Ardwin trudged an uphill road. Rocky and slanted as it was, rainwater slid across its surface, rolling downhill, up and over his boots, sloshing over the edge. The sea assaulted the base of the cliff with battering waves. Ardwin feared the cliffside would crumble away beneath his feet.
Gregory led them, turning a bend, disappearing from view behind a towering cliff wall. Ardwin adjusted the straps of his backpack and turned to check on Murph. The scrawny boy pushed himself to catch up. They turned the bend together. Gregory marched up the narrow path ahead, between cliff and chasm. Swift streams washed debris from the road, but fresh rock replaced it, loosened by the storm.
They struggled onward.
At the top of the cliff, the ground leveled out into a grassy rise overlooking the sea. Ardwin looked out over the dark, churning waters. Blue and purple clouds roiled overhead, stretching across the sky. “No time for a break!” Gregory called. “Father Cyrus will want to hear what we learned.”
Murph clapped Ardwin’s back. “Come on!” He dashed ahead, catching up with Gregory. Ardwin followed them down the muddy path, worn flat by the feet of many monks.
The monastery used to be a seaside fort, built by Alexander the Great during his conquest of the westernmost regions. Towers once soared high above its thick walls, but the towers had tumbled, and the walls crumbled away. Now, only the innermost keep remained, and it was a shell of its former self. Four centuries earlier, the ruins were gifted to a band of six missionaries seeking to spread the good faith of their God and king. Those six monks recruited disciples from the local populace and restored the ruins. A small convent collected there and remained ever after.
The boys sat on a long bench, in a lamp-lit chamber beneath the monastery. “What do you have to report?” Father Cyrus asked. He leaned back in his cushioned chair, looking down a long, slanted nose. He spoke to them from across a cherry red desk. His western tongue slurred and blended the words.
“Another regiment joined Count Pichler in the city,” Gregory reported. Ardwin and Murph stood behind him, their heads bowed, and their hands clasped. “Mercenaries.”
Father Cyrus nodded slowly. “Yes, we know.” He steepled his fingers. “And what of the seawall?”
Ardwin wrenched his hands.
“We got caught up in a game with some local children,” Gregory began. Father Cyrus shook his head and narrowed his eyes. “They said anytime we need to sneak out to have a little fun, we could just pass through the smuggler’s run. They offered to take us to it.”
“And did you go?” Cyrus leaned forward. “Did you see it?”
Gregory hesitated. “Yes.”
“We’ve heard rumors of the smuggler’s run you speak of, but, in a time of war, we can’t put our faith in rumors and gossip. Our enemies spread lies to misdirect us.” The old monk stood. His brown robes rustled. Two other monks, wearing gray robes, stood at attention to either side. “If the smuggler’s run is real, then we will certainly use it to our advantage. Good job, brothers. Return to Colonia in the morning. In time, you will receive a message with further instructions. Live as you have–as missionaries amongst the people. And remember that your success is our God’s success.”
Silence filled the small chamber. It settled on Ardwin’s shoulders like a great boulder. He’s sending us back into the city?
“There will come a day when our Imperial Exemplar walks the streets of Colonia and the people will fall at his feet, prostrating themselves before the glory of God. And you boys have paved the way. You go with God.” Cyrus nodded, dismissing them.
Ardwin felt a flush of anger in his cheeks, but he held his tongue. What a family we have!
Weeks passed. The citizens of Colonia were always welcoming to the boys, offering them fair work for fair pay. Ardwin lived with a childless fletcher and learned to spin horsehair into a bowstring. He wished to learn how to carve arrows and bows, but he was not skilled enough to be trusted with finer work. Mostly, he mended feathers and ran errands.
One sunny morning, when the sun taunted with warmth, but the winter winds washed it away, Ardwin found himself in the trade square, bartering for a slice of beef. He did well, walking away with enough meat for a stew. He passed a stall bearing vegetables and fruits. The woman behind the stall spoke to a nearby guardsman. “Is it true? Is Duke Augustine marching here?” Ardwin stopped at a nearby tent, where a group of trappers tried to tempt him with furs and beads. Ardwin refuted them, perhaps a bit too bluntly, but, to his great relief, their teases were mild and minimal. He missed most of their conversation, but the woman was intent on pressing the issue. “Why doesn’t Count Pichler call upon Duke Antonius?”
“The Duke’s army is north of Caliacra,” the guardsman said. He leaned on his pike. “He can’t be in two places at once.”
