Free The Betrayal by Kathleen O’Neal Gear Page B

sniffing Brother Jonas’ cup of water. She carefully placed it back on the table. Wearing a black cape with the hood pulled up, she would have blended with the darkness were it not for the wisps of red hair that glinted in the faint light. “I knew something was wrong. It was too quiet. I came to look.”

    â€œWell, run! We’re in danger!” Zarathan urged.
    The hem of her cape brushed the floor as Kalay came around the table to stare at them. “What’s happening?”
    â€œThere are men, killers, coming into the monastery!”
    â€œTo make sure the job was properly done?”
    He nodded, trying to say as few words to her as possible.
    She swept around the table and peered out the ajar kitchen door. “Is Brother Cyrus going to try to protect you?”
    Zarathan gestured with the heavy bag in his hands. In an insistent whisper, he said, “I don’t know what he’s doing. Now please run away!”
    Barnabas put cool fingers on Zarathan’s shoulder. The mop of gray hair that surrounded his cadaverous face made it look even more skeletal. His cheekbones protruded as though ready to burst through the thin veneer of skin. “God has cast her lot with ours, Zarathan. She must remain until our fates have been decided. One way or the other.”
    The iron hinges on the oratory door groaned as someone pushed the door back, opening it wider. Kalay’s mouth tightened.
    Zarathan felt as though his chest was about to burst. He flattened himself against the wall, and fought to see, but Kalay’s head blocked his view. She was too tall for a decent woman!
    â€œWhat’s happening?” He breathed the words. “Can you see—”
    He heard a gasp and a groan, a body toppling to the stone floor, then the sounds of two men struggling.
    Like lightning, Kalay shot through the open door and dashed across the oratory with her cape flying.
    Zarathan remained frozen, watching with his mouth open. Cyrus had grabbed the killer around the throat. They were both rolling across the floor. Though Cyrus’ muscular arm was clamped over the man’s throat to mute his cries, ragged squeals still escaped; the man kept ripping at Cyrus’ robe, trying to pull Cyrus off him.
    â€œBrother!” Kalay called as she ran headlong for Cyrus. “Move your arm!”
    He looked up in time to see her pull one of the kitchen knives from her belt. Cyrus jerked his arm aside, and Kalay lashed out with the blade, neatly slitting the man’s throat. A brief shriek erupted, followed by an awful gurgling sound.

    Cyrus let the man drop to the floor, took the knife from Kalay’s hand, and plunged it into the killer’s chest.
    â€œBrothers, hurry!” Cyrus called.
    Zarathan sprinted for Cyrus and heard Barnabas padding behind him. Kalay said to Cyrus, “Have you a plan for escaping?”
    â€œNo, but I thought—”
    â€œQuiet your tongue and follow me. I have a boat stashed on the river below my washing hut.”
    Kalay slipped out the door and ran headlong across the garden. Her black hood fell back and her hair streamed around her like flames straight out of Hades.
    Cyrus followed her, though Zarathan had no idea why. With no other viable choice, he ran after Cyrus, and Barnabas followed. They passed through the garden gate, four dark figures taking the path that led past the washhouse. Within moments, Zarathan was panting, his feet hammering the hard-packed trail. The heavy bag of books was like a block of stone in his arms. His first thought was to drop the load, but Brother Barnabas was clinging to his as through his life depended upon it. To save face, he had to keep hold of his own bag.
    Zarathan kept shooting frightened glances over his shoulder, sure that they were being pursued. His imagination filled the dark with sinister figures, each about to sink a dagger into Zarathan’s back.
    When they lunged down the bank toward the dark,