The Monk's Habit (The Disinherited Prince Series Book 2) Page 15

  Pol nodded. “It does. He’ll know best how to use it, or his girlfriend will.”

  Armed with maps and a direction, Pol found his three companions, and they ate as much as they could at dinnertime while planning their first few days.

  ~

  The Abbot came out of the administration building with Vactor when the four loaded horses were brought to the main courtyard.

  “Please bring back Searl. It was a mistake to let him go,” the Abbot said. “You have supplies, and here is a purse.”

  Pol accepted it and handed it to Darrol. “You guard our money,” Pol said. “Is that all right?”

  Darrol grinned. “It is, My Prince.”

  Pol winced at his old title, but Darrol just chuckled.

  “Make sure you remember to observe patterns in as much of your surroundings as possible,” Vactor said. “We will all be waiting for you to return.”

  “We’ll be anxious to get back to Deftnis,” Pol said.

  Kell and Paki looked excited. Pol felt good about taking his destiny in his hands. He had waited long enough. He knew he could still die young like his father had, but Pol felt like he was in a race to save himself from the curse of his ancestors.

  They mounted, and without further ceremony, the four of them headed out the Deftnis gates towards the port below. Pol looked out at the rolling ocean. Val wasn’t with them to put Pol under for the trip. He only hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by eating a hearty breakfast.

  ~~~

  Chapter Seventeen

  ~

  “I FEEL LIKE A FATHER,” DARROL SAID. “The last time we traveled together Valiso Gasibli balanced out the group.” He looked at Kell. “Although Kell is too old to be a son of mine, both of you two could be.”

  They all shared a table in a modest inn situated in the middle of a village that huddled against the edges of the road north to Palleton, the capital of the Dukedom of Sand. The road from Mancus to the mountains led them right through the capital city.

  The food seemed acceptable to Darrol and Paki, but Pol could taste meat that was aged a bit too long, and Kell had refused to eat anything but bread and a few apples that had seen fresher days. They all ate their fill after losing their breakfasts on the voyage across the strait between the Isle of Deftnis and Mancus.

  Paki laughed. “What restrictions are you going to put on us?”

  “Not too much drinking, because we will be getting up early. I want to be able to get to the northern side of the Wild Spines in a week.”

  Pol pulled out the map. “See how the mountain range separates The Dukedoms? There is a reason for that, and it’s because there aren’t a lot of passes through the mountains. I read that they aren’t tall mountains, but they are steep and treacherous.”

  Darrol bent over to trace a path. “We can take the Palleton road further north to get out of the dukedom of Sand, and then slip into Terrifin to work our way westward on the north side.”

  “It will be slower going if we have to hug the mountains,” Pol said. “I guess we better appreciate the inns while we can. I doubt if Searl lives in a village. It could take us weeks to find him, but find him we must.”

  Paki looked sideways at Pol. “You are sure he’s alive?”

  Pol nodded. “The last nearly unintelligible letter arrived after Winter’s Day. It’s a matter of finding him, but if he’s a minweed addict, we probably just have to find where the best minweed grows. That’s the pattern I’m going to follow.”

  ~

  Palleton was a bit of a disappointment. It was less than a quarter the size of Borstall, and actually not much bigger than Mancus if it had had a wall built around it. There were few admirable buildings in the town. If the dukedom of Sand had a distinctive architecture, Pol couldn’t detect it.

  They rode on through after they realized that they could get a couple more hours of travel in. Darrol proclaimed the local produce not worth buying.

  Pol spent the next two hours talking to Demeron, who had been silent through much of the first two days. When he became more talkative, Pol learned that Demeron had taken a while to recover from their rough crossing from Deftnis Isle. He had never thought of horses being under the weather before.

  They were between villages and stopped well before night fell. The night was mild, so they decided to camp by a large pond in the midst of a small forest. Pol and Paki put out snares to see if they could catch some rabbits for breakfast.