The old woman shook her head. “What good is a Duke who can’t guard his own people?”
The guardsman laughed. “If Augustine is stupid enough to attack us, our walls will stop him. Then Duke Antonius will bring the might of Umbria Duchy down like a hammer pounding an anvil. It would be silly to risk a siege.”
“Well, I suppose you would know more about it than me,” the woman offered.
It wasn’t the last he heard of Duke Augustine and his army. Soon, gossip spread through the city like wildfire. Everyone whispered about it. The city took on a new energy. People walked faster, talked faster, and constantly they talked about the army that sped toward their city. By the time Ardwin returned to his master’s shop, Augustine’s army, camped less than a day’s ride from Colonia, was the talk of the town.
Marching up to the fletcher’s door, he spotted a tall boy wearing a robe, much like his own, marching down the street. Gregory! Ardwin ran to him. “Hey!”
Gregory’s lips curved into a grin. “How’s the fletching business?”
Ardwin shrugged. “My master does well for one man. Most fletchers work in teams, you know?”
Gregory nodded. “We should talk.”
Ardwin eyed the fresh beef in his basket. Then he locked eyes with Gregory. “We should.” With that, Ardwin knocked loudly at the door. The fletcher answered the door and Ardwin handed him the meat. After a brief explanation, the boys flew through the seaside city. Gregory led Ardwin to an apartment building. They climbed three flights of stairs and crossed a hallway. Gregory stopped at a door. He knocked three times–paused–then twice.
The door opened.
Ardwin and Gregory entered. Murph stood behind the open door. The room was empty–no furniture, no decorations, just stone-bare walls, and wooden floors–save a brother in a gray robe standing in the center. “We are all here?” The fuzzy-headed brother asked. The boys eyed each other and nodded. “Good.”
Their brother reached into his robe and pulled out a broad piece of rolled parchment. He unrolled the parchment on the floor, revealing a map of the city. He ran his finger along the northernmost wall until it rested on the coastline. “That is your smuggler’s run.” He smiled.
“It looks like it, yes,” Gregory said.
The brother nodded. “An army is coming, and we are going to help them take this city.” The brother put his hands to his chest. “I am Brother Percy.”
“I am Brother Gregory.” The tall boy bowed his head.
Ardwin stepped forward. “I am Brother Ardwin.”
“I am Brother Murphrey.” Their tiny friend elbowed his way between them.
Brother Percy laughed. “You have spirit, little one! Good. You will need it.” The brother put his hands back on the map. “Duke Augustine marches at the head of thirty thousand men. He left ten thousand behind–in Coblenz–enough to dissuade Duke Antonius from marching north. Our enemies think Augustine is trying to draw Antonius into a fight.” He shook his head. “Your discovery of the smuggler’s run has given him the confidence to strike an unexpected blow against our enemies! He’s coming. And we’re going to help him.” Percy moved his hand across the map, pointing at a small cluster of buildings. “Do you know what this is?”
“It looks like the warehouses where they store shipments from the docks,” Murph said. Ardwin and Gregory looked at Murph, who shrugged. “My Master sent me there to buy some tools.”
“They don’t just store tools there,” Percy assured. “There’s a granary, a fishery, and even a butcher’s shop.”
“What about it?” Gregory asked.
“We’re going to make sure Duke Augustine’s victory is swift,” Percy said. He met each set of boyish eyes one by one. “We’re going to poison their supplies.”
That food feeds more than soldiers! Ardwin’s guts knotted. “What?”
“We’re going to weaken their defenses from the inside,” Percy reiterated. “By weakening their insides.” He grinned with sinister glee. “Augustine should arrive in three days. He’s hired traitors inside of the city to secure the smuggler’s run, and sappers to bring down the wall. If all goes well, this city of non-believers will fall in a single night!”
The boys shared uncertain glances.
“Do not fear, little brothers,” Percy assured. “All we do, we do in the name of God.” The brother rolled up the map. “Come. We have work to do.”
The next day brought more rumors of Duke Augustine and his army. Four Colonial warships sailed up the coast on the morning of the second day. They returned that night with grievous news. An attack was imminent. The city set its defenses into motion. Scores of guardsmen patrolled the walls and the city streets night and day.
