Realm of Dragons

“I thought that had been destroyed,” he said, without thinking.

“Typically, a brother waits for the abbot to speak,” the abbot pointed out. He looked up at Odd. “Although this is not an issue in this case.”

“What?” Odd said, incapable of saying more. Already, his thoughts were racing with the possibilities of what might follow. The abbot couldn’t mean to—

“When you came to us,” the abbot said, “you told me that you wanted to be a different man. You gave away the things that you had come with, renounced who you were. I told you at the time that it does not work like that, and have told you several times since.”

Odd could remember the most recent conversation, when he’d been unable to rid himself of the memories of all he’d done.

“Even so,” the abbot continued, “I had thought that you might come to terms with who you were, and you were at least a loyal and dutiful brother of our monastery. Until earlier.”

“They were going to kill you,” Odd said. “I know that the order’s rules forbid violence, but—”

“That is just it,” the abbot said, with a sad smile. “You are seeking an excuse now, as you have sought excuses since you arrived. I am not the man I was. I did not know what would happen. It was necessary. They were going to kill you. Sometimes you must accept responsibility, Sir Oderick.”

“Do not call me that,” Odd said. He’d thought of himself that way in the battle, but to hear it from the abbot’s lips hurt too much.

“Why should I not?” the abbot asked. “Will you strike me down for doing so? Will you kill me?”

“Of… of course not,” Odd said. “I am a brother, and you are my abbot. I could never harm you.”

The abbot considered him for several seconds. He stood. There was a power to the old man now that had nothing to do with violence.

“If you were a brother, you would have obeyed my instructions,” the abbot said. “I commanded you to kneel in silence and wait. You chose not to do that.”

“If I had, you would have died!” Odd said, and there was more force in his tone than he intended.

“I would have,” the abbot agreed. “And those with me, but the monastery would have been spared, because the men here would have surrendered. You would not have blood on your hands.”

“What kind of man can stand by while good people are killed?” Odd demanded.

“A monk,” the abbot said simply. He shook his head. “What do you think will happen now?”

“They’ll come at us,” Odd said. “Probably a couple of scouting parties at first, then in force. If we can hold them, then that might give us enough time to escape over the sea. There are enough small boats around the island for that.”

“No, that is not what will happen,” the abbot said. “Because that will result in more death. Instead, I will go out to them.”

“They’ll kill you,” Odd said.

“Yes.”

“You… you can’t!”

The abbot’s look this time was one that had a hard edge to it. “If you truly think that I fear death, then you have learned nothing in your time here, Sir Oderick.”

“I am not that man,” Odd said.

The abbot shook his head. “You are not a monk. What else you are is up to you.”

Not a monk? The words caught Odd by surprise, as brutal as a blow might have been. He reeled from them.

“What are you saying?” he demanded.

“You have done violence here, and wish to do more,” the abbot said. “You have ignored my instructions, and worse, some of the other young monks are starting to look to you as if your way is a kind of answer. That cannot be permitted. From this moment, you are no longer a brother of this monastery. You will leave, and not return.”

“Just like that?” Odd said. He could feel the old anger rising in him, the one that threatened to drown out the rest of him. No, he wouldn’t be that man.

“Turn the key in the lock,” the abbot said. “It is time to take what is yours. There is no place for it here, or for you.”

“I don’t want to,” Odd said.

The abbot looked at him evenly. “What we want doesn’t come into it. Sometimes there are things we must do.”

Odd let out a snarl and knelt before the chest. He turned the key in the lock, forward and then back again, to avoid the dart he’d had placed there by a cunning man of the House of Weapons long ago. He opened the lid carefully, feeling more fear than he’d ever felt in the run up to a battle.

Within, there were a noble’s clothes, with the symbol of the blackened flame upon them. There was armor, and a pouch filled with money that Odd had brought in the hope that he could bribe his way into the monastery. There was a second pouch that contained his signet ring and the jewels of his family.

Atop lay a sword. It was long and slender, with a grip designed for two-handed use and an elegantly scrolled hilt of dark metal. Its blade was covered by a sheath of black leather, but Odd’s memory supplied the brightness of the steel and the etchings upon it. Odd knew the work that it had taken to produce, because he’d had to wait for it for so long that it had been like waiting for news of a lost lover. Now it seemed to call to him in the same way.

“Take what is yours, Sir Oderick,” the abbot said. “Take it and be gone. Take a boat if you will. Maybe the act of my dying will give you time.”

Odd fingered the armor, but he let it lie, along with the noble’s clothes. He took the sword, though, because there were some bonds too strong to ignore. He took the pouches too, because he would need their contents, along with a length of rope. He stood and stared at the abbot.

“I might no longer be a brother, but I am not Sir Oderick either,” he said. “And you… you are a fool who is about to die for no reason. You could run.”

“But then I would not be the man I am,” the abbot said, and those words made Odd angrier than ever. He turned before he could act on that anger.

“I’ll go,” he said. “And if your monks have any sense, they’ll go too. King Ravin’s men aren’t here to be kind or gentle.”

He stalked from the abbot’s quarters, heading through the monastery. He was aware that the brothers there were staring at him, but right then he didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them all see the man he was, the man who had saved their miserable lives. He headed for a patch of wall he hoped he would be able to climb down, seeing brothers turn toward him as he passed. When he reached the part he wanted, he looked down. Good, there were no enemies below this spot, only clustered around the gate.

Odd turned to his home… his former home, and called out.

“The abbot is going to open the gates. If you think they won’t slaughter you, then you’re fools. I know what kind of men they are, because I was that kind of man. Run now, while you can.”

None of the monks below moved. Fools. Odd sneered at them as he started to clamber down the wall, his sword slung across his shoulder. It was the only thing right then that kept his heart from breaking at the home he’d had and lost, and at the thought of the monk he’d failed to be. He slipped down in silence, moving through the shadows so that any soldiers watching wouldn’t be able to spot him.

He set out across the island, keeping to the small paths, heading for the little inlets and coves around the island. From here, he could see the soldiers surrounding the monastery. He hoped his brothers, his former brothers, would be safe.

Finally, he came to a cove. There was a small boat there, with a mast and a sail, a pair of oars, and enough room for supplies. Odd settled what he had into it, untying the rope that held it to the shore.

“Where now?” he asked himself.

The truth was that he didn’t know. He didn’t want to go back to who he’d been, and he couldn’t be a monk, so what did that leave? Who did that leave?

He guessed there was only one way to find out.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE