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

  “Probably the coast road to Finster.”

  “Then we are off!” Hopken began galloping out of the village.

  Jonness stood there. “Pol, is ‘probably’ an adequate call to action for a Seeker?”

  “No, sir, but we can’t investigate while Coram puts more distance between us all.”

  “Then let us get out of this town.”

  They all mounted and followed Hopken, but at a slower pace. Once they were a few hundred paces past the last house, Jonness stopped.

  “Are you going to look for tracks?” Pol said, remembering the investigation of Paki’s beating back in Borstall.

  “Right.” Jonness said. Pol noticed a little surprise in his voice.

  Pol jumped off his horse and walked forward in the darkness. They weren’t far from where Pol first set his eyes on Deftnis Isle six months ago. “We should see fresh tracks of three horses.”

  “But there are only two fugitives,” Darrol said.

  “Plus the pattern-master,” Pol said. He heard an unintelligible sound from his friend. Pol hadn’t learned to keep a magic light from burning out his energy, so he waited for someone else to make one.

  “What do you see, Pol?”

  “Only one horse. Hopken’s tracks are fresh, but none of the others are.”

  One of the assistants joined them. “How do you know that?” His voice indicated that he was testing Pol.

  “The fresh tracks are darker. The ground is damp from the night. See here?” Pol sat on his haunches and pointed out to tracks close to another. “The fresh tracks are darker. I learned that from a tutor back in Borstall.”

  “Paki’s father?” Darrol asked.

  Pol merely nodded.

  Hopken finally returned. “I saw your light. Why aren’t you following me?”

  “Pol read the tracks correctly, Hopken. Coram and his accomplice didn’t take this road. Only you.”

  “You take the word of this boy?”

  “I can see it for myself, man. Let’s head back and hope we didn’t miss them leaving this road.”

  As they just entered the town, Garryle, now mounted with two other men, not monks, met them. “We found a witness. They headed northeast.”

  “Lead on,” Hopken said. Evidently, he had thought he had taken over the group, but Pol wouldn’t follow him. He would only follow Jonness.

  They rode through the early morning and into the dawn. Far ahead, Pol could see two riders silhouetted, going over the top of a rise by the lighter eastern sky.

  “There they are!”

  I can run faster than this, Demeron said.

  “I’ll catch them.” Pol yelled to Jonness, and then he let Demeron go as fast as he wanted.

  Pol had to hang on to Demeron, but the horse moved forcefully ahead, not like the time when the horse Pol rode bolted on him. Pol could feel the power of Demeron’s muscles bunching and exploding as Pol gained on the other riders.

  The others were far behind, and Pol began to wonder what he would do when he caught up to Coram and his accomplice. Pol began to think of how he could disable the horses. Perhaps he could throw a knife into the flank of each horse.

  That will hurt, Demeron said, but they won’t slow down much. When a horse is running fast, they can ignore just about everything but moving forward.

  Pol didn’t know that “So I should stop the riders, not the horses?”

  Let me take care of the horses. Be prepared to defend yourself and hold on tight.

  After grabbing hold of the reins, Pol hung on for his life. He went over where he had put his knives and which ones he could use the quickest. Pol could see both men were dressed in normal clothes. Perhaps the accomplice, whoever he was, didn’t live in the monastery. Maybe he had been let ashore by the South Salvan ship and took residence in the port.

  Demeron surged with speed and ran close to one of the horses and bit it on the rump. Pol looked into the face of Sakwill who was trying to come up with a pattern while his horse began to slow. Demeron forced his way ahead of them and slowed in the middle of the two horses and bumped Coram’s horse, which struggled to stay upright, running on the side of the road, plodding through the edge of a freshly plowed field.

  Sakwill’s horse stopped. He drew a sword, but Pol had the answer to Sakwill and threw his knife, aided by a sip of magic to adjust its trajectory, and it sank into the magician’s shoulder.

  “That trick won’t work with me,” Coram said. “I’m no Third,” he said. “And, soon enough, you won’t be anything.”

