TST (22 page)

“I am a soldier and I follow orders as I am supposed to do. I do not question them and feel no sense of shame for it,” the big commander snapped, almost believing his own lie.

“We had a goat die a few years back just after giving birth to a kid. One of our herding dogs had just had a litter of pups and adopted the baby goat as one of her own. As the kid grew it acted just like its littermates. It would romp and play, fetch sticks, and even try to herd the other goats. It would even defend its herd against any perceived intruder, but no matter how hard it tried to bark at them, it always came out as the bleating of a goat. Do you know why that is, General?”

“Because it was a goat not a dog, of course,” General Baneford replied despite the seeming ridiculousness of the question.

“Yes, because it was a goat. Despite growing up among dogs and doing everything as dogs do, it was still a goat and nothing could change that. We could tell it to sit, it would sit, tell it to lie down, it would do it just as its adopted brothers, and sisters did. But no one could teach it to bark because in its heart it knew it was a goat.”

The general looked darkly at the small monk. “So what are you saying? That I’m a goat?”

Brother Paul looked at the general with a wide smile and replied, “naaaah,” with a goat-like bleat and walked back towards the abbey.

General Baneford scowled at the retreating monk until he heard the door of the abbey close behind him before he allowed the laughter he held back to break the tranquility of the starry night. With a final deep breath of fresh air, the general returned to his bedroll in the dining hall and fell fast asleep.

The ringing of the bell signifying morning ablutions woke the sleeping men early the next morning. Soon after the soldiers had their bedrolls stowed away, the monks of the abbey began gathering in the dining hall from to break their fast with cooked oats, bread, and cheese before going about their daily routines of prayer, tending the animals, and grounds maintenance.

Once the general’s men finished eating, they began searching the monastery once more. There were several small anterooms but their austere furnishings made for very quick searches. The library and scroll room was another matter entirely. Thousands of books and scrolls filled the shelves and cubbies of several rooms. It was in searching these rooms that his men received the first protests and resistance from the monks. Many of the books were so old that improper handling easily damaged them. Several monks ran about in a state of great agitation as soldiers pulled books out of the shelves and looked behind the bookcases.

Brother Paul walked briskly into the library with General Baneford in tow. “Please, General, many of these tomes and scrolls are irreplaceable.”

“I told you I would tear this place apart to find what I came for. It is your stubbornness that does this. Tell me where the armor is and we will leave.”

The monk resolutely cast his eyes at the floor. General Baneford looked at the monk and saw the sorrow in his determination not to reveal the location of that which he was entrusted to protect.

The big soldier let out a sigh of resignation. “Is the armor within any of these rooms or behind the bookcases? Are there any hidden doors or passages concealed within theses rooms?”

Brother Paul looked the general in the eye. “No, there is nothing in these rooms that will lead to or help you find the artifact. Not even written words in any of the books or scrolls.”

General Baneford studied the man’s face and found not the slightest hint of guile just as he expected he would not. “Pack it up, gentlemen, there’s nothing here.”

The soldiers paused in momentary confusion but quickly marched out and began searching elsewhere.

“I must thank you once more for your sufferance, General.”

Baneford turned towards Brother Paul. “You had best pray I find the armor soon or so help me I will burn every book and scroll in this place if I even think for one second you have deceived me.”

Brother Paul bowed his head and smiled, knowing that the general knew he was telling him the truth. General Baneford stormed out of the abbey in frustration and found himself walking about the grounds and wracking his brain for answers. He saw the herds of goats and sheep munching on bales of hay that must have been quite a chore to have had delivered to the isolated monastery.

The general wondered how the monks received the things that they could not craft or grow themselves. The nearest trees were three days ride through the steep, narrow passage and a week to the closest town. If he were in charge, he would probably send two or three men into to town once or twice a year to commission a caravan to deliver wood, hay, and whatever other supplies they needed to survive the harsh winters.

Thinking along these lines as he walked, a sudden realization sprang to mind. With one last look around, General Baneford walked with a determined purpose for the first time since he and his men had arrived. After asking a few of the other monks, the general found Brother Paul kneeling in the chapel below the big golden sun, still catching and reflecting the last of the morning’s sunlight.

“Where are they, Brother Paul?”

“Where are who, General?” the monk asked hollowly without looking up.

General Baneford smiled humorlessly. “You know damn well who—your dead. There are no grave markers anywhere in the vale. I would imagine digging graves in the frozen ground in the winter would be quite a chore.”

The general watched Brother Paul’s shoulders sag and knew he had hit the mark.

The monk whispered a last quiet prayer and rose to his feet. “It is unwise to disturb the rest of the dearly departed, General.”

“I’ll take that chance. Now take me to the tombs.”

“As you wish, General.”

