Kingdom of the Snark: The Quest for the Sword

KINGDOM OF THE SNARK: THE QUEST FOR THE SWORD

BEING THE FIRST PART OF THE RIGHTEOUS TRILOGY

BY

MELANIE HATFIELD

Kingdom of the Snark: The Quest for the Sword

Being the First Part of the Righteous Trilogy

By Melanie Hatfield.

Copyright 2012 by Melanie Hatfield

Smashwords Edition

Cover art by Michelle Zastrow

Digital edition produced by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

Here is the blah, blah, blah legal stuff nobody ever reads:

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, taping, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner except in the context of reviews, quotes, or references. To obtain permission, contact the writer through her website at www.melaniehatfield.com.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Anything in this novel that is anyway similar to your own life and/or work is coincidental (and a bit sad).

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Table of Contents

A Brief Introduction from the Not So Humble Narrator

One of Those Pesky Prologues

Chapter One: The Raising of Renee

Chapter Two: Hell Hath No Fury like a Nun at War

Chapter Three: A Sudden Departure

Chapter Four: A Proper Introduction to Mudville

Chapter Five: The Search for the Sword of Power

Chapter Six: Within Her Grasp

Chapter Seven: An Option Emerges

Chapter Eight: Contractual Obligations

Chapter Nine: An Unfortunate Pit Stop

Chapter Ten: The Dark Wood

Chapter Eleven: A Long Night’s Journey into Day

Chapter Twelve: The Lost Tavern

Chapter Thirteen: The Sudden Appearance of the Lord Asher Dark

Chapter Fourteen: A Trick of the Unicorn

Chapter Fifteen: Renee’s Journey to the Dark Castle

Chapter Sixteen: So What Happened to Guy, You Ask?

Chapter Seventeen: A Not So Great Escape

Chapter Eighteen: Not Out of the Woods Yet

Chapter Nineteen: For Certes, Everybody Is Thusly Screwed!

Chapter Twenty: The Climax

A Brief End Note from the Not So Humble Narrator

A Brief Introduction from

the Not So Humble Narrator

Before proceeding, dear readers, it is important to note that this story contains a prologue that begins with once upon a time. This is a cliché so detestable there is no doubt it will induce vomiting amongst the literary savvy. Do not, dear readers, reach for that puke bucket just yet. There are simply some stories in the history of this world in which the phrase once upon a time is the only appropriate opening line. It is also important to note that this tale was written in the traditional style of a trilogy. For those of you impatient readers who did not bother to glance at the title page, this section of the tale is merely the first of three parts of The Righteous Trilogy. This title is in reference to Renee the Righteous, a Quester brave and true, who is the heart of this tale. There is also a secondary figure named Guy Smokes, an Assistant Barkeep who plays a major role in this story. Not so much of a role as to have the trilogy named after him, but enough to warrant a mention in this introduction. The Lord Asher Dark would not be pleased to be slighted in this introduction, but he is in no position to argue, as you shall discover, dear readers, by the end of this book.

One of Those Pesky Prologues

Once upon a time (please keep your groans to yourselves, dear readers) in the southern tip of the land of Andra, laid the kingdom of Quaal. This particular kingdom had been without a ruler for three thousand years. Not that there was anything wrong with the kingdom itself, dear readers. For certes, it had its fair share of monsters, gypsies, and evil lords, but it was overall a nice kingdom one could acquire. It was known as the Kingdom of the Woods, for there were more trees than creatures living there. There was the Wood of Historical Plaques, thusly named since there were many markings of historical events embedded throughout that particular area. There was the Fairy Wood, where most of the world’s magic is located, and is the home of wizards, fairies, and anything else deemed too perplexing for regular folk to comprehend. There was also the Dark Wood, named after its first inhabitant, the Lord Usher Dark, who established his own territory within the wood and would allow any creature permission of passage as long as they paid a toll (mostly gypsies, thieves, and anyone else with a terrible credit history, for they always paid in cash and never complained about the roads’ conditions).

The kingdom of Quaal was nestled neatly in between the kingdoms of Turrack to the west (the Kingdom of the Flowers, as it was known for, well, flowers), Nasis to the east (the Kingdom of the Sea with its beaches both beautiful and perilous), and Feena to the north (the Kingdom of the Animals, for it was written that all living creatures originated from this area). There used to be a foul and wholly evil Kingdom of the Underground (self-explanatory) directly underneath Quaal, but much of that is told elsewhere.

