Free Tivi's Dagger by Alex Douglas Page B

intention. I got up
and pulled on my clothes and blundered out into the yard in a state
of near-panic, my boots not yet fastened.
    The mist had lifted in the night. A stream
trickled somewhere nearby and the goats were sleeping in a clump.
The pines were lush and green and smelled of rain. I spotted my
brother dressed in simple leathers and sitting cross-legged on the
ground near the goats, his head in his hands. I had not seen him
dressed in such a fashion for many years. Without his Protector’s
armor he seemed diminished, younger-looking, almost a different
person.
    I walked toward him, heart thumping with
trepidation. “Good morning, brother.”
    He glared up at me through puffy, reddened
eyes and rubbed his face. His fingertips made a scratchy sound
against the curly beard that was growing thicker by the day. Since
we had left Lis, he had not bothered to shave. I was shocked by the
darkness which pooled in half-circles under his eyes.
    “ Did you have trouble
sleeping?”
    “ Not more than usual.”
    I sat beside him and held my breath, waiting
for the outburst, but none came.
    “ Why have you not donned your
armor?”
    He picked up a handful of stones and let
them fall through his fingers and clatter onto the ground. “I am
not a Protector anymore, Ned. It is time I stopped decorating
myself so. In any case, it’s tiresome to walk such distances in
plate.”
    There was a silence. Then I gained enough
courage to ask the question that had burned in my heart for some
months. “What exactly happened to you back in Azmara, Brin?”
    He sighed. “You know very well what they did
to me. The notice of my excommunication was posted on our very
gatepost for all to see. I suppose I should count myself fortunate
that Pol did not have me executed, as he did my partner. Let it
rest.”
    His command held no anger, just a weary
resignation. It was the first time Brin had mentioned the fate of
Salthras Kadilian, a jovial man with a well-kept moustache that
curled at the ends and who was a frequent guest at our dinner
table, often gorging himself to the point of sickness but
miraculously gaining no girth. My father had adored Sal and had
taken to his bed for days upon the announcement of his execution.
Brin had disliked Sal when they were initially assigned as
partners, but after years of serving together he had finally
managed to make my priestly brother smile.
    I wondered if Brin would ever smile again
after everything that had happened.
    As if to illustrate the futility of such
thoughts, he looked at me with a scowl. “Anyway, let us not make
idle chatter. I must prepare the donkey, and you should get dressed
properly. Put your tunic back on, at least. Those britches are
indecent and that shirt is too bright. This is a pilgrimage, not a
fashion parade.”
    My mouth dropped open and I stared at my
brother’s back as he made his way to the stable where the donkey
was tethered. After all these years Brin could still surprise me,
and not in a good way. My shirt was perhaps a shade too close to
yellow, but I couldn’t bear the dismal sight of pilgrim brown. I
noticed a red wine stain near the hem and fingered the fine
material, wistfully remembering the marvelous vintage it came from.
My britches had been tailor-made from the finest and softest tan
leather and were crafted — as was the latest fashion — to subtly
enhance one’s goods, not to display them in the crude manner of
merchandise. I comforted myself with the thought that the one
benefit of the ghastly pilgrim’s tunic was that the wearing of it
would at least keep my brother from further complaints. Glumly, I
wondered what other minor aspects of my character and appearance he
would disparage along the way, and looked forward once more to
being back in Azmara and free of his “instruction”.
    The monks were starting to wake and go about
their daily business. Two silver-clad figures passed me silently,
and their eyes shifted to me without much warmth. I gave a