Siege sickness came early. Those stricken by it vomited blood and suffered fevers that quickly burned through them. Most everyone struck by the sickness died within a night. Those who survived were left with flu-like symptoms: shaking, weakness, and soreness of the body. Guardsmen, mercenaries, merchants, and beggars–none were spared. The city became rife with rumors regarding the origins of the outbreak. Most blamed foreign cargo ships and their dirty crews, others cited a lack of faith in their pagan Gods. As the number of deaths soared, corpses, piled in carts, were paraded through the streets. They fought a holy war in the name of God. And God spread plague and pestilence amongst his enemies, much as they had. These deaths were sacrifices for the sake of salvation. It was for God, yet Ardwin bore the guilt. He helped douse the meat in poison. He helped sprinkle the essence of death on sacks of grain. The wailing and screams of mothers who held their dying children haunted him. Ardwin pushed it all down, bottled it up, and focused on his work so Master Fletcher could not see the change. A numbness settled in his skin and Ardwin welcomed it.
On the third day, as the sun settled over sparkling waves in the west, Ardwin returned from the market. He passed two cartloads of corpses, led by strange men wearing leather masks. Dead eyes cast suspicious glances towards him. The living didn't notice the boy. They were too busy caring for the sick, disposing of the dead, or preparing for battle. Everyone walked around with black-ringed eyes and haggard faces. This is the work of my God? The boy pondered. Colonia sat on the sea, nestled in a wide valley that stretched little more than a mile below gently tumbling hills, into a sandy shoreline. In the East, on a high hill, a glint of silver light caught his eye. Ardwin watched as droves of men crested the knoll. Soon, they covered the hills like a colony of ants–countless men moving as one.
Ardwin ran to his Master, and excused himself from his service to the fletcher, citing a summons to the monastery by Father Cyrus. The likelihood of a siege meant his service to the people of Colonia would be suspended for a time. He headed for the docks, where he ran into Gregory, traveling in the same direction. They came to a gatehouse where a large iron gate blocked the road. A big, freckle-faced man in a black brigandine stopped them. He scolded them in his foreign tongue. Thankfully, a guardsman standing atop the parapets shouted down a command, and the other stood aside. The gate was raised, and the boys continued on. Brother Percy waited at the end of a long dock, standing by a dinghy. “I would have brought my sailboat, but the Father would not permit it!” He laughed. “Where’s the little one?”
Ardwin and Gregory shared a glance, shrugging simultaneously.
“Bah!” Percy’s face turned from glee to worry in an instant. “He must hurry! We must get out of the city! Men do horrible things in the blood frenzy of battle.” He looked into the East, where Augustine and his army waited atop the grassy slope like a perched hawk, ready to swoop in. “Even holy men will not be safe.”
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“We’ll go find him,” Ardwin said.
“Then you best be swift,” Percy said. He raised his hands. “Augustine attacks tonight!”
Ardwin and Gregory dashed down the docks, back to the gatehouse. The guardsmen couldn't believe the boys wanted back in, but Ardwin persuaded them with a story about his forgotten family heirloom. The gates were raised. They sped through Colonia, flying towards the house of Master Homer, who had taken Murph on as his apprentice. The smithy’s home was well across the city.
Shadows threatened to swallow them, as the sun dipped into the sea. Ardwin leaped off the top of a stairwell and turned into an alleyway. Gregory appeared behind him, but not before Ardwin was halfway down the alley. “Hey!” Gregory yelled.
Ardwin’s heart was thumping. The rhythm was mesmerizing. He stood at the mouth of the alley, waiting for Gregory. Two lines of soldiers marched down the street, spears leaning upon their shoulders. Their feet marched to the rhythm of his heart. The boys waited for the men to pass, then shuffled down the street. What had once been a busy thoroughfare was now an abandoned road between lifeless stone buildings. No one stirred but the soldiers. There was a silence and a thickness in the air–energy– that Ardwin couldn’t quite understand, like storm clouds gathering, building, waiting to burst.
By the time they reached the smithy, stars dotted a blackening sky.
Ardwin ran to the door and began beating on it, before even taking a breath. “Murph! Murph!” No one answered. He called again and slammed his fists against the oak.
Finally, footsteps, then the door slowly creaked open. A big man with long gray hair and a thick gray beard stood in the doorframe. In fact, his shoulders were wider than the door. “Murphrey said he doesn’t want to see you. He says goodbye.”
“What?” Ardwin asked.
“Murphrey says–” the big man turned sideways, revealing their brother hidden behind him. He wore trousers and a shirt. “Oh!”
