by G. A. Aiken
“You can take my horse,” Quinn offered. “Scandal. He’ll appreciate how lightweight you are.”
“But if I take your horse, what will you ride, good sir?”
Quinn paused, realizing she hadn’t seen him in his true form, so how direct should he be in answering that question?
Balla stared at him and asked, “Yes, good sir, how will you ride?”
Now the priests and the assassins were staring at him too. Even Gemma was staring. It was uncomfortable because they were all waiting for him to be the one to tell this poor nun what he was, and he wasn’t sure how she would take it. Just because the nun was good in a fight didn’t mean she was worldly enough to have met centaurs. For all he knew, she might never have been outside her convent before now. And it was traumatic enough to see her white robes covered in all that blood. Now this!
“Well, good lady . . .” He paused again, still unsure. He wasn’t used to being unsure about anything.
“Yes?” the nun said, innocently blinking up at him.
“Yes . . . ?” Gemma pushed and he thought about dumping the war monk on her ass. Maybe later, though.
“I don’t want you to worry, Sister, when I say this . . . um . . . the reason I don’t have to be concerned about my horse is because I am a centaur. So I’m actually half horse.”
The nun blinked a few more times before responding with, “I see.”
“But like I said, you don’t have to worry. You’re safe with me,” Quinn earnestly promised.
The nun gave the sweetest smile and patted his arm. “And I want you to know that the centaur I disemboweled about seven years back was attacking me, and as long as I’m safe with you, you are absolutely safe with me. I would never disembowel a friend. Okay?”
“Uhhhh . . . oooookay.”
She reached up and rubbed his shoulder. “Good. Very good.”
The nun followed the priests to their horses. Balla and Priska rushed off after them, both women giggling. The divine assassins trailed behind both women, and even with the lower half of their faces covered, Quinn knew they were also laughing at him.
When the rest of their companions were gone, Quinn turned to Gemma and asked, “What the fuck was that?”
Gemma shook her head. “I . . . uh . . . wish I could tell you.” She playfully punched his chest. “But, hey. At least she wasn’t shocked by what you are.”
“Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”
She grabbed his arm and tugged him back toward the horses.
“These days, centaur, it really is.”
CHAPTER 17
It was a long, hard ride home with only a few hours of sleep at night and only a few breaks during the day, breaks that were more for the horses than for the rest of them.
But the hard ride also kept their small group from one another’s throats. With all of them devout practitioners of one religion or another, if they weren’t riding, eating, or sleeping, they were praying or meditating.
But war monks didn’t pray or meditate when they were on a mission. They felt their battle-ready gods would want them to remain alert and ready for any attacks from enemies.
Yet Gemma didn’t notice anything unusual when they were about ten miles from the castle gates. Nor did the witches or the priests or the temple virgins. It was none of the humans that noticed anything.
It was Quinn.
They’d briefly stopped at a stream to let their horses get some water when Quinn’s centaur body began to turn in circles, his hooves stomping as he gawked at the ground.
“What’s wrong with him?” Aubin demanded.
Gemma didn’t know, but this wasn’t like Quinn.
“Stop!” the centaur ordered when she came near. He shook his head and massive antlers exploded from his skull, fangs from his gums.
Gemma had seen Quinn’s battle form before. She’d fought beside him like this many times, so she wasn’t exactly shocked by it. The others, however . . .
Weapons were unleashed, spells readied, but she raised her fist.
“Hold!” she commanded.
“What is he doing?” Aubin wanted to know.
“Just back off!”
Quinn stopped moving, stared at Gemma. “You really don’t see it? None of you see it?”
“Don’t see what?”
“The tracks. Horses. Carts. I’m counting”—he looked down at the ground again—“I don’t know. Hundreds of soldiers. And not our soldiers.”
Gemma immediately gazed down at her feet but she saw nothing. She knew Quinn wasn’t insane. He also wasn’t human.
“Balla,” she called out.
“Wouldn’t the witch be better . . . ?” the vicar began to suggest.
She wasn’t going to waste her time. “Balla.”
The temple virgin moved forward until she was near Quinn. She raised her hands, closed her eyes.
“Some power has been used here,” she finally muttered after many minutes of silence, her voice dragging out. “Something very powerful. It’s blocking our sight.” She turned in a circle. “It’s . . . like it’s . . . almost fighting me. Fighting us. Fighting—”
Her eyes snapped open, her gaze locked on a spot behind Gemma.
Gemma turned and saw a figure standing by some trees. She should have noticed him before. How could she have missed him in those dark red robes that covered him from head to toe with gloves covering his hands and a hood covering his face?
Balla growled and began to unleash a spell but her enemy was faster, lifting the priestess off the ground without touching her and starting to wring her neck. Priska ran to Balla’s side, grabbing her around the legs and attempting to bring her to the ground.
The priests, assassins, and even the witches quickly moved forward to counterattack but they were tossed back so quickly and violently that Gemma could do nothing but pull her sword and take a battle stance. She had to admit, she didn’t feel that would do much at the moment.
