Cyrinics? she asked, a bit surprised.
The Pandions arent the only ones who want to keep an eye on Rendor, he replied.
Whats that smell? Kurik asked as they approached the western outskirts of town.
The stockyards, Sparhawk told him. A great deal of beef is shipped out of Cippria.
Do we have to go through any kind of a gate to get out?
Sparhawk shook his head. The city walls were pulled down during the suppression of the Eshandist Heresy. The local people didnt bother to rebuild them.
They emerged from the narrow street they were following into acre upon acre of stock pens filled with bawling, scrubby-looking cows. It was late afternoon by now, and the overcast had begun to take on a silvery sheen.
How much farther to the monastery? Kurik asked.
A mile or so.
Its quite a distance from that alley back there, isnt it?
I noticed that myself about ten years ago.
Why didnt you take shelter someplace closer?
There wasnt anyplace safe. I could hear the bells from the monastery, so I just kept following the sound. It gave me something to think about.
You could have bled to death.
That same thought crossed my mind a few times that night.
Gentlemen, Sephrenia said, do you suppose we could move along? The night comes on very quickly here in Rendor, and it gets cold in the desert after the sun goes down.
The monastery lay beyond the stockyards on a high, rocky hill. It was surrounded by a thick wall, and the gate was closed. Sparhawk dismounted before the gate and tugged on a stout cord hanging beside it. A small bell tinkled inside. After a moment, the shutter of a narrow, barred window cut into the stones beside the gate opened. The brown-bearded face of a monk peered out warily.
Good evening, brother, Sparhawk said. Do you suppose I might have a word with your abbot?
Can I give him your name?
Sparhawk. He might remember me. I stayed here for a time a few years back.
Wait, the monk said brusquely, closing the shutter again.
Not very cordial, is he? Kurik said.
Churchmen arent really welcome in Rendor, Sparhawk replied. A bit of caution is probably only natural.
They waited as the twilight faded.
Then the shutter opened again. Sir Sparhawk! a voice more suited to a parade ground than a religious community boomed.
My Lord Abbot, Sparhawk replied.
Wait there a moment. Well open the gate.
There was a rattling of chains and the grating sound of a heavy bar sliding through thick iron rings. Then the gate ponderously swung open, and the abbot came out to greet them. He was a bluff, hearty-looking man with a ruddy face and an imposing black beard. He was quite tall, and his shoulders were massive. Its good to see you again, my friend, he said, clasping Sparhawks hand in a crushing grip. Youre looking well. You seemed a bit pale and wan when you left the last time you were here.
Its been ten years, my Lord, Sparhawk pointed out. In that length of time a man either heals or dies.
So he does, Sir Sparhawk. So he does. Come inside and bring your friends.
Sparhawk led Faran through the gate with Sephrenia and Kurik close behind. There was a court inside, and the walls surrounding it were as bleak as those surrounding the monastery. They were unadorned by the white mortar customary on the walls of Rendorish buildings, and the windows which pierced them were perhaps a trifle narrower than monastic architecture would have dictated. They would, Sparhawk noted professionally, make excellent vantage points for archers.
How can I help you, Sparhawk? the abbot asked.
I need refuge again, my Lord Abbot, Sparhawk replied. Thats getting to be sort of a habit, isnt it?
The abbot grinned at him. Whos after you this time? he asked.
No one that I know of, my Lord, and I think Id like to keep it that way. Is there someplace we can talk privately?
Of course. The abbot turned to the brown-bearded monk who had first opened the shutter. See to their horses, brother. It was not a request, but had all the crispness of a military command. The monk straightened noticeably, though he did not quite salute.
Come along then, Sparhawk, the abbot boomed, clapping the big knight on the shoulder with one meaty hand.
Kurik dismounted and went to help Sephrenia. She handed Flute down to him and slipped from her saddle.
The abbot led them on through the main door and into a vaulted stone corridor dimly lighted at intervals by small oil lamps. Perhaps it was the scent of the oil, but the place had a peculiar odour of sanctity and of safety about it. That smell sharply reminded Sparhawk of the night ten years before. The place hasnt changed much, he noted, looking around.
The Church is timeless, Sir Sparhawk, the abbot replied sententiously, and her institutions try to match that quality.
