Chapter 30
Robin welcomed the sharp scent of pine resin that hit her nose with each inhale. She was seated in the small weapons shed, using a thin thread to connect a split feather to one end of an arrow’s shaft.
Ian sat on a short stool across the table from her, attempting the same craft but with less promising results.
“You can loosen your hold on the thread,” Robin suggested, watching the way his firm grip tugged tightly at the barely visible filament. “The feather needs space to breathe.”
“Feathers cannot breathe,” Ian said, unclenching his fingers.
“The thread needs to slide between the tines of the feather,” Robin said, “not strangle them to the shaft.”
Ian unwrapped the last few rounds of thread from his somewhat strangled feather and restarted.
“I’ve never fletched an arrow in my life,” Brother Fletcher said from his own stool between them. “It was what my father and grandfather did before me. They tried to teach me, but my fingers just tangled the thread. So I went off to become a monk.”
“Perhaps you should go back to your monastery then,” Robin muttered, well aware that the other two occupants of the shed could hear her.
Brother Fletcher gave her an expression of mock hurt. “I was forcibly thrown out of my monastery home, which you might recall.”
Robin tilted her head to look at the monk. “In all truth, that is not what I recall.”
Ian looked up at her. “Were not the monks thrown out of the monastery?”
“Yes!” Brother Fletcher said, though he had not been the recipient of the question.
“But,” Robin said, nearly yelling to speak louder than the monk. “Do you know the real reason Gareth forced the monks to leave?”
“If you are saying that the real reason was not the growing storms,” Ian replied, “then I do not know.”
“The monks were the beginning of River’s Talon,” Robin said. “They had been using that monastery—and the caves underneath it—to help the Majis. Gareth discovered this and hoped that by dispersing the monks, he could destroy the Talon.”
“He did not know,” Brother Fletcher cut in, “that the monks had already passed on the leadership of their secret organization to one Robin of Lockwood.”
“How?” Ian asked. He had completely stopped his attempt to fletch the arrow in his hands and was looking at Robin with curiosity.
“Shortly after I came back from the castle,” Robin said, “I discovered that one of my farmers had been working with the monks to harbor traveling Majis here in Lockwood. I started working with him. I could travel easily, and I had a remote manor community that was trustworthy.”
Brother Fletcher took the arrow from Ian’s idle hands.
“She became one of our key members outside the monastery, communicating with our allies in all five kingdoms. When Gareth forced us out of our home four years ago, it only made sense that Lockwood become the new center of River’s Talon. And that is why I am here.”
Robin looked to Ian. “He left the monastery a full three seasons before Gareth and his fabricated chaos storms forced them out.”
“It is not the monastery that maketh the monk.” Brother Fletcher’s voice was solemn, as though he were reciting a prayer. His left hand had picked up the thread hanging from the unfinished arrow, and he began to deftly wrap it around the split feather.
“I thought you had never fletched an arrow in your life?” Ian said.
The monk shrugged. “It is in my blood.”
Ian reached down to the low table in front of him and picked up the letter they had intercepted from the courier.
Robin had read it a dozen times over and formulated a plan.
A plan that was a little more dangerous than her usual ones.
She had already discussed it with Ulli and the others.
But she had invited Ian here to make arrows with her so she could present it to him as well.
The ideal version of this plan would require his participation.
Ian looked up at her, keeping the letter in his hands. “So I take it you have a plan for this?” he asked.
Robin nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smile. “According to this missive,” she said, “Gareth is sending three Majis prisoners to the monastery. He has never moved them anywhere outside of the Chendas dungeons—so there will be no easier time to free them than now.”
“That is what I expected,” Ian said. “Raiding a traveling party—even if it is well protected—does not seem like it would be too difficult. I can personally attest to the fact that your bandits are quite adept at waylaying travelers on the road at night.”
“Thank you for that high opinion of my work,” Robin replied to his jest. “But that is not what I had in mind this time.”
