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A WEAPON FORGED IN vengeance bites most deeply.
—Argus Kind, usurper king
* * *
BROTHER VAUGHN LED the mule back toward the monastery, and Gwen remained silent for the whole ride there, though she glanced around warily, stiffening every time she saw a man in uniform. But nobody stopped them, and there’d been no sign of Gabaldi or any of the boys she knew. No one seemed to be looking for a missing soldier or trainee.
When they arrived, the monk excused himself. “I must get into my robes and out of these clothes. I suppose I should burn them.”
“Yes. If you’ll wait to start a fire, I’ll give you this dress too.”
He nodded. “Very well. I’ll meet you back here,” he said, indicating the reception room.
Gwen went straight to the bathroom in her cell and peered at her face in the looking glass. She’d been right. One eye was swollen almost closed, and blood caked the split in her lower lip. After cleaning up, she put on another dress and bundled up the bloodied one. Then she headed for the reception room. She didn’t make it all the way before meeting Brother Vaughn in the hallway.
His face wore worry. “The others tell me Brother Jacques has not returned.”
“Maybe Madame Gabaldi has taken him to her husband to discuss Brother Jacques’s concerns,” she said, but saying that aloud didn’t convince her it was true. It didn’t convince the Cathuran either.
“I would not risk your life and mine on that probability,” he said.
“What should we do?”
“Burn the clothes and prepare to leave. If Brother Jacques does not return by midday, we will take a less . . . well-traveled road out of the city. Be sure that anything you need is packed onto the mule.”
“What about my clothes? The trunk is too large for the mule.”
“Take what will fit in your bags and on your back, Sister Gwendolin. Now is not the time to fuss with unnecessary belongings.”
Though it pained her to think of leaving behind her clothing, she saw the logic of a light load. Handing her bundled dress to him, she nodded and returned to her cell, where she rifled through the trunk until she found a simple cotton jumper and a heavier wool one. She folded and rolled them tightly. Using several of her hair ribbons tied together, she secured the roll. Fearful she might have ruined Mignon’s shawl in the scuffle, she laid it out carefully on the bed and examined it. Happy she found no blood or rips in it, she wrapped the treasured shawl around her waist. Again, she didn’t make it to the reception room before running into a breathless Brother Vaughn.
“We have to leave now. Come quickly and make no noise,” he said.
Taking her by the elbow, he guided her toward the reception room. Gwen’s stomach knotted and the moisture in her mouth dried up, making each swallow painful and dry. Rather than leading her into the courtyard once they’d exited the corridor, he turned sharply and veered toward a door on the back wall.
A loud clatter and yelling came from the courtyard. Madame Gabaldi’s voice rang out, “You can stop all of it, Jacques. Just tell us where the boys have gone.”
The voice stopped Gwen just as she and Brother Vaughn opened the door she’d been forbidden to enter. Looking over her shoulder and through the slats of the shuttered door, she saw Brother Jacques standing with his arms wrapped around the courtyard’s single statue, his wrists tied together. Behind him, a short, dark Zjhon soldier held a whip poised to strike.
Brother Vaughn yanked her through the doorway.
“This is your last chance, Jacques. Tell Lieutenant Dempsy where they are.”
A few seconds of silence passed, and then Gwen heard the crack of the whip and a painful cry.
“We have to stop her,” she protested, jerking her elbow away from the monk’s guiding hand.
His voice firm and unyielding, he whispered, “There’s nothing we can do, Sister Gwendolin. We cannot defend this monastery. The Varics are already hiding. They will return when it is safe.”
“But she’s with the Zjhon. Don’t you see? Rolf was right. She’s been in on it from the start.”
“We can do nothing to change this situation, child. We must leave Sutherhold without delay, or there will be no escaping the Zjhon.” He closed the door, turned a key in its lock, and removed it, holding it out to her. “I can do nothing. The Cathuran do not intervene in politics. I was tasked with accompanying you to your chosen destination. And now you must choose your own way. If you wish to declare yourself Varic, then stay, and I will have fulfilled my promise to Mother Seema. There’s no going back, Sister, only forward.”
