The Hekamon (47 page)

A
hopeful thought crossed her mind. Maybe when Tregarron saw that her
father wasn't there, he would leave again.

There was a pause, the
door stayed open, another footstep and the door opened a little more.
He wasn't leaving,
he
was coming inside.

At that very moment, she heard another door open. Bree
knew it was the main entrance to the keep at the end of the south
corridor.

There came rattle of the iron handle and the creak of the
hinges. The sound was accompanied by movement next to her, too. There
was something in the way the door beside her rocked to and fro, that
told Bree the captain had turned to see who had entered. And from the
sounds that followed, she discovered who it was herself. There came
the voice of a guard, and she knew which one, his name was Groucutt.

"Captain, there has been another man assaulted."

"Where?" Tregarron replied.

"Where the attack happened? I don't know, but the
man is being taken to the priory."

"Thank you, Groucutt. I will look into it."

The door to her father's office started to close and
then shut firmly.

Bree was alone in the chancery once more. With the sounds of
the captain's footsteps, retreating across the great hall, and her own pounding heart, all she could hear.

It had been a close run thing and she would take no more
risks. She would return the necklace to the place she had found it
and leave.

Bree walked around the desk and opened the drawer, reached into the pocket of her dress, took out her necklace, and
hesitated.

Pryor Jervay raised the flame and carefully lit the
last of the candles on the chandelier. The long pole and wick
reaching into the gloom of the nave's high ceiling and illuminating
the oak beams and rafters above. The numerous candles and lanterns
located throughout the priory took time to light but Jervay found the
effort worth it. The warm glow emanating from all around seemed to
affirm the spiritual nature of the building. It kept the chill out,
too.

Such practical purposes were a secondary concern, with
one exception. The light's capacity to extend his time for study. The
pryor's skills as an hospitaller were self-taught and he still had a
lot to learn.

There remained enough hours of daylight to get things
done for now, but longer nights were approaching and the days
growing shorter.

Since his studies would keep him busy in the months
ahead, Jervay was grateful for the apiaries that had been so productive over
the summer. Not only for making honey and pollinating the
orchard, but for providing the wax from which he and the chaplain made
the candles. Their sweet scented aroma as pleasing to the senses as
the light they gave out.

With the nave's candles lit, Jervay walked across the
red and gold tiled transept floor and into the chancel. The chaplain,
Leofrey, was already there, deep in prayer, knelt before the altar
and the statue that rose above it.

It was the spiritual heart of the
building, and adorning the statue was the priory's most important
possession, the centuries old relic, Harvill's Crown.

It was not an obviously valuable crown, made as it was
from the entwined branches of a tree. But its meaning and historical
importance made it the object of pilgrimage for people from
tens, and even hundreds, of miles away.

With Leofrey's prayer and contemplation complete, the
chaplain rose, and on seeing Jervay approach, graciously bowed his
head and stood to one side. Allowing the pryor to take his place on
the hassock.

Kneeling, Jervay began praying for guidance in the
treatment of the man who had earlier been entrusted to his care.
Praying for the decisions he made on the treatment of Enyon Croneygee,
to be correct and in keeping with the knowledge he'd gained from his
studies in the practice of medicine. While he was doing so, there
was a knock on the main door.

He remained where he was but listened
intently as Leofrey moved to answer it. A visitor at this hour was
unusual and likely to be important.

No sooner had Leofrey opened
the door, than he called to him.

"Pryor, we need your assistance."

Standing and moving quickly to the vestibule, Jervay
could see that it was indeed important. A man he knew well, Brice,
was helping another man into the building. Leofrey had closed the
door and was now assisting, too.

Brice was one of the Priory's most important patrons.
Jervay had been a comrade of the man's son, Wynter, and had helped the young man after he had sustained injuries at the battle of
Tetten forest. It was this experience that had lead him to become a
practitioner of medicine. There had been others he could have saved,
if only he knew how.