“Oh?” Ian asked, surprise in both his voice and his eyes.
“I have a plan . . .” She waited for a breath, noting a surprise of her own that was for a very different reason.
She was not usually nervous to share her plans with Ulli or Lane, but she was nervous now.
She reminded herself that Ian’s reaction did not matter.
This was her plan. “I have a plan to take the monastery.”
Ian’s eyes widened, his brow wrinkling. “To take the monastery?” he repeated. “As in take control of it? The monastery that is currently the headquarters of not one army general, but two?”
Robin nodded. “You want me to help you take back control of the castle, but you scoff at taking control of a much smaller monastery?”
“I did not scoff,” Ian replied. “And the castle is full of people who are loyal to me and my family. We only need to remove the imposing king and his soldiers.”
“One of the generals at the monastery is also supposedly loyal to you,” Robin replied.
Ian nodded. “I hope that is still true.”
“Do you have no faith in your people?” Robin asked.
“I have complete faith in my people,” Ian replied. “My family has done our utmost to keep them safe and secure. What I do not trust is their reaction to fear. And they have much to fear right now.”
Robin nodded, bringing her mind back to the plan. “There are two generals at the monastery right now,” she said. “Zimri, who is loyal to your father, and Gautho, who is loyal to Gareth. How strong would you say Zimri’s loyalty is?”
“He has been working for my father since I was a child,” Ian said. “He taught me to fight, to plan for battle. I have always considered him to be a part of my family.”
“But?” Robin prompted, sensing that there was more Ian wanted to say.
“He has spent his life knowing that the Return of the Majis would happen under his leadership. Preparing for this war has been his sole life’s work, obsessively so.”
“So he is loyal to you,” Robin said, “but that loyalty may waver if he knew you had changed your opinions on the Majis?”
“Yes.” Ian nodded. “Even if such news came from my father, I do not know that he would accept it.”
“Even though Erich married a Majis?” Robin asked. “You do not think that may have swayed his opinion on the matter at all?”
“Aizel is a singular person who gained our trust, and therefore his,” Ian responded.
“I do not know that that changes his opinion on the whole of the matter. We did not have the time—or perhaps we did not use the small time we had—to share the truth about what we have learned over the last two seasons.”
“Perhaps it is time to change that,” Robin said.
“What is your plan, Robin?” Ian asked.
“Enough dancing around the point. Out with it,” Brother Fletcher said, though Robin doubted he had been paying attention.
Robin leaned forward over the short table between them. She needed Ian to believe in this. “We take back the monastery the day after the Majis are transferred there. You approach the monastery from the outside as Ian, Crown Prince of Iseldis, and call the generals out to meet with you.”
Ian had leaned back on his stool as she spoke, his face showing the concern he was clearly thinking. “You do remember,” he said, “that Gareth has sent out orders to apprehend me?”
“That is why I asked about Zimri,” Robin said.
“We only need you to distract the generals for as long as it takes for me to enter the monastery by another route and take it by surprise from the inside. If Zimri is as loyal as you say, his hesitation will buy us the time that we need.” She leaned forward.
“I will not send you into battle without an exit strategy—and a backup plan for the exit strategy.”
Ian nodded. “So you take the monastery from the inside with what, eight bandits?”
“Twelve,” Robin replied. “I have five others who will join us from other villages closer to the shore.”
“And we hold the monastery as a fortress against three companies of soldiers who have been locked out?” Ian asked.
“I was not finished,” Robin said, trying not to show her irritation. She did not want to fault Ian for being skeptical.
Ian closed his mouth and gave her a single nod.
“When the Majis ships arrive—perhaps two sevennights from now—we will be in a position to free them. To remove the gems that control them from around their throats.”
Ian leaned forward again. “An army,” he said. “We would be freeing an army that could fight for us.”
Robin shook her head. “No.”
“No?” Ian was surprised.
