Out of the Faold (Whilst Old Legends Fade Synchronicles) (3 page)

“Generous though your offer may be we have not completed the task we were set until we reach
Brynntown
. Tomorrow they will be off duty.”

“Understood, Captain,” the man nodded with a partial salute. He leaned in close and added, “So it’s a quiet night, a small taste of ale, a few tosses of the dice, and the ladies are discreet?”

After a long pause Amias gave a quick bow to his head then returned to his fireside to ignore the rest of his men for the evening. What they kept quiet and in the dark he didn’t want to know about.
They were not a carousing bunch, he’d made sure everyone knew his expectations while on the road. He refused to have his men leave a town with a poor reputation for whoring and drinking. They were King’s representatives, on or off their horses, in or out of uniform. He was, however a man, and understood the needs of his men. He turned a respectful blind eye to quiet in
frequent encounters and a mug or two of ale.

The sun had finally set completely. The road was black as pitch in all directions beyond the glow of their camp.
Pat,
one of his
scouts,
stood slowly with his knife in hand. He
signal
ed
silently to his partner who lowered his mug from his lips.
Both
disappeared into the darkness. Captain Doran sat completely still; the only sounds were soft crackles from h
is fire.

The wagon driver noticed. With alarm on his face he asked, “What the drick?”

But then
they both
heard it. Hooves on the road. The horse walked. It was too dangerous to travel faster on the road in complete darkness.
No one would be fool enough to try to make any ground after dark. The Captain, not looking forward to dragging a thief in custody all the way to Brynntown, sighed.
His men would find the ruffian and take him in. He told himself to make a note in his report that the local guard patrols
were lacking on this road.

Soon
his men
returned
from the road to the east
, leading a figure
on horseback
. To the Captain’s surprise it wasn’t a ruffian or thief at all, but one
covered in the grey robes of a Brother
of the Faold.
The rider appeared exhausted, kicking his leg over the horse’s rump with effort to get down. His
feet hit the ground unsteadily.

“Brother, what is it you do on this road in the night?” he asked.

“Thank you,” was all the Brother replied in a near whisper when one of his men took the
reins
of his horse to tend it
with the others. He stood apart
almost as tho
ugh not sure if he was welcome.

“Please, join us, Brother,” the Captain told him, offering a spot at his own fire. “
Brynntown
is still half a day ride. You might as well stay with us tonight.”

The Brother’s shoulders dropped noticeably. Another half day. How? So far off.

The hood on the robes was pulled back exposing a head of smooth dark brown hair pulled back into a loose bun, pretty blue eyes and soft skin of none other
than a young woman.

The Captain stared openly at this brazen woman impersonating a Brother. If he’d had any sense at all he should arrest her.

“Holy Drick,” the wagon driver muttered.

“Sir!” the Captain barked at him.

“Sorry,” the man apologized to the Brother and then the Captain.

“Sister? B-b-brother?”

“Brother,” she insisted. “Thank you for your hospitality. I had arrived later than I expected. I will tell the Brothers of your kindness and offer up prayer for you.”

“You understand,” he remarked, looking to his sergeant for support.  “As a Marshall of his Majesty’s fine army I must request credentials to confirm who you claim to be.”

“Of course,” she replied, reaching into the saddlebag his man had brought her. “I am Brother Karl Nott Treen Crenville. First name Karl, Nott is the region of my home Sanctuary, Treen was the Brother who declared me, Crenville is where I am now stationed.” She
handed the rolled paper to him.

Captain Doran stood facing her tilting the
open scroll toward the fire so
he could read it. There it was in ink on paper. Brother Karl Nott Treen Crenville, female, traveling from Crenville to
Brynntown
, official business for the order, etc. Stamped. Official. She was a
B
rother.

The Lady Brother
studied the man before her. His dark hair hung in his eyes almost reaching the collar on his coat. His commander would order him to a barber upon arrival. His chin hadn’t been scraped bare in several days but it looked good on him. She couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes in the firelight but the shadows of the night gave him a pleasing chiseled look.
He was thick like he was used to hard work but held himself with the confidence of a nobleman.
He glanced at her over the paper then handed it back. She was glad he couldn’t see her blush at b
eing caught staring.

“Brother Karl has joined our camp,” he announced to the others. “We have an early morning. Please settle in.”

“They don’t need to on my account,” Brother Karl told him. “I will be asleep in mere moments I am so tired.”

A woman’s giggle drifted to them from the dark. He lifted an eyebrow toward her then apologetically winced. To the camp he barked, “That’s everyone or you can pack it up right now.”

Brother Karl smirked then pulled the tie from her hair, letting the bun fall loosely about her shoulders. Her arm would have to do for a pillow, her cloak made a good warm blanket.

Amias sat back watching the long-haired, pretty
Brother
set up a sleeping spot next to his bedroll. He wondered how this woman could ever have been made a Brother. It was unheard of. Why was she not a Sister? Why was she on this road after dark?

The campfire threw bright orange streaks through her hair and the dark grey robes she wore couldn’t camouflage the rise of her hip as she lay down. With a last glance at him she turned over to face away from the campfire. Soon, Amias recogniz
ed the even breathing of sleep.