  By now all three horses had come to a stop. Sakwill dropped to the ground, clutching his shoulder.

  Coram’s eyes glazed, but not before Pol spelled a gust of wind at him, using the still air in the field as a pattern, and tweaked. The gust nearly blew Coram off his horse. Coram’s eyes cleared, so before the Tesnan could generate another spell, Pol quickly threw another knife at Coram and put every bit of magical energy into the throw.

  Pol saw spots in front of his eyes and his heart pounded. His last view was of the knife intended for Coram’s shoulder, deflect up and into the man’s neck. Coram’s eyes rolled up as Pol fell from Demeron.

  ~

  Pol looked up at the sun blazing in his eyes. He laid at the edge of the road. A cart passed by.

  “You’re up?” Darrol said.

  “I am.” Pol sat up and looked around. “Where is everybody?”

  “We’re here,” one of Jonness’s assistants said. “Drink this.”

  Pol nearly spit out the watered wine, but after gagging for the first swallow, let the rest flow down his throat. He actually began to feel better.

  “Jonness, Hopken, and the other assistant took the body with them back to Mancus.”

  “Did Sakwill say anything?”

  Darrol laughed. “He complained quite a bit, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that Coram still had Sakwill under compulsion.”

  “His condition didn’t affect his memory,” the assistant said. “Coram was heading back to Tesna. He boasted to Sakwill that they might even send a ship to sack the monastery and execute you.”

  “Why me? I’m disinherited.”

  “Pride? Jealousy? Vindictiveness?” Darrol said. “I’d like to see Tesna take us. Sakwill said that Coram was the only practitioner of anticipation magic that Tesna had. It seems he boasted about it to Sakwill plenty of times.”

  Pol furrowed his brows. “How long did it take Jonness to find all of that out?”

  “Hopken. He’s an adept at truth spells. Sakwill just sang and sang and sang. He’s probably still singing,” Darrol said. “Are you well enough to ride?”

  Pol shook his head. “Not too fast. Demeron will take care of me.”

  “Did your horse really stop the other two?”

  Pol nodded his head. “He is wonderful.”

  I am, aren’t I?

  Pol looked around and found Demeron munching on some new spring grass behind him.

  “You are. Can you take it easy going back?”

  Demeron snorted and raised his head in reply.

  “That’s one smart horse,” the assistant said. “And fast.”

  “He is that,” Pol said as Darrol helped him up and onto Demeron. Pol leaned over and patted Demeron on his neck. “And the best part is we are good friends.”

  Indeed. That brought another shaking of Demeron’s head.

  ~

  This time Pol sat in a hard chair rather than the easy chair he used the last time Pol sat in the Abbot’s office. Jonness sat on his right and Hopken on his left. Pol had no idea why he had been called into this meeting.

  “That was a foolhardy thing to do,” the Abbot said.

  “Demeron suggested it. None of the other horses had the speed,” Pol said.

  “Or the ability to stop other horses, if Sakwill’s description is true. He called Demeron, a ‘devil horse’,” Jonness said.

  “He’s sentient,” Pol said, shrugging. “We can talk to each other and I just followe
d his lead.”

  Hopken snorted. “A treasure like the Shinkyan stallion belongs in the hands of a superior swordsman, and that’s why we are here.”

  Pol looked at Hopken, and then at Jonness.

  “Master Hopken wants your horse,” the Abbot said. “You do not have to give it to him, for you possess the title signed by the Emperor.”

  “I’ll call a full council, if you don’t, boy,” Hopken said. “You don’t deserve him.”

  Pol didn’t know what to say. How could he overcome the wishes of a magician warrior of the highest level? He felt more intimidated than he ever had around Val.

  “And why not?” Jonness said. “I seem to recall that Pol, and his horse, stopped the escape and disabled both riders. He fulfilled our mission all on his own.”

  Hopken straightened his robe and cleared his throat. “He killed Coram, when we could have questioned him.”

  “Why didn’t you question him when he was in his cell?” Pol said, getting a bit angry with Hopken. “He was getting ready to throw some kind of spell at me. I had to defend myself.”

