Heirs of the Enemy (49 page)

Unknown to either of the healers, Prince Harold had left his bed to run after Sigfrid. His legs proved to be unsteady, and he only made it to the door where he pressed his body against the wall to avoid tumbling to the floor. Tears came to his eyes as he listened to the elf speak. He shuddered at the thought of someone risking their own life to save his, and he felt ashamed of the way he had reacted to the elf. He vowed to beg the elf’s forgiveness before the healer changed his mind. Straining to support his body, Prince Harold reached out and opened the door. He tried to move through the door, but his legs would not cooperate. As his body hit the door, it swung open. Prince Harold collapsed to the floor and darkness claimed his consciousness.

Zalaharic leaped to his feet and raced towards the prince’s sleeping chamber. Sigfrid ran after him. They both stopped and gazed down at the prince. A pool of blood was spreading beneath his body. Sigfrid bent down to lift the body, but Zalaharic stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Brew some more kioji tea,” instructed the elf. “He has already lost enough blood for one day.” Turning back towards the sitting room, the elf’s eyes scanned the room, but he could not see the fairies. “Pixy,” he called softly. “Come to me.”

A soft fluttering of wings grew closer, and the fairy landed on the elf’s shoulder.

“Get the prince into bed and then put him to sleep. He has had more than enough excitement for one day.”

“If he sleeps any more,” quipped Pixy as she started levitating the body, “he will be a fairy.”

Zalaharic smiled and followed the fairy into the room. As Pixy gently lowered the prince to the bed, the elf started examining him. Blood was flowing out of a cut in one leg, and the healer put his hand over the wound and called forth a healing spell. The blood flow slowed and Zalaharic sighed with weariness.

“It is just a nasty cut,” he announced. “Sigfrid, if you would heal his wound, I would appreciate it. I will finish the tea.”

The Royal Sorcerer nodded, and the two healers traded places.

* * * *

The nip in the air was sudden and chilling. Although Brother Dominik had sensed the early change of seasons, the Bloodwood had never felt such cold so early in the year. He tightened the belt on his brown robe to lessen the drafts and walked to the window. He glanced outside only briefly before pulling the shutters closed and barring them. He turned away from the window and frowned at the dimness of the small room. With a slight sigh of resignation, the monk left the room to shutter the other windows of the monastery. Brother Dominik dreaded the winter months. Although it seldom snowed as far south as the Bloodwood, the sky remained overcast for days at a time, and the constant gray sky always left him depressed. Once the monastery was closed up, it became like a prison to him, even though he was not forbidden from leaving. He could still go for walks in the woods, but everything outside would be as dreary as the drab walls inside the monastery. He sighed again and shuttered another window.

Brother Dominik entered the training room and dragged a bench across the floor. The windows were higher up the wall in this room and he had to step up on the bench to shutter them. He positioned the bench and stepped up, reaching to grasp the shutters. He paused and frowned as he saw snowflakes fluttering down from the sky. There were not a lot of snowflakes, nor were they falling with any great regularity, but they were another sign of the odd weather and the impending dismal winter. He pulled the shutters closed and barred them. He dragged the long bench to another window and stepped up. The positioning of the bench had only taken a moment, but already the snowflakes had increased tenfold. The monk frowned as he gazed skyward and shook his head in despair. As he lowered his eyes and reached for the shutters, he heard whistling coming from the direction of the trail. His eyes peered through the trees and sought out the source of the noise.

The snowfall was increasing quickly, and the falling flakes acted like a screen, making it difficult to see very far, but he eventually found the man walking slowly along the trail. The man wore a brown robe similar to those worn by the Cult of Everlasting Bounty, but many people wore brown robes these days. What made this particular man interesting was the fact that he appeared to be blind. Brother Dominik watched as the man tested the ground before him with a staff before each step. The traveler did not appear to be in a hurry, and he whistled as if he were enjoying a warm summer stroll, mindless of the snow beginning to accumulate on the hood of his robe.

“Close the shutters already,” scowled a voice from behind Brother Dominik. “Just get it done without the annual moaning about the coming gray months.”

Brother Dominik turned and saw Brother Nicholas watching him from the doorway. The head monk stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Brother Dominik.

“It is snowing,” replied Brother Dominik. “Never has is snowed this early in the Bloodwood.”