  Darrol brought out a packet of ham and vegetables, while Kell found the stream that fed the pond where he filled up water skins.

  “We let it boil for awhile. You just can’t trust the water unless it comes directly from a spring,” Darrol said to Kell, just when Pol returned.

  Pol found a big log, which enabled him to stand tall enough to more easily pull off Demeron’s saddle.

  You don’t have to hobble the other horses. I’ll keep them together at night.

  “Okay, Demeron,” Pol said.

  “What did the horse say?” Kell asked.

  “We won’t have to secure the horses. Demeron will see that they are all here tomorrow,” Pol said.

  Darrol watched the pot boil. The three youths sat around an existing fire ring. The lake had obviously been a popular spot.

  “We still keep watch,” Darrol said. “Sand may be civilized, but bandits infest every country in the Baccusol Empire. I should know.”

  Paki sat down. “Do you have any juicy stories?”

  “I do. You’re just getting started moving about the countryside. You can always talk about how Valiso Gasibli saved you from an ambush in the midst of a battle, and then there was the time when we sneaked up on the pea shooter’s assassins. Pol has even more.”

  “What’s this ambush all about?” Kell said.

  Paki puffed his chest up and recounted the trip Pol and he made north from Borstall to the Taridan border and the attack that Kolli, Pol’s temporary bodyguard, Paki, and Pol had fought off and how Val finished it.

  Pol had to wince at the embellishments. It looked like Kell didn’t believe all of it, either.

  “Darrol? What caused you to leave Deftnis?” Kell said.

  An awkward silence came over the camp. Darrol threw the meat in to soak in the steaming pot.

  “It’s a sensitive subject,” Pol said.

  Darrol laughed. “Not that sensitive. My magic wasn’t progressing, since I’m a Level Two and no higher. I made it to the green level in swordsmanship and would need to use more magic to progress since my sword work is good, but not great.”

  “Stuck in a rut?” Paki said.

  Darrol smiled. “So I began to drink and carouse in Mancus more than I should have. One time, when I couldn’t think straight, I found a willing woman. We dallied.” Darrol sighed. “Her husband found us. It was awkward. He wanted to fight, but neither of us had swords, so we used our fists.” Darrol shook his head. “I was drunk, and he was untrained. I killed him.”

  “You what?” Kell said.

  Darrol raised his hand. “It was a fair fight. There were witnesses aplenty. Deftnis became a place tied to that ugly memory, so I left. I don’t have any appetite for war, so I bounced around as a guard in enough places until I landed in Borstall.”

  Pol scratched his head. “But you returned to the monastery.”

  “The woman in question left Deftnis and went to live with her parents in Finster. I don’t know what happened to her after that. Without her around, I didn’t mind returning. I just hadn’t had a reason. Now I do.”

  “Which is?” Kell asked.

  “Pol saved my life. I pledged right there to be his man,” Darrol said and shrugged. “When Pol leaves Deftnis, I suppose I will leave, too.”

  “Darrol is my one-man-army,” Pol said.

  Paki looked injured. “Hey, what about me?”

  “You are my scouting force.” Pol laughed at the thought.

  Kell was silent for a while. “It’s good to have true friends, I guess.”

  �
��You seem to have enough friends,” Paki said.

  “True friends are different from acquaintances. There is a big difference. I was upset when I first got here, and my anger drew me to acolytes who were mad like me, but they didn’t share my reasons. We’ve pretty much gone different ways,” Kell said.

  Kell’s words rang true. He had sensed Kell softening up, from how he had originally perceived him, but now he knew why. Kell was forced into the monastery, and the surliness he showed to Pol hadn’t been really aimed at him, but a reaction to his dissatisfaction.

  “Is Deftnis more palatable?”

  Kell nodded. “I didn’t think I had any magical talent, but the monks discovered that I have a bit.”

  “About like me,” Paki said.

  “Maybe more than you,” Kell said. That brought laughter from Pol and Darrol. “I may end up like Darrol, qualified enough to be better than most in the world, but not at Deftnis,” Kell said. “I’m fine with that, if I can learn a bit of healing and become good enough to be a Seeker.”

