Silverthorn (Riftware Sage Book 2)

Arutha looked at the building. “That light is gone. Whoever our unseen benefactor is, he must feel we no longer need it.” The gates in the wall before them slowly began to open. Martin handed the helm up for Arutha’s inspection. It was a strange thing, fashioned with a dragon carved in bas-relief on top, its downswept wings covering the sides. Two narrow slits provided vision for the wearer, and four small holes allowed him to breathe. Arutha tossed the helm back to Martin. “That’s an ill-aspected piece of ironmongery. Bring it along. Now let’s visit this abbey.”

 

 

“Abbey!” Gardan observed as they entered. “It looks more like a fortress!” Tall, iron-banded heavy wooden gates straddled the roadway. To the right a stone wall a dozen feet high stretched away, appearing to run to the other edge of the mountaintop. To the left the wall receded, facing upon a vertical drop over a hundred feet to a switchback in the roadway below. Behind the wall they could see a single tower, several floors high. “If that isn’t an old-style keep tower, I’ve never seen one,” said the captain. “I’d not want to storm this abbey, Highness. It’s the most defensible position I’ve seen. Look, there’s not five feet of clearing between the wall and the cliff anywhere.” He sat back in the saddle, in obvious appreciation of the military aspect of the abbey’s design.

 

Arutha spurred his horse forward. The gates were now open, and, seeing no reason not to, Arutha led his companions onto the grounds of the Ishapian abbey at Sarth.

 

 

 

 

 

TEN - Sarth

 

 

The abbey appeared deserted.

 

The courtyard reflected what they had seen from the road. This had once been as a fortress. Around the ancient tower a larger single-story keep building had been added, as well as two outbuildings that could be seen peeking from behind it. One appeared to be a stable. But before them no sign of movement could be seen.

 

“Welcome to Ishap’s Abbey at Sarth,” came a voice from behind one of the gates.

 

Arutha had his sword halfway from its scabbard before the speaker added, “You have nothing to fear.”

 

The speaker stepped from behind the gate. Arutha put away his weapon. As the others dismounted, the Prince studied the man. He was stocky, of middle years, short, with a youthful smile. His brown hair was cut close and ragged and his face was clean-shaven. He wore a simple brown robe gathered around the waist with a single leather thong. A pouch and some manner of holy symbol hung at his waist. He was unarmed, but Arutha got the impression that the man moved like one who had been trained in arms. Finally Arutha said, “I am Arutha, Prince of Krondor.”

 

The man looked amused, though he didn’t smile. “Then welcome to Ishap’s Abbey at Sarth, Highness.”

 

“You mock me?”

 

“No, Highness. We of the Order of Ishap maintain little contact with the outside world, and few visit with us, let alone royalty. Please forgive any insult if your honor permits, for none was intended.”

 

Arutha dismounted and, fatigue in his voice, said, “It is I who asks forgiveness . . .?”

 

“Brother Dominic, but please, no apologies. It is clear from the circumstances of your arrival you were hard-pressed.”

 

Martin said, “Do we have you to thank for that mystic light?”

 

The monk nodded. Arutha said, “There seems a great deal to speak of, Brother Dominic.”

 

“There are many questions. You’ll have to wait upon the Father Abbot’s pleasure for most answers, Highness. Come, I’ll show you to the stable.”

 

Arutha’s impatience wouldn’t let him wait a moment longer. “I came on a matter of the utmost urgency. I need to speak with your Abbot. Now.”

 

The monk spread his hands in a gesture indicating it was outside his authority to decide. “The Father Abbot is unavailable for another two hours. He is meditating and praying in the chapel, with the others of our order, which is why I alone am here to greet you. Please, come with me. “

 

Arutha seemed ready to protest, but Martin’s hand upon his shoulder settled him. “Again, I am sorry, Brother Dominic. We are, of course, guests.”

 

Dominic’s expression indicated that Arutha’s temper was a matter of no consequence. He led them to the second of the smaller buildings behind what was once a central keep. It was indeed a stable. The sole occupants at the moment were another horse and a stout little donkey, which cast an indifferent eye upon the newcomers. As they tended their animals, Arutha spoke of their trials over the last few weeks. When he finished, he said, “How did you manage to confound the black riders?”

 

“My title is Keeper of the Gates, Highness. I may admit any to the abbey, but no one with evil intent can cross the portals without my leave. Once upon the grounds of this abbey, those who sought your life became subject to my power. They took a risk attacking you so close to the abbey. It was a risk that proved deadly to their cause. But further conversation on this and other subjects must wait upon the Father Abbot.”

 

Martin said, “If everyone else is at chapel, you’ll need some help disposing of those corpses. They have an irritating habit of coming back to life.”

 

“I thank you for the offer, but I can manage. And they will remain dead. The magic employed to topple them cleansed them of the controlling evil. Now you must rest.”