“So it is snowing,” scowled Brother Nicolas. “Snow will not kill you. Close the shutters before we all freeze to death.”

“There is also a traveler coming down the trail. He appears to be blind.”

“And I care because?”

“He will undoubtedly be at the front door in moments. The snowstorm is gaining strength, and only a fool would pass by a warm building when there are no others in the area.”

Brother Nicholas sighed and nodded with resignation. “Perhaps this traveler will have a fat purse. Hurry up and close the shutters, or he will feel more inclined to spend the night outside where the air is fresher.”

Brother Dominik nodded and returned to shuttering the windows. He knew that Brother Dominik meant his words as a joke, but Dominik never knew when to laugh and when not to. To react improperly to the head monk was to wish for punishment, and Brother Dominik had no such desires. He shuttered the window and hurried out of the room, not bothering to return the bench to its proper place. He quickly moved to the windows near the entry foyer in hopes of hearing the conversation when the traveler arrived. He was not a moment too soon as a loud knock sounded on the front door of the monastery. Brother Nicholas, although he was expecting the knock, took his time answering the door. When he did open the door, he opened it only a crack, letting the warm inside air flow out in a steady stream.

“What brings you to the Cult of Everlasting Bounty?” Brother Nicholas asked the traveler.

“Cult of Everlasting Bounty?” the traveler smiled warmly. “Now I know that the gods are watching over me. I am seeking shelter for the night.”

“The gods are not watching over you,” scowled Brother Nicholas. “Perhaps you are feeling the weight of the snow building up upon you.” The head monk waited for a reaction, but the traveler offered none. “Our monastery is a poor one. Were I to admit every traveler who came along, the brothers of my order would starve to death.”

“I seek only warmth for the night,” countered the traveler. “If you were to be kind enough to share some of your meager food, I would be most happy to make a donation to your order. I am tired and I am cold.”

Brother Nicholas smiled broadly as he opened the door wider. “The Cult of Everlasting Bounty welcomes you this night. I am the head of the order. My name is Brother Nicholas. What are you called, Brother?”

“I am Wylan,” answered the traveler, “and I am most grateful for your help this night.”

“As you should be, Brother Wylan. As you should be. There is not another roof in this part of the Bloodwood. Come in.”

Wylan stepped through the doorway, checking its width with the tip of his staff. Brother Nicholas closed the door, while Wylan fumbled in his pouch for a coin. He extracted a small coin and held it out in his palm.

“I hope this meager offering is acceptable, Brother Nicholas?”

The head monk turned and stared at the coin. His eyes brightened when he noticed that it was gold. It was more than he had expected. He reached out and snatched the coin from Wylan’s palm, his eyes drifting down to measure the heft of the traveler’s purse.

“It is adequate,” Brother Nicholas said without inflection as he spied Brother Dominik shuttering a nearby window. “Brother Dominik, come here and care for our guest. He will be bunking with you this night. See that he receives a fair portion of food to warm him.”

Brother Nicholas deposited the gold coin in his purse and strode off. Brother Dominik moved slowly towards the guest, his eyes studying the newcomer. Wylan stared straight ahead and listened to his approach.

“I am Brother Dominik,” the monk said softly.

Wylan turned towards the voice, but not completely, as if he was unsure of exactly where the monk stood. “I am pleased to be greeted so warmly,” he smiled.

“I am not sure how warm you will feel this evening,” quipped Brother Dominik. “Brother Nicholas is not overly generous with the firewood. Come and I will show you where you will sleep. Do you need guidance?”

“Just keep talking,” smiled Wylan. “I will follow your voice.”

“Very well,” Brother Dominik said as he turned and headed across the room to one of the several corridors leading off the entry foyer. “This monastery has been the home of the Cult of Everlasting Bounty since its inception some twenty years ago. Prior to that, it had sat empty for several generations. No one is sure what order it originally served, but that hardly matters any more.”

Brother Dominik continued to talk nonstop as he led Wylan through the corridors of the monastery. He spoke about the history of the building and the founding of the order, but Wylan did not pick up much useful information from his ramblings.

“This will be your home for the night,” Brother Dominik said as turned into a small rectangular room. The room was spartan with two sleeping mats rolled up against the wall. There was no door to close, and no window adorned the wall. “The order used to have thousands of brothers, but there are only forty of us left in this monastery, although Brother Nicholas speaks of hundreds of other followers in other locations. Many of us here have a room to ourselves now, unless travelers come, and that seldom occurs.”