  “You don’t need magic to work with patterns, only a good mind,” Pol said. “Malden Gastoria always reminded me that magicians work with the patterns around them, but don’t tweak them as much as others think. I have seen proof of that. We didn’t need to tweak to find the flag, remember?”

  Kell shook his head with a rueful grin on his face. “We needed to tweak the flag into your hands, if you recall.”

  Pol had to agree. “But we still solved our problem together.” Pol looked at Darrol. “Are there Seeker teams? There has to be. I saw teamwork in action when we found the monastery thieves. Val had just worked with a younger seeker on Volia when I first met him.”

  Darrol shrugged. “That’s a question better asked of Ranno Wissingbel or Val. It seems logical. You went out with Val a few times in Borstall, I heard.”

  “You heard right,” Paki said. “Don’t worry, Kell. Seekers don’t always work alone.”

  That reminded Pol to use his locator skills when he was on watch.

  Dinner was pretty dismal. It seemed that Darrol didn’t bring much in the way of herbs and had woefully underestimated the amount of salt he should have packed. He vowed to buy some in the next village, but that didn’t help the stew he had made.

  Paki volunteered to take the first watch. Pol checked on Demeron, who scolded Pol for waking him up. Pol fell asleep only to be nudged awake by Paki.

  “It’s your turn.”

  Pol looked around the camp. Paki had kept the fire burning, but that would only ruin a watchman’s night vision. He remembered Paki’s father teaching them that in Borstall.

  He looked out with his locator sense after he spread the fire a bit to stop the flames. He put his hand over the glowing coals and reached out with his locator sense. To his surprise he found six dots converging on them from different directions.

  Pol tried to remain calm. He took a few deep breaths and rose to his feet and nudged Darrol.

  “Visitors. Six coming from different directions except the lake.”

  “What?” Darrol rose up on his elbow. “Oh,” he said in a quieter voice, while he put his boots on and slid his sheath from his baldric and quietly removed his sword. “You wake Paki, and I’ll tell Kell.

  Before Pol could get to Paki, the brigands attacked. Kell stood with his sword in his hand, in bare feet, while Paki was rising. Pol hadn’t taken his boots off after his watch.

  Pol stopped one brigand from attacking Paki, but two more faced him. A black shape rose from the darkness. Pol’s stomach turned as the huge form slowly walked behind his opponents.

  Demeron neighed and reared up, striking one man while Paki took care of the other. The stallion ran towards Darrol, confronted by two other men, and took care of them both, prompting Darrol to just back up out of the way. He turned to help Kell, trading sword blows with the last of the bandits.

  Demeron paced up to Pol and bent his head down. Are you all right?

  Pol nodded. “You didn’t give me a chance to get into the fight.”

  The horse shook his head. As intended. I’ve got to get back to my tiny herd or they might run away.

  Pol watched Demeron leave. He realized that his army was significantly larger than one.

  “Devil horse,” Kell said, breathing heavily, but then he smiled. “I like it when the devil is on my side.”

  Darrol grunted. “I do, too. Let’s see if they’re all dead.”

  ~

  Pol woke up as the light of dawn began to color the tops of the trees. He shivered under his blanket and walked over to the fire that Darrol had already begun coaxing back to life with a bit of magic.

  “At least I can do this,” Darrol said as the fire sprang back to life. “Let’s go look at the brigands.”

  Darrol led Pol into the wood where the bodies of six bandits lay lined up in a row. Pol had seen death too many times in his young life to be overly affected by the dead bodies of men who had just sought to kill him.

  “What do your Seeker skills tell you?” Darrol said.

  “These were in their pockets?” Pol said, pointing to piles of possessions at the foot of each body.

  “They were. I did that right after I dragged them here. It was a little easier to get them out then than now.”

  Pol nudged a stiff body with his foot and understood what Darrol meant. They were all a bit stiff.

  “Anything about how these thieves are dressed?” Pol asked. He wouldn’t be able to know what was normal or not. They all looked pretty much alike to him.

  Darrol got down on his haunches and fingered their clothes, and then he shook his head.

