The Monk's Habit (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 2) Read online

  The Monk’s Habit

  Disinherited Prince Series

  Book Two

  By

  Guy Antibes

  In the world of Phairoon

  Map of The Dukedoms of Eastril

  Map of the Baccusol Empire

  The Monk’s Habit

  Chapter One

  ~

  A COOL WIND WHIPPED THE CLOAKS OF THE FOUR RIDERS looking out over the estuary towards the large island that held their final destination, Deftnis Monastery.

  “There it is,” Valiso Gasibli said. His dark curly hair flitted this way and that in the wind. “It’s a bit of a boat trip, but I’m sure you are all up to it.” He turned his mount and kicked the sides of the horse to urge it back towards the coastal track that led down to the coastal town of Mancus, which served as the mainland port for those heading to Deftnis.

  Pol Cissert, a refugee from Borstall Castle where his mother had been the Queen and he a prince, looked at the whitecaps on the angry sea and blinked his eyes. For all his time as a prince of North Salvan, the nearly fifteen-year-old had never ridden in a sailboat on the ocean. His gaze lingered on the little craft coming in from the island and worried about all the bobbing. He didn’t look forward to the final leg of his escape.

  “Worried about a little boat ride?” Paki said. His fifteen-year-old companion rubbed his hands in anticipation before taking off after Valiso, or Val, as the boys called him.

  Actually Pol thought that ‘terrified’ better described his current emotional state. His large horse quickly caught up to Val, Darrol Netherfield, his sworn man, and Paki. Pol thought he would feel the relief of reaching the refuge of the monastery, if it weren’t for that boat ride.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Val said. He followed Pol’s eyes out to the ocean. “Does the little trip out to the monastery worry you? Think about your horse who will have to follow you in that big barge sitting at the dock.”

  A barge with ungainly sails bobbed in the water at the end of a stone dock. Pol instinctively reached down and patted his mount’s neck. He had yet to name his horse, once the property of his stepbrother, Prince Landon. It had served him well in the two weeks they had been on the road. Their flight from Borstall Castle, where Pol’s mother had been poisoned, and he had been disinherited, had been slowed by the necessity of traveling cross-country rather than using North Salvan’s roads.

  At least Pol’s fragile constitution had held up during their ride. He wasn’t so sure what would happen on that boat, but the monastery was the only sanctuary available to Pol. Val thought the healers at Deftnis might be able to cure Pol’s heart and lung problems. As it was, Pol was convinced he would die before he reached the age of twenty, if he made it alive across all that water to the island.

  They stopped at a stable yard serving the monastery and removed their bags. Pol regretted leaving his horse in the care of someone else, but then his horse, along with Darrol’s and Paki’s, would make the crossing later when the sea had calmed. Val told them that he intended to stop just long enough to see him settled at Deftnis, and then he would be heading due north to the Imperial capital of Yastan.

  “I’m hungry,” Paki said, earning a scowl from Darrol.

  The former Borstall palace guard clapped Paki on the side of his head. “Not until we are across. You might lose whatever you shove in that bottomless maw of yours, otherwise. I know. I’ve made the crossing in conditions as bad as this and fed the fishies.”

  Val smirked, the shape of his usual smile, and called them over. “I can put you under during the crossing.”

  Paki shook his head. “I’m brave enough.”

  Pol thought his friend looked a little uncertain of his claim. Pol had no desire to make a fool of himself for the sake of bravado. “I’ll take you up on that. Maybe another time I will take a chance.” He worried more about his heart beating out of chest with anxiety and losing his breath, if the ride made him nauseous, than about losing whatever he had in his stomach.

  The boat they had seen from the cliff had put in alongside the dock and let passengers off. Three men wore the gray robes of monks, but Pol could see the men wore swords and had boots with spurs hiding beneath the folds of thick cloth. One of the monks had to be assisted off the boat, and then threw off the helping hands once they reached the solid footing of the dock. The monk continued to walk a bit unsteadily right past them. The men nodded to Val, maybe recognizing him, since Val had trained for years at the monastery.