  “With a coward’s blade,” Hopken said.

  The Abbot stood up. “I’ll have none of that! You know better, Master Hopken. I’d like you to call Valiso Gasibli a coward to his face.”

  Hopken looked taken aback by that retort.

  The Abbot glared at Hopken. “What did you expect Pol to do, draw a sword and close on a magician several levels higher than himself? Just what kinds of acts qualify as honorable in self defense?”

  Hopken’s eyes bulged a bit. “But, but…”

  The Abbot remained standing. “I was going to give you a reasonable hearing, Hopken, but no longer. You know our principles about arrogance. I think you need to reflect. It’s quite clear that Pol holds an Imperial title to the horse signed by the Emperor himself. You are dismissed from my presence.”

  The master blinked a few times, turning red. Pol didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or anger. Hopken’s chair overturned when he stood, and he didn’t turn back to set it right.

  Pol did, as the Abbot returned to his seat. “You will forgive me, both of you.” The Abbot pulled out a pocket square and dabbed at his forehead. “Hopken is a marvelous man and one of the best pattern-masters alive. It does not excuse what he just did.”

  “You gave him a hearing. He deserved one,” Jonness said.

  Pol wondered why the Master Seeker defended Hopken.

  “But, arrogance makes a man blind,” Jonness said, finishing his thought.

  The Abbot nodded. It was obviously a saying at the monastery, Pol thought.

  “You performed as we would expect,” the Abbot said to Pol. “So Jonness said you devised some new spells?”

  Pol shrugged. He had told Jonness every detail he could remember.

  “A wind spell, inexpertly applied, so you admit, but an interesting tweak. It’s been done many times, but not without being taught. And was this knife thrown differently than what you threw at Sakwill in your duel?”

  Pol had to shake his head. “As before, but this time I tweaked a lot more force into the blade. Coram was throwing up some kind of shield. I didn’t know they existed, so I used all my strength. It went though his shield, but it somehow deflected up and into his neck. I didn’t intend to kill him, but his spell caused the blade to move.”