At the far end of the corridor, the abbot opened a severely simple door, and they followed him into a book-lined room with a high ceiling and an unlighted charcoal brazier in the corner. The room was quite comfortable-looking far more so than the studies of abbots in the monasteries of the north. The windows were made of thick triangular pieces of glass joined with strips of lead, and they were draped in pale blue. The floor was strewn with white sheep-skin rugs, and the unmade bed in the far corner was quite a bit wider than the standard monastic cot. The jammed bookcases reached from floor to ceiling.
Please, sit down, the abbot said, pointing at several chairs standing in front of a table piled high with documents.
Still trying to catch up, my Lord? Sparhawk smiled, pointing at the documents and taking one of the chairs.
The abbot made a wry face. I give it a try every month or so, he replied. Some men just arent made for paperwork. He looked sourly at the litter on his table. Sometimes I think a fire in here might solve the problem. Im sure the clerks in Chyrellos wouldnt even miss all my reports. He looked curiously at Sparhawks companions.
My man Kurik, Sparhawk introduced his squire.
Kurik, the abbot nodded.
And the lady is Sephrenia, the Pandion instructor in the secrets.
Sephrenia herself? The abbots eyes widened and he rose to his feet respectfully. Ive been hearing stories about you for years, madame. Your reputation is quite exalted. He smiled broadly at her in welcome.
She removed her veil and returned his smile. Youre very kind to say so, my Lord. She sat and gathered Flute up into her lap. The little girl nestled down and regarded the abbot with her large dark eyes.
A beautiful child, Lady Sephrenia, the abbot said. Your daughter by any chance?
She laughed. Oh, no, my Lord Abbot, she said. The childs a Styric foundling. We call her Flute.
What an odd name, he murmured. Then he returned his gaze to Sparhawk. You hinted at a matter you wanted to keep private, he said curiously. Why dont you tell me about it?
Do you get much news about whats happening on the continent, my Lord?
Im kept informed, yes. The bearded abbot said it rather cautiously as he sat down again.
Then you know about the situation in Elenia?
The Queens illness, you mean? And the ambitions of Primate Annias?
Right. Anyway, a while back, Annias came up with a very complicated scheme to discredit the Pandion Order. We were able to thwart it. After the general meeting in the palace, the preceptors of the four orders gathered in private session. Annias hungers for the Archprelates throne, and he knows that the militant orders will oppose him.
With swords if necessary, the abbot agreed fervently. Id like to cut him down myself, he added. Then he realized that he had perhaps gone too far. If I werent a member of a cloistered order, of course, he concluded lamely.
I understand perfectly, my Lord, Sparhawk assured him. The preceptors discussed the matter, and they concluded that all of the primates power and any hope he had of extending it to Chyrellos is based on his position in Elenia, and hell keep that authority only for so long as Queen Ehlanas indisposed. He grimaced. Thats a silly word, isnt it? Shes barely clinging to her life, and I called it indisposed. Oh, well, you know what Im talking about.
We all flounder from time to time, Sparhawk, the abbot forgave him. I know most of the details already. Last week I got word from Patriarch Dolmant about what was afoot. What did you find out in Borrata?
We talked with a physician there, and he told us that Queen Ehlana has been poisoned.
The abbot came to his feet swearing like a pirate. Youre her Champion, Sparhawk! Why didnt you go back to Cimmura and run your sword through Annias?
I was tempted, Sparhawk admitted, but I decided that its more important right now to see if we can find an antidote. Therell be plenty of time later to deal with Annias, and Id rather not be rushed when it gets down to that. Anyway, the physician in Borrata told us that he thinks the poison is of Rendorish origin, and he directed us to a couple of his colleagues here in Cippria.
The abbot began to pace up and down, his face still dark with rage. When he began to speak, all traces of monkly humility were gone from his voice. If I know Annias, hes probably been trying to stop you every step of the way. Am I right?
Fairly close, yes.
And the streets of Cippria arent the safest place in the world as you found out that night ten years ago. All right, then, he said decisively, this is the way were going to do it. Annias knows that youre looking for medical advice, right?
If he doesnt, then hes been asleep.
Exactly. If you go near a physician, youll probably need him for yourself, so I wont let you do that.
Wont let, my Lord? Sephrenia asked mildly.