  Pol looked at Paki, who swallowed a bit, but took a deep breath and gave his bags to one of the sailors.

  Once Pol was seated, Val joined him. “Are you ready?” Val said.

  Pol nodded.

  ~

  A bump awakened Pol. The boat bobbed against a thick wooden pier. “Are we here?”

  Darrol put Pol’s bag on his lap. “This is yours, but I’ll carry it up to the dock. Val will do the same with Paki’s. You might want to help your friend up the ladder.”

  Pol looked over at Paki, whose pale face held a sorrowful expression.

  “I’m a fool. I’m a fool. I’m a fool,” Paki said as he struggled up the ladder.

  Pol followed him and helped his friend walk around on the pier for a few steps.

  “Did you feed the fishies?” Pol teased.

  Paki nodded, and Darrol laughed. Pol looked back at the angry stretch of water, knowing he had made the better decision.

  Val didn’t seem to pay any attention to them and stalked off the pier into the town that made up the little port on the Isle of Deftnis. “Don’t bother about gawking. You’ll be down here often enough,” he said. “I want to get to Yastan as soon as I can, so let’s not waste time.”

  It was a struggle to keep up with his former bodyguard, but they all followed Val like ducklings waddling after their mother. Darrol had spent some time in the monastery, but even he still examined the buildings as they trod through the village to an inn. A carriage that looked more like a covered cart stood in front.

  “We’ll take that the rest of the way,” Darrol said, as he put his bags in the back of the wagon. Pol did the same, and soon his teeth shook and rattled as the cart made its way up the rough cobblestones that led to the Monastery sitting at the top of a hill.

  As they approached the monastery wall dressed in black stone, Pol thought the place looked sinister and unfriendly. “It looks foreboding,” he said.

  Darrol pulled on his lower lip and looked at their destination. “It’s not a particularly happy place, but I have mostly positive memories.”

  Pol shuddered at the term ‘mostly positive’. He expected to be worked hard with a monastery filled with men as severe as Val. “What are you going to do now that you are back?” Pol asked Darrol.

  “I may teach arms to the young things,” Darrol said, “or learn a bit more about Seeking.” He looked at Val. “Or both.” His face broke into a smile.

  “Pol can help you with that,” Val said. “He’ll do well in the Seeker category.”

  The way Val spoke put an end to the banter. They rode on in silence, and their conveyance finally clattered underneath the portcullis of the monastery gate. It looked more like a castle than a spiritual refuge. Pol remembered that monasteries these days were mostly secular orders in the Baccusol Empire.

  “Stay here,” Val said as he left his bag with them in the large courtyard and walked up the steps into a newer-looking building on the castle grounds. Pol just absorbed the feel of his new home. He would probably die on the monastery grounds, he thought, unless the healer-monks cured him.

  A short time later, Val eme
rged, along with three older monks. They all shuffled down the stairs in their gray robes. Again, Pol thought it odd that they wore swords and boots, but these didn’t have spurs. They eyed the trio.

  “Darrol, we know. You are always welcome amongst us,” the oldest-looking of the monks said. “Pakkingail Horstel?”

  Paki halfheartedly raised his hand.

  “You are accepted by virtue of this letter of recommendation from Malden Gastoria, Court Magician to North Salvan.” The monk waved a document in his hand and then turned to Pol. “You are the newly-disinherited prince, so Valiso says.”

  “I am, sire. Please refer to me as Pol Cissert. I am no longer a Fairfield and I still fear for my safety.”

  “I don’t care what we call you, Pol Cissert. Show me some of your power. Malden writes that you are somewhat of a prodigy.”

  Pol drew within himself and detected the pattern of the seven of them standing in the courtyard. “If you will excuse me,” he said. He pointed to one of the monks and raised him six inches into the air, then moved him backward and forward before lowering him down onto the cobbled courtyard. “Will that work?”

