by Gaelen Foley
She nodded with a smile of relief.
He clapped the reins over the horses’ backs and drove on past the green swathe of crops, pastures, and orchards. They passed the stables and the dairy farms, where the nuns’ famous cheese was being made, and the vineyards and the winepress and the acres of hops being grown for the monks’ award-winning ale, past the quaint brewery.
Nearer in lay the impressive Ilian hospital and the tidy rows of almshouses for the elderly poor, as well as the orphanage, with the little play yard for the children. Closer still to the busy, golden beehive of the Bastion’s inner circle stood the several palaces of the highest-ranking clerics in the church hierarchy, known as the Venerables.
Other buildings housed the orders of teaching monks and nuns who ran all branches of Veraidel’s only university, also here at the Bastion. Other divisions of church scholars kept the great library and worked tirelessly in the scriptorium, penning beautiful illuminated manuscripts. The most erudite order of clerics worked as observers and cataloguers of nature. They spent their time studying creation, researching everything from the stars shining through the domed observatory to the lowliest of life forms growing in the dirt.
Everywhere was order; everyone had his place. And given the chaos of his life over the past few days, Thaydor welcomed the return to sanity with all his orderly, disciplined soul.
Driving along the edge of the meditation gardens further lifted his mood. The gardens were most beautiful, with colonnades, terraces, and fountains. Winding paths through the exquisite, ornamental acres offered contemplative walks, with regular stopping points to sit and think or pray.
As they went by the chapel beside the gardens’ gateway, swirling strains of polyphonic chorus floated to them on the breeze, ethereal and bright as the sunlight itself. Wrynne looked over at him and took his hand. Seeing wonder mingled with anxiety in her beautiful gray eyes, he suspected she was thinking about their wedding.
He regretted that it had to be so hasty, that their families couldn’t come. Ingrid would wring his neck when she found out she had lost the chance to be a bridesmaid, and what Wrynne’s mother would say, he barely dared wonder.
For his part, marrying a girl without first asking her father’s permission bothered him exceedingly, even though she was of legal age to make her own decisions.
But as much as this seemed out of order, he knew it would not be proper for them to continue traveling together in their current state—especially now that they had lost the fight to keep their hands off each other. Besides, it would not be safe for their kinfolk to be around them until this storm blew over, anyway.
He took his hand back from Wrynne’s light hold in order to turn the wagon to the right at the intersection ahead. This put them on the broad, triumphal avenue leading straight up to the foot of the tower and the heart of the complex.
As the main approach to the little city, the so-called Avenue of the Sun was lined on both sides with tall white banners bearing the golden sunburst crest of Ilios. Sunflowers were planted along the parade route, as well, as a secondary symbol of the Light.
At last, he drove into the cobbled courtyard of the chapter house of the Sons of Might and reined the wagon to a halt. He let out a sigh, pulled down the hood of his cloak, and looked around.
“Anybody home?”
* * *
“Thaydor!” a deep voice shouted.
Wrynne looked over to find a burly, bearded friar striding toward them, a hearty grin on his beefy face.
A thick-bodied bear of a man, he wore a brown robe with a rope-belt cinched across his potbelly. With a burst of carefree laughter, he held his arms up at his sides. “Welcome, brother! We’ve been expecting you!”
“Brother Piero! Ah, it’s been too long!” Thaydor jumped down from the wagon and clasped the friar’s outstretched forearm. The man greeted him in the same fashion.
Though Brother Piero was fat and rather messy looking, something about the wild glint in his dark eyes told her he must be one of the warrior monks. Sturdy as he was, he looked like he could do some damage once he put his armor on.
“I take it you’ve heard my interesting news?” Thaydor drawled.
“What, that you’re suddenly the kingdom’s most infamous outlaw?” Piero laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “What tripe! Aye, I saw one of those Wanted posters. Took it with me to the garderobe this morning and used it to wipe my arse. Er…beggin’ your pardon, lady.” He pressed his hands together as in prayer and bowed to her.
Wrynne’s lips twitched. “Don’t mind me. Greetings, brother.”
“Who is your companion, lad? Ah, one of our fair Roses, I see,” the friar said with a broad smile, gesturing to her necklace.
“My lady, Brother Piero has been a fixture at our chapter house since the days when I lived here as a student,” Thaydor explained.