Sorry, the abbot mumbled. Maybe I got a little carried away there. What I meant to say is that I advise against it in the strongest possible terms. What Ill do instead is send some monks out to bring the physicians here. That way youll be able to talk with them without chancing the streets of Cippria. Well work out a way afterwards to slip you out of town.
Would an Elenian physician actually agree to call on a patient at home? Sephrenia asked him.
He will if his own health is of any concern to him, the abbot replied darkly. He suddenly looked a bit sheepish. That didnt sound very monkly, did it? he apologized.
Oh, I dont know, Sparhawk said blandly. There are monks, and then there are monks.
Ill send some of the brothers into the city to fetch them right now. What are the names of these physicians?
Sparhawk fished the scrap of parchment the tipsy doctor in Borrata had given him out of an inside pocket and handed it to the abbot.
The bluff man glanced at it. You know this first one already, Sparhawk, he said. Hes the one who treated you the last time you were here.
Oh? I didnt really catch his name.
Im not surprised. You were delirious most of the time. The abbot squinted at the parchment. This other one died about a month ago, he said, but Doctor Voldi here can probably answer just about any question you might have. Hes a little impressed with himself, but hes the best physician in Cippria. He rose, went to the door, and opened it. A pair of youthful monks stood outside. They were, Sparhawk noted, quite similar to the two young Pandions who normally stood guard outside Vanions door in the chapterhouse in Cimmura. You, the abbot sharply ordered one of them, go into the city and bring Doctor Voldi to me. Dont take no for an answer.
At once, my Lord, the young monk replied. With a certain amusement, Sparhawk noted that the monks feet twitched slightly as if he were about to snap his heels together.
The abbot closed the door and returned to his seat. It should be about an hour, I expect. He looked at Sparhawks grin. Something funny, my friend? he asked.
Not at all, my Lord. Its just that your young monks have a very crisp manner about them.
Does it really show that much? the abbot asked, looking a little abashed.
Yes, my Lord. If you know what youre looking for, it does.
The abbot made a wry face. Fortunately, the local people arent very familiar with that sort of thing. Youll be discreet about this discovery, wont you, Sparhawk?
Of course, my Lord. I was fairly sure about the nature of your order when I left here ten years ago, and I havent told anyone yet.
I should have guessed, I suppose. You Pandions tend to have very sharp eyes. He rose to his feet. Ill have some supper sent up. Theres a fairly large partridge that grows hereabouts, and I have an absolutely splendid falcon. He laughed. Thats what I do instead of making out the reports Im supposed to send to Chyrellos. What do you say to a bit of roast fowl?
I think we could manage that, Sparhawk replied.
And in the meantime, could I offer you and your friends some wine? Its not Arcian red, but its not too bad. We make it here on the grounds. The soil hereabouts isnt much good for anything but raising grapes.
Thank you, my Lord Abbot, Sephrenia replied, but might the child and I have milk instead?
Im afraid that all we have is goats milk, Lady Sephrenia, he apologized.
Her eyes brightened. Goats milk would be just fine, my Lord. Cows milk is so bland, and we Styrics prefer something a bit more robust.
Sparhawk shuddered.
The abbot sent the other young monk to the kitchen for milk and supper, then poured red wine for Sparhawk, Kurik, and himself. He leaned back in his chair then, idly toying with the stem of his goblet. Can we be frank with each other, Sparhawk? he asked.
Of course.
Did any word get to you in Jiroch about what happened here in Cippria after you left?
Not really, Sparhawk replied. I was a bit submerged at that time.
You know how Rendors feel about the use of magic?
Sparhawk nodded. They call it witchcraft, as I recall.
They do indeed, and they look on it as a worse crime than murder. Anyway, just after you left, we had an outbreak of that sort of thing. I got involved in the investigation since Im the ranking churchman in the area. He smiled ironically. Most of the time Rendors spit as I go by, but the minute somebody whispers witchcraft, they come running to me with their faces white and their eyes bulging out. Usually the accusations are completely false. The average Rendor couldnt remember the Styric words of the simplest spell if his life depended on it, but charges crop up from time to time usually based on spite, jealousy, and petty hatreds. This time, though, the affair was quite different. There was actual evidence that somebody in Cippria was using magic of a fair degree of sophistication. He looked at Sparhawk. Were any of the men who attacked you that night at all adept in the secrets?