“Is my presence putting a burden on you, Brother Dominik? I do not wish to be a bother.”

“Oh, no,” the monk replied earnestly. “In fact, I look forward to your company. At times it does get lonely here. Brother Nicholas feels that a life of solitude is necessary to keep us focused, but I see no harm in fellowship. I am anxious to learn what is happening in the world beyond these walls.”

The talk of other locations concerned Wylan. If Prince Samuel was not in this particular monastery, he could not imagine how they would ever find him.

“You would learn more about the outside world from one who has the vision to see and understand it,” Wylan smiled thinly. “Does everyone gather together for meals?”

“The midday meal is our main meal of the day,” answered the monk. “We gather in the morning for exercise and prayer. Afterwards, we gather for the morning meal, but the fare is light. The rest of the morning is spent in practice and prayer and then the midday meal where everyone gathers together. Afternoons are spent in individual studies and pursuits so the evening meals can be solitary meals at times, although a few brothers will probably be there at any given time. I will take you now. You may leave your belongings here.”

Wylan shrugged off his pack and placed it on the floor. He pushed back his hood and retained his staff as a walking stick. Brother Dominik led Wylan through the corridors towards the dining room. They only passed two other monks along the way, and Brother Dominik passed them with only a silent nod in greeting. Wylan began to have doubts about his plan as Brother Dominik sat him down to eat the evening meal in a dining room that was deserted. After a bowl of meatless stew, the monk led him back to the sleeping chamber.

Once they were settled on their mats, Wylan tried to encourage Brother Dominik to talk about his life in the monastery, particularly his interactions with the other monks. He had hoped to hear Samuel’s name mentioned, but it never was. After a couple of hours, Brother Dominik stated his weariness and the need for sleep. Wylan rested on his back, pondering the situation. He knew that he could not just come out and ask about Prince Samuel. To do so would set off alarm bells, yet there was so little talking within the monastery that it was almost impossible to strike up a conversation. He wished he knew what the prince looked like.

Some time during his musings, Wylan drifted off to sleep. He was not sure what had awoken him, but he opened his eyes with a feeling of danger pervading the small room. As he listened to the soft padding of feet heading towards him, Wylan gripped his staff with his right hand. He heard the man’s breathing as the thief bent down and gently pulled on Wylan’s purse. Wylan brought his staff down hard. He was rewarded with a crack and a cry of surprise from his attacker. Wylan sat up and felt for his pouch as he listened to the fading footsteps running down the hall. His purse was intact and Wylan quickly untied it from his belt and slid it under the corner of his sleeping mat. He leaned the staff back up against the wall near his right hand and went back to sleep. Morning came all too soon. Wylan woke to the sound of dozens of feet moving past the small room.

“You are awake at last,” greeted Brother Dominik. “I trust you slept well?”

“I can’t complain,” Wylan smiled as he retrieved his purse and tied it to his belt.

“I would like to stay and bid you a safe journey, but it time for morning prayers. I must not be late.”

“Can I join you?” asked Wylan. “I also have things to be thankful for.”

“Everyone is welcome,” Brother Dominik replied cheerily as he grabbed Wylan’s arm and helped him to his feet, “although I am not sure how much thanking will be going on. While most of the prayers are private, some of the brothers can be vocal. Their prayers are more attuned to scolding the gods for their inattention than anything having to do with thankfulness. Come, I will guide you.”

Brother Dominik led Wylan out of the room and through the corridors to the rear of the monastery. They exited the building through the rear door. Spread out before them were several dozen brown-robed monks squatting in a clearing facing east. As the monk guided the newcomer to a place to squat, Wylan felt dozens of eyes upon him. He pushed the feeling away and squatted where Brother Dominik told him to. The monk squatted alongside him as the brothers began their predawn prayers. On this particular morning, there were no vocal prayers. After an hour of silent prayers, the sun rose in the east. Immediately the monks rose to their feet. Some of them accepted staffs given out by a monk near the rear door of the monastery, while others began limbering up for the morning exercises. Wylan remained squatting, as did Brother Dominik. Wylan noticed one of the monks with a bandaged hand. He suspected that the monk was the thief in the night, but he could not think of a way to ask Brother Dominik who he was without letting on that he could see. Suddenly, he smiled.