The last reigning monarch of Quaal, King Jesterous, died before taking a queen or producing any heirs, legitimate or not. Indeed, no woman would have him, as they were all fearful of his temper, and any woman who found herself as an unfortunate arranged bride would end her life rather than wed him. Since he had killed all of his siblings, cousins and bastard relatives to become king, no one of his bloodline remained to ascend to the throne. Upon his death, the entire kingdom erupted into a decade-long blood bath as men and women alike fought each other to take the throne for themselves. King Jesterous’ head monk, Brother Lynard the Lazy (as he was called, for he would not pick out any morsel of food that fell into his beard unless he was hungry), remembered that, during his youth, King Jesterous built a secret underground labyrinth and hid his toys from his brother (whom King Jesterous beheaded for having the audacity of thanking the servants when they poured his tea). The idea crept into Brother Lynard’s mind that he should hide King Jesterous’ sword, Hasgarath, the Sword of Power, in this labyrinth. Brother Lynard the Lazy then decreed that whoever should conquer the labyrinth and find Hasgarath shall claim rule over the kingdom of Quaal. This ended the civil war in Quaal as everyone stopped fighting each other and poured their efforts into finding the labyrinth and the sword.

While the kingdom waited for a champion, Brother Lynard also decreed that his monastery would rule the kingdom as a steward, and thus the Council of Quaal was formed. The women folk of Quaal were unhappy with the thought of men controlling every aspect of Quaal Law, for men were often prone to follow their emotions and would become weak in mind if they saw a pretty face. Even an ugly face would create a conflict, for if a pretty face and an ugly face were to approach the Council with the same problem, the women folk knew the men would always rule in favor of the fairest, whether she was right or wrong. To ease the nagging voices that cackled in their ears, the men who made up the Council of Quaal built a nunnery next to Brother Lynard’s monastery, and it was decreed that all laws and rulings must be passed by both houses before going into effect. Everyone in Quaal accepted this (mainly because so few people had survived the civil war to contest it, and even fewer had ever returned from King Jesterous’ labyrinth, so it is not as though there were many people around to dispute such a set up), and the monks and nuns ran the kingdom peacefully. As the years went on, the monks would exclude the nuns from meetings, and eventually excluded them from the Council despite the law and the nuns’ protests. Thusly, the nuns’ bitterness grew like mold upon bread and, by the time the current events of this tale took place, no amount of bleach could cleanse the darkness upon the nuns’ hearts.

The Council thought everything of this world was the will of the Holy Light, which was a deity of no particular gender often referenced with the complex pronoun of he/she/it/whatever, which all monks and nuns worshiped as the one true God. This is completely inane since everyone knows that God is a giant lizard who wears a neon pink fedora and will one day swoop down from the moon and stomp our brains out when we no longer amuse him/her/it/whatever. Despite this, both the monks and nuns followed the laws written in the Holy Book of Crappola. All hymns, holidays, and prayers in this book were obeyed without question, for questions angered the Holy Light and you did not want to piss of that guy/gal/thing/whatever. Brother Malicide, a monk of great importance in this tale, spoke every prayer precisely and with great accuracy, even the complex Prayer of the New Moon which required a great deal of bouncing on one leg while drinking from the Cup of Spillage.

One might wonder how the monastery and nunnery could flourish if neither monk nor nun were allowed to reproduce. The only way a woman could become a nun was if she pledged herself while a virgin or if she pledged herself while pregnant but before she gave birth. If the latter occurred, the gender of the child determined its placing. If the child was a girl, she was raised in the nunnery. If the child was a boy, he stayed with the nuns until the nursing cycle was completed and then he was given to the head monk, who would then assign a lesser monk to raise the boy in the teachings of the monastery (who would then be referred to as a monk daddy). Those raised in the nunnery or monastery were permitted to leave their repressive abode when they came of age only if they had a skill, trade, or a fiancée to take them away from it all. Those who had nothing of use to offer the world would remain. (This is how the term useless monk/nun was first created. The people of Quaal now consider the phrase too rude for use in polite conversation, but it is still used as a method of delivering bad news to failing students in any institution of higher learning.) The virgin nuns thought it was unfair that the impregnated slutty nuns got to have fun before closing up their legs forever, while the virgin nuns were never allowed the chance to experience the joys of copulation. However, they quickly learned through chores and prayers that nothing in life was ever fair.