The Cathuran placed the key on the floor at Gwen’s feet, turned, and walked down what Gwen realized was another of the long corridors without windows or doors. As she watched him take step after assured step, she weighed her options. The Varics were gone, and she didn’t know where they were hiding. Eventually Madame Gabaldi would look for Gwen and do the same thing to her that she’d done to poor Brother Jacques, whose only sins had been kindness and generosity to the woman who’d once loved him. Even if Gwen had wanted to become Varic, that option no longer existed, at least not in Sutherhold. Gwen kicked the key as she took off in a run to catch up with Brother Vaughn.
The corridor twisted and turned, and Gwen felt as if she were being pulled downhill. When they reached the end of the narrow hall, Brother Vaughn stopped at another doorway. He pressed his ear against it, and Gwen waited, straining to listen for sounds other than the echo of her own thumping heartbeat.
“Stay behind the door and don’t come out unless I tell you it’s safe,” the monk whispered before turning the key in the lock and opening the door, which creaked and groaned so loudly Gwen winced at the awful noise. He stepped out while Gwen waited behind the thick wooden door, her back pressed against cold stone and her breath held as she listened.
“Come quickly, Sister Gwendolin,” the monk called out, his normal tone more reassuring than Gwen could have imagined.
She stepped from behind the door and peered out. The sweet scent of apples and pears and the heady smell of rotting fruit filled the air. Behind Brother Vaughn, who stood with the mule’s lead in hand, sat perfectly aligned rows of flowering and fruit-bearing trees.
“Nobody is here. If we go quickly, we can reach the main road toward the north before dark. It will be safer once we are on the road.” He took the bundle of clothing from her and held out a rolled-up robe. “You may be less recognizable if you wear this, Sister.”
Gwen frowned and nodded. When the monk handed it to her, she slipped her arms into its voluminous sleeves and dipped her head into the opening at the robe’s neck, letting the fabric fall down over her clothing. The result was a bulky, uncomfortable glob of fabric surrounding her body. Gwen knew her much-loved clothing bunched up under the robe would only make her miserable for the length of the journey, so she stepped inside the corridor and closed the door most of the way. In the dark, she removed the robe and her shift then put the robe back on with a sigh.
Brother Vaughn seemed to sense her sullen mood because he helped her atop the mule and silently led the way out of the orchard through dense undergrowth of ferns and pale-bladed grasses, stopping periodically to pick ripe pieces of low-hanging fruit, which he stuffed into a pouch hanging on the mule.
By late afternoon, they’d reached the main road and passed several clusters of people traveling by cart and horseback toward Sutherhold. Thankfully they’d not encountered any soldiers heading in either direction. At dusk, Brother Vaughn led the mule toward a stand of trees near the road. There, a small caravan was camped, and the monk approached them with a jolly, “Hey ho, travelers! Might you have room for two monks to sleep by your fire?”
Two old women and a short, pudgy man dressed in little more than rags sat around a campfire. The man called back, “That depends. Do you have food?”
“Not much, Brother, but we will gladly share what we have.”
The man waved them forward. “Then come and rest by the fire. I’m Albert.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Albert,” said the monk. “I am Brother Vaughn, and this is Sister Gwendolin.”
Shortly after they’d settled on the ground near the fire, what seemed to Gwen a horde of young children appeared from behind the trees. As raggedly dressed as Albert, they also wore the grime of the road. One little girl with tangled, dark hair knotted to clasp a ponytail approached Gwen and reached out to touch her hair. “So pretty. Like my mama’s hair.”
“You have lovely hair yourself,” said Gwen. “And I have just the thing for it.” She stood and took the little girl by the hand, leading her to the mule, which Brother Vaughn hadn’t yet unpacked. Retrieving her rolled clothing, she carefully untied it and unknotted a strand of the ribbon. She dug around in one of her bags until she found a comb. Holding up both, she smiled at the little girl. “Your hair will look beautiful with a braided ribbon, don’t you think?”