Thankfully, Quinn took his place beside her. The hooded head moved, but without being able to see their attacker’s face, they had no idea where he was looking and no way to guess what he might be planning next.
Quinn’s tail twitched and Gemma knew he was about to make a move, but before he could, the Abbess slowly stepped between their group and the red-robed man.
“Ahhhh,” a low voice said from inside that red hood. “Abbess Hurik.”
“Ludolf.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“It has.”
The Abbess barely gestured behind her, and Ludolf fanned his hands across each other, releasing Balla.
“I’m surprised, Hurik,” he said, ignoring the gasping and coughing of the temple virgin on the ground, “to see you traveling with heretics.”
“Don’t worry about what I’m doing, Ludolf. What are you doing?” She gestured at the ground. “Is this all because of you? What the centaur sees?”
“This?” He studied the ground and Gemma realized he could see what the rest of them could not. “I wish my powers extended to such feats but no. This was not me.” He seemed to study their group as some helped Balla and the others held up their weapons, ready to charge. “Such an interesting . . . team, you have. And so close to the newish queen. Maybe you can help her.”
“Help her?” Gemma scoffed. “To do what? Fight an invisible army?”
“The ones that left the tracks only I and your horse-man can see are long gone, War Monk. But the friends that Cyrus the Honored left behind are still here.”
He had the attention of all of them. Even Balla, with her hand around her throat, stared at the red-robed man.
“What friends?” the Abbess asked.
“Why fight two armies when you can fight just one? Cyrus does not see your queen as a challenge. That would be his brother and the new wife, Beatrix.” His head moved slightly and Gemma knew he now looked at her. “Your sister, I believe, War Monk. But still, Queen Keeley’s army grows. People flock to her. Cyrus feels if he gets rid of he
r, he won’t have to worry about her and he can have all her territory. So those loyal to Cyrus move through the little town, unseen, unheard. Waiting to strike your queen. I could be wrong, but with your upcoming return, they probably feel the time for your older sister to continue living has come to an end, and—”
Gemma didn’t wait to hear any more. Didn’t wait to see if anyone followed. She just mounted Dagger and took off for home.
* * *
Someone was pulling a cart of firewood past the open gates of the battlements but Quinn cleared it. Not surprisingly, Gemma was ahead of him. What shocked him, though, was that right behind them were all those who’d traveled with them. All of them. Even the Abbess.
“Mum!” Gemma called out as she thundered up to the forge. “Mum! Where’s Keeley?!”
Emma pointed. “The woods! Near the north field!”
They barreled on, none of them stopping, and Gemma’s mother knew not to stop them. The travelers maneuvered their horses around merchants, locals, and members of the religious sects that had come to town for safety.
They made their way through the pasture and into the woods. Once inside, the trees became thicker and the ground more perilous. Soon, the humans abandoned their horses and Quinn tracked Keeley by her scent.
They found her by the base of a large, ancient tree. She stood with her back to them. And just as Gemma began to call out to her sister, a woman appeared, becoming visible among the leaves and trees where she’d camouflaged herself, and charging at Keeley’s back.
Keeley turned fast, snatching the woman up by her throat and slamming her against the tree twice. Another woman came at her and Keeley caught her head and twisted, snapping her neck with the brutal move. When the third attacked, Keeley dropped both women and pulled her sword. She rammed it into the woman’s belly; their eyes met and Keeley dragged the blade up.
She pushed the woman off, then threw the weapon down so the tip was buried in the dirt and it stood tall.
Reaching back, she picked up her hammer and gave a few practice swings.
Quinn, confused by that move, started forward, but Gemma grabbed his forearm tight and pulled him back.
As Keeley gripped the handle of her ridiculous hammer with both hands, Father Aubin leaned forward and asked Gemma very softly, “Should we be running?”
“Honestly,” she quietly replied, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
Without moving her head, Keeley looked from side to side with just her eyes, then barked, “Ainsley . . . now!”
Arrows came from the treetops and Gemma yelled, “Down!”
But the arrows weren’t for the travelers Gemma and Quinn had brought with them.
Quinn heard male grunts and saw bodies fall. Male bodies that he hadn’t seen before. It seemed that as long as these men stayed still, they could remain hidden by the trees and leaves, but as soon as they changed position, they were easy enough to spot. Especially by someone like Ainsley.
More arrows came down and more men fell. Ainsley was guessing now where these men stood, but her guesses were good enough, and now they no longer had a reason to remain hidden.
Cyrus’s soldiers charged at Keeley, weapons out, their battle cries loud. And she began to swing her hammer.
“By the almighty gods of war,” Léandre gasped when he saw her cave in the chests of the first men who came for her.
She turned her weapon and swung the other way, only higher, smashing heads like pumpkins.
Some of the soldiers, perhaps not as fanatical as those that had already lost their lives, began to run off into the trees.
“Ainsley!” Keeley barked.
More arrows flew, hitting the fleeing soldiers in the back. But several escaped and kept running.
“You missed—”
“I know!” Ainsley barked back. She inched out onto the tree limb she’d been sitting on. She raised her bow with three arrows nocked, breathed, and released. The arrows flew, hitting each of the targets. Two in the back of the neck and one right in the back of the head.
