Herald of the Storm

NINE

Samina tapped her finger on the inside of her shield, drumming away as though she was trying to leave a dent. It made a tinny sound — the only sound on the tree-lined Avenue of Spears, the great thoroughfare that led to the gates of the Temple of Autumn.

‘Must you make that noise?’ Kaira asked, frowning from beneath her plumed helm.

‘I hate this,’ Samina said, carrying on with her incessant tune.

They both stood in full regalia, guarding the gate as though the Khurtic horde was about to charge down the street and assault it. Lining the road in the shadows cast by the rows of great elms were twenty Shieldmaidens, similarly garbed in their armour, with shields and spears presented in formal salute.

‘It is what it is,’ Kaira replied, squinting up the long straight road, hoping that the High Abbot and his entourage would get a move on so that there could be an end to this nonsense. ‘We’ve been over this already.’

In fact they had been over it several times, but Samina seemed determined to make her annoyance clear for all to see.

‘It’s still ridiculous — standing here like a palace guard waiting for the High Abbot when we should be-’

‘That’s enough! We are Shieldmaidens of Vorena. We will perform our duties. This is an honour granted us by the Matron Mother and we will carry it out until told to do otherwise.’

She could tell Samina wanted to complain further but was thinking better of it. Mercifully, they didn’t have to wait much longer before the procession came round the corner of the Avenue of Spears. The Shieldmaidens quickly stood to attention, readying themselves for the High Abbot’s arrival.

The column proceeded down the road towards them, the Sons of Malleus — the Sons of the Hammer — bedecked in black armour, warrior priests of Ironhold, each as dedicated to the service of their god Arlor and the defence of their temple as their female counterparts.

Halfway down the column, Kaira could see a carriage being pulled by several tired-looking horses. Clearly the High Abbot did not march alongside his men.

The head of the column reached the end of the avenue and the warriors spread out, allowing the carriage to get as close to the gate as possible. Arlor forbid the High Abbot should walk a step further than was necessary.

One of the Sons pulled open the door to the carriage, while another grabbed a small set of stairs, extending them to the ground. The High Abbot descended heavily, holding up the hem of his black and white robe so as not to trip himself.

Kaira stepped forward. ‘High Abbot,’ she began, regarding the man with as respectful a look as she could muster, ‘greetings from the Temple of Autumn. I am Kaira Stormfall, and this is Samina Coldeye, First Maidens of Vorena. We will be your guards of the body inside the temple grounds.’

A smile spread over the High Abbot’s shiny swollen cheeks. His eyes roamed over Kaira’s body, then back up to her face after lingering for a second over the ceremonial breastplate that accentuated her athletic figure.

‘Excellent,’ he said, his fat palm wiping sweat from his balding pate. ‘Do lead on, Sister Stormfall.’

Kaira gripped her spear tightly and signalled to the Shieldmaidens at the top of the staircase to open the gate. As she and Samina led the High Abbot up the stone stairs and over the threshold, the Sons of Malleus stood and waited. They were not permitted within the Temple of Autumn — the High Abbot was the only man allowed within those hallowed grounds — and they would lodge instead in the almshouse of the Daughters of Arlor, located just outside.

In the temple courtyard the priestesses stood waiting, heads bowed, faces hidden beneath white veils. At the centre of the square was the Matron Mother, with Daedla standing at her shoulder. To her left was the Exarch, the highest ranking of the Shieldmaidens. Though she carried no shield or spear she still struck a formidable figure, her tall powerful frame dwarfing that of the Matron Mother.

As they approached, the Matron Mother bowed. ‘Greetings, High Abbot. It is truly an honour to receive your gracious visit. I trust things are well at the Temple of Winter?’

‘All is well. But it has been a long journey. I trust I might be able to bathe and rest before the formalities begin.’

‘Of course, please come this way.’

With that, Daedla and the Matron Mother led the High Abbot towards the Temple. Kaira and Samina followed in their wake as the High Abbot was conveyed to his chambers.

Later, as the Shieldmaidens stood guarding his door, it was clear Samina was not coming to terms with their appointed task.

‘Is this how it’s going to be?’ she whispered, though she might as well have shouted such was the anger in her voice.

‘It is what it is,’ Kaira replied quietly. It was a phrase she had found herself repeating a lot over the past few days.

He was inside now, bathing his fat, sweaty body. Unusually, he had demanded there be one of the Daughters present to aid him in his ablutions. This did nothing to endear him to Samina, nor Kaira.