The child grinned, completely unselfconscious about a missing front tooth, the replacement for which had barely broken the surface of her gums.
Gwen led the little girl back to the campfire, where the child settled onto Gwen’s lap and sat still and quiet while Gwen did her best to gently comb out the tangles in the girl’s hair. Busying her hands and listening, she learned that Albert and the two old women were taking the children to an orphanage in the northwest.
“There are Cathuran outposts along the way,” said Brother Vaughn. “Stop there and tell them that Mother Seema from Ohmahold would greatly appreciate it if you could rest there for a night. Most monks will happily take you in and feed you and give you a warm, dry place to sleep.”
When she’d combed out the nest of tangles in the little girl’s hair, she held out the ribbon in front of the child. The girl fingered the smooth ribbon and looked over her shoulder at Gwen, who said, “My mother gave this to me, but I think it will look better in your hair.” The second toothless grin melted Gwen’s heart, and she took extra care in threading the braid tightly so the ribbon wouldn’t work its way out.
By the time she snuggled up with the little girl to sleep for the night, Gwen had given the older girls all of her clothing and had handed out all of the fresh fruit Brother Vaughn had picked in the orchard. After they parted company with the caravan the next morning, Gwen half-expected the monk to scold her for emptying their stores of all but the little dried fruit, nuts, and hard bread she had left in the bag her grandmother had packed for her trip to Sutherhold. To her surprise, the Cathuran said nothing about the matter, and the two traveled in silence for the entire day, which allowed Gwen’s thoughts to roam. Although certain Thomlin would make it home safely, she still felt guilty about breaking his leg. She hoped he’d not suffer too much until Mignon could splint the leg properly, and she wondered what Mignon would think when she learned how the leg had gotten broken. Thinking about Rolf brought sadness and uncertainty about what would become of him. For his sake, she hoped the mysterious Zaffira would appreciate what he’d given up to be with her.
“How much farther is it to Ohmahold?” Gwen asked when they stopped and made camp for the night.
“The border of the Northern Wastes isn’t far, and luckily it’s not yet time for the snows to return. We should arrive in a week or so if the weather holds.” There was a long pause in the conversation. Then Brother Vaughn added, “So you’ve decided on Ohmahold?”
The question surprised Gwen. “Yes, I suppose I have,” she replied and at the same time felt keenly aware of a sense of curiosity. “How did Mother Seema know I would need a guide?”
Brother Vaughn smiled. “The same way you knew Thomlin would ride to Vasterberg on a speckled horse.”
Gwen blinked. “How could you know that? How could she . . . ?”
“Mother Seema is blessed with insight. She can see and feel the energy of many things. Sometimes I know what someone is thinking, but I cannot claim to have tapped into such energies to the degree Mother Seema has. The range of my insights is severely restricted. Hers is not, but then, you should ask her about that yourself when you meet her. I am sure she has much to tell you, and you’d be wise to listen to her, Sister. Her wisdom is a treasure.”
Gwen curled up and pulled one of the mule’s blankets over her. She fell asleep pondering what it could possibly mean that this order of monks accepted without question her vision about Thomlin when even she could not understand what purpose such a thing could serve. Equally as odd to her was the way Brother Vaughn did not doubt his ability to hear the thoughts of others. But most of all, she mulled over and again why she had drawn any attention at all from such a powerful monk as Mother Seema.
When morning came, the monk repacked the mule’s load and helped Gwen onto the blanket on its back. He once again took the lead and walked alongside the animal, the Cathuran’s only words being, “We do not question the gifts we are given, Sister Gwendolin. As Mother Seema says, ‘You will have everything you need.’”
Gwen and the monk exchanged glances, and she knew he knew what she’d thought when he’d repeated Mother Seema’s words. Although she didn’t know why, Gwen had no doubt Brother Vaughn was supposed to know she’d heard the words before in the voice of her dead mother, and somehow, that felt comforting.