  The monk who had been moved smiled, once he shook off the shock of being transported. “You are what Val described.”

  Pol smiled and then collapsed to the ground. His heart beat too fast, and his breathing began to get out of control. “I can do more, but if I do, I will faint.”

  The monk helped Pol to his feet. “Val said you get overcome with fatigue. We will see what we can do about that. I’m sure you have stories to tell.”

  The old monk nodded. “That will have to wait. A quick meal for Val—”

  Val held up his hand. “The sea is a bit rough today. If you don’t mind, I’d like to enjoy my dinner only once, going down. I think I will be heading back on the next trip, after all.”

  “Well, we will let you leave before the boat returns to the Mancus shore. Say goodbye to your friends.” The three monks returned to the building.

  Pol looked at Val and really didn’t want him to leave. “You really aren’t staying?”

  Val shook his head. “The Emperor must know the true story of what went on in Castle Borstall, even if he likely won’t do anything about it. Your father plays a shrewd game, and the Emperor won’t forget your mother’s murder. He won’t forget you, either. It’s hard to get an audience with Hazett, but if you need anything in Yastan, you can contact Farthia’s father, Ranno, for assistance.”

  Val looked around at the buildings in front of him. “I learned most of my craft within these walls.” Val put his hands on the boys’ shoulders. “Neither of you will lack for training. Work hard. I’m sure we will run into one another in the course of time.” He threw his bag back on the covered cart and climbed up on the front seat. The driver turned in the courtyard and drove Val out of sight. The man never turned to wave, which disappointed Pol.

  ~

  The sparsely-furnished dormitory wasn’t what Pol had been used to, but it met his expectations. Darrol merited his own personal cell, as they called individual rooms in the Monastery, but it looked like the boys would be sharing their living space with fourteen others, so Pol and Paki found two empty beds next to one another.

  “Appreciate the solitude. A number of those identified during the Emperor’s processional are due to start arriving in a week or two, along with our normal raft of new inductees. The dormitory will fill up. As far as I know, you two are the youngest pair of acolytes to be taken in at Deftnis in my lifetime, at least,” Gorm, a younger monk, said. “Tomorrow both of you will be given a battery of tests to determine how you can serve Deftnis. There are a number of specialties, but you will be required to learn a bit of everything.”

  “What kind of specialties?” Paki said. Pol noticed the excitement build up in his friend.

  “Archery, Swordsmanship, General Weapons, Seeking, Scouting, Healing, Strategy & Tactics, as well as a few others that we won’t talk about today. This dormitory is for those with magical abilities. Magic has a training regimen all its own.”

  Pol thought. “Where does knife throwing come in?”

  “Valiso taught you how to use knives?” Gorm couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.

  The question brought a nod from Pol. “I needed to defend myself from assassins.”

  “I’ll note that. It fits in a few of our categories, but I think you will be a special case.” Gorm frowned, and Pol didn’t know why. Was it his frail constitution?

  They both ate in the half-empty commissary. No one introduced themselves to the two boys, and Paki’s presence became a comfort. Pol finally felt that he was safe.

  They returned to the dormitory just after dark to find a few of the beds now occupied. Pol collapsed onto his. He had no idea what Paki dreamt of, but Pol kept waking up after having dreams about his struggles during the summer. He had had to fight for his life time after time, and his survival had come at a cost. Pol had more battle scars than any fourteen-going-on-fifteen-year-old should have. He pulled back the right sleeve of his nightshirt and ran his finger along the latest one. An arrow had skittered along his forearm and carved a line. He could feel the newly-healed wound in the dark.