There was a sudden splash from within the room, and what could only be a man laughing. To Kaira’s ear it sounded debauched, as if he was deriving some illicit pleasure. What could he possibly be doing that would cause him such mirth?

‘What’s he up to in there?’ said Samina.

‘He’s bathing.’

‘He’s sloshing around like a cow stuck in a river.’

Kaira wanted to laugh at that one, but the solemnity their duty demanded was not lost on her. This was a great honour, and it was not her place to belittle it.

They could suddenly hear the High Abbot speaking from within the room. His voice was muffled, the words indistinct, but he was clearly amused by something.

‘Poor girl,’ said Samina. ‘Being bored to tears with tales of far-off Ironwall.’

The High Abbot laughed again. More muffled words. Then they could hear the priestess’s voice, high and timid.

‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Samina, as though she were whispering advice in the young girl’s ear. ‘It’s the worst thing you can do.’

‘Will you be quiet? We’re supposed to be vigilantly guarding our honoured guest, not censuring him behind his back.’

‘We need to do something to pass the time.’

‘We have our duties. That is all we should need.’

Samina for once didn’t come back at that.

They heard the High Abbot talking again, heard him sloshing. The priestess began to talk too, her voice rising in pitch, her words coming in faster more urgent sentences. There was an almighty splash of water and the girl let out a squeal.

Kaira and Samina glanced at one another just as the door to the chamber was wrenched open. The young priestess came running out, sobbing as she rushed past, her head bowed, face not visible.

‘I only asked for a towel,’ came an amused voice.

Kaira peered reluctantly into the room, her eyes widening as she saw the High Abbot standing there, naked, the dark hair that covered his body slick with wet, his flaccid penis dangling between fat thighs.

‘Is there any chance one of you could get me some wine?’

It took several moments before Kaira could compose herself enough to do as she was bidden. She went off like an obedient little serving wench and got the High Abbot his wine. There was no chance that Samina would have done it — more likely she’d have skewered him with her spear.

Once the High Abbot had dressed, the Matron Mother came to admonish him gently for his behaviour. Kaira had expected more, but then the High Abbot was the most powerful of Arlor’s representatives.

Later when he and the Matron Mother sat down to dine together in her chambers, Kaira and Samina gained some well-earned respite. At first they sat in silence, eating dried meat and bread. Kaira could only wait for the torrent to begin.

‘What in the hells is going on?’ Samina spat half-chewed bread onto her lap so violently that Kaira moved her own cup of water to a safe distance. ‘The High Abbot is supposed to be a pious man. He should be flogged out of the Temple, not be dining with the Matron Mother. How has such a man risen to head our religion?’ Kaira didn’t have an answer. ‘Why is he even here? Most likely come to avoid the war, when he should be on the front, giving holy succour to our troops. But no, he’s here, hiding behind our walls, eating our bread, abusing our-’

‘Hospitality?’

Samina raised an eyebrow. ‘Something like that. Well, not any more, I say. If he lays a finger on another of these girls I’ll cut it off and make him eat it.’

‘And what good would that do you? What good would it do us? We’re assigned to protect him.’

‘Protect him from what?’ She took a bite out of her hunk of bread, then began to speak with a full mouth. ‘The only thing he should be scared of around here is me.’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’

Samina grinned.

Later, as Kaira reflected on the day, she could only hope the next one would go much quicker. And smoother.

The High Abbot was tucked up in bed and she was back to guarding the door. Samina was getting some rest — it didn’t take two of them to keep watch over the High Abbot’s chamber in their own temple. And, though it pained her to admit it, Kaira much preferred carrying out this duty on her own. She loved Samina as much as any of her sisters, but that constant griping was starting to grate on her nerves.

With any luck, the High Abbot’s business in Steelhaven would be concluded quickly. Then they could pack him off with a wave and a smile and things would get back to normal.

Normal.

With the Khurtas at their border — no, over their border, treading their lands, burning their crops — it was doubtful anything would be normal for quite some time. And here she was: First Shieldmaiden of Vorena, standing watch over a fat, licentious old man. It pained Kaira. She should have been at the front, should have been standing shoulder to shoulder with her sisters, facing down Amon Tugha’s hordes.

But it was what it was.

Someone approached along the corridor and Kaira snapped to full attention, hands gripping shield and spear, muscles tensed and ready to adopt a defensive stance if she had to. When she saw the white-robed figure of a priestess walking towards her she relaxed somewhat.

