The Princess Knight (The Scarred Earth Saga Book 2)

by G. A. Aiken

  “It’s a small price to pay,” the monk argued, “considering the alternative.”

  “It would be better to die with honor, Monk, than live with such depravity.”

  “How could a sister of acceptance and love be so closed-minded?”

  “That’s because,” the queen said, finally standing and facing Ragna—Blessed Morthwyl, the size of her—“she’s not a sister of acceptance and love, Brother Emmanuel. She’s not a nun at all.

  “Isn’t that right”—the queen looked Ragna over from head to foot—“War Monk?”

  * * *

  Father Aubin lifted his fist and dragged the temple virgin off the ground, choking the unholy little pagan with the power of his god. But before he could finish her off, the other temple virgin slammed him from the side with a blast of swirling wind so powerful, it knocked him into the two divine assassins. The three men hit the ground but Aubin was able to quickly sit up, only to come face-to-face with a poisonous snake one of the assassins had called forth.

  Aubin tried to move but the snake followed, fangs bared, poison dripping from the tips. Then Father Léandre’s black spear swiped its head off in one move and he pulled Aubin to his feet.

  The three groups faced one another, hands raised, spells and chants and curses on their lips.

  Aubin knew that he and Léandre could destroy these treacherous bastards. They just needed one good—

  Blinking, Aubin looked at his enemies and asked them what he was sure they were all thinking. “Was it just me . . . or did anyone else see a hoof go by?”

  * * *

  The eyes of the pacifist monk grew impossibly wide at the queen’s words, and Ragna was shocked that he didn’t run. He just stood there, fussing with the gratuitous gold medallion he wore around his neck.

  “Would you excuse us, Brother Emmanuel?” the queen asked when he didn’t leave.

  “Your Majesty . . . I . . . uh . . .”

  “It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”

  “Should I get your guards? Do you have guards?”

  “I have my wolves. And I have my hammer. I’ll be fine. Now go. We’ll finish our talk later.”

  He bowed—which made the queen cross her eyes—then backed out of the room. Not because he was wary of the queen, Ragna guessed, but because of Ragna.

  Not that she blamed him.

  “These abominations?” Ragna asked when the monk was gone. “They’re yours?”

  “These animals belong to no one. They come and go as they please.”

  “I’m sure they kill as they please too.”

  “Out of respect for me, they don’t.”

  Ragna laughed. “You can’t be that stupid.”

  The royal raised a dark brow. “You can’t be stupid enough to call me stupid on my own territory.”

  “How about we make this simple? I have an army of unbelievably well-trained monk-knights. I put down these”—she motioned to the tiny atrocities standing by the queen’s long legs—“errors in judgment, and my knights become an indispensable part of your fight against Queen Beatrix.”

  “Or,” the queen said with a wry smile, “I let these pups’ father and his friends have a very filling dinner.”

  Ragna finally heard the growls behind her and slowly turned to find the adult abominations surrounding her. All of them with flames for eyes and blood for drool. All of them nightmares from the very pits of one or all of the hells.

  Screaming her favored war god’s name, she tore off the nun robes and yanked swords from sheaths. But suddenly the ground shook and she briefly thought it was going to open up and swallow her into hell itself. Perhaps that was what these demon beasts did to those who challenged their favored queen.

  But when Ragna spun around at a simultaneous clanging sound, she realized it was the queen and her ridiculously oversized hammer that had caused the disturbing jolt. She knew this because the queen swung the hammer again, lifting the enormous thing up and over her head and slamming it into the stone floor.

  “That is enough!” the queen bellowed, now pointing that hammer at Ragna with just one hand. “You will not come to my territory and brandish your weapons without orders from me! Do I make myself clear?”

  Ragna was about to tell her “no” when the room suddenly filled with centaurs. So many centaurs. Three of them Ragna knew for a fact she had left with her army but the rest she had never seen before. Bravely, they put their hideous half-human and half-horse bodies between the two armed and dangerous women.