General Baneford ordered a few of his soldiers to follow him as Brother Paul led them towards the lesser used wings of the monastery. The monk’s sandals seemed to drag a bit and for once, a smile failed to find its way onto his face.

The small group stopped at a blank wall where Brother Paul pulled out a large iron key from within his robes, slipped it into a slot that looked like nothing more than a spot of broken mortar, and gave the key a twist. There was a heavy click of a bolt drawing back and a large section of the wall swung in on well-balanced and oiled hinges.

Behind the wall was a small landing atop the head of a narrow set of steps carved into the natural bedrock upon which the abbey was built. An oiled torch rested in an iron sconce from which a piece of flint and steel hung suspended by pieces of twine. The abbot struck the rough steel against the flint, sending a shower of sparks that instantly ignited the oil-impregnated cloth of the torch.

Brother Paul lit several more torches as they descended before reaching a long hall with a series of branching corridors leading off in both directions. The monk stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned to face the general.

“This is where we inter our brothers who have been received into Solarian’s warm embrace. I can take you no further.”

General Baneford nodded his acceptance at the abbot’s words. He no longer needed him to reveal the armor’s location. He knew it was here. General Baneford could almost feel the pieces he now wore calling to it. He turned to the men that followed him down.

“Two of you men go back and grab a couple of those torches from the stairs and start looking around.”

The soldiers quickly returned with a pair of torches and split up to search the tomb. Several more torches flared to life when the men found them as the proceeded down the hall. There were soon enough torches lit that General Baneford could see nearly the entire corridor they were standing in at the foot of the steps.

Wall niches held the linen wrapped remains of the dead. Stone statues of monks stood near some of the larger interments, carved in exacting detail. Brother Paul followed the general as he walked over to one of the nearer statues and examined it.

“These are very well done, abbot. I assume they were carved by some of your fellow monks?”

“Yes, we have a few brothers that are quite gifted though all the ones you see here were done by brothers long since departed. Those brothers that carve now make smaller statuettes and figurines that we sell or trade to augment the small stipend we receive from the church. We do not lack for quality stone here.”

General Baneford continued walking down the hall, gazing at each of the statues with an interested eye. He walked all the way to the end of the hall past several life-sized statues of pious-looking men in robes, appreciating the monks’ excellent artisanship. As he turned to walk back, his men began assembling in the main passage.

“Sir, we have looked down every hall and into each chamber with no sign of the armor. Unless you wish us to move the remains, we see no more areas to search down here. We have even looked for hidden doors and passageways but if there are any down here we cannot locate them.”

“What say you, Brother Paul? Will you tell me where it is or shall I have my men pull your brothers’ bones from the walls?” General Baneford asked nonchalantly.

The monk’s face reddened in his greatest show of emotion yet at the threatened sacrilege. “If you feel that is necessary then I shall not stop you, but I will not help you in your quest.”

The general smiled at the monk then looked back to the soldiers. “That’s all right, Lieutenant, I already know where it is.”

The soldier looked at his commander in surprise. “You do, sir? Where is it? How did you find it?”

“It is right in front of us isn’t it, abbot?”

Brother Paul did not bother to respond.

“As to how I found it, I guess you could say the armor told me. You see, it wants to be complete so that it can fulfill the purpose for which it was created. It just needed to get close enough to its kindred pieces to feel them and hear its call.”

General Baneford stopped in front of one of the older, dust-covered statues and drew his sword. With one last look at Brother Paul, the general brought the heavy pommel down on the outstretched statue’s arms. After a few sharp strikes, the stone-like material that made up the draping sleeves of the statue’s robes crumbled away to reveal a set of vambraces edged in gold, buckled around the solid stone forearms.

General Baneford unbuckled the vambraces and tucked them under one arm. Despite his brutal hammering, the armor was unmarred and gleamed like the blackness between last night’s stars.

“I appreciate the hospitality you have shown me and my men, but I believe it is time for us to be going.”

“I will show you out, General,” was the only thing Brother Paul said as he morosely led the way back up the stairs.

General Baneford and his men soon remounted their horses and made ready to leave the monks to their normally serene monastery.

“You do not look quite as pensive as you had when we first arrived, Brother Paul,” the general said.

“Although I have failed in my duty, I do not believe all is as lost as I once feared,” Brother Paul replied, his smile fixed back upon his face.

“One of us was destined to fail in our duty and the odds were always in my favor.”

“I just hope you do not live to regret your success, General.”

“I imagine I will live to regret many things I have done. If this is one of them then that’s just one more on what is becoming a rather increasingly long list,” the general responded.

General Baneford handed a small leather pouch containing a good bit of gold. “For the stew. Maybe you can buy some better furniture too.”

“May you find your bark, General.”

 General Baneford laughed heartily as he led his men away from the monks with his newest prize.

*****

“Azerick, wake up, lad,” Zeb’s gruff voice called to him.