  How many more scars would he collect at Deftnis?

  ~~~

  Chapter Two

  ~

  POL WOKE TO THE PEAL OF BELLS. They sounded like they rang just above his bed, but then he wondered if magic enhanced the sound. He sat up and saw others struggling out of their beds, pulling on robes. Paki and he hadn’t been given any robes to wear, so Pol pulled out the cleanest clothes that he had.

  Paki still snored, but Gorm whacked him with a long, thin rod and then proceeded to do the same to the other few who hadn’t responded to the bells.

  “What?” Paki said rubbing his leg. Pol could see a red welt rising on his friend’s skin. “He didn’t have to do that.”

  “Get used to it,” one of the older acolytes said. “You’ll learn quickly that oversleeping isn’t tolerated.” He nodded to the both of them. “Get to the commissary, or you won’t have breakfast either. Eat well since you are being tested today.”

  Pol knew well enough that eating always helped with his magic and let Paki follow behind him as they joined the loose line of men and youth heading to the commissary building. He looked at the brightening sky and figured that he’d have to get used to rising at dawn from now on.

  Breakfast was better than he thought. He pictured monks eating gruel and water, but their plates were filled with bread, bacon, eggs, and baked apples in a sweet cinnamon sauce. Pitchers of fruit juice littered the tables, along with little pots of pepper and salt. It didn’t match breakfasts in the royal family’s dining room at Borstall, but he’d had worse in the castle’s kitchens.

  Paki certainly had no problem with the food. He didn’t say a word while he wolfed down his breakfast. He might be slow rising from his bed, but he made up for it.

  Gorm approached their table. “Time for testing. Follow me.” The monk turned and didn’t look back to see if Paki or Pol trailed behind.

  Pol used his location magic to keep from being turned around as they walked up and down, and then took turns that would have left Pol lost otherwise. Gorm had purposely led them in circles. Paki’s face showed confusion, but Pol knew where they were about to enter the new building from a newer corridor that led from the older keep. At least that’s what Pol thought to describe the main building.

  Gorm turned around. “Do either of you know where we are?”

  Paki twisted his face in thought. “Deftnis Monastery?”

  Gorm gave Paki a hard stare. He turned to Pol. “How about you?”

  “We are about to enter the building where the Abbot has his office.” He stated it as a fact because it fit his location sense and the pattern that he still was developing for the monastery layout.

  The monk’s eyebrows rose on his face. “A lucky guess?”

  Pol shook his head. “Something Malden G
astoria taught me,” he said. “Do you want me to tell you how many people are in the room on the other side of this door?”

  Gorm squinted at Pol. “How many?”

  “Six.” Pol tried to keep a smile off his face. “Oops. Five. One has just left by a different door.”

  The monk threw open the door and counted the three monks and two acolytes. “Did someone just leave?”

  “Anosto did, just a moment ago,” one of the monks said.

  Gorm pursed his lips and shook his head. “Follow me.” He continued through the room.

  The wood paneling on the walls looked much newer, and the flooring wasn’t worn at all. They walked past alcoves with statues of monks, and Gorm stood in front of a set of double doors. A little plate at the side said ‘Testing’. They had reached their destination. Pol looked up and down the corridor at the chairs lining both sides.

  At least they wouldn’t have to wait. Pol wanted to be done with this, and he wiped his suddenly wet palms on his pants as Gorm knocked. He heard someone say ‘Enter’ from the other side. He used his location sense to note that five men were in a row. That meant they sat behind a long table.

  He walked in and recognized two of the three monks, the man who he assumed was the Abbott and the monk that he had levitated. The room had no windows, but the ceilings were high.

  Gorm grabbed two chairs from the wall and put them about three paces from the front of the table.

  A monk Pol had never seen looked down at a piece of paper. His hands were ink-stained. “Pakkingail Horstel?” Paki stood when the monk called his name. “Approach the table.”

  Paki wiped his hands on his vest, showing that he had the same anxiety as Pol. “Yes, sir.” He gave the monks a little bow.

  “What magic do you know?”

  Paki shrugged. “I don’t know much. I recognized some writing on a drawing of dots and nudged a penny a little on a board.”

  “How much of the penny moved across a line?”