Brotherhood of Wolves by Daniel Colter

Author:Daniel Colter [Colter, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-06-08T16:00:00+00:00

Staring fools were all around. Christians always gawk at him — as if they saw a skin-marked monster capable of growing wings and flying the night sky hunting for children to eat.

Abram sat at the corner of a tavern sipping tea and eating cheese and figs. A small window let in light. Street vendors hawked and argued outside.

The shadow of a dark, scarred Freelance filled the door. The man’s hard gaze took in the hawk-nosed seamen, burned nut-brown by the sun; the raggedy travellers at their drink, squabbling over the mundane. Natives scowled, though none dared scowl too long.

Boots thumped on the ragged wood floor.

“Peace be unto you.” Abram swept a hand at empty chairs and the Freelance, Finn, slid in. Rollo laid a big hand on the window frame, leaned there, gazed outside.

Abram regarded the Norman. “Your fight with the man-bull was brutal. Like savage dogs. You are fearless, and quick for a large man.”

“A slow man is a dead man.” Rollo rubbed a finger down his battered nose. “Malin. Fighting big men is a chore. They are confident. Strong. This one was berserk. A fight to remember, certes.”

Abram began cutting figs. He paused, pointed at Rollo with the knife and spoke to Finn. “You are always with this mad dog. Do Templars never go alone?”

“Never. The Rule requires a brother walk with a companion.”

“Because?”

“Because the Devil tempts.”

“With women?”

“With many things.”

“It is true then. I’d heard Templars don’t hump women, yet asked myself what sensible man does not hump women given the chance?”

“Brothers sometimes carouse.”

Common men often said they were Going to the Temple, or to Meet with the Master, when they visited whores. These sayings were not empty scorn.

“Not humping is strange.” Abram’s twitched a brow. “Unless you two…”

Rollo cursed, glanced away. “You make me uncomfortable.”

“Never say that again.” Finn glared.

“I do not judge.” Abram raised his hands in a peace gesture.

“Chastity is a vow.” Finn waved a tired hand to say he had no desire to further explain.

Non-Templars never fathomed celibacy, reckoned it comical. He preferred not to think on it, for pondering it only brought women to mind — most often one in Alba. His youth had been filled with her. Her musk, her smile, her saunter, they haunted his dreams. When awake, her face was buried, and he was loath even to murmur her name. She was married now, certes, and he gave a silent prayer for her happiness and health.

He shifted the subject. One of the exotic blades Abram carried sat on the table and Finn pointed at it. “May I?”

Abram tipped his head and Finn picked it up, slid it from the scabbard. She was like the offspring of a mating between dagger and short sword. A wide, straight blade tapered to a needle-sharp point. An offset fuller was grooved into each side.

Abram spoke while cutting figs. “Qama. Men from the other side of the Caucasus Mountains say kindjal. Men in my tribe wear a qama always.”

“You are man enough to carry two. But I’ve been told Mamluks carry a khanjar at all times, war or peace.

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