The girl carried a bronze platter on which sat a crystal carafe of red wine and a bowl of grapes. She stopped before Kaira but didn’t glance up from beneath her white hood.

‘The High Abbot requested some wine, sister. I have brought it for him.’

No one had told Kaira about this. She regarded the girl for a moment, wondering whether she should taste the wine for poison, or at least check the story with one of the more senior priestesses, when the door opened a crack behind her.

‘My wine?’ keened the High Abbot. ‘Do bring it in, there’s a good girl.’

Kaira stepped aside, resisting the temptation to glance back at the man she was here to protect lest he be standing there in all his hirsute, tiny-cocked glory.

The Daughter of Arlor stepped into the room and the door slammed shut behind her.

Once again Kaira could hear the muffled voice of the High Abbot — amused clearly, but with no warmth in his simpering voice. And again, she heard the priestess answering in low tones … innocent … naive.

The High Abbot laughed and Kaira suddenly heard a squeal. He laughed again, then said something more loudly. This time his words had harsh tones, the aggressive tones of admonition … or punishment.

Then the girl screamed.

That was enough. Kaira had done her duty, stood guard at the behest of the Matron Mother and acted with honour. She could keep her peace no longer.

Kaira left her shield and spear against the wall lest she do something with them she might regret, then threw open the door and stepped inside, brow furrowed as though she were about to meet an enemy on the field rather than a bullying, perverted old fool.

The High Abbot looked around suddenly. In one hand he had the girl by her robe as though trying to pull it from her shoulder, in the other he grasped her upper arm, squeezing it tight. The girl’s face was visible now, her cowl thrown back. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen summers.

‘Enough!’ said Kaira, coming to stand beside the Abbot, staring at him, as though goading him into a fight. He merely smiled.

‘Come now,’ he said, releasing the girl, who quickly adjusted the robe at her shoulder and pulled her hood back over her face. ‘We were only having some fun.’

‘That’s not what it looks like to me.’ Kaira turned to the young priestess. ‘What’s your name, girl?’

‘Claudya,’ she said, her voice tiny, mouse-like.

‘I suggest you go back to your sisters.’

Claudya needed no further urging, walking from the room with quick, staccato steps.

The High Abbot was still smiling.

‘Come now, that was just a misunderstanding.’ He walked to a table where the carafe sat on its bronze tray, and poured two goblets of wine. ‘A silly girl, heady with the bloom of youth. Giving off those signals — you know the ones? But of course you do. I can see you are a woman of experience.’ He picked up the goblets, offering one to Kaira. When all he got in return was a contemptuous stare he put it back down with a shrug.

‘Look.’ He moved closer, too close, until he was standing right next to her, looking up towards her face as she towered over his diminutive frame. ‘There’s a hierarchy here. I happen to be at its peak … and I can help those that are, shall we say, beneath me.’ He reached out with a podgy hand and ran a finger down Kaira’s bare forearm. She felt her skin crawling as if with a line of maggots beneath his touch. ‘If we all just get along, there’s benefit in it for everyone.’ His finger moved up to her shoulder, then, to her horror, began to trace a line towards her breast. ‘There’s no reason we can’t be friends, is there? Because, trust me when I say: you wouldn’t want me as an enemy.’

Something snapped inside her, like a bowstring pulled taut until it could be pulled no more. Kaira took hold of the High Abbot’s finger before it could move any further. His mouth opened, eyes widening in shock as she bent it back. She knew she should have stopped there — she had done enough to teach him a lesson — but she didn’t. Later she would see it as a culmination of things that had brought her to this — the girls he had abused, Samina’s constant griping, her need to fight at the front, to feel worthy — all this had caused her to carry on, to move beyond the point of no return.

The High Abbot screamed as Kaira snapped his finger back, breaking the bone. Simultaneously, her free hand shot up as though with a will of its own, slamming into his nose, flattening it to his face in a spray of snot and blood.

He collapsed to the ground, knocking the bronze tray from the table and shattering the carafe on the floor in an explosion of red wine. Above the noise of smashing glass rose his high-pitched scream. He screamed as though his guts were hanging out, calling bloody murder, calling for help, for guards, for Arlor to protect him.

And Kaira merely looked down at him, that pitiful mess of a man. Though she knew that the consequences of her lack of control, her moment of madness, would be grave, she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.