Page 118 of Bloodwitch
“Yes,” his father agreed.
“The Monastery is built to withstand years of siege. Decades, if needed.”
“Yes,” his father repeated. “But what is it that I always tell you?”
Aeduan swallowed, fingers tapping at his sword pommel. “That the empires have grown lazy and unambitious.”
“And the monks have fared no better. They have gone to war amongst themselves, never suspecting someone might be waiting for such an opportunity.” With curt efficiency, he pulled a second vellum map from a stack beside the table. Two steps brought him to a clear expanse, where he unfurled it.
Despite dirty edges and faded ink, the layout of both the Monastery and its surrounding grounds was unmistakable. Large portions of the building were absent, though. The forge and mills were in the wrong place, and there were inconsistencies in the landscape. Trees where there should have been a stream, rock where there was now forest.
Sweat broke out on Aeduan’s brow.
“This is the fortress as it was a thousand years ago,” Ragnor said. “When it still belonged to kings, this cave here,” he tapped a shaded circle at the base of the cliff, “leads to a tunnel. It was once used for escape. Today, it has been left forgotten—and left open.”
“How do you know this?” Aeduan asked. The curse was working quickly, constricting at his insides. Cording around his bones.
His father did not answer, and Aeduan had not expected him to. After all, this was not the first time Ragnor had said something that came from another age. Often, he referred to histories as if he had been there. Legends as if he had faced them.
Aeduan knew his father had been a soldier for some nobleman in these mountains. That he had met Aeduan’s mother, and they had joined a passing Nomatsi tribe. Yet soldiers did not speak of long-dead kings, and tribesmen did not know of castles built a thousand years ago.
“What I want to know,” Ragnor continued, “is what awaits at the end of this tunnel.” He traced a line up the cliff, under the Monastery. It forked halfway up, one line aiming to a spot beyond the Monastery, the other tracing toward a second circle in a long, rectangular room markedChapel.
It was not a chapel now. “That is the main library,” Aeduan said. “There is no door in that corner there. Only wall.”
“I expected as much, which is why I have a Stonewitch to handle it. Is the space guarded?”
“No.”
“And the layout?”
Aeduan hesitated. The sweat on his forehead was now sliding down his jawline, and pain sent heat waves floating across his vision. “What,” he began after a long inhale, “do you plan to do inside?”
“Justice. The monks have slaughtered our people, and I will not leave that unanswered.”
“So you will slaughter them in return?”
“Do you care?”
Aeduan’s pulse echoed in his eardrums. He thought of Lizl. “Not all monks know of these attacks. They do not all deserve to die.”
“Perhaps not,” Ragnor admitted. “But if we try to separate the good from the bad—these so-called ‘insurgents’ from the others—then too many of our own people will die in the process. Remember: it is always easier to kill ants in the mound than spread out upon the field.”
He did not wait for Aeduan to respond to this before he pushed away from the table and returned to the first map. For the RaiderKing, once a decision had been made, the conversation was over. It was not cruelty that made him act so, but simple logic. The transaction was complete, what more was there to say?
In the past, Aeduan had liked it that way. Simple, clear. He was given orders. He followed them. Coin and the cause, coin and the cause.
Right now, though, as the tent began to dip and sway around him, he found his father’s expectations rankling. Scratching atop skin made of flames.
“There will be two main groups,” his father explained while Aeduan shuffled toward the first map. “Foot soldiers, cavalry, and archers will launch a frontal attack as soon as the Icewitches have finished their work. Then a small group—which you and I will join—will enter through the cave.” He dropped a wooden coin atop the Monastery. “Once we are in the library, then the foot soldiers from the frontal assault will follow.” He pushed the other coins toward the cliff where the cave awaited. “By dawn, the Monastery will be ours and the Cahr Awen will be eliminated.”
The Cahr Awen eliminated.
Cahr Awen.
Eliminated.
And just like that, Aeduan understood why his father truly wanted to enter into the Monastery: he wanted Iseult. He wanted her gone.