“It’s okay,” Murph said. “Thanks.” The boy’s eyes were ringed with red.
Homer knelt and put a hand on Murph’s shoulder. “Are you sure?”
Murph nodded.
“I’ll give you some privacy, son.” The big man got up and disappeared deeper into the house.
“What are you doing?” Ardwin asked.
“I’m staying,” Murph answered. His little green glimmers of spirit locked onto Ardwin.
“No, you’re not,” Gregory said. He grabbed a hold of Murph’s shirt collar and tugged at him. Murph grabbed onto the door frame and fought with all his might. “Help!” Gregory looked at Ardwin.
Ardwin took a deep breath. “Do you want to die?” Murph and Gregory stopped their wrestling and turned their attention to their brother.
“What’s going on?” A big voice called. Footsteps thumped through the house. “Are you okay, Murph?” Homer found them locked together–limb in limb–and pulled the boys apart.
“There’s an army coming!” Gregory shouted at the man. “Tell Murph to leave with us!”
Homer shook his head. He patted Murph’s bald head. Then he sighed. “They’re right, Murph.”
“No!” the boy cried.
“I want you to stay,” Homer said. The big man’s voice cracked. “I want you to, but I don’t want to lose another son.” He grabbed Murph up and embraced him. “You should have left hours ago when I told you to. Thank you for giving me a family again, even for a short time.” Homer drew in a long breath. “I suppose time isn’t so important, anyway.” He smiled. The two hugged.
“Then don’t make me go!” Murph begged.
Gregory stepped out of the house, joining Ardwin on the street, and straightening his robes.
Homer stood and placed his hand gently on Murph’s head. “As long as you don’t forget me, you’ll take me wherever you go. You’ll find a life of your own out there, Murph. I promise you. Now, go!” He put his paw on Murph’s back and shoved the boy out the door. Murph turned to run back into the house, but Homer grabbed him up like a sack of potatoes and hugged him tight. Then, sat him gently on the cobbles of the street. “Goodbye, son. I love you.”
Ardwin and Gregory tugged at Murph as Homer retreated into his home, slamming the door shut. They dragged their brother, kicking and screaming, down the street.
Bells rang in the clear night sky.
“The army is moving!” Gregory shouted. This seemed to coerce Murph. The little boy ran. Tears streaked from the corners of his eyes.
Commands shouted from afar, somewhere in the shadows. Up on the walls, soldiers shuffled about, manning their stations. The streets were empty, save the patrols. Those who noticed the little monks running through their city shook their heads, wore scowls or smiles, and brandished jokes. No one stopped them.
Thunder rumbled on that clear night. Looking to the East, Ardwin watched as thousands of little fires moved down the northern slopes–torches.
Ardwin’s heart thumped, and his skin tingled, but his mind felt numb. Just run. Just survive. You have royal blood. You’re too important to die.
They turned down a wide street and glimpsed the gatehouse before the docks. All three stopped dead in their tracks. A crowd of armed men stood in front of the iron gate. They mulled about and talked amongst themselves. Soldiers prowled the walkways and the walls. Ardwin shot a glance at his brothers, took a deep breath, and marched toward the gatehouse.
“Go home!” a soldier shouted at them in Westernese.
They ignored him, cutting through the heart of the crowd, and approaching the iron gate. The ugly guardsman who stopped them earlier glared down at them from the wall.
“We need through!” Ardwin fumbled with the foreign tongue.
The man shook his head and crossed his arms. “Closed.” He smiled–yellow and rotten.
“Let us through!” Gregory shouted.
The guardsman waved over a pair of mustached men. He barked commands at the pair, who grabbed Gregory and Ardwin up by their robes and packed them back up the street. Murph followed, hurling curses. The mustached guards dumped the boys in an alley. “We’re stuck!” Gregory shouted. He thumped the hard ground with his fists. “Ah! This is your fault!” Gregory pointed a long, thin finger at Murph.
Murph bowed his head and began sobbing.
“We’re stuck,” Gregory said in disbelief.
Ardwin lay on the stones, looking at the stars above. They were beautiful. For a little, if he were alone, he would just lay there and look at the stars.
Murph buried his face in his hands. “I just want to go home! To eat hot stew and laugh about the Fathers, their stupid rules, and play in the Temple gardens.” He sniffled. “I want to go home!”
