The Horns of Ruin (25 page)

She stubbed out the cigarette. Folded her hands on the
table in front of her. Stared at me.

"I don't really care what you believe. I escaped
because he ignored me. Didn't care one lick about me. All he wanted was the
Fratriarch. Honestly, that's all he could handle."

"So you ran? The old man fighting his last and you
just ran."

"That's what he told me to do. He gave me the pendant
and told me not to stop, no matter what happened. He told me to find you and
get back to the Strength of Morgan. That the Warrior Cult needed me more than I
could know."

"That's all? That's all he told you?"

"We were busy."

"Well, you got the running part down. Why didn't you
come find me, like he said?"

"You didn't seem the understanding type. I didn't
think you'd believe me, especially once that Betrayer showed up."

"I'm not sure I believe you now." I stood and
gathered the dishes, then threw them in a wash bin and stretched. "Not
sure I have much choice, though. So that's the last you saw of him. Fighting
the Betrayer."

"That's the last I saw."

"Well. Here we are, I guess. Doesn't answer most of my
questions."

"So you're not going to kill me?" she asked.

"Honey, if I were going to kill you, it would have
happened a long time ago. You can relax."

She let out a long sigh, then drew and cut another
cigarette. Her hand was shaking as she touched paper to the lighter.

"I'll work my way to relaxed, someday. You're not an
easy lady to relax around. So what now?"

"Now we talk about why the Cult of Morgan needs
you."

"What about Barnabas?" she asked.

"Barnabas is the Fratriarch of the Cult of Morgan, and
the Warrior's True Sword on earth. He will have to take care of himself."
I fiddled with the revolver I had left on the table while we ate, then picked
it up and slid it back into the holster. "For now at least."

Footsteps hammered up the stairs behind us. Lots of them,
and there was shouting. I motioned the girl back into the kitchen, then tossed
the table on its side. Owen's lucky he was the first one in, and that the light
was good enough for me to recognize him.

"What the hell, Healer? You want me to shoot
you?"

"Not yet. You need to get out of here."

"This is the Strength of Morgan, consecrated from
ancient days to be the home of the Warrior's Cult." I spat, then stood.
"Maybe you should be the one getting out."

"Alexander has declared the Cult of Morgan apostate.
He claims that Simeon was conspiring with the Betrayer, that Morgan is working
hand in hand with the outcast scions of Amon. That you're responsible for the
attack on the Chanters today, and want to overthrow the Fraterdom."

"That's crazy. I was there, Owen. You were there. You
know we didn't have anything to do with that attack."

"You don't understand. He's saying that you personally
are responsible for the attack. There are Chanters saying they saw you in the
wreckage, that the breach was some kind of Warrior's invokation."

"You're kidding."

"Why do you think I'm here, Eva? The building is
surrounded. Patrols are working their way through the lower halls now,
searching for you. I'm supposed to arrest you."

"Where the hell is everyone?" I barked as we
rushed along the hallway. "We've got enough food here for about a week.
More if we get out of the city and can trap." I buckled up the pack I'd
gotten from rummaging in the mess and tossed it to Cassandra. "You're the
kitchen girl now. And you'll want to carry a weapon. You got any rifle training
in you?"

"You think they spend a lot of time gun-training the
scions of Amon the Betrayer?" she asked.

"Guess not. But it's a good thing to have. Here."
We stopped at one of the few muster points that were still provisioned. I
rattled through the cupboards and brought out a stubby Mots-Misley shotgun.
Crowd-control stuff, but it could be plenty loud. "Even a Scholar couldn't
miss with this thing."

The girl slung it over her shoulder, stuffed cartridges
into the pockets of her robe, then looped the food packet onto her back. I saw
that she was still carrying the cylinder of cigarettes.

"You've got the old man's lighter?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry. I can put it back."

"We'll need it. Never did learn to conjure fire.
That's more a Healer trick."

"I'm standing right here," Owen said. "Don't
pretend I'm not coming with you."

"You're not. You're already in trouble for warning us.
I won't have you going apostate."

"Is this something we pretend to argue about and then
I do whatever I want, or do we pretend to argue and then do whatever you
want?"

"We pretend to argue and then I threaten to beat the
tar out of you."

"Fair enough." He nodded. "What am I
supposed to tell my unit commander? That I chased you down, found you, then
lost track of you?"

"Something like that," I said, then stepped
smartly in and put my fist under his chin. He dropped like a sack.

"You two are close," Cassandra said. "I hope
we're never that close."

"Not a chance. Look through his pockets for anything
useful," I said as I turned and ran down the hall.

"Where are you going?" she yelled after me.

"Gonna try to find the rest of my Cult." I turned
a corner and then, under my breath, "Some son of a bitch has to be left.
Can't all be gone, can they?"

Trick was, they were. Trick was, a lot of them were dead,
piled up in the leeside barracks like logs of wood. Someone had done for them
awful quick. A lot of puncture wounds, a lot of slit throats. Bloody streaks
where they'd been dragged in there, but no footprints of those who'd done the
dragging. As soon as I found the bodies, I ran back to where I'd left
Cassandra. She was still there, sitting on the ground next to the unconscious
Owen.

"I wasn't sure if you were coming back, or if I was
supposed to come find you."

"And what were you going to do if he woke up?" I
asked. She shrugged. "Well, better that I came back."