No one understood the unfairness of life more than Brother Malicide the monk. Brother Malicide was birthed by a slutty nun and raised in Brother Lynard’s monastery nearly three thousand years after the last king died. Brother Malicide never earned a moniker as a youth, for he was never interesting enough to earn one from the other monks. He was always a quiet boy who minded his manners, washed up before every meal, and spoke kindly to everyone. One would think, dear readers, that he would have had many friends at the monastery, but it was not so, as those who were of mediocre attitude failed to impress others. Most of the other boys failed to notice Brother Malicide’s existence and would quite often run into him, over him, and sometimes under him if they were aware of Brother Malicide’s presence but did not possess the kindness to acknowledge his awkward greetings.

The only thing Brother Malicide desired was to become a monk daddy, but Brother Rayel, the head monk at the time, loathed Brother Malicide more than any of the other monks. Brother Rayel favored Brother Hermain the Humorous, well known throughout the monastery for his great pranks (many of which were targeted at Brother Malicide). While Brother Malicide, with his soft brown eyes and slick licorice hair, was as exciting as an accountant balancing books, Brother Hermain was bright, cunning, and his blond hair and blue eyes made him the favorite of all monks, for everyone flocks to the one born fortunate enough to inherit the most desirable of all stereotypical beauty traits. Thusly, whenever Brother Malicide begged to be the monk daddy of a newly dropped-off boy, Brother Rayel would instantly bestow the babe upon Brother Hermain. As Brother Hermain never ceased to amuse the young boys with his enduring in the name of the Holy Light, thou must pull my finger jest, this suited the boys just dandy.

Then, one spring afternoon, Brother Malicide suffered Brother Hermain’s cruelest jest yet. In Brother Hermain’s defense, he did not mean for any harm to befall unto Brother Malicide, but Brother Hermain was not aware of the potency the Hallelujah Dust contained. The dust was usually sprinkled upon ornery young monks who refused to recite such prayers in which hallelujah must be spoken. Brother Hermain thought Brother Malicide would sneeze with such a force that his eyes would tear up, and Brother Hermain would declare that Brother Malicide was like the babe he so desperately wanted to raise. Instead, the Hallelujah Dust burned Brother Malicide’s eyes, and in his blinded pain he ran out of the monastery gates. When at last his tears washed the last of the dust from his eyes, he found himself hopelessly lost in the woods that surrounded the monastery.

Brother Malicide’s eyes could not pierce through the darkness, for the same reason a feather cannot pierce a shield. Brother Malicide cursed Brother Hermain’s name as he tripped over a rock that he could not see through the pitch black woods. Hands forward, Brother Malicide waved them about as an intoxicated cart driver may weave from lane to lane upon a road, in his desperate search for a way out. His dirt brown cloak was tattered from being caught on low branches and shrubs. He could not perceive the direction in which he traveled, and his prayers to the Holy Light brought no aid and were quite useless, as prayers tend to be. Brother Malicide cursed to himself as a monk should never curse, but since he was alone and the Holy Light had not heeded his prayers, Brother Malicide was certain that no one was listening to him and he could speak whatever ill words he felt like saying. Given his current circumstance, Brother Malicide firmly believed he had the right to do so.

Now Brother Hermain has really done it! Brother Malicide thought as he groped about in the darkness. Blinding me with Hallelujah Dust, and for what? Just to get a laugh? If he would just get off my backside, none of this would have….

Brother Malicide was unable to finish his thought, as he found himself without the familiar comfort of gravity. Indeed, he had tripped over an unseen object and flown only a foot or so, but in the complete darkness, he had no perception of depth or objects in front of him, so he was amazed when he suddenly found himself upon the ground. Brother Malicide was even more amazed when he discovered the object he tripped over was crying louder than he was. A bag it was, but not so, for it squirmed with the fire of an enraged trapped animal.

I beg your pardon, Master Bag, I meant no offense. Brother Malicide apologized before he realized how his madness had overcome his senses. The bag did not accept his apology and screeched with the pitch of a thousand nails scratching a thousand chalk boards.

