Read Online Guardian Last (Lords of Syon Saga Book 2) by Jordan MacLean - Free Book Online Page A

other cardinals and priests who had fallen
had likewise started as loyal followers of their gods and knew their orders’
ways.  Was it any wonder, then, that they were able to fool her and everyone
else?  No, she would need to set her assumptions and, more importantly, her
hopes aside to concentrate her energies on examining the priests themselves and
the abbot.
    She could second guess herself again and again, but lacking
any other information, she had approached the abbey with the loosely held
assumption that the Bilkarians had not yet succumbed, an assumption so welcome,
so seductive, that she continued to be wary.  Her uncle, Brada, had told her
many times that the lies we want to believe are ever the most difficult to
perceive.  She needed her perception to be clear.
    The austerity of the abbey was just as Gikka had described
it to her during the war. The large and unremarkable square keep was all that
remained of an ancient Bremondine castle that had fallen sometime during the
first war between the Bremondines and the Hadrians when Cardon of Brannagh’s
ruthlessness put an end to both sides’ ability to fight, and brought the war to
an end, at least for a while.  The gutted castle and its grounds were given to
the Bilkarians as their sanctuary, and since that day, no sheriff nor knight of
Brannagh had set foot there, not even during the Five Hundred Years War. 
Still, these monks owed their continued existence to the House of Brannagh
following the Bremo-Hadrian Wars, and she hoped they would remember.  She hoped
it would be enough.
    The ruins of the outer castle walls had long since crumbled
and vanished into the forest growth, but the keep itself was so well
maintained, it looked as if it might have been built within the last year. 
Inside, the mortar between the stone blocks was almost invisible and perfectly
smoothed beneath the plaster.  The floors were spotless, dry of even the sloppy
wet boot prints she and her father had just tracked in.  The novices had dried
them before padding off down the corridor to fetch the abbot.  She’d seen no
evil about them as they worked, and novices could not deceive as easily as
bishops or cardinals.  She took this as another good sign and bucked up her
courage.
    Daerwin of Brannagh leaned heavily on his daughter, cradling
his burned arm.  The last of the salve Chul had given him had done what little
it could against the ongoing burn and worn off long since.  In spite of the
cold, Daerwin’s brow was speckled with sweat, not from fever but from pain
which had all but stolen his wits from him.  “Renda,” he gasped, “Are you sure
this is wise?  Bilkarians…and I am so…weak…”
    She looked around them at the empty corridor, fear creeping
in at the edges of her thoughts again.  No one stood between them and the
doors.  She was sure she could lift the bar in a trice, and they could be
away.  Maybe taking the time to seek out the abbey had been a mistake.  They
could be at Windale just after nightfall if they pressed on.  Then again, with
no word from Kerrick since he’d returned to his father’s lands and no idea what
that might portend, it were better to find some help for her father first. 
Without him…  They had already lost so much.  She simply would not consider the
possibility of having to carry on this fight without him.
    A slender shadow appeared at the far end of the corridor and
paused for a moment, evaluating, scrutinizing.
    “Hush, Father,” she whispered, shivering slightly even
beneath her heavy cloak, brushing a hand lightly over the familiar hilt of her
sword.  “All will be well.”
    Presently, the shadow resumed its course and approached them
without any wasted motion.  As his face came into the light, Renda recognized
the hardened Bremondine abbot who yearly brought his barefoot monks down
through the snows to Belen to celebrate the Feast of Bilkar.  They would have
had their celebration tomorrow.  But there could be no