His sergeant tossed a stick into the fire and commented, “I hope the Brother doesn’t snore.”

Amias snorted a chuckle then nodded at the wagon driver as he stood to go sleep in the back of his cart. Tucker’s girls had found warm beds of their own. The dice throwers had to fend for themselves.

He stretched as he
stood
cracks and pops issuing from his sore back and shoulders. Tomorrow he’d be in a real bed. Tomorrow he’d be off this horse and his first task would be to order a huge tub of hot water be brought to his room to scald off the grime of the road. He hoped their next orders would keep them grounded for a time. It had taken his men almost
seven
months to tour the country meeting with the county lords, visiting each city, even making a presence with large rural landowners. His father
Lord Stevan Kig
Shon
Doran
, had been commissioned by the King to create a security force that would examine, then report to the King himself, the state of the military and count
r
y defenses.
Seven
months. Their journey was almost at an end.

He drifted off to sleep thinking of a hot tub of water as the campfire light flickered against the back and hair of the sleeping Brother next to him.

Early morning brought a drizzling mist over the camp. Amias shivered himself awake and yawned, wiping the water off his face and thick stubbl
e. The men around him stirred,
shaking out their bl
ankets to roll them for travel.

She was gone. The spot next to him was empty, damp with rain
as though
she’d never been there.
He looked over to the line of horses tied to trees but hers was gone. Well, he mused, having a female Brother in their midst was probably more trouble than they could want, so good riddance.

In just a few hours he’d be warm with a hot meal in his gut. That was the most important thing to him at that moment.

Three girls stood facing the Brother who entered the Gardens from a small door to the back. He studied them for long moments.

“Name?” he asked the dark haired,
tall,
slender girl in n
avy blue trousers and brown shir
t. Her hair was tied back with a strip of the same fabric as
her shirt. Her hands were clean. S
he had intelligent eyes, studying him
as intently as he watched her.

“Krisa
Tei Riva Sunn
.”

“The scribe’s daughter.”

“Yes, Brother.”

“You can add figures? Read?” he demanded expecting no less from the daughter of an educated man.

“Yes, Brother.”

“And you?” he asked the girl in a
green
dress with lace trim at the collar and wrists with shiny buttons down the front. Her
fair
hair
appeared perfectly
curled;
she even had pink
cheeks like she’d been pinched.

“Glory
Beca Filomen Strenn
,” she beamed at the Brother. “I’ve had some tutoring in reading, mostly
children’s
tales but not in adding figures,” she added in derision like it was an abomination.

The Brother switched his attention to the third child, leaving Glory feeling like her interview was incomplete. The next girl’s
dirty
hair was cropped short, un-evenly. She was filthy. Her clothes hung on her, trousers that were too short, a man’s work shirt with the arms cut to length. Thread-bare shoes protected her feet from very little.

“Pearl,” she told him, before he asked. Glory stared at her. “I don’
t add figures or read.”

He nodded at them all then turned back toward the door he’d come from. “Please wait here.” And he left.

The three girls looked at each other. Pearl sat down on the ground to wait, Glory balked at the idea of sitting on anything but a chair in her dress
.
It would easily get soiled.
Krisa
strolled around the garden then disappeared from sight. Glory peered through the flowering trees and bushes trying to see where she’d gone but gave up, finally resolving to stand
there waiting alone with Pearl.

The Gardens were contained in a large rectangular courtyard lined with plain square columns
.
O
verhanging
balconies
attached to
rooms above
created a covered walkway around the perimeter of the gardens
.
It had been built open-aired but an elevated roof had later been erected, giving shelter to the devotees yet allowing fresh air to circulate and sunlight to poor in through its many windows. It was like a cap on stilts sitting over the gardens.

There were doors
off the walkway, from which now emerged another Brother with his hood pulled up. He was shorter than the one who had left, his arms folded against his belly so
he
looked squatter. Glory stood waiting to be addressed and Pearl
still sat, picking at a scab on her shin. She looked at the Brother then resumed picking. Krisa was not to be seen.

The Brother faced the two girls for long moments then lowered the hood. Both were surprised to find a woman with brown hair tied back. She had a pleasant face and the smallest
smile at the corner of her mouth, almost as though she to
ok pleasure in surprising them.

“I thought there were three of you,” she said softly. She watched Pearl, who now had stopped her grooming
to stare at the female Brother.

“You aren’t a Brother,” Pearl accused jumping to her feet. Glory stared at the other girl
wide-eyed in shock at her tone.

“I am Brother Karl,” the woman told them.
Her eyes scanned the gardens carefully as she spoke. “I’ve come to help you get started on your journey to be a Sister.”

“But you aren’t a Sister. You don’t wear an ugly yellow robe.”

“You are right,” Karl told Pearl. “I am not a Sister for precisely that reason. I c
a
n’t stand those robes.”

Glory allowed herself a giggle behind a cupped hand. Pearl still stared at Karl squinting in disbelief and a little miffed this woman thought her foolish e
nough that she would believe that
story.

“So you are a Sister who wears Brothers robes?”

“No, I am a Brother.”