Brother Malicide, being the obedient monk he was, brought the crying bag to Brother Rayel for his aid and wisdom. It was not easy to approach Brother Rayel, as he towered above all other monks and hunched over them in an intimidating pose of entrapment. Brother Rayel’s face was long and lean like that of a vulture, and no one could perceive if he had any emotions or thoughts beyond his vicious gleam. He was the type of man who would grumble damn gravity whenever he would happened to drop his quail pen, and then mutter damn goodie-goodie if any monk picked up the quail pen for him. If there was any kindness in Brother Rayel’s soul, he did not share it openly, for he was no one’s friend.

Brother Rayel banged his gavel at the head of the Grand Table of Superiority when he called the Council to order. It was a long table made of a sturdy red oak, and it is written that it was carved from the trunk of Yurrgyrum, the father of all red oaks, when it fell after being struck by thousands of lightning bolts during a single storm. It took up most of the vertical space in the grand Council Hall, and its dominating size embodied the authority of all decisions made in that room. The table’s legs were carved into the shape of Griffiths, with uncomfortable expressions on their faces, as their claws held up their own end of the table. The Griffiths were the symbol of King Jesterous’ house, and every piece of furniture created for the king had these creatures embedded in their design.

So I showed the healer my foot, told him there was a fungus among us, and he removed all of the infected toes. I can never wear sandals again. Brother Porkers the Portly Monk blushed as he realized his words thundered over the silence of the Council. His embarrassment further protruded across his cheeks as every head at the Grand Table turned in unison toward his direction. Brother Galad the Glad made a rare sour face at Brother Porkers, mostly because he expressively told Brother Porkers he did not want to hear that disgusting story in the first place, but also to fit in with the rest of the Council’s thoughts. Brother Porkers slunk in his seat and wished for invisibility when he slid from his chair and hid underneath the table.

I did not call the Council together to make idle chit chat. Brother Rayel, Head Monk, sneered as he turned his attention to the other monks who sat at a lesser table across from the Grand Table of Superiority. "Come forth, Brother Malicide, and bring it with you."

The lesser table was made from a light brown oak, its legs carved in the image of the tree that was felled to create it. It was called the Table of Judgment (but dubbed the Table of Menials by Brother Rayel for his own amusement), for all those who wanted to bring any issue before the Council sat at that table to be judged by the monks. At that table Brother Malicide cradled a basket in his arms as though it were filled with glass. He placed the basket gently down at the Grand Table before Brother Rayel, and at once all those monks of higher power who sat at that table stood and took a peek.

The infant inside paid no attention to their prying eyes. It was as sound asleep as a rock that lies in a river with no chance of being picked up and skipped across the water. The babe was caked with the blood of its birth and Brother Malicide wanted to bath it, but the infant was wrapped tightly in rags from shoulder to feet, and Brother Rayel would not permit Brother Malicide to remove them for modesty’s sake. Brother Rayel did allow Brother Malicide to loosen its binds so the infant no longer screamed with agony. Murmurs arose from the Council, and Brother Rayel raised his gavel to bring order. However, this time around, Brother Malicide, in an uncharacteristic use of his spine, grabbed Brother Rayel’s hand before the gavel could create any noise.

Do not disturb this babe’s slumber! Brother Malicide regretted saying it, for Brother Rayel’s nostrils flared so wide Brother Malicide could have sworn he saw through the darkness of his nasal passage and witnessed Brother Rayel’s brain create a punishment for his boldness.

I do not comprehend what everyone is getting so worked up about. Brother Lester the Old, called so for being the oldest monk at the monastery, spoke his thoughts without apprehension, as most elderly people did, for he cared not for Brother Rayel’s politics of favoritism and controlling the other monks through fear. Brother Rayel did not care much for Brother Lester either, as he would not bow under his methods of intimidation as the other monks would. Brother Lester’s grey cloak was soiled with dark brown spots, which Brother Rayel knew was the source of Brother Lester’s stench. It was because of this stench that Brother Rayel always kept Brother Lester on the far end of the table next to Brother Porkers in order for Brother Lester’s voice to not be heard when discussing important matters. However, as Brother Rayel had frightened the Council into utter silence, Brother Lester’s voice rang clearly through the Council Hall. Brother Malicide found the babe in the woods, did he not?

What is your point, Brother Lester? Brother Rayel bellowed and the infant stirred.

