To Kill A Warlock (The Holy Warriors Book 2) by Christopher Patterson

Author:Christopher Patterson [Patterson, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rabbit Hole Publishing
Published: 2023-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The journey north again seemed quicker than when heading south, and Thaddeus spent most of the time with the events of the last several days continuing to run through his head. He was over eight hundred years old and had seen more things—more tragedy, more mysteries, more supernatural oddities—than any other person alive, and yet the Lord continued to amaze Thaddeus. A Muslim mystic…of course, the man wasn’t truly a Muslim, at least, in the religious sense. But even so, Thaddeus had dared to refer to him as a heathen, yet the old man had more faith and hope than he.

Thank you, Lord, for humbling me.

It was dusk as he reached Angieus and the Abbey of Ronceray. The city still bustled with life, a stark contrast to the small villages and towns Thaddeus had stayed in on his way south. He didn’t know whether he welcomed the busyness, or whether he missed the solitude and quiet of the small, countryside villages. Perhaps, when he was in the city, he might miss the country and vice versa.

As Thaddeus approached the Abbey at Ronceray, he found it curious that Lady Constance would be waiting for him outside, several other nuns with her.

“Lady Constance,” Thaddeus said with a wide and jovial smile, “is my presence so welcomed it warrants a greeting committee.”

But the look on Constance’s face was not one of jollity. She frowned, her eyes worried. Sweat collected along her hairline despite the chill of the early evening.

“What is wrong, sister?” Thaddeus asked.

Lady Constance slowly walked towards Thaddeus and Polemistes. As she reached them, she put a gentle hand on Polemistes nose, rubbing the horse. The horse snorted, relishing in the touch. Constance looked up at Thaddeus.

“What is wrong?” Thaddeus asked, repeating his question as he dismounted.

Constance deeply sighed.

“They are gone.”

“Who?” Thaddeus asked.

“Your companions,” Constance explained. “Asaf, Gunnar, and Alden the Saxon. They are gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“They left…two days ago.”

“Left… When did they say they will return?”

“They are not coming back, Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus’ eyes widened, and then they narrowed as he felt a tinge of anger touch his heart.

“They left to travel east,” Constance explained. “Towards Burgundy.”

They…they couldn’t,” Thaddeus muttered, more to himself than Constance.

“I am sorry, Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus glared at her, his anger now all-consuming. He felt his hands shake and his heart quicken. He could sense his rapid breathing.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” Thaddeus asked, almost a hissing accusation.

Constance stepped back, her eyes wide but her hands firmly placed on her hips.

“And what would you have me do?” Constance asked, retorting and giving Thaddeus no ground. “Three men, three warriors wish to leave our abbey and you would have me try and stop them? And given who they are—at least, Asaf and Gunnar—it would take a small military unit to stop them. They are free men, able to do what they want.”

Thaddeus sighed, evening his breathing and doing his best to calm himself. He closed his eyes, steadying his nerves. He opened them and glared at Constance.

“Whose idea was it to leave?”

“The priest’s, I believe,” Constance replied.

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