  Pol knelt down and began to go through the men’s possessions. Some of the things were bloody, but Pol took a deep breath and sought out pieces that might be part of a pattern.

  “Their weapons aren’t of a high quality, so they might be hired swords,” Pol said pulling a knife from a sheath. The money mostly came from Sand. “Maybe something is hidden in their boots.”

  Both of them began the grisly task of pulling off old shoes. There were two small knives, of the same mediocre quality, but there was a little, thick leather pouch wrapped in a piece of paper.

  “What’s this?” Darrol said, unwrapping the paper. He looked it over and gave it to Pol.

  “Undersized fifteen-year-old with very light hair riding a large black stallion out from Deftnis,” Pol said and gave the message back to Darrol. “These weren’t brigands.”

  Kell made a disagreeable sound. “Shouldn’t we bury them? I don’t like dead people.”

  “You can get started,” Darrol said. “There is a small shovel with my saddlebags.”

  “I have one, too,” Paki said, scratching his head and yawning. “Find anything?”

  “Assassins,” Pol said. “You can thank Demeron that none of us were hurt last night. You two get the hole dug. We’ll bury them all together. Darrol and I will find their horses. I don’t want to leave them tied up forever.” He looked over at Darrol. “If it’s all right with you.”

  Darrol raised his hand. “You are doing fine, My acolyte.” He grinned. “What’s in the pouch?”

  Pol knew before he even opened it, but he looked anyway. Six South Salvan Lions fell into his palm. “They really don’t like me.” Pol said. He tucked them back into the leather bag and gave it to Darrol. “For our travel fund.”

  “You keep them,” Darrol said. “They were after you.”

  Pol examined all the other possessions and found nothing of consequence. The purses of the other men would be taken and split between Paki and Kell. The money wouldn’t do the dead men any good, and they had no desire to find the bandits’ relatives. Darrol thought it would be a good idea to take the weapons to the next village.

  Demeron herded nine horses on the other side of the little lake. Pol called out. “Bring them over here.” He hoped the Shinkyan stallion had heard him.

  By the time the thieves were dragged into their shallow graves, Demeron broug
ht the other horses into the camp.

  “Can you talk to them?”

  Horses don’t talk, Demeron said.

  Pol looked at his horse with narrowed eyes. “I think you do.”

  I’m not an ordinary horse. We have other ways of communicating, mostly gestures. They gladly followed me after I untied them. Demeron shook his head.

  The four of them went through the saddlebags of the thieves and found little else of interest.

  Darrol passed out stale bread that he had purchased from a street vendor in Palleton. Darrol split the six horses into strings of three. Kell and he led them as they left the clearing and got back up on the road that led north.

  It took another two hours to reach the next village. Darrol insisted that Pol wear his hat. The fewer people that noticed his silvery hair, the better.

  Along the way Pol wondered if he would ever get rid of assassins and the constant attacks. He had already removed himself from the lines of succession to Listya and North Salvan. What more could his enemies possibly want? Demeron? Pol didn’t think he could ever give up the horse that had become such a good friend.

  “Where is the law around here?” Darrol asked a shopkeeper sweeping the wooden porch in front of his brick store. Most of the other buildings along the street were made out of rough-cut stone.

  “The Duke has a guard office two lanes up and to your right. What happened?”

  “Brigands, but we took care of them. They won’t be bothering any of you.”

  “Sand is a safe place. You say they are all dead?”

  Pol nodded. “They are.” He nodded to Darrol, and they left the shopkeeper staring at them as they passed.

  Darrol dismounted his horse. “You can come in with me if you want, but it’s better that you don’t say anything. We aren’t from Deftnis, right?”

  Pol could see Darrol’s point if there were others after him. He nodded. He followed Darrol into the guard building. The stone was cut much finer than any in the town, but the furniture looked rather worn and shabby. A bearded guard looked up from reading something on his desk.

  “Can I help you?” The guard didn’t seem very pleased to see someone upset his work from the tone of his voice.