The Temple: Father Calum, his birds, and their soft white feathers, the smell of dinner fresh and ready for hungry disciples, the smell of the flowers in the garden, running and playing with his brothers. They’re my family. Ardwin studied his friends who stewed in their despondance. He sat up. “We need to keep moving.”
“We’re stuck,” Gregory repeated. He rocked back and forth.
“What about the smuggler’s run?” Ardwin asked.
Gregory shook his head fiercely. “Duke Augustine’s traitors are guarding it.”
“Exactly!” Ardwin said. He forced himself to stand. “We helped them win this battle before it ever began. The least they can do is give us safe passage.”
“These are mercenaries, Ardwin,” Gregory snapped. “Not the Duke’s personal guard!”
Ardwin stalked out of the alley and into the street, stepping over Gregory. “Come on.” He turned to watch Gregory stumble out of the alley.
His brother wiped away a face full of tears and swallowed his fear. “Okay,” Gregory said. “Come on, Murph!” After dragging him from the alley, they all cut a path toward the seawall. Thankfully, the smuggler’s run was near the port. Bells rang again and again, filling the night air.
To the East, archers flung their arrows into the darkness, and soldiers hurled were off the wall by return fire. The fighting had begun.
The boys sprinted across a wide road. Then down a path that bent, turning sharply, and cutting back the way they came at a slight decline. Tightly packed apartments and shops crowded the street. They stopped and peered through a dark and narrow alley, surveying a dip in the land at the foot of the wall. Steel clattered, and men shouted. They fought at the base of the wall, and they fought on top of the wall. Swords and axes and pikes and spears, battered armor and cleaved flesh. A team of men dug out a hole at the base of the wall with pickaxes and shovels, while one by one, soldiers emerged through a narrow crack at the base of a tower to join the barrier of shields and bodies protecting the diggers.
The trio sank into the shadows of the alley. “What now?” Murph asked.
Ardwin blinked. “I don’t know.”
Gregory chuckled. A little smile crossed his lips. “Imagine that.”
Ardwin shot him a pointed glance. “I didn’t hear your brilliant strategy.” He knelt and began creeping down the alley. A quick tug pulled him backward.
“What are you doing?” Gregory asked.
“Scouting ahead.” Ardwin grinned. He broke free and slunk down the alley, staying low. Where its mouth opened, he knelt, leaning against the wall.
“Well?” Gregory’s hand fell on his shoulder.
“You know my answer,” Ardwin admitted.
“It’s as I said earlier,” Gregory said. “We’re stuck!”
“What if we just go to them and tell them we’re just kids and we just want to go home?” Murph asked. He was crying again.
“If you say it just like that, it just might work,” Gregory retorted. Ardwin elbowed him. He grunted.
A small thunderstorm approached from the south, down the street they had just stepped off. A swarm of soldiers stormed the soft ground at the foot of the seawall. “The city rallied a counterattack!” Gregory stood up straight. “They know the wall is breached!”
The rallied men crashed into their enemies, pinning the Burgundians against the wall. Unfortunately for them, Augustine’s archers claimed the parapets above, and they fired into the back ranks. Men pushed and shoved and fell in the mud, trampled by their friends. Hands and arms were cleaved, and legs were pierced with spears or sheared with axes. Blood pooled upon the soft ground, turning the dirt into red muck. This is a battle. Somehow it had taken that long for it to really sink in. He was in a real siege, witnessing his first real battle. Even still, he felt separated from the grim and grotesque reality by a barrier of numbness.
Atop the walls, more men sprang up onto the battlements. Somehow, Augustine’s men were scaling the wall from the outside. The reinforcements poured down a stairwell and flanked the defender’s counterattack.
The lines broke, and the battle became scattered and chaotic. No longer were they two opposing forces, but a bunch of men fighting savage duels. Ardwin spotted a clear path to the smuggler’s run. The diggers were back to work but there were fewer. “Come on!” Ardwin shouted. He darted from the alley and down into the lowland where men fought and died. A giant’s corpse almost crushed him. A pair of soldiers who grappled over a dagger knocked him to the ground. He looked behind.
Gregory was dragging Murph by the collar, and Murph was doing his best to keep up.
Ardwin struggled to his feet, ducked, dodged, and slipped unseen to the foot of the wall. Gregory and Murphy joined him there, near the stairs to the battlements. Ardwin slipped along the wall, inching closer toward the smuggler’s run.
He came within reach of the diggers.
