Despite the warm day, night brought with it a bitter chill, and in the soft light of the rising moon, the breath of men and horses began to fog the crisp night air. Above, the stars shone like diamond dust scattered across the heavens. In the distance, the call of owls and the shrill static of crickets filled the valley. Had the party not been so exhausted and hungry, they might have described the trip that night as beautiful. Instead, they merely gritted their teeth and focused on the path ahead.
They began climbing the south hill as Royce led them with uncanny skill along a switchback trail that only his keen eyes could see. The thin, worn clothes of the steward’s son were a miserable defense against the cold, and soon the prince was shivering. To make matters worse, as they climbed higher, the temperature dropped and the wind grew. Soon trees began to shrink to stunted shrubs and the earth changed to lichen-and moss-covered stone. At last, they reached the steps of the Winds Abbey.
Clouds had moved in, and the moon was no longer visible. In the darkness, they could see very little except the steps and the light they had followed. They dismounted and approached the gate. A stone arch set within a peaked nave lay open on a porch of rock hewn from the hill itself. There was no longer the sound of crickets, nor of hooting owls; only the unremitting wind broke the silence.
“Hello?” Hadrian called. After a time, Hadrian called again. He was about to try a third time when he saw a light move within. Like a dim firefly weaving behind unseen trees, it vanished behind pillars and walls, reappearing closer each time. As it drew near, Hadrian saw that the strange will-o’-the-wisp was a small man in a worn frock holding a lantern.
“Who is it?” he asked in a soft, timid voice.
“Wayfarers,” Royce answered. “Cold, tired, and hoping for a place to rest.”
“How many are you?” The man poked his head out and swung the lantern about. He paused to study each face. “Just the three?”
“Yes,” Hadrian replied. “We’ve been traveling all day with no food. We were hoping to take advantage of the famous hospitality of the legendary Monks of Maribor. Do you have room?”
The monk hesitated and then said, “I—I suppose.” He stepped back to allow them entrance. “Come in, you can—”
“We have horses,” Hadrian interrupted.
“Really? How exciting,” the monk replied, sounding impressed. “Oh, I would like to see them, but it’s very late and—”
“No, I just meant, is there somewhere we can stable them for the night? A barn or perhaps a shed?”
“Oh, I see.” The monk paused, tapping his lip thoughtfully. “Ah, well, we had a lovely stable, mostly for cows, sheep, and goats, but that’s not going to work tonight. We also had some animal pens where we kept pigs, but that really won’t do either.”
“I suppose we could just tie them up outside somewhere if that’s all right,” Hadrian said. “I think I remember a little tree or two.”
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.