the female monk called Katla. Quinn couldn’t make out what they were saying to each other, but now Gemma was balancing herself on that massive shoulder so she could gesture at the female.
Unable to help himself, Quinn said to the monk, “You know what I’d like, Brother?”
“What’s that?”
Quinn threw his arms open. “A hug.”
The monk grinned and threw his own arms open, sending Gemma flipping off his shoulder to the ground as the two males happily embraced.
“Gods-dammit, Quinn!” Gemma exploded from the floor.
“What? I was getting a hug.”
“Look at this, Katla,” the monk said, turning to the female monk and lifting Quinn up a bit. “Amichai. I’ve always wanted to meet one of the Amichais!”
Brother Katla reached down and lifted Gemma to her feet by again grabbing the scruff of her chainmail shirt. Gemma slapped the hand away once she was standing.
“Ge
t off! Get off! Get off!”
“Did it occur to you,” Brother Katla asked in a tone that brooked no disagreement, “to tell us what was going on and to ask us for help?”
“I couldn’t,” Gemma said. “I had to move if I was going to get home in time. As it was, I barely made it before my family was attacked by one of the Old King’s treacherous sons.”
“You couldn’t even get a message to us?”
“So you could what? Go with me?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what we would have done.”
“You’re a traitor too, then, Brother Katla?” the master sergeant asked from inside the doorway.
“Oh, shut up, Alesandro,” Katla shot back.
Confused, Quinn asked the tall female monk who’d walked in with the brother and sister, “Doesn’t Brother Katla report to the master sergeant?”
“No. As master sergeant he runs the day-to-day operations of the monastery, but Katla’s a major. She has control over an entire battalion. She outranks him. I’m Shona, by the way.”
“Quinn. And what’s your rank?”
“Major. So is Kir, Katla’s brother.”
“The sobber?”
She gave a dry chuckle. “Yes. Him.”
“So higher ranks wear tunics that are—”
“White. Yes. Officers of higher rank wear white tunics. Black tunics are for lower ranks.”
“You all trained together with Gemma.” It wasn’t really a question. Quinn could tell by their body language.
“More than that. We’re battle-cohorts.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“We were linked together throughout our training. We ate together. Slept together. Fought together. Prayed together.”
“Shit together?”
“No. But we had to keep watch while one went behind a tree. That requires a lot of trust.”
“It does create a bond.”
“A bond until death. That’s why Katla’s so pissed. Gemma never should have gone off on her own. But I know her. She was protecting us.”
“Most likely.”
Shona studied him for a moment. “You her friend?”
Quinn laughed. “Gods no. She hates me.”
* * *
“I will not continue to have this argument with you,” Gemma told Katla. Mostly because she knew Katla could keep an argument going until she lost her voice. It was a fact that had been written down in the journals of the monastery Note Takers.