“These are people who have been enslaved for their entire life. Freeing them to fight for us would be no better than what Gareth and his ancestors have done. This is not their battle to fight. No, in freeing the incoming Majis, we can show the Iseldan soldiers that the Majis are not their true enemy, and you can regain the trust of your actual army.”
Ian bit his lower lip, appearing to consider her words.
“You are right.” He looked back up at her.
“The outcome of this plan is ideal,” he said, “but this feels unlike you, Robin, in a way that makes me doubt the soundness of it. I do not see a way for you—for us—to take down the monastery with a handful of men. It would be walking into a slaughter.”
“My cypher there knows when the soldiers go down to the beach to practice their formations for the upcoming battle. The monastery will be empty. And . . .” She reached into the drawer of her small desk and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. “I have this.”
Ian lifted the fletching materials off of the table as she unfolded the parchment and spread it out before him and Brother Fletcher. It was old. The ink had faded, worn completely away in the areas of the parchment that had been creased into folds.
“This is a map of the monastery,” Robin said. “But it is no ordinary map.”
Ian leaned over to study the faint lines.
Robin watched him, having studied the map for many hours herself.
“It shows not only the main halls and rooms of the monastery buildings,” she explained, pointing to certain lines, “but the network of passages that wind through the ancient walls. Walls built to be thick enough to withstand the wind and cold from the sea for centuries to come.” She pointed to other lines on the map, illustrating the secret passages.
“Was this in your possession?” Ian asked, turning to the monk, whose hands had not stopped fletching arrows as they talked.
Brother Fletcher shook his head. “I did not have the foresight to save such a valuable tool as this when I left the monastery.”
“I got it from Brother Elias, a monk who settled in Allys,” Robin explained. “They did not want to leave it behind for thieves, or soldiers, to find. But he did explain every passage he could remember in exquisite detail. And Brother Fletcher can help fill in any additional lapse in memory.”
“I know every stone of that building,” Brother Fletcher confirmed. “I used those passages every day . . . for moving quietly during times of prayer, for remaining unseen.”
“For carrying extra food and ale back to your room, perhaps?” Ian asked.
Fletcher nodded, appearing unashamed at being so pointedly called out.
Ian turned his attention back to the map. “These passages lead directly to the cellars, which is where Gareth instructed Gautho to take the Majis prisoners.”
“And to the dormitory, which is where the soldiers are likely to be housed,” Robin added. “And to the abbot’s study, which, by all accounts, is where Gautho has set up his command. We could move through the monastery without anyone knowing we are there until it is too late.”
“How many entrances are there to these passages? Where are they?” Ian asked.
“Three main ones that are still accessible,” Brother Fletcher said, leaning forward to point at the map with the arrow shaft in his hand.
“Here, on the north wall behind the vegetable garden. Here, in the cellar itself—though you have to be inside the monastery to access this one at all.” He tapped a spot at the edge of the paper itself.
“And here is where the old smugglers used to bring their boats in. The sea caves are tricky to navigate, but quite hidden.”
Robin watched Ian’s face as he processed this information. She could see his eyes traversing the map.
“I see only one major flaw in this plan,” Robin said. She waited to continue until Ian was looking directly into her eyes. “It puts you in danger. And we still need you alive.”
“He does not need to be in the actual fighting for this to work,” Fletcher cut in. “He will be visible as the distraction in the front, and we can get him inside once it is over and we have handled the actual combat.”
“We?” Robin said, looking up quickly at the older man. “You are not coming with us. You will be staying here to protect the manor, remember?”
“I come on this one,” Fletcher said, his usually cheerful eyes entirely serious. “I used to live there. Like I said, I know every stone of that building.” Then he smiled. “And I cannot let you children have all the fun. Though I will deny having any fun; I am just a quiet monk, after all.”
“This passage here,” Ian said, pointing to the map. “It leads from the dormitory to the empty library. If you emerge here, you stand between the soldiers and their weapons, giving us a significant advantage.”
Robin smiled. Ian was in.