taken the guardian Cerrigwen with him. I have been engaged for the hunt.”
Eldrith released a heavy sigh and glanced down at his hands before returning a now saddened gaze to Thorne. “Have you anything else to report?”
“No.” Thorne was suspicious, though he wasn’t sure why. “The last information I heard came to me by way of Trevanion, months ago. I would guess he reported to you as well.”
Eldrith nodded. “Tell me, have you had any word from the Brothers Steptoe?”
“I have not.” Thorne had the distinct impression of doom gathering like storm clouds in the near sky. Eckhardt and Ga vin Steptoe wer e among the few men he counted as blood ki n, thou gh they were his brethren only by way of the Ruagaire oath. “Not since the cold weather settled in, but I imagine they would winter at Elder Keep unless you have ordered them elsewhere .”
“Elder Trevanion is dead.”
“What?” Thorne’s entire inner being ignited from the shock. He had been Martin Trevanion’s last apprentice and his closest confidant for many years. Suddenly, the lack of communication made sense. But Eldrith’s vague and cryptic questioning did not. “How? When?”
“Some weeks ago, I’m afraid. I am truly sorry, Thorne. I wish it were not so.” Eldrith appeared genuinely mournful, but he did not disclose the details of Trevanion’s death. “I wish many things were not so.”
“Master Eldrith,” Thorne began to question further, trying to wrest understanding from what he realized was an intentionally evasive conversation. He then noticed that Eldrith’s eyes were focused somewhere beyond him. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Forgive me, Thorne.” Master Eldrith rose to a stand, his hushed voice far more pained than his expression. “There are powers at work here that are no longer in my control.”
As Eldrith spoke, Thorne’s instincts were already goading him. The need to escape was unmistakable. Thorne sidled back two steps and positioned himself perpendicular to the master’s desk, his back to the exterior wall and his fingers coiled around the hilt of his sword. He heard the echo of footsteps crossing the cobbled courtyard. Thorne calculated four men or more, still half a minute away, maybe a few seconds less.
On his right, Thorne heard the metal tongue of a latch clasp slide back, and a hidden door behind the banner on the wall swung in. Elder Algernon beckoned from the threshold. “This way, Edwall. Quickly, now.”
Thorne glanced at Eldrith as he started for the door, gauging whether or not his superior intended to hinder or help. Not that it mattered—Thorne had already assessed the odds of success and had made his choice. He would leave or die trying.
Eldrith stood at his desk, for all appearances impassive—even removed. Thorne suppressed a flare of anger. Such emotions were no aid under threat. It was harder, however, to ignore the betrayal—it tempted him to stay and fight if he must, if only to find out what had gone wrong. Fortunately, he was trained to respond to his reflexes, and Algernon was providing a way out.
“We will distract them as long as we can,” the Elder whispered as Thorne passed, offering his sputtering rush dip for light. “Take the tunnel, and avoid the gaolers.”
Thorne accepted the advice and the light with a nod of thanks, as he broke into a dead run down the stairwell a few fee t beyond the rectory. If there were gaolers, there were prisoners . As far as he knew, the hold had not been in use for years. There was no time now to wonder further about Algernon’s cryptic remark, though Thorne understood the message. He also understood that somehow he now had more enemies than friends in Banraven.
The short passage at the base of the keep ran in a straight line directly to the dungeon, with but one slightly curving turn. Once past the curve, anyone traveling the passage would be visible to the sentry standing watch at the hold, and likely to some of the occupants
Eldrith released a heavy sigh and glanced down at his hands before returning a now saddened gaze to Thorne. “Have you anything else to report?”
“No.” Thorne was suspicious, though he wasn’t sure why. “The last information I heard came to me by way of Trevanion, months ago. I would guess he reported to you as well.”
Eldrith nodded. “Tell me, have you had any word from the Brothers Steptoe?”
“I have not.” Thorne had the distinct impression of doom gathering like storm clouds in the near sky. Eckhardt and Ga vin Steptoe wer e among the few men he counted as blood ki n, thou gh they were his brethren only by way of the Ruagaire oath. “Not since the cold weather settled in, but I imagine they would winter at Elder Keep unless you have ordered them elsewhere .”
“Elder Trevanion is dead.”
“What?” Thorne’s entire inner being ignited from the shock. He had been Martin Trevanion’s last apprentice and his closest confidant for many years. Suddenly, the lack of communication made sense. But Eldrith’s vague and cryptic questioning did not. “How? When?”
“Some weeks ago, I’m afraid. I am truly sorry, Thorne. I wish it were not so.” Eldrith appeared genuinely mournful, but he did not disclose the details of Trevanion’s death. “I wish many things were not so.”
“Master Eldrith,” Thorne began to question further, trying to wrest understanding from what he realized was an intentionally evasive conversation. He then noticed that Eldrith’s eyes were focused somewhere beyond him. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Forgive me, Thorne.” Master Eldrith rose to a stand, his hushed voice far more pained than his expression. “There are powers at work here that are no longer in my control.”
As Eldrith spoke, Thorne’s instincts were already goading him. The need to escape was unmistakable. Thorne sidled back two steps and positioned himself perpendicular to the master’s desk, his back to the exterior wall and his fingers coiled around the hilt of his sword. He heard the echo of footsteps crossing the cobbled courtyard. Thorne calculated four men or more, still half a minute away, maybe a few seconds less.
On his right, Thorne heard the metal tongue of a latch clasp slide back, and a hidden door behind the banner on the wall swung in. Elder Algernon beckoned from the threshold. “This way, Edwall. Quickly, now.”
Thorne glanced at Eldrith as he started for the door, gauging whether or not his superior intended to hinder or help. Not that it mattered—Thorne had already assessed the odds of success and had made his choice. He would leave or die trying.
Eldrith stood at his desk, for all appearances impassive—even removed. Thorne suppressed a flare of anger. Such emotions were no aid under threat. It was harder, however, to ignore the betrayal—it tempted him to stay and fight if he must, if only to find out what had gone wrong. Fortunately, he was trained to respond to his reflexes, and Algernon was providing a way out.
“We will distract them as long as we can,” the Elder whispered as Thorne passed, offering his sputtering rush dip for light. “Take the tunnel, and avoid the gaolers.”
Thorne accepted the advice and the light with a nod of thanks, as he broke into a dead run down the stairwell a few fee t beyond the rectory. If there were gaolers, there were prisoners . As far as he knew, the hold had not been in use for years. There was no time now to wonder further about Algernon’s cryptic remark, though Thorne understood the message. He also understood that somehow he now had more enemies than friends in Banraven.
The short passage at the base of the keep ran in a straight line directly to the dungeon, with but one slightly curving turn. Once past the curve, anyone traveling the passage would be visible to the sentry standing watch at the hold, and likely to some of the occupants
Similar Books