Helping Wynter had brought Jervay belief in his
abilities and underscored the deficiencies he'd encountered with
other fallen men. Men he was unable to save with his limited knowledge at
the time. If only he'd had greater experience in the art of medicine
he could have done more.

He'd made the decision to follow in his
father's footsteps, and took a position at the priory with the intention of re-purposing it, from a military academy to a
hospital.

"Inside, right away," he said, sensing the
serious nature of the injured man's condition.

He was unable to
support his own weight and could barely walk, even with help. He was
dirty, his clothes blackened and his face smeared by blood and grime.
There was blood splattered down the front of his tunic, and on his
hair and back.

"I found him wandering on the edge of town. The
poor wretch seems to have been done a mischief," Brice said, as
he and Leofrey helped the man across the transept and towards the
infirmatory hall.

Brice carried much influence in Demedelei and was an
important benefactor. He'd donated money which had enabled the
hospital to become established and his support had been vital.

Lord
Jephson had opposed the change from the priory's former purpose of
training and housing knights and officers. Jephson, and especially
Captain Tregarron, thought the transition had weakened Demedelei's
fighting capabilities. Jervay knew there was still some animosity
toward him for that.

The injured man began groaning and mumbling incoherently,
and while Brice and Leofrey held him, Jervay went to the chapter
house and brought a canvass stretcher. The stretcher was slung low
and held off the ground by short wooden supports.

"Place him here for now, we'll clean him up and
tend to his injuries before taking him to the infirmatory."

Brice and Leofrey helped the man onto to the stretcher
and when done, Brice puffed out his cheeks and expressed his concern
for the man.

"I had to almost drag him the last hundred yards,
he was out on his feet. How bad does it look."

Jervay took a lamp from a nook on the wall, before
carefully inspecting the man's head and what appeared to be his most
serious injury. The scalp was gashed and heavily bruised, while the
dirty wound would need cleaning. If this was the extent of the man's
injuries, then he should recover but Jervay was reluctant to make a
prognosis just yet. The patient could recover quickly, or it might
take days or weeks. Head injuries were unpredictable.

"I'll clean and dress this head wound and then
we'll see how he is in the morning but it's too early to say."

On hearing that, Brice turned to Leofrey and gave the
chaplain some coins, "This will cover things for a few days,"
he said, "and I'll leave you two to your work."

"Thank you, Brice," Jervay said, "we'll
do what we can for him."

Brice wished them well before leaving, and having shown
the man out, Leofrey returned to help Jervay prepare the patient.

"What should we do?" Leofrey asked, kneeling
beside the man resting unconscious on the stretcher.

"We'll get him out of these dirty clothes and clean
his wounds," Jervay said, "then, once he's prepared, we'll
place him in the bed next to Enyon Croneygee. The men will be company
for each other during their convalescence."

The marshes surrounding Ochre Hill were an unworldly and
forbidding place at the best of times, but Saskia thought they seemed
particularly so at this moment. The chill, autumnal air caused the
mist to form into a dense, suffocating blanket. Making the safe paths
harder to see, especially in the gloomy eventide.

The searing flame of Vondern's torch helped in that
regard, but the flickering shadows it produced were doing little for
Saskia's state of mind. This, along with the information she'd just
received about Alyssa, meant her hair stood on end and her nerves
were on edge.

Walking with them was another traveler, a young woman
she knew well from the Egret Patrol, and the one who had brought her
the news of events at the Rhavenbrook Bridge.

Saskia had been at Ochre Hill, grinding seeds for a
potion she was making, when Loccsleah had arrived with the message.
So worried had Saskia been by what her young companion had to say,
that she immediately brought it to the attention of the voight.

Initially, the man had seemed unconcerned, Alyssa in jeopardy wasn't
his problem, he'd said, it was something the Egret Patrol could
handle. But his interest grew when told of a Coralainian that had
been taken prisoner. After that he needed no more persuading. Vondern
had a low regard for Coralainians and their air of superiority, he
was not going to pass up the chance to interrogate one.