  Laila glared directly at Ragna, panting as if she’d run the entire way from the spot where Ragna had left them to this building.

  “Really?” Laila demanded of Ragna. “You really thought this was a good idea?”

  “I didn’t know she had demons as pets.”

  The queen started to push her way through the crowd but a black-haired centaur grabbed her and pulled her back. “Keeley, no.”

  “I don’t like her. And I like everyone!”

  “She really does,” another centaur muttered.

  “If you just let me humanely crush their skulls, we could be the best of friends,” Ragna gently reminded her.

  That’s when the black-haired centaur was forced to pick the queen up. “Off we go,” he told her. “Far away from here.”

  “Not until I smash her brains all over the floor.” The queen again pointed her hammer at Ragna. “You war monk cunt!”

  “And a classy queen at that!” Ragna shot back.

  That’s when the queen attempted to throw her big hammer across the room but Farlan wrestled it from her and held it against his chest. The black-haired centaur started to carry the queen out of the building, but he abruptly stopped and gawked across the empty space. And then Ragna saw them. Dwarves. Stonemason dwarves. Ragna had met a few in her time.

  “What are you doing?” the centaur asked the leader of their group.

  “Watching your beautiful queen work her hammer.” The dwarf grinned. “Think she’ll do it again? Maybe without her shirt this time?”

  The centaur went up on his hind legs, the queen still held in one arm, but Cadell used his own horse body to force the other centaur out of the building and, laughing, the dwarves returned to their work.

  Ragna stared at a still-seething Laila. “I don’t know why you’re glaring at me so, centaur. You had to know I was not going to react well to your queen’s demon pets.”

  Laila opened her mouth as if to argue that point, but finally, she shook her head and admitted, “Yes. I did.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “You did that on purpose!” the centaur accused, climbing the giant boulder he’d been tossed over just a minute before.

  Balla grabbed her assistant, Priska, and pulled her away before the war monk could brush against her. It was said in the Old Text that even touching a war monk could taint a temple virgin’s innocence.

  “I did no such thing!” the war monk argued. “I was aiming for them; I just overthrew!”

  “That’s such a lie! You’re such a liar!” The centaur wiped blood from the scrapes on his now human legs. “You could have broken something, you know? Throwing me like that.”

  “Are you really that brittle?” She gestured to Balla and the rest of them. “And look! We stopped them from fighting without killing anyone. That’s exactly what we wanted.”

  “ ‘That’s exactly what we wanted,’ ” he repeated in a mocking tone. “You flung me!” he accused. “Randomly into the universe!”

  “I did no such—you’re just walking away?”

  “I’m walking away from you!”

  “Perhaps if you apologized for being such a heartless cow, War Monk, he’d be more inclined to listen to you.”

  Slowly, the war monk looked at Balla. “You know, virgin . . . I don’t have to return to my brothers with all of you.”

  * * *

  Three groups had shown up to meet the representative of the Order of Righteous Valor and three groups had gotten into a nasty battle that al
most destroyed a poor elk and Quinn.

  The war priests, Father Aubin and Father Léandre. The head priestess of the temple virgins, Balla, and her assistant, Priska. And two divine assassins, Tadesse of the High Plains and Faraji of the Low Mountains.

  The remaining members of these three groups had gone into hiding, leaving everything they had behind. Then, to ensure that Cyrus’s wizards and sorcerers could not follow those who’d managed to escape, their gods had closed all mystical doorways behind their most devoted. Meaning that all had to travel by horse and foot. It slowed things down painfully, but it was the only way to ensure they didn’t end up like the Order of Righteous Valor. With Cyrus’s legions burning that order’s monastery down to the ground and destroying at least half the brotherhood, it was clear that no one was safe. Absolutely no one.