He looked back to watch an armored hand grab Murph by the scruff of his neck and shove him to the ground. Murph stared up at a big, red-bearded man with a long sword. The man’s eyes were wide and wild. He shouted vile curses.
Gregory sprang into action, shoving the swordsman and knocking him off balance. The man turned on Gregory. Ardwin dashed across the battlefield, dodging a pair of men who tumbled about, wrestling in the mud. The red-bearded man swung at Gregory, who fled toward the wall. The swordsman advanced–he had Gregory pinned. He jabbed at Gregory, who dodged. The little monk’s robe caught the blade and ripped.
Ardwin jumped on the man’s back, grabbing a hold of his sword arm. He kicked and thrashed and forced the man to spin about like an unbroken horse taken to trial. Ardwin lost his grip–he landed on the ground. Hot pain shot from his shoulder blade, spreading through his back.
Before Ardwin found his feet, the swordsman charged at him, swinging wildly. Ardwin dunked under a wide arc, then dodged a downward swing. He backstepped and found something slippery with his foot. He fell on his bottom. The big man was too fast, his sword too swift. It fell from on high.
Ardwin closed his eyes and shielded them with his hands.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a sunburned shoveler standing before him–shovel in hand. The man smiled widely, showing his yellowed teeth. “Go with God!” he shouted. He waved a hand at Ardwin, then motioned toward the hole beneath the wall. “Go with God!”
Ardwin shared a look of disbelief with his brothers, then they followed the dirty man to the smuggler’s run–now a gaping hole in the crumbling foundation of the seawall.
The shoveler spoke Westernese to a young man wearing a suit of plate armor, covered by a purple tabard displaying a crowned eagle. The young man shouted commands at a group of soldiers and the men listened without question, grabbing the boys up and spiriting them away, through the smuggler’s run, and down the ranks of men who pressed outside upon the seawall, waiting their turn to breach the city. They passed the boys along like stolen loot until finally, the trio came to rest in a tent overlooking the ocean, far from the besieged city.
Ardwin studied his surroundings. An enormous desk rested near the back. Off to the right was a bronze bathtub and a privacy wall that folded in on itself. Opposite the grooming area, a feather bed rested in an alcove with a thick curtain as both wall and door. Candelabras sitting on the desk and little end tables, offering ample light, maintained despite the inhabitant’s absence. This tent belongs to an important person.
A group of guards had led them there and then abandoned them. No one had yet come to interrogate them, but Ardwin knew they inevitably would.
“I’m sorry,” Murph said. “I almost got you both killed.”
“What you did was stupid,” Gregory said. “Did you forget our mission?”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Ardwin said.
Gregory rolled his eyes.
“It wasn’t.” Ardwin sat a little higher in his chair. “We all want a family. That’s why we endure their ridiculous demands.”
Gregory’s eyes swept the floor. He huffed. “I guess you’re right.” He stood up. “But our lives are not our own anymore. We passed the Choosing. We swore the sacred oaths. The Holy Order is our family. That means we have to look out for each other.” He glared at Murph. “Not just ourselves.”
Murph covered his face and whimpered softly. “I’m sorry.”
Ardwin placed his hand on Murph’s shoulder.
“And you should be.” Gregory sat back down. “We might not be the family you would’ve chosen, but we are your family. That’s why we came back for you.” The words loosened every tear in Murph’s little bald head. Ardwin tried to soothe the boy, but Murph pushed him away.
Ardwin stood up and paced about the richly decorated tent. He admired the carving of the wooden furniture and the vividly colored tapestries hanging from the walls. Turning about, he observed the trappings of finery–everything he could never have. Technically, Augustine is inferior to me. I’m a direct descendant of the royal bloodline. He’s just a distant cousin. Yet, he lives better than I do, with men at his command–a whole nation under his command. Our Order makes little sense.
He approached the big table and glanced over a pile of letters. They were addressed to his cousin, the Duke himself. A painting hung on the wall behind the table: a golden goblet, filled with red grapes, sitting on a round table. An assortment of fruit surrounded the goblet. Most intriguing of all were the wires wrapped around the golden frame of the painting. The wires looped around the poles of the tent, leaving the painting suspended in its heavy frame. “Beautiful but terrible,” Calum had said. All this noble beauty can’t hide the ugly truth. We killed those people so Duke Augustine could have one more city. The beauty is a lie.
How could our God permit this?