Stephen blinked.
Perhaps the most deadly of its sort, the well-mannered viper is capable of great charm, luring its prey near with honeyed words. It is a most unusual predator in that it has the habit of convincing other animals to kill for its sustenance and amusement. It is only by observing the middle of the eye where the icy fluid that passes for its blood coagulates visibly that one can identify its true nature, and when one is that close, it is often too late to save oneself.
It is in the perfection of its knowledge—or lack thereof—that survival often hinges, for if the viper believes itself well served, it may allow the servant to live and perform another task. But if it believes itself betrayed, and its real nature is discovered, woe to the hapless titmouse or toad that finds itself confronting those gleaming, venomed teeth…
“Brother Stephen?” the praifec said impatiently.
“Praifec, I—”
“Perhaps your anxiety stems from what you have to tell me. I have had no word of you. Where are the holter and your friend Winna? Have you failed in the task with which I entrusted you?”
Stephen felt the first sense of relief he’d experienced since meeting Sir Elden. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
“They were slain, your grace,” he said, putting on the most doleful face he could manage.
“Then the arrow did not work?”
“We never had a chance to use it, your grace. We were beset by slinders. We never even saw the Briar King.”
“Slinders?”
“I beg your pardon, your grace. That is the Oostish term for the wild men and women Ehawk reported to you.”
“Ah, yes,” Hespero said. “Did you at least learn more about them?”
“Nothing of note, your grace,” Stephen lied.
“A pity. But still I don’t understand. How did you know to find me here? I came to this place in secrecy.”
“Your grace, I hadn’t the slightest idea I would find you here,” Stephen replied, his mind spinning down the false road he was building, wondering what he would find over the next hill.
The praifec frowned. “Then why are you here? You failed in the mission I assigned you. I should think your first priority would be to report that failure, and the logical place to do that would be Eslen. What on earth brought you to this remote place?”
Stephen’s road had narrowed to a rope of the sort jugglers walked to amuse children. He’d tried it once, in the town square of Morris Top, and the relief at managing to take two steps had felt like a triumph. But it hadn’t been; it had only been two steps, and then he had lost his balance and fallen.
“We came here at my request, your grace,” Brother Ehan interrupted.
Stephen tried to keep his face neutral. He hoped he had succeeded, even though the praifec’s glance already had shifted to the Herilanzer.
“Pardon me,” Hespero said. “I don’t believe I know you.”
Ehan bowed. “Brother Alfraz, your grace, at your service. I was with Fratrex Laer when he went to the monastery d’Ef to cleanse the heretics there.”
“Really. And how is Fratrex Laer?”
“Then you haven’t heard, your grace. Word should have reached you by now; we sent messengers to Eslen. He was slain by the slinders, the ones Brother Stephen spoke of. We were fortunate to escape.”
“So many fortunate escapes,” the praifec commented. “Still, how does that explain your presence here?”
“We arrived at the monastery and found only piles of bone. Everyone had vanished—or so we thought. But that evening we discovered Fratrex Pell, locked away in the uppermost meditation room. He was quite mad, raving about the end of the world and how the only hope was to find a certain mountain in the Bairghs. Less than a bell later, the same fate that befell the monks of d’Ef befell us, and the slinders attacked. But Fratrex Laer thought there might be something to Brother Pell’s ravings, and so he charged us with the mission of saving the books he had with him in the tower and finding the mountain of which Pell spoke.
“Almost too late, we discovered Brother Stephen, locked in a cell in the tower. The fratrex had him captive, forcing him to translate the more obscure texts.”
“I’m confused. How did you come to be in the tower, Brother Stephen?”
“When Aspar, Winna, and Ehawk were slain, I went to the only place I knew,” Stephen said, trying to get both feet planted on the wildly swaying rope. “The only place I knew in the King’s Forest was d’Ef. But the instant I arrived, Fratrex Pell took me captive.”
“I believe you earlier reported to me that Pell was dead,” Hespero said, suspicion in his voice.
“I was wrong,” Stephen replied. “He was crippled—his legs destroyed—but he was alive. And as Brother Alfraz said, quite mad.”
“Yet you believed his wild speculations?”
“I—” Stephen broke off. “I had failed, your grace. My friends were dead. I suppose I was grasping at any hope for redemption.”
“This is all very interesting,” the praifec said. “Very interesting, indeed.” His eyes tightened at the corners, then relaxed.
“I’ll hear more of this in the morning. I’m most particularly interested in learning what Fratrex Pell considered so pressing. For tonight, I’ll have someone show you to your quarters and see what can be done about a meal. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“Yes, your grace,” Stephen said. “Thank you, your grace.”
A monk named Brother Dhomush appeared and showed them to a small dormitory somewhere in the building. It had no windows and only one door, and that left Stephen feeling intensely claustrophobic.
As soon as they were alone, he turned to Brother Ehan.
“What was all that?” he asked, his heart thundering in his chest. His deeply submerged panic had found a way up now that the immediate danger seemed past.
“Something had to be said,” Ehan replied defensively. “Brother Laer led the expedition to replace us at d’Ef—he was a Hierovasi, of course, like Hespero. With the help of the slinders, we destroyed them all. I reckoned he might know that, but not the details. It looks like I was right.”
“I don’t know,” Stephen said dubiously. “The one thing I do know, I don’t like.”
“What’s that?”
“That we’re here. And Hespero is here. Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”
Ehan scratched his head. “I suppose I thought it was just bad luck.”
“It’s impossible,” Stephen asserted. “He’s either following us or he’s after the same thing we are. I can’t think of any other explanation. Can you?”
Ehan was still mulling that over when Brother Dhomush reappeared with bread and mutton broth.
Dhomush and two other monks slept in the dormitory with them, but by the time the night had half turned above their heads, their breathing indicated to Stephen that they were asleep. He quietly reached his feet down from the hard wooden cot and padded to the door, fearing it would be locked or would squeak loudly if it wasn’t.
Neither was true.
Padding lightly on marble was as close to absolutely silent as anyone could be. Another initiate of Saint Decmanus might hear him, but as they had passed, he’d noticed that the church’s altar was dedicated to Saint Froa, whose gifts usually didn’t involve acute senses.
It wasn’t difficult to find his way back to the library. He approached it tentatively, fearing Hespero would still be there, but found it dark. A moments listening disclosed no breath or heartbeat, but he still didn’t feel as if he could trust his ears. Henne had regained more or less normal hearing, as had Ehan and Themes, but none of them had begun with the ability to hear a butterfly’s wing.
Knowing he had to take the risk eventually, he entered the room and felt along the wall for the window ledge where he’d earlier seen a tinder-box. He found it and managed to light a small candle. In its friendly light he began his search.