"You find your Culties?"

"Nah. Not all of them at least." The Elders
weren't there. Simeon was in a hospital somewhere, accused of apostasy. Maybe
Isabel and Tomas had been taken too. All those folks in the barracks, they had
been initiates, servants, couriers. Chefs. Just folks. Dead folks, now.
"We'd best be going."

"There some secret passage out of here?"
Cassandra asked, struggling to keep up. I adjusted my stride.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet. There's other
stuff we need."

"We have food, we have weapons. We have the whole city
of Ash on our tails. What else do we need?"

"You'll see. Gods-blessed thing it is. Damned, too.
Oh, you'll see."

We hurried past the final resting place of most of my
compatriots. Cassandra noticed the smears on the ground and gave me a look but
didn't say anything. I just kept going on ahead. There were signs of struggle
in a couple places. Small fights, quickly over. Blood on the tiles. I cursed myself
for having taken Cassandra directly to the mess without checking out the rest
of the monastery. All those dead, and no one to stand watch over their bodies
in the Rest. No one to say the final rites, to invoke them to their graves. No
one.

This would all have been alarming in less radical
circumstances. I could hear the voices of Owen's companions below. Kicking in
doors, securing rooms. Looking for me. Looking for us. I chanced a glance out
one of the converted gun turrets. Sirens all around, the streets packed with
whiteshirts. The military contingent hung back. Lot of people. Then again, how
many people do you bring to arrest the Cult of the Warrior? Why not double that
number, just to be safe?

Cassandra was starting to lag. She made a terrible mule.
Twothirds of the way to our destination, in twice the time it should have
taken, and I had had enough. I grabbed the pack of food and cut it off her
back, then tossed it down the hallway.

"But-"

"We'll find food. We'll be fine. Come on."

"I was going to suggest you carry it," she said.

"Right, great idea. Maybe next time we're on the
run."

We made the rest of the trip quick enough. I chanced a look
into my room on the way by. The Paladins' quarters were technically two floors
below, but they had been empty since I was a teenager. I moved up here to be
closer to the Elders and their attendants, but still far enough away for it to
be quiet.

My room had been ransacked. Nothing for me there, anyway.
We went on. The Elders' rooms were in especial disrepair. No sign of Isabel or
Tomas, but no blood, either. Any fight they had gotten into would have involved
plenty of blood. Then again, I didn't see them as the type to run away. These
were strange circumstances.

"You're spooking me," Cassandra said as I tiptoed
around Isabel's room. "Are we looking for something? Someone?"

"Nope. Looks like all the Morganites who're still
alive have made good their escape."

"All but us," she said, nervously.

"All but me." I clapped her shoulder on the way
out. "Let's not pretend you're warrior material."

I left the living quarters behind and made the final ascent
to the ballroom without looking back. Cassandra kept up, but it was straining
her. I wanted her a little wiped out for the bit that was to come. Wasn't sure
how she was going to react when I showed her the artifact. If she really was
some kind of Amonite spy, sent to gain my trust and then steal the machine, I'd
rather find that out while she was good and tired.

We paused long enough on the landing to secure the grand
entrance doors. The entryway was concealed from the main ballroom by a length
of curtain. I looked Cassandra over.

"Doing alright?" I asked.

"Well enough."

"Okay. Just follow close."

I drew my sword and swept the curtain aside. I wish I'd
done it sooner. I wish I had been alone.

Barnabas lay there, at the edge of the compass rose.
Crushed. The wide, delicate window was shattered, and glass surrounded him like
sharp confetti. I stumbled to a halt, the sword sliding loosely to the ground.
Without thinking, I was by his side, kneeling, the shards cutting my knees and
palms. I turned him on his back, but there was no point. He wasn't breathing,
wasn't even bleeding anymore. He just lay there in a pool of stiff blood, his
eyes pale and open, his hands clenched into dead man's fists. He had been
beaten, while he was still alive. His face showed it. Angry bands around his
wrists showed where he had been bound. His gums were bloody from a gag, and he
smelled of offal and piss and long confinement. They had beaten him, an old
man. They had beaten him, and they had killed him, and they had brought him
here.

I closed his eyes, then went back and got my sword.
Cassandra was standing by the entrance, her hands to her face. The bitch was
crying. For all that it was her godsdamn fault that they had taken him, and she
was crying. I knelt by the body of my friend, my only true father, and intoned
the words of the Watchman's Dirge. Or tried to, but I was crying.

"We don't have time for this," Cassandra
whispered.

"Shut up. I have to get the words right. I have to
stand the watch I promised."

"We don't have time. You can pay your respects later,
but we need to get-

"I said shut up! I swore to him." I stood,
pointing at the stiff old man at my feet. "I swore to the Fratriarch.
There's no one else to stand his watch, and I'll be dead and damned if I'm
going to let him just rot here. I don't care what they do. I don't care if they
arrest me, or shoot me where I stand. I'm going to stand the watch I
swore."

She stood there looking at me for a minute. I turned back
to Barnabas and knelt, my forehead on the cool hilt of my sword. The words were
hard to get right in my head, like everything was pouring out of my skull and
all I could do was grab pieces of it. The Dirge went something like ... like A
thousand walls, and I march my beat. A thousand walls to stand. A thousand
nights to chill my soul, a thousand dawns to hope. A thousand-