  Even worse, after stopping at a nearby town for a few supplies, Quinn had picked up rumors that Cyrus’s wizards had worked together to meld all the artifacts stolen from the monasteries and churches so that the combined power would ward off any magicks anyone attempted to use against Cyrus himself. If this rumor was true, a direct attack against Cyrus the Honored by any of the sects or even a combined attack by the sects might be impossible. At least not without knowing each and every artifact he had access to. And why in the world would Cyrus tell anyone that?

  Although Gemma would never admit it, Ragna might have been right to send Gemma on this odious task. It would be good to have the assistance of other war sects. Gods knew they would need it.

  At the moment, however, every order was reevaluating what its options now were. Some were relying on King Marius and Queen Beatrix to turn things around. But the groups standing with Gemma were relying on the remaining war monks and Queen Keeley.

  Possibly.

  “She’ll have to prove herself.”

  Quinn winced at that, knowing Gemma would not take well to that particular phrasing.

  And, of course . . . she didn’t.

  “Queen Keeley doesn’t have to prove shit all to you, Balla. Or anyone for that matter.” She pointed at the entire group. “That goes for all of you.”

  “We don’t know this Queen Keeley,” the war priest Aubin argued. “Who are her gods? Who does her soul belong to?”

  “All you need to know is that she has a soul. Because I can promise you, Beatrix does not.”

  “Beatrix doesn’t rule. Marius does.”

  Gemma and the temple virgins laughed at that, insulting the priests. “What’s so funny, whore?”

  “I think the women find your belief that Beatrix has no say in the rule of her lands a humorous one,” Tadesse said as he saddled his horse.

  “Your Queen Keeley may have no man at her side to rule, but Marius does not need to let Beatrix do anything but raise his heirs.”

  “Beatrix will never raise a child,” Gemma told them, “because she will have to kill it before it kills her.”

  “How do you know so much about Marius’s queen?” Father Léandre asked.

  “Because I’m her sister. And I’m Keeley’s sister. And trust me . . . you really want to stick with Keeley. If you prefer to go on breathing, I mean.”

  Gemma put two fingers to her mouth and whistled. A moment later, Dagger galloped to her side. She mounted the horse and looked over the others.

  “Your choice,” she said to them. “You can go to Beatrix, who will welcome you. And use you. Because that’s what my younger sister does. Or you can go to Keeley, who finds everyone interesting and can’t wait to help them. As for me, I’m tired. I’m mourning. And I don’t really give a fuck what you do. But if you do come with me, no fighting each other, no calling me a whore”—she said, glaring at the priests—“no avoiding physical contact with me like I’m carrying some fatal plague”—she glared at the temple virgins—“and no . . . wait . . . actually, you two have been perfect gentlemen”—she said to the divine assassins—“and thank you for that. But if either of you quiet-moving bastards tries to kill me in my sleep, I will cut your throats and bring you back from the dead. And all of you know what that means.”

  Lip curling in disgust, Aubin took a step away from Gemma and her horse. “You . . . you’re a necromancer?”

  “A good one. So I warn all of you. Fuck with me, my sister Keeley”—and that’s when Quinn caught her glancing at him—“or my friend Quinn of the Scarred Earth Clan at your peril. Understand me? Good!” she said before any of them actually answered.

  Without another word, she rode off, leaving the others to follow or not as they saw fit.

  Quinn stood there, fighting a smile when Scandal hit him in the back with his big horse head, urging him to follow.

  “I’m going,” he told the big horse. “I’m going. But let her think I’m not for a minute. You know . . . let her know that I’m still expecting that apology.”

  Scandal snorted at him and trotted past. He hated to say it, but as a centaur, he knew that was a mocking snort.

  * * *

  The remaining war monks of the Order of Righteous Valor made their new home outside the massive steel ramparts of Keeley’s queendom. She watched them build their forts from the ground up. They’d brought the wood with them and began using them to build forts as if they were throwing together simple tents.

  It was fascinating but worrying. Keeley didn’t know how she felt about an army of war monks taking up residence in her queendom. Not because of her wolves. She knew they could take care of themselves. And if things got too dangerous for them, they could return to their original home. But she didn’t want one fanatic replacing another. Cyrus was a nightmare but were the war monks any better?

