A firm knock sounded on the rear kitchen door, making Lia jump with fright. She rushed to the door, expecting to see Colvin. Hurryingly, she raised the crossbar and pulled the door handle.
But it was not the armiger. It was not the sheriff.
It was the knight-maston who had brought Colvin to the Abbey days ago, still haggard and mud-splattered and wearing the magnificent sword belted to his waist.
“Look at you, lass. You seem surprised I came back. Why is that?”
“You came,” Lia nearly gasped. “I did not think…the sheriff’s men…I thought they had captured you.”
“The sheriff’s men? Unimaginable. They do not have enough brains between them to fill the husk of a nut, but that is neither here nor there. From what I heard in the village yesterday, you have done your part with great cleverness. He is safe?”
Lia nodded triumphantly.
He smiled broadly at her. “There is a good lass. I knew you were a clever girl. So young to be so clever.” He nudged the door with the tip of his boot. “He is not hiding in here, is he?”
“No, the sheriff ransacked the place looking for him. Sowe and I – she is my companion you know – we took him to a safe place.”
“Is he far?”
“Not very. I was going to fetch him at dawn and steal his horse back and…”
“His horse? It wandered here too?”
“Yes, days ago. We are trying to help him find Winterrowd. But now that you are here, you can take him with you and…”
He shook his head, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. “No, it is nearly dawn. I must flee before the other helpers awaken. Tell him to meet me at the Pilgrim Inn. I will be waiting for him. The sheriff’s men are leagues from here by now.”
“The Pilgrim,” Lia echoed. “It is nearby. I will tell him. You are a brave knight. Garen Demont is lucky to have you. Do you suspect the sheriff is watching the road?”
He smiled, appearing flattered. “It is you who are brave. Oh, I am sure the road is being watched. Sheriff Almaguer is not as clever as you, but he is still a fearful man. Did you see him when he came to the abbey?”
“He came to the kitchen looking for…” She almost said his name and stopped herself, not knowing if the knight maston already knew who he was escorting. “For him.”
“That must have frightened you.”
“He is a frightful man. But the Aldermaston sent him away.”
“Brave lass. I am proud of you. Here – for your bravery and for the risks you have taken.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a coin pouch that jingled when he shook it. “I would do more, and I will after he is delivered safely to the Pilgrim. Perhaps it will be of use to you when you are eighteen and ready to make your way in this harsh world. Hide it where you put you other treasures.” He handed it to her. As she tentatively took it, his other hand clasped on top of hers, warm and rough – a soldier’s hand. “I will not forget. Thank you, lass. Now hurry, hide it before the cook comes and ruins our plan. You remember the name of the inn?”
“The Pilgrim,” Lia said, bursting with pleasure inside.
He let her hand go after a gentle pat. “First the Pilgrim. Then to Winterrowd. We may have a chance yet, with him on our side.”
* * *
“Learners question why faces are carved into stone as a means of preserving the magic of the Medium. There are many levels of symbolism involved that can be shared openly. Stone symbolizes permanence. The faces represent mankind’s ultimate and eventual dominion over the elements of nature and even time itself. Nature continues on its course, a continuing cycle of birth, death, and rebirth. But one, acting under the proper authority of the Medium, can alter that course. The likeness of the sun, moon, and stars symbolizes that great power exists beyond this world that can control this one. We are, after all, living on only one of the worlds inhabited by the Family. Any deeper meaning of the symbolism, along with instruction for creating them – the uninitiated mockingly call them ‘leering stones’ – can only be had through the rites of the Abbey. All mastons know this, and they do not share it outside their order.”
- Cuthbert Renowden of Billerbeck Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
The Cruciger Orb
Fog shrouded the abbey grounds with fleecy wisps and dew. Lia and Sowe wore their cloaks and hugged themselves for warmth as they crossed the Cider Orchard towards the waymarker near the rock cleft. In one hand, Lia clutched the metal orb and used it to point the way in the mist. She kept in her mind the image of the armiger, his brow mottled with a scab, his cheeks and chin scruffy with whiskers. Sowe said nothing as she carried the linen bundle with the foodstuffs. Ahead, in the gloom, they spied the burning eyes of the Leering.