  “Unfortunate for him, but fortunate for you,” the Abbot said. “I expect more from you and Demeron. Don’t disappoint me.”

  ~~~

  Chapter Fifteen

  ~

  AFTER CORAM’S DEATH, POL BEGAN TO HAVE NIGHTMARES about Coram, with a knife in his neck, leading South Salvan soldiers in an attack on the monastery. Sometimes the pea-shooter from his time in Borstall joined the fray with Bythia, Landon’s wife, armed with a spear.

  He tried to shake the dreams off, but he couldn’t help but look at others with a different eye. Who were enemies, who were friends? Pol found he didn’t know. He was vaguely aware that he fell behind in his studies. He now dreaded to practice with his knives and kept away from Demeron. When he went to study, he could no longer concentrate and often woke up after having fallen asleep over his lessons.

  Paki was on a completely different schedule, so he never saw his best friend, and that made Pol sad. He felt totally alone. The nightmares became real things in his mind, and he began to shrink from social contact.

  One bright early spring day, Pol dragged himself to the herbalist class and sat by himself, tending the little plot that all of them had been tasked to cultivate. Pol knew the herbs should receive better care, but he didn’t care if they grew or not.

  Kell came up to him. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Pol struggled to make eye contact with him. “Nothing. I’m just tired, I guess.” He poked around in his plot and stayed there when their tutor called them to gather.

  He looked at the group and didn’t want to join them, so he continued to run his finger through the soil. Pol wanted to bury himself in the dirt with the seeds. Maybe he could rise again bigger and stronger and not be looked down on by everybody. Maybe the nightmares that never ceased would be replaced by the dreams he could never quite remember.

  He vaguely noticed Kell talking to his tutor, and then both of them looked at him. He put his elbow on the planter box and looked back at the soil.

  Two monks lifted Pol up by his arms and led him into the infirmary. Pol didn’t know why they were taking him away, but he found that he didn’t care, as long as they found some way for him to avoid the nightmares.

  They put him in a bed in a room of his own. Pol smiled at the memory of the little room in the Castle Borstall infirmary where he had visited so often. He didn’t know private rooms existed at the monastery infirmary. They gave him something to drink and Pol started. Were they putting him to sleep?

  He didn’t want the nightmares, so he began struggling with the monks. “No. No. I don’t want them coming back!”

  “What?” a healer asked.

  “The nightmares. I don’t want Deftnis taken over by South Salvan.” Pol seemed to think that’s what he said, but now he couldn’t remember for sure if the words actually came out. He tried to blink hard to keep from slipping away, back into the maelstrom of images that had been assaulting him. Finally he gave up, and pictured himself sinking into soft, rich soil warmed by the spring sun.

  ~

  Pol’s eyes flew wide open. What had happened? Had the invasion begun? He hadn’t seen the vision of Deftnis’ destruction in his dreams for a long time, it seemed. He sat up, alone in the tiny room he barely remembered.

  He fell back into the pillow and put a hand to his head. What had happened? He struggled to remember where he was and why he was waking in the infirmary. A monk walked past the open door to the little room.

  “You are awake?”

  Pol nodded, still looking up at the ceiling. “I am. What happened?”

  “I’ll get the Master Healer.”

  Something bad must have occurred for the monk to get the Master. Pol sat up again, letting the pain in his head fully awaken him. He poured himself a cup of water from a pitcher left by his bedside and let the water flow down his parched throat.

  The Master Healer walked into his room, followed by another monk. “You are finally back with us.”

  “How long have I slept?” Pol asked.

  “A little more than three days.”

  That shocked Pol. “Why?”

  “You can answer that question better than we can, although we’ve seen similar illnesses before.”

  “Illness? I was sick?”

  The master nodded. “Your adventure catching the South Salvan magician was the trigger. We think that Hopken’s demand for your horse added to it.”

  “I had nightmares,” Pol said. “Coram returned to sack Deftnis Monastery with a South Salvan army. My knife was still in his throat…”

  “That kept recurring?” the master said.

  Pol nodded.r />
  “We’ve seen it before. It comes from intense stress. The stress led to your losing touch with your surroundings. You were suffering from malnutrition when we brought you in, so you weren’t even caring for yourself. We call the condition melancholia.”

  “Am I crazy?”

  “Temporarily, you can call it that. It’s an illness like anything else that can be treated. We’ll prescribe medicine for you to take at night for the next two weeks and thereafter if the nightmares return. Do you think an invasion is imminent now?”

  Pol thought for a moment and shook his head. “No. Deftnis is very defensible. In my nightmares it wasn’t.” He put his hand to his head. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

  “If you realize that, then you are well on your way to recovery. Your friend Kell told us you weren’t acting right. You might want to thank him.”

  Kell, a friend? thought Pol. He’d have to talk to Paki and Demeron about his behavior…and Kell.

  The monks let Pol return to the dormitory after lunch, armed with the powders to help him sleep later that night. He returned to his classes to find himself far behind in the classwork. Pol had been far enough ahead of the others in most of the classes that catching up wouldn’t be too much of a trial.

  He caught Paki between buildings at the end of the afternoon and asked if they could have dinner together.

  “I wondered where you were,” Paki said as they sat down with their trays of food. “I thought you might be off catching more criminals.”

  Paki laughed, but Pol couldn’t. “I was sick in the head,” he admitted. “The Master Healer said it was from stress.”

  Paki snorted. “I guess so. When have you ever not been under stress? I thought you would have broken last summer in Borstall. At least you held it off until we got here.”

  “You thought I would snap?”

  Paki nodded. “My dad often worried about you. I’ll bet the Court Magician and your tutor were concerned, too.”

  “Not Val,” Pol said.

  Paki took Pol’s wrist. “He was. He told me how you stopped your horse with magic in the forest. Val wondered when you’d overdo it and not recover.”

  Pol sat back, holding his spoon up with the handle end on the table. “I never knew.”