  Was Ragna?

  “Keeley?”

  Gods, what she wouldn’t give to be back in the forge with her mum. How she missed the steel. The heat. The infernal banging of her hammer.

  “Keeley?”

  Realizing she’d gotten lost in daydreams again, Keeley faced her sister. “Ainsley. What do you need?”

  “I’m back.”

  “Right. You’re back. And we are all so glad you’re back.”

  Ainsley’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “You didn’t know I was gone, did you?”

  “Of course I knew you were gone. You’re my little sister. How could I not know you were gone?”

  “Then where did I go?”

  Feeling certain this was a trick question, Keeley didn’t answer right away, which led to Ainsley rolling her eyes and asking that question she’d been asking since she could speak whole sentences.

  “Am I invisible? Does anyone know I exist? Did I die when I was a small child and I’m just a phantom that follows the rest of the family around?”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say and of course not! We know you’re here. I can see you!”

  “Can you? Because it doesn’t feel like it! I was gone for days and you didn’t even notice!”

  “Do you realize how busy I am? I’m queen. There are things I have to do all day, every day and I’m sorry if I can’t spend each and every minute worrying where my adult sister is.”

  “Excellent point. But remember when I was living in that tree—”

  “I knew you were going to bring that up.”

  “—and no one noticed for nearly three weeks?”

  “I told you—”

  “I was only ten. No one noticed. Mum and Da didn’t even ask about me. You went to work—not as a queen, but as a blacksmith—came home, didn’t notice. Why? Because as far as this family is concerned, I’m invisible. So don’t give me that I’m-an-adult-and-a-queen thing. Because we both know that’s horseshit.”

  Not wanting to rehash the living-in-a-tree story yet again, Keeley asked, “Other than letting me know you’re back home—”

  “Even though you didn’t notice I was gone in the first place.”

  “—is there any other reason you needed to talk to me?”

  Ainsley gestured with her thumb to the three monks standing behind her. “This lot wante
d to speak with you.”

  Unlike Gemma, these three monks wore white tunics instead of black. Just like Brother Ragna, which meant Keeley already didn’t like them.

  “Queen Keeley,” a female monk said. “I’m Brother Katla, this is Brother Shona, and this is Brother Kir. We are Brother Gemma’s battle-cohorts and she’s asked that—”

  “You’re her what?”

  “Battle-cohorts. We trained with her from when we were novitiates. The four of us are bound together in friendship and blood.”

  Disturbed by all that, Keeley took a small step back. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “It just means that our loyalty to one another is unto death.”

  Now Keeley rubbed her suddenly aching forehead because . . . what? “Is it possible for you war monks ever to talk about each other without bringing in death and blood?”

  “Not when you’re a war monk. Anyone can be a monk. But we’re war monks, which means there’s always blood and death involved in what we do.”

  Brother Shona rested her hand on Brother Katla’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re making this better.”

  “I know, but,” the other female monk pushed on, “I do want to say how amazing your Ainsley was during the final battles at the monastery. She’s an incredible archer, your sister. Her aim is true. She was not invisible to us.”

  Keeley’s gaze moved to her sister’s, catching her mid-grimace.

  “Wait. I don’t understand. Ainsley, you were part of that battle against Cyrus’s legion?” Keeley asked. “Gemma didn’t keep you out of that?”

  “Well, it’s just . . . um . . .” Ainsley cleared her throat. “I mean, I did face some of Cyrus’s soldiers and a few of the war monks fighting Gemma.”

  Whatever her sister might believe about her role in the family, Ainsley was still too young and naïve to be in the middle of life-and-death battles! And Gemma, of all people, should have known that!

  Instead of exploding at Ainsley about being in battle—since Gemma wasn’t there to explode at instead—Keeley demanded, “Why were loyal war monks fighting other loyal war monks? I thought all of you were loyal unto death and blood and all that. What happened to all that fucking loyalty Gemma bragged about?”