“You make me sound so old!”
“You are old.”
“I am not yet fifty, you impertinent whelp! I daresay I can still trounce you with the quarterstaff.”
“Maybe with the quarterstaff,” Thaydor conceded. “I never had much patience for it.”
“You always liked a bladed weapon better.”
“That’s true.”
“Ahem,” Wrynne said in amusement. “Pleased to meet you, Brother Piero. I am Wrynne du Mere and I would like to either get down from this wagon or continue on to my chapter house. So what are we doing, hmm?”
She gazed expectantly at Thaydor, but something about her rather wifely tone of voice must’ve startled Brother Piero.
He looked from Wrynne to Thaydor in astonishment. “Are you two…?”
“She saved my life,” Thaydor said with a nonchalant grin, then changed the subject, clasping the older man’s shoulder. “I crave your patience, brother, but we need to consult the oracle and receive whatever counsel the Venerables can bestow about our situation.”
“Of course! Come. Fret not, children. We will look after the both of you.” He beckoned to Wrynne, and Thaydor handed her down from the wagon. “Oh, and Bartholomew! See to the horses!” he called to someone in the chapter house stables. “Ha, Avalanche!” Piero patted the steed’s neck. “How’s he doing?”
“Very well,” the paladin answered. They followed the friar into the chapter house. “But I’m afraid I have bad news about my latest squire.”
Piero winced as he held the heavily carved oak door open for them. “Not another one, man!”
“Eadric of Hazelmore has gone to Elysium,” Thaydor said quietly.
Genuine sadness filled his dark eyes. The burly monk paused, shook his head, and looked at the ground. “Ah, well, so may it be. Ilios sees all. I figure he knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m counting on it,” Thaydor agreed. “I do wish they’d stop sending me squires who aren’t ready, though.”
“They all volunteer! They want to be you.”
Thaydor harrumphed.
Wrynne poked his stomach. “Maybe your new fame as the Villain of Veraidel will dim their hero worship.”
“That would be one good thing, at least.” He cast his arm around her shoulders and pulled her near in chummy fashion.
Piero seemed intrigued as he glanced from Wrynne to Thaydor, both of them looking much too happy for two people who were being hunted.
“Fear not, you two,” he resumed. “These lies of the darkness cannot withstand the Light shining upon them. We just have to figure out how best to do that. And we shall, never you fret. This way.”
He led them up a dark, carved, turning wooden staircase. “Your rooms are up here. Sister, I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of accommodations for ladies, but we do have one bedchamber for visiting female relatives.”
“I can go to my own chapter house—”
“No. You’ll be much safer here,” Thaydor interrupted as they stepped into the upstairs hallway. “We don’t know who else might be working with the king in this. I want you within shouting distance of
me at all times.”
She shrugged. “As you wish. But I would at least like to visit them before we leave.”
“Of course. Later.”
The corridor was lined with doors to the private quarters of the Sons of Might members currently in residence. They followed Brother Piero to the door at the end of the hallway. He opened it. “Here you are, my lady. Our female guestroom. I take it you’ll want the room across the hall from her,” he said to Thaydor, gesturing at it.
Thaydor nodded and went into her room, where he glanced around to make sure everything looked acceptable. After spending the previous night in a cave, the well-appointed chamber was more than Wrynne expected.
“Thank you,” she said, setting her satchel down on the nearest chair. “This will be perfect.”
“Would you like me to send word over to the Temple of Prophecy that you need an appointment right away?” the friar asked.
“I should think they already know,” Thaydor said, flashing a smile.
“Ha! Good point.” Piero laughed. “I’ll do it anyway so they can clear their schedules for you, under the circumstances. And the Venerables, too. I don’t know how many of them you’ll get, but I’m sure they’ll want to speak with you.”
“Thanks. Oh, and tell the priestesses at the Temple of Prophecy that we’ll both want a chance individually to consult the oracle,” he said, tilting his head in her direction. “I should do it, since I’m the one slated for destruction, but Wrynne may have better results. She’s already shown something of a gift for visions and such. That dream you had of Reynulf,” he reminded her.
She nodded. “Whatever I can do to help.” Then she looked at the friar. “Thank you, once again, for all your help, