Theft of Swords (The Riyria Revelations #1-2)

The monk nodded, appearing relieved to have the issue resolved. After they stacked the saddles on the porch, the little man led them through an opening into what appeared to be a large courtyard.

With only the bleak glow of the monk’s lantern, Hadrian could not see far beyond the stone walkway and was too tired for a tour even if the monk had been inclined to show off his home. The abbey had a heavy smell of smoke that conjured visions of warm crackling hearths where beds might be.

“We didn’t mean to wake you,” Hadrian said softly.

“Oh, not me,” the monk said. “I actually don’t sleep much. I was busy with a book, right in the middle of a sentence when I heard you. Most unnerving. It’s a rare thing to hear someone in the middle of the day around here, much less a dark night.”

Columns of freestanding stone rose beneath a cloudy sky, and various black silhouetted statues dotted the space. The smoky smell was stronger, but the only thing that appeared to be burning was the lantern in the monk’s hand. They reached a small set of stone steps and he led the way down into what appeared to be a rough-hewn stone cellar.

“You can stay here,” the monk told them.

The three stared at the tiny hovel, which Hadrian thought looked less inviting than the cells below Essendon Castle. Inside, it was very cramped, filled with piles of neatly stacked wood, tied bundles of twigs and heather, two wooden barrels, a chamber pot, a little table, and a single cot. No one said a word for a moment.

“It’s not much, I know,” the monk said regretfully, “but at the moment, it’s all I can offer you.”

“We’ll make do, then, thank you,” Hadrian assured him. He was so tired he did not care as long as he could lie down and be out of the wind. “Can we perhaps get a few blankets? As you can see, we really don’t have any supplies with us.”

“Blankets?” The monk looked concerned. “Well, there is one here.” He pointed at the cot, where a single thin blanket lay neatly folded. “I truly am sorry I can’t offer you any more. You can keep the lantern if you like. I know my way around without it.” The monk left them without another word, perhaps fearful they would ask for something else.

“He didn’t even ask us our names,” the prince said.

“And wasn’t that a pleasant surprise,” Royce pointed out as he moved around the room with the lantern. Hadrian watched him take a thorough inventory of what little was there: a dozen or so bottles of wine hidden in the back, a small sack of potatoes under some straw, and a length of rope.

“This is intolerable,” Alric said in disgust. “Surely an abbey of this size has better accommodations than this pit.”

Hadrian found an old pair of burlap shoes that he cleared out before he lay down on the cellar floor. “I actually have to agree with the royal one there. I heard great things about the hospitality of this abbey. We do appear to be getting the dregs.”

“Question is, why?” Royce said. “Who else is here? It would need to be several groups or a tremendously large party to turn us out to this hovel. Only nobility travel with such large retinues. They might be looking for us. They might be associated with those archers.”

“I doubt it. If we were in Roe, I think we’d have more reason for concern,” Hadrian said as he stretched and then yawned. “Besides, anyone who is here has turned in for the night and is probably not expecting any late arrivals.”

“Still, I’m going to get up early and look around. We might need to make a hasty departure.”

“Not before breakfast,” Hadrian said, sitting on the floor and kicking off his boots. “We need to eat and I know abbeys are renowned for their food. If nothing else, you can steal some.”

“Fine, but His Highness should not move about. He needs to keep a low profile.”

Standing in the middle of the cellar with a sickened look on his face, Alric said, “I can’t believe I’m being subjected to this.”

“Consider it a vacation,” Hadrian suggested. “For at least one day you get to pretend you are nobody, a common peasant, the son of a blacksmith perhaps.”

“No,” Royce said, preparing his own sleeping space but keeping his boots on. “They might expect him to know things like how to use a hammer. And look at his hands. Anyone could tell he was lying.”

“Most people have jobs that require the use of their hands, Royce,” Hadrian pointed out. He spread his cloak over himself and turned on his side. “What could a common peasant do that monks wouldn’t know the first thing about and wouldn’t cause calluses?”

“He could be a thief or a whore.”

They both looked at the prince, who cringed at his prospects. “I’m taking the cot,” Alric said.





CHAPTER 4





WINDERMERE





The morning arrived cold and wet. A solid gray sky cast a steady curtain of rain on the abbey. The deluge streamed down the stone steps and pooled in the low pocket of the entryway. When the growing puddle reached Hadrian’s feet, he knew it was time to get up. He turned over on his back and wiped his eyes. He had not slept well. He felt stiff and groggy, and the cold morning air chilled him to the bone. He sat up, dragged a large hand down the length of his face, and looked around. The tiny room appeared even more dismal in the drab morning light than it had the night before. He moved back away from the puddle and looked for his boots. Alric had the benefit of the cot, yet he did not appear to have fared much better. Despite having a blanket wrapped tightly around him, he lay shivering. Royce was nowhere to be seen.

Alric opened one eye and squinted at Hadrian as he pulled his big boots on.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Hadrian said in a mocking tone. “Have a pleasant sleep?”

“That was the worst night I have ever endured,” Alric snarled through clenched teeth. “I have never felt such misery as this damp, freezing hole. Every muscle aches; my head is throbbing, and I can’t stop my teeth from chattering. I’m going home today. Kill me if you must, but nothing short of my death will stop me.”

“So that would be a no?” Hadrian got to his feet, rubbed his arms briskly, and looked out at the rain.

“Why don’t you do something constructive and build a fire before we die of the cold?” the prince grumbled, pulling the thin blanket over his head and peering out as if it were a hood.

“I don’t think we should build a fire in this cellar. Why don’t we just run over to the refectory? That way we can warm up and get food at the same time. I’m sure they have a nice roaring fire. These monks get up early, probably been laboring for hours making fresh bread, gathering eggs, and churning butter just for the likes of us. I know Royce wants you to stay hidden, but I don’t think he expected winter would arrive so soon, or so wet. I think if you keep your hood raised, we should be fine.”

The prince sat up with an eager look. “Even a room with a door would be better than this.”