The Betrayed (7 page)

A whole party of them erupted from a burning plum orchard that Ewan could see from his window, dragging a body of one of the patriarchs behind them. Unseen people cried in pain. Metal rang.

Ewan stepped back.

Terror granted him the power he did not know he possessed. He quickly moved about the room, seeking items that he could take with him. He found a loaf of bread on a platter, hidden from the flies by a piece of cloth. A door banged further down the corridor, startling him.

He dropped the bread and ducked below his cot, hoping he would not be seen.

Several moments later, the door to his chamber crashed, one of the hinges flying off in a wad of splinters. One of attackers peered inside, saw no one and nothing of any value, and went further down the corridor.

Ewan dressed while almost fully prone, trembling with fear. Eventually, he scooped the loaf and took a hurried bite. He chewed quickly and swallowed even faster. A few more mouthfuls, and Ewan felt some strength returning to him. He tucked what was left of the bread into his shirt and dared leave the shelter of his cot.

His eyes started to water as ashes began billowing into the corridor. The air was hot and thick. Ewan crawled, moving slowly. He saw bodies of his friends sprawled in other rooms, mutilated. Above him, the burning roof cracked and hissed. Coils of smoke were snaking up the ceiling. Old tar had melted and was dripping onto his back.

Dizzy and nauseated, Ewan finally reached one of the smashed doors leading outside, at the back side of the monastery. He slipped into a bank of trampled nettles, ignoring the stings. On his bruised elbows and knees, he advanced like a slug across turf and debris, getting further away from the burning monastery. Only after he had slipped beyond the outer hedge did he dare look back.

The gently sloping meadows swarmed with black figures of the attacking force, whoever they were. The orchards, the lovely orchards Ewan could see and smell from his chamber on the northeast corner of the monastery, had been burned to the ground. The beds of flowers and herbs were gone.

Some of the attackers had dismounted, running after pigs and chickens that had fled the coops. The stables were burning. Their two mules, Perdy and Wanda, were being led away by one of the soldiers. The old donkey Trip lay dead, transfixed with arrows.

On the meadows and all around the monastery, slain priests and brothers lay. Near the ruined building, bodies were sprawled in thick, almost concentric circles. As his gaze strayed farther, the carnage thinned. Some of his friends had run as much as a hundred paces before the enemy had run them down.

Ewan’s vision blurred as tears flooded his eyes. Except for the attackers, there was no living thing in sight.

Ewan felt fury building up inside him. Blood pounded in his temples. He dug his nails into his palms, drawing blood. The feeling of impotency that washed over him was worse than any fever. His thoughts strayed to his friend and mentor Ayrton.

Now that the slaughter was almost done, the soldiers had gathered in front of the monastery. Some were showing off their loot. Others were laughing. A few were still busy ruining the temple, throwing torches onto the burning husk.

The young brother watched, unable to avert his gaze. He saw a pair of the black killers appear from the direction of the meadow, bringing a living person before the horde. Bound and hobbled, the man wore a uniform. They made him kneel, and then they decapitated him.

After almost an hour, the riders departed.

Ewan hid for some time before he went back to the monastery. He thought of digging graves for his friends, but there were so many. He knew he would die before he buried them all. As he stood and watched the monastery burn, his emotions drained. Empty of feeling, he went about, turning bodies over, trying to identify the victims.

The night was fast approaching. Not knowing what to do, Ewan sat in a field, nibbling on the remainder of the bread. He heard a rustle to his left. He let his body collapse into the soft grass like a dead weight and waited.

The newcomer was a small, short figure, and it was crying. As the orange glow of the cinders lit its face, Ewan recognized him as Bojan, one of the youngest brothers.

“Bojan, it’s me, Ewan,” he spoke softly.

The boy yelped and began to run in Ewan’s direction. Ewan caught him by the shoulders. “Don’t cry. It’s me, Ewan.”

Bojan curled up and whimpered, eyes tightly shut. Ewan held him, cooing softly. After a while, the inarticulate cries subsided, but the moment Ewan slackened his grip on the boy, Bojan started mumbling again.

Ewan woke with a start as a crow shrieked. It was dawn. The sky was ruddy, thin clouds scudding. Bojan was sleeping deeply, wheezing through his nostrils.

Ewan stretched, his cramped muscles screaming in protest. The monastery still burned, pale smoke curling between collapsed beams and walls. A wild dog was worrying the leg of one of the bodies, fighting a crow over the carcass. There were birds everywhere, pecking, feasting.

