Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“It is of grave importance,” Abbott John said solemnly. “Your message that Brother Luke requested that he be returned to the monastery arrived a day before I received orders from my superior that Brother Luke was to return to the monastery posthaste.”
“Why?” Varrick asked.
Abbott John appeared perplexed. “I do not question my superior. I obey him.”
“It must have been arduous a journey for you and your monks in the snow and cold. Have them sit and enjoy food and drink while we talk.”
The monks looked pleased, their heads turning and their eyes feasting on the food and drink piled high on the table that Varrick’s warriors were enjoying.
“They eat sparingly. Gluttony is not something we partake in,” the Abbott said, and smiles vanished from the monks’ faces.
Varrick rose, a formidable sight when at his full height, as he commanded, “Then let them eat sparingly but they will sit as we talk.”
The Abbott went to argue.
“SIT!” Varrick yelled and the monks rushed to the tables, joining Varrick’s warriors.
Abbott John was not at all pleased.
“Join me and my wife, Abbott John,” Varrick said, pointing to the chair beside him.
“Not until I have a word with Brother Luke,” Abbott John said, crossing his arms and his hands disappearing into the folds of his robe’s sleeves as he laid them against his chest.
Fia remained silent, watching the Abbott and noticed his hands were not swollen and thought for all his accusations of her using witchcraft to heal his hands that he continued to use the mixture. Why? When he claimed to be such a holy man. What really went on at the monastery?
“I think it would be best to finish this conversation in my solar,” Varrick said and turned to his wife to offer her his hand.
“I will not speak to you in front of the witch,” Abbott John protested.
Varrick turned, leaving his wife to remain seated. “Then you will not speak to me at all.”
“You have fallen under her spell,” the Abbott proclaimed loud enough for all to hear. “You are doomed and so is your clan. Evil will lay its claim on you now.”
“It already has, Brother Luke is dead!” one of Varrick’s warriors called out.
Varrick’s glance darted to the warrior to see Corwin coming up alongside him, glaring at him and causing the young warrior to wisely bow his head in silence.
“Your own warriors do not trust you,” Abbott John accused. “You must burn the witch and repent if you want to save your clan from evil.”
Varrick saw that his seasoned warriors’ hands were rested on the hilt of their swords while the few younger warriors, who had barely seen battle, were gripped with fear. It took time and many battles for a courageous warrior to be born, one who would fight by his side without question, having witnessed and shared in the power of his fearless valor. When this was done, there would be those who would no longer have the distinction of being known as one of the legendary Highlander’s renowned warriors.
“You have just learned that one of your monks, one you banished from your monastery, is dead and yet you ask nothing about him. Does his soul not worry you?”
“No doubt his soul is lost, having been touched by evil. All I can do now is pray for him and for you as well that you do right by your clan and not leave it vulnerable to evil,” Abbott John said. “Set the witch to flames before it is too late.”
“Burn the witch!” one of the monks called out.
Another monk joined in. “Aye, burn the witch!”
It soon became a chorus and when Varrick saw that a couple of his warriors had joined in, he let loose with a furious roar.
“SILENCE!”
Not a sound was heard until… the hounds began to howl and did not stop.
The monks clasped their hands together and bowed their heads in prayer while the warriors turned their eyes on Varrick, some waiting for orders and others unsure.
The howls lasted longer than they ever did and when they finally stopped, Abbott John hurried to speak. “I beg you, my lord, burn the witch before it is too late for your clan. She is not here to help you. She is here to help the God of Death.”
“Dare to speak those words again, Abbott John, and it will be you who burns at the stake,” Varrick threatened, fighting not to bolt over the table and strangle the man.
The door burst open, and a warrior ran in and to the dais, trying to speak but too breathless to do so.
Argus approached the warrior. “Calm yourself, Worth, so you may speak.”
Varrick recognized the young warrior. He was a sentinel at one of the farthest outposts.
Worth shook his head, letting Argus know there was no time to wait and spoke through heaving breaths. “A large troop rides this way.”