“Don’t look so proud of yourself, Lady I Can Take Care of Myself,” Keeley chastised. “You almost lost them.”
“But I didn’t.”
“But you almost did.”
Quinn heard moaning and realized Keeley’s first victim was still alive and attempting to crawl away.
Ainsley flipped out of the tree, nocked an arrow in her bow, and aimed at the woman’s back. But before she could let her arrow fly, blood flew, splashing them all as the head of Keeley’s hammer smashed into the head on the ground.
Gemma gasped at what her sister had done, her eyes wide in horror, blood and gore covering her face and chest.
“What the unholy fuck was that?” she exploded at Keeley.
Keeley lifted the hammer onto her shoulder and glared at her war monk sister. “Don’t yell at me,” she told Gemma. “I am in a bad mood.”
With that, Keeley headed back into town.
“Bad mood!” she growled over her shoulder one more time. As if unsure whether her sister had heard her the first time.
Ferdinand wiped gore off his chin. “So . . . that’s the queen then?”
“Oh, shut up, Vicar!”
CHAPTER 18
“You can’t really expect us to deal with her, can you?”
Gemma continued to scrape sorcerers’ remains off her face while trying to scare off Balla with one of her looks. Unfortunately, the temple virgin was not frightened away by Gemma’s terrifying glare.
“Are you going to answer me?” Balla demanded.
She wasn’t and proved that by focusing on Ainsley.
“And you,” Gemma snapped, turning toward her younger sister. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Her sister stood tall, indignant. “That’s all you have to say to me?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“How about commenting on my beautiful bow work? I made every shot count. Each one a kill. You should be proud. Instead, you just complain.”
“I haven’t complained.”
“You’re complaining with your eyes.”
“You’re right. I am.”
Quinn, who’d abruptly walked off, returned with his siblings Laila and Caid in tow.
“Holy shit,” Laila gasped out when she saw the carnage. “What the fuck did she do?”
But Caid simply snarled and galloped back the way he’d come in search of Keeley. At least that’s what Gemma was guessing.
“She didn’t tell you about this?” Gemma asked.
Laila shook her head. “Not a word.”
“How did she even know? Because trust me, Laila, she knew that attack was coming. The question is how did she know and why didn’t she tell anyone else about it?”
“She told me,” Ainsley piped in.
“Oh, shut up.”
“You shut up!”
“Ainsley!” Gemma snapped before focusing again on Laila. “Any idea how she knew?” Gemma pushed, which she immediately regretted.
Because she realized what the answer would be, and she immediately knew what would appear. And they did appear, as if purposely timing their appearance for maximum damage to her reputation.
The priests noticed them first.
“What unholiness is that?” Aubin demanded, brandishing his black spear.
Keeley’s demon wolves inched closer to the dead, sniffing them while keeping their eyes of fire on the humans that still lived.
“If you hope to keep the queen’s favor, Priest,” Quinn warned, “you’d best put your weapon away.”
“If you hope to keep your life, you’d best put that weapon away,” Laila muttered.
Balla stepped back. “What haven of ungodliness have you brought us to, War Monk?”
“I think they’re adorable,” Adela announced. She moved closer to one of the wolves but it snarled and snapped at her.
The Abbess laughed. “Even pure evil wants nothing to do with you, witch.”
She pulled her hand away just as each of the wolves began to drag off a body to devour on its own. A couple of the younger ones fought over a sorceress, tearing her into pieces and charging off with an arm and a leg. That’s when their little travel party turned to stare at her in mute horror. She didn’t blame them. Gemma also decided she didn’t have to put up with it.
She reached down to pick up her sword. She’d stuck it into the ground when she and Keeley had gotten into it. She had it by the hilt when Quinn grabbed her around the waist and carried her off.
Gemma had no idea where the centaur was taking her. But even one of the hells had to be better than this.
* * *
Keeley sat with her back against a tree, her knees raised, and her elbows resting on them. She didn’t know she was not alone until she heard his voice.
“May I join you, Your Majesty?”
He wore red robes that covered him from head to foot. She couldn’t see any part of his face. Not even his hands because he wore red leather gloves.
“Only if you don’t call me ‘Your Majesty,’ ” Keeley practically snarled and she immediately winced. She knew she sounded petulant and bitter. And fucking whiny. When had she become whiny?
“Sorry. Sorry about that,” she immediately apologized. “That was pathetic and you didn’t deserve that tone.” She gestured to a nearby stump. “Please. Sit.”
He did. “I have never heard a royal admit he or she sounded pathetic before. Nor apologize. I feel truly confused.”
“I’ve only been a royal for two years. I’m sure I’m doing it all wrong.” She gazed at the man now sitting across from her. “I have to admit, though, I’d feel much better if I could see your face.”
“Everyone believes that . . . until they actually see my face.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve made armor and weapons for men and women who’ve been through the hell of battle and went back for more. I doubt you’ll show me anything I haven’t seen before.”
* * *
Quinn scrubbed the blood and gore from Gemma’s face, neck, and hands while she sat near the river and silently seethed.