The three of them had then left Ochre and started making
their way through the marshes, and while they journeyed to the
stockade, Vondern spoke with Loccsleah.

"Tell me what happened."

"We stopped a man, he was traveling from the south
and acting suspiciously. We searched him and Kormak found he was in
possession of Alyssa's dagger. To begin with, the man denied any
knowledge of Alyssa, but he eventually confessed that he had seen
her. What little information we were able to extract from him, had to be
forced out of him."

Saskia listened again to Loccsleah's report. She knew
Alyssa would not give up her dagger lightly. It must either have been
stolen from her, or else taken from her when she was in a confused
state of mind. Either way, she was in trouble. Vondern questioned the
girl further.

"You say the man was acting suspiciously, how?"

"He was loitering. Tolle suspected him of looking
for the iron grippers Kormak had acquired. Then, when Kormak saw the man
was in possession his sister's dagger, he became worried for her. All
we could get out of the man, before he passed out, was that Alyssa
was in the company of someone near the village of Tivitay. Then some
guards arrived and they seemed to confirm that there was an
accomplice."

Saskia thought Alyssa's predicament sounded serious and
she said as much, "We need to organize a search for Alyssa, she
is the priority for now."

"No," Vondern said, "Alyssa takes after
her mother, impulsive, headstrong and prone to cause trouble. Not
only that, she's old enough to look after herself. I'm more concerned
about this Coralainian. They might pass through Fennelbek from time
to time, but loitering and investigating? This would be unusual for
them. Understanding the intruder's reasons for being here is our
priority. I'll question him myself."

After this, they traveled on silence, with their
attention on the difficult path ahead. The damp air causing a fine
glaze to form on their cloaks, glistening in the torchlight, while
the only sounds to be heard were those of the marshes around them.
Saskia found the spirits and wisps to be unusually active tonight
and that rarely boded well. Her eye was caught by every swirl of fog,
and her ears pricked by every ripple on the otherwise still pools.

They made good progress, and on reaching their
destination, entered through the gate in the palisade fence, where
Vondern sought out his nephew.

"I'll speak with Tolle first, I want his
take on things," he said.

Vondern placed the torch in a holder beside the door and
entered the stockade. She and Loccsleah followed, and joined with the
other members of the patrol inside.

"Tolle, report," Vondern commanded.

"We have a prisoner," Tolle replied, standing
to acknowledge the Voight of Fennelbek.

"So I've heard, tell me more."

Tolle relayed events much as Loccsleah had, but suggested that the man they held captive had
been searching for the iron grippers. Saskia noticed that the voight
seemed intrigued by the mention of the grippers, and their potential
importance.

"Let me see them," he demanded.

Tolle lead them to the stockade's armory room. Entering,
Saskia could see the armory was sparse, and she knew it would be.
Most the items that had been kept there were gone. Requisitioned by
more senior ferguths.

The most noticeable thing in the room was a
large wooden chest. It was big enough to contain many military
pieces, and at one time had done so, but now it held just one leather
bag. A bag with a finely crafted depiction of an eagle with silver
talons. Taking the bag from the chest and removing the iron grippers,
Tolle handed them to Vondern, who started to inspect them.

Saskia had seen them earlier but looked at them again,
this time with greater interest.

She watched as Vondern turned them over in his hands,
scrutinizing the markings and inscriptions. He called for Tolle to
hand him a lantern, which he then hung from a beam above him, using
the light to study the grippers more closely. Vondern seemed to pay
particular attention to the inscriptions on the wrist straps that
would hold them tight to the wearer.

Saskia was more accustomed to symbols and motifs than
with inscriptions. She had not seen this style before, nor could she
read it. Could the voight? She didn't know and didn't ask, but
suspected not.