The young brother rose, left Bojan sleeping, and walked away to relieve himself. Then, he went back to the monastery. He shooed the dog away, pelting it with stones. His parched throat burned. Miraculously, the well had not been spoiled. He hauled a bucket and drank, cautiously, drops of cool water settling like rocks in his belly.

“Ewan!” someone called.

He looked away, toward the sound, and smiled.

Adrian and Tomas were the first to return. Then, other stragglers appeared, a total of nine brothers. No patriarchs.

Most of them had been working in the fields when the alarm bell rang, which allowed them to escape unharmed. Ewan listened to their stories, wondering at the sheer, unbelievable magnitude of his own luck.

Duvall, a senior brother, told them he had seen some of their own people skirmish with the invaders before they had been overwhelmed. Prompted by his tale, they wandered farther afield and found still more dead people. These were all armed men.

“What do we do now?” Adrian asked.

“We must go to Chergo and warn them,” Tei suggested.

Ewan glanced south, doubt heavy in his heart. The trail of the battle led from the village toward the monastery. Less than two miles away, Chergo could not have avoided the carnage, he thought.

“We should go to Talmath,” Rais offered. The big city sat a day away as the sun set.

“Ewan!” Bojan screamed, running toward him. The boy hit him like a boulder, almost toppling him. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered.

Duvall seemed to gather his resolve as he listened to the young brothers debate. “We must leave here. It’s dangerous. We shall go first to Chergo.”

“I don’t think the enemy will be coming back,” Ewan said. “They would not have burned the monastery if they intended to come back.”

“Who were they?” Adrian asked. His question faded unanswered.

“We need weapons,” Ewan suggested. Duvall eyed him curiously.

This task proved very simple. The fields all around the monastery were littered with slain soldiers. Like wild dogs and crows, they assailed the bodies, stripping them clean of knives, swords, and boots. Not one of them had any skills with arms, but they all armed themselves with this or that weapon.

Going back to the monastery for the last time, they tried to salvage what little food was still left untouched by fires, collected some herbs, and started toward Chergo.

Bojan would not part from Ewan and cried whenever Ewan let go of his hand.

They saw no one on their short trip to the village. Disturbing signs of evil greeted them as they approached the hamlet. Scattered clothing here, an abandoned basket there, they all spoke of haste and panic. Ewan hoped Chergo had not met the same fate as the monastery. But if it had, he hoped the people had been smart enough to flee.

But it was not so. Chergo had been razed and burned, just like their home. They found no living thing.

As they prowled the ghost village, they saw a wagon on the road, heading away from the village. They called, but the driver only hastened his pace.

Duvall had really gotten into the role of the leader, as the most senior apprentice, and started giving them orders. Both Ewan and Adrian felt angry at his behavior. He was their elder by only a few years.

Toward sunset, they met other refugees. With nowhere else to go, the few survivors had come back to their homes, hoping against hope to find some sanity in the one crumb of the world they knew. They were all younger people who could run.

But unlike the brothers, these people refused to join them or help them. Ewan heard some of them mention the Call. His thoughts strayed to Ayrton again.

Ewan’s stomach turned when he realized there were no women among the dead. The attackers must have taken them all away. Then, he remembered that a convent to the goddess Lilith stood by the road to Poereni, just beyond the next ridge of hills. Those women and girls would be defenseless against these murderers.

“We need to go to Speann,” he said.

“What are we going to do there?” Duvall protested.

“The convent could be under attack. We must try to help them if we can.”

“It’s away from Talmath,” Rais suggested, siding with Duvall.

Ewan knew they were no soldiers. They were barely adults, some of them. They were weak and hungry and could do very little to help themselves, let alone someone else. But he felt compelled to try. What kind of a man was he if he turned a blind eye to other people’s suffering?

“Don’t be a fool. We almost got killed. You want to get us killed?” Duvall was on a rampage now, his ego bolstered.

“I’ll go,” Adrian snapped. “We’ll go together, Ewan.”

“I’m the most senior brother, and I’ll say what we do,” Duvall growled.

“The monastery is gone,” Ewan said softly. “We’re alone.”

They all deflated. The last issue was left unsolved, but they turned the conversation to food. They had no bow and arrow and could not hope to catch any game. Their provisions were low, sufficient only for about a day or two. At least the water was plenty, many tiny streams running through the fields.

The group went to sleep in the lee of a semicollapsed barn. Luckily for them, the night was just cool, not cold. Ewan could not stop thinking about what might be happening in Speann.