Kevin zipped up his leather jacket as quietly as he could and stuffed his hands in the pockets. He was pale and sweaty despite the cold. This was a terrible idea, Glenn thought. He needs rest. We can’t — Dry twigs and pine needles crunched out ahead of them. Glenn froze as a flash of gray passed from tree to tree and then vanished.
Aamon. They were close. Before she could say anything, Kevin took the lead and walked them right to the edge of what seemed to be the heart of the small woods: a thick circle of broad trees overgrown with vines, fallen leaves, and thick splashes of white and green moss. Glenn and Kevin knelt down behind two trees and peered inside.
In the center of the forest were the ruins of a large stone building.
Judging from the partial walls that remained, Glenn guessed it had been at least three or four times the size of the smaller village shacks. A meeting hall? A church? Large irregular stones and remnants of the plaster that once held them together lay in heaps, tossed with pine needles and vines. Underneath the growth of moss, many of the stones were cracked and blackened as if they had been in a fire. Whatever had been inside the building was blocked by one surviving wall that stood in the way of Glenn and Kevin’s view.
Aamon stood at the edge of the destruction, looking down at it all.
His great shoulders were slumped, his head low. Kevin shifted his gaze to Glenn, waiting for her cue. When Aamon stepped onto the blackened ground and behind the wall, she made her move.
They eased deeper into the woods, choosing their steps carefully to make as little sound as possible, drifting to their left so they could see around the remaining wall. All of the rubble seemed to radiate from one central point, what had been the center of the ruined building.
There sat a high stone table that was cracked in two and charred. It was surrounded by wooden pews set in a circle, some of which were little more than ash and black timbers.
Aamon kicked away pieces of the crumbled pews, making a path to the table. When a pile of debris got in his way, he reached into it with a growl and threw the charred wood over the wall and out into the forest. It echoed as it crashed through the woods. A flight of birds squalled and fled. Aamon dropped to his knees before the table. Glenn moved forward to get a better look, but Kevin held her back. She turned, uncertain, then held up one finger and he grudgingly let go. Glenn continued on and hid behind a closer tree.
On the base of the stone table, partially gouged away and
darkened, a perfect circle, divided across the middle by a thick line, had been carved into the stone. Aamon traced the circle with one clawed finger before laying his palm flat against the stone and closing his eyes.
“Forgive me.”
He sat for a moment longer, his head down, whispering unheard words beneath his breath in a quiet rhythmic chant.
Praying, Glenn thought.
When he was done, Aamon turned his head to the side and
sniffed the air.
“I told you both to stay in the house,” he announced, his voice shockingly loud in the hush of the forest.
“It’s my fault,” Kevin said, striding out into the middle of the clearing. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to, uh …”
Aamon’s green eyes pierced the space between him and Kevin, immediately cutting off his halting babble. Glenn stepped out of the trees to stand by Kevin’s side.
“It was both of us.”
Aamon regarded them for a moment, then turned back to the altar.
13
“What is this place?” Kevin asked.
“An abomination,” Aamon rumbled. “It was a temple.”
Glenn drew closer to the pile of remains. Here and there, small saplings and shoots emerged from the black wreckage. Dry vines curled around the rocks and benches, strangling them. Glenn noticed other dark streaks in places along the ground. On closer inspection, she saw that they were black feathers with silver patches at the tip.
“I left before dawn,” Aamon said. “Went to Karaman and
Redfield. The temples are all gone. The monasteries too. The great monument to Kirzal in Karaman … it used to shine for miles in every direction, gold and marble. Now it’s a scorched pile of stone. The people bow and scrape and the Magistra’s soldiers are everywhere.
This is not the Magisterium I left.”
“What happened to it?” Glenn asked.
Aamon looked around the ruins.
“I did,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Kevin asked. “Aamon — ”
“Come,” he said, turning his back on the altar. “I have supplies and fast horses for all of us. There’s no time to wait.”
“Uh, we don’t exactly do a lot of horseback riding at home,”
Kevin said.
“Then it’s time to learn.”
Aamon left them there, striding into the trees. Kevin turned to Glenn after he was gone.
“What do you think he did?”
“What?”
“He was asking forgiveness.”
Glenn thought of the dead agent lying in the snow, and Aamon’s massive body looming over him with blood on his hands.
“It’s not what I am,” Aamon had said that night. Whether it was an explanation or another prayer, Glenn didn’t know.
The first thing Glenn and Kevin saw when they returned to the house was three horses tied up around back. There were two small black ones and an enormous beige one with a white mane, which must have been for Aamon. Each was saddled and loaded down with supplies and there was a large sword in a scabbard lashed to Aamon’s.
Kevin reached for it but Glenn pulled his hand away and led him around to the front of the house. Before they could get there, though, she heard a commotion out front.
Glenn waved Kevin back and flattened herself against the wall.
“What?” Kevin asked as he blundered into her.
“Shh!”
Glenn eased forward. Standing in the courtyard in front of the house was a small company of men dressed in leather overlaid with steel armor that was dented and streaked with dark scorches. They were all broad-shouldered, with faces that were a mix of crooked noses, scars, and thick beards. Some carried swords or spears while others toted longbows and had quivers full of arrows strapped to their backs. They moved farther into the courtyard, directed by a thing that stood at the center of the main path leading from the village gate.
He was, if anything, larger than Aamon. A towering creature, but more dog than cat, with a short brindle coat and pointed ears. His face was black and brown and heavily scarred. A sword hung from a scabbard around his waist. His eyes were small and shrewd, cast in a sulfurous yellow.
The men were moving closer to the house. If Glenn and Kevin didn’t find somewhere to hide, they’d be spotted in seconds. She grabbed Kevin’s arm and fled backward.
“Who was that?” Kevin whispered as they stumbled into a tight gap between the house and the one behind it.