Listen to these words, the truth of her.

For she is of flesh and blood.

-The Gospel According to the Holy First Handmaiden

“Present arms!” Gardinal shouted as he marched down the line. Sweeping a critical glare over each in turn, Gardinal inspected the sorry lot of sniveling children that this temple called ‘Faith Militia.’ A pathetic bunch they were. These guards of the Old Temple, deep in the heart of the oh-so prestigious ‘The Forest’ district, managed to somehow be even more ornamental than those of the prime temple in Southshore. A good thing that, Gardinal thought. If any of these pretty noble boys were to actually face real combat, they were likely to piss themselves and cry for their mothers. Children, that’s what he had been given here, useless, pathetic children. And worse, they were noble children.

With a stomp Gardinal came to a stop before one of the boys, this one a slender Fereni brat with a beanpole neck and shot him a measuring look. Gardinal eyed the man’s glaive, a polished work of art without a nick on it and wondered if the boy had ever even swung the weapon in practice. Silver inlay ran up its haft, dancing up the length with fanciful images of roses. The Pantheon-forsaken boy would be lucky if he pricked himself on those thorns and missed the real battle due to a sore thumb. Or perhaps the boy intended on making his enemies laugh themselves silly at the sight of his so called ‘weapon.’ Staring up at the overgrown child, Gardinal snarled and the boy shook in his loose greaves. That made him snarl harder.

“Stand firm boy. You’re a soldier of the faith, not an enlisted peasant. Act like a man and maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to look like one.” Gardinal berated the Fereni, and around him a few of the other boys snickered. “Oh, you think any of you are any better?” Gardinal snapped, and a cold silence spread over the lot of them. “All of you, pair up and practice your drills in the outer courtyard. If I catch a single one of you sneaking off to the kitchens then you’re on half rations for a month.” Gardinal commanded, and they all shouted varying confirmations in a sad, discordant fashion. He shook his head in shame as the boys charged off, not one of them wishing to be the last in the room. Worse yet, they all marched off to a sad bottleneck at the exit way leading out of the small courtyard. Loose, over polished armour clanking against one another as they each shoved to be the first out.

Gardinal sighed loudly, then made his way over to one of the nearby marble benches to rest a moment. His bones ached these last few days, and his muscles were sorer than they had been in years. Perhaps age was finally beginning to catch up with him now. Gardinal pushed the pain from his mind. Age or not, it could wait.

Looking around, Gardinal couldn’t help but still feel he was in the wrong place. Somewhere he wasn’t wanted. The courtyard was not unwelcoming of course, with its many intricately carved marble benches, shallow ponds with languorously floating fish, and finely tended flower beds. Even the low carved marble walls that sectioned off this smaller courtyard were wide and welcoming. And it wasn’t the temple proper itself that made him feel unwelcome here either. Gardinal would never feel unwelcome in any home of the Most Merciful, not so long as a cutting of the First Tree grew there at least.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

No, it was none of the trappings of the temple itself that made him feel ill at ease, it was the location. Looking up with a groan, Gardinal eyed the massive towers jutting up around him, looking like towering trees in the heart of the oldest forests. He had never liked those. The towers of The Forest were too tall as far as Gardinal was concerned, far too tall. Smelled of pride to him, and pride was valor defiled.

Even as a youth, trudging out to this very temple every day from Silvermarket, he had felt uncomfortable around those towers. In turn, the Sherya nobles who wandered about always seemed ill at ease with a lowly Khazimi sullying their precious cobblestones. Gardinal was sure they must think it bad enough that the Fereni and Fershya nobles could come and go as they please, let alone any of the ‘lesser god born.’ He had been called that more than a few times as a youth. Less now that he wore markings of office at least. Well, less openly now.

Gardinal snorted in disdain and stomped a foot. A sharp pain shooting through his whole leg as he did so. He stifled a low curse. His body ached, no matter how much he tried to focus on his surroundings. It ached hard, and it ached for her.

Gardinal shook his head and stared up at the statue of the Mother that sat opposite of him. Her sad gaze, a single tear drop falling from her eye. He wondered what the Prophetess was doing right now. A glance at the sun above told him it was right around when she would be brought her midday meal. Was she eating properly? Did they feed her enough beans and vegetables? She didn’t eat any meat, so he was always concerned for her strength. A body couldn’t grow strong without the proper nourishment. Perhaps I should go see her, he thought, go check and make sure she’s alright. And perhaps she might have forgiven him by now, perhaps she would share some of her grace with his lowly self.

Gardinal needed her, needed the touch of her grace. But every time he had gone, the bishop had turned him away. And after fourteen days, Gardinal had gone eighteen times. Every time being met with farcical excuses from the old Sherya priest.

She was too tired, too hungry, too deep in study and shouldn’t be disturbed. Gardinal sneered at just the thought. He knew her better than anyone, and he knew that she had time throughout her day. Time to give him a headache at least. If he went to her now she would likely be just finishing her afternoon prayers when he arrived. That would be a good time, still long before her supper but well after any other duties. Save perhaps the prayers for first rising, but that wouldn’t be until dark. If he was fast he could make it before then.

“Are… are you B… Brother Gardinal?” A sheepish man asked, stepping into the small courtyard. Gardinal shot him a sharp look, annoyed at the interruption. From the look on the frail Fershya’s face, he knew well how Gardinal felt.

“What do you want boy?” Gardinal answered with no small amount of exhaustion. The boy was slender, common born from his dress, with a pin that marked him a messenger. The boy actually wasn’t half bad looking, if Gardinal had perhaps been a decade younger.

“I, er, I have a letter for you.” The boy stammered out. Gardinal shook his head, of course he did.

“If it’s another one of those Pantheon forsaken letters from that fool hardy count asking me to come drinking with him and the boy, I swear I’ll hunt him down and drown him in all the ale he’s so fond of…”

“It’s not from a count Brother Gardinal. Or any lord at that.”