My point… Brother Lester stopped as a glaze came over his hazel eyes. Being a hundred and fifty-three years old, Brother Lester was prone to moments of elderly blackouts, but they only lasted a moment, and Brother Lester did not miss a beat when his mind returned to the world. My point, Brother Rayel, is that there are procedures for dealing with such discoveries. The laws of the monastery, as established by Brother Lynard the Lazy, state that any abandoned boy is to be adopted by the monastery, and any such females shall be shipped off to the nunnery. The only question to ask…indeed, the first question you should ask, Brother Rayel, Head Monk, is what gender is this child?

Brother Rayel turned away from Brother Lester, not wanting him to witness his face flush red with embarrassment. Brother Rayel hated nothing more than when someone else used the monastery rules to make him the fool. I am well aware of the rules of the Council when it comes to abandoned infants, Brother Lester. Brother Rayel bellowed when his embarrassment had passed and he could puff himself out like an arrogant prince protecting his pride.

Well… Brother Lester’s forefinger was now fully stuck in his beard, and he was having difficulty pulling it out. Have you even looked at the infant?

I have glanced at it. Brother Rayel huffed with indignation. However, as I am sure your senile mind has forgotten, I am forbidden to look fully upon a naked child until the gender has been determined, for if my eyes were to look upon a potentially naked female, I shall lose all rights to my title.

The Council erupted with murmurs of delight. Oh, how wonderful it would be if Brother Rayel were cast from the Council, they whispered. We could fish in the Pond of Pity again—Not if he washed his feet in there, as rumor has told, other monks whispered back.

All whispered comments ceased when Brother Rayel pointed his gavel at the monks as a gesture of Shut your yaps.

That is why, Brother Rayel proclaimed with great authority, I have summoned Sister Ferriera, Mother Superior, to this Council.

Brother Rayel had meant for that moment to be Sister Ferriera’s cue to enter the Council Hall. However, no footsteps came from the Council Hall’s entrance. Some monks murmured amongst themselves, but Brother Rayel used his icy glare and scared them into silence. It was clear that whatever time they would end up spending in wait for Sister Ferriera’s arrival must be spent in silence. Almost two hours of excruciating quietness passed before Sister Ferriera barged through the entrance doors, as though her tardiness was intentional.

No one could quite tell what Sister Ferriera truly looked like dressed from head to toe in her Holy Habit. It was more like a black Mumu that revealed nothing of her figure, and her white coif covered all but a small area between her eyebrows and chin. But her piercing brown eyes held an authority that no monk dared to question. Not even Brother Rayel would raise his voice at her or use any other tone that was not pleasant. Brother Rayel bowed before her, and the other monks did likewise.

Sister Ferriera, Mother Superior, we are so glad you could finally show up. (You may think it odd, dear readers, for those in authority like Brother Rayel and Sister Ferriera to still retain their titles of Brother and Sister, as opposed to the more typical Father and Mother. This not so humble narrator assures you that this was intentional, as retaining the subordinate titles kept a sense of equality within the Council of Quaal. Everyone knew that this symbolic use of title was nothing more than a load of steaming horse dung, but it was not in the nature of the religious to question the customs established by those long dead.)

Sister Ferriera would not speak until all of the Council had saluted properly. Whatever. Sister Ferriera smacked her lips, quite exhausted from her journey.

Sister Ferriera, Mother Superior. Brother Rayel bellowed to reassert his authority. You have been summoned here to—

I do not require you to tell me why I am here. Sister Ferriera waved the summons letter Brother Rayel had sent to her as though it were a flag. I can read your message quite clearly, as I am not as dumb as you. You found an infant in the woods and you want to know if any slutty nuns are to blame for the babe’s abandonment. I can tell you for certain that I have not received a slutty nun for almost two years now, so any child you found could not have come from my nunnery. Let us take a look at the little bastard, shall we?

Sister Ferriera spun the basket around as though it were a toy top. The infant inside spat upon itself and let out a piercing cry of What is wrong with you, lady? Sister Ferriera removed its fouled cloth bounds and threw it into Brother Rayel’s face. Brother Rayel in turn threw the soiled blanket at Brother Hermain, who leaned back so the blanket missed his face and landed without fuss upon the floor.

Well… Sister Ferriera smacked her lips after a moment’s thought. It seems as though you boys have got a girl on your hands. Lucky that I was the one who took a gander at the gender, eh, Brother Rayel?

The monks moaned with disappointment. If only Brother Rayel had peeked, he would have been discredited, and they would have been freed of his tyranny. Then again, dear readers, one never got the leader that one wanted, and who could say that Brother Rayel’s replacement would not have been just as corrupted by power as he was? These thoughts were quickly shoved out of the monks’ thoughts as Sister Ferriera gave a shriek so piercing the monks’ ears almost bled… except for Brother Lester’s, who had fallen back into his gazing mode of unconsciousness once more.

Sister Ferriera lifted the child from the basket by the infant’s hair and proclaimed, For certes, this girl is a demon child!

Sister Ferriera’s fingers coiled around the baby girl’s curls like a snake around its prey. The infant’s hair was as thick as any brush, but the density of the hair was not an offense to any Council rules. It was the color, red as the flames of underworld, which was the infant girl’s doom. ‘All hairs of red must be slain until dead, for they are the children of He/She/It/Whatever Who Lives Amongst the Fire and must be sent back down there.’ So it is written in the Holy Book of Crappola. As such, this infant must be slain at once, least she bring the ire of the Holy Light upon us all.

The infant girl’s shrieks of pain solidified the proof that she was a demon child. Sister Ferriera squeezed the infant’s hair tightly in between her fingers as she flung the newborn babe onto the Grand Table. Sister Ferriera unsheathed her short sword and aimed carefully over the infant’s torso. The other monks looked away and did nothing to help the babe, for although they knew what was coming, they were also keenly aware of the harsh punishment they would face if they interfered.

Only Brother Malicide had the heart to spring into action. He could not bear to witness what he deemed as his prize under the Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers law (although Brother Rayel had denied this to be an actual law on several occasions). As far as Brother Malicide was concerned, the infant was his as though he had been the one who birthed her. As Sister Ferriera brought her blade down, Brother Malicide snatched the infant out of her grasp, just moments before the steel blade could touch her vulnerable skin.

Return that demon child back to me. Sister Ferriera growled with such venom that few around her understood what she said, but they knew from her tone that Brother Malicide was doomed.

Brother Malicide stood firm before Sister Ferriera’s flaming eyes. I would rather die than see this child slain by your hands. Brother Malicide cradled the infant girl in his arms, and at once she ceased her cries and fell into a peaceful slumber.

You shall die with her for being so stupid, and may the Holy Light cast both your souls into the realm of eternal flame!

Enough! Brother Rayel banged his gavel, and the sound stopped Sister Ferriera from swinging her sword at Brother Malicide’s neck. It has long been known by this Council that Brother Malicide has always wanted to partake in raising the abandoned bastards of the monastery, as he was an abandoned bastard himself. I have always denied him this, thinking him to be inferior to other more respected monks, but perhaps he has prayed to the Holy Light for a miracle. Yes, that makes sense. This babe is a gift from the Holy Light to Brother Malicide, not a demon from underworld, and she is a miracle. As such, she shall not be killed.

Sister Ferriera’s jaw dropped. Has your mind gone soft from inactivity? You cannot decree such a fable to be fact. You do not have the authority. Several monks jumped twenty feet back as Sister Ferriera’s spit flew from her lips.

I am the head of this Council and, as such, I have the ultimate authority over the entire kingdom of Quaal, unless the Sword of Power is claimed by one worthy of ruling the kingdom. Until that moment comes, if ever, then whatever I say goes. Brother Rayel smirked as he spoke about the Sword of Power, for there was no doubt in his mind that it was lost forever and he would hold onto his seat of power until time eventually claimed his life.

There is supposed to be a system of checks and balances between the nunnery and the monastery.

You are not balanced. I have already checked. Therefore, you are in no position to deny my authority.

I shall not leave without someone’s head in my hands. Sister Ferriera jumped on top of the Judgment Table and thrust her short sword into Brother Rayel’s face. Brother Hermain, perhaps motivated by Brother Malicide’s act of kindness to the infant, performed the first selfless act in his entire life and pushed Brother Rayel out of harm’s way, so that Sister Ferriera’s blade sliced through Brother Rayel’s chair and not his skull. Upon this sight, Brother Malicide remembered that he did not possess the spine to handle such a battle. He wrapped the infant girl in the sleeves of his cloak and ran away with her to the safety of his room. The Council paid no heed of his action, as everyone was at that moment wrestled with the fury of a nun at war.

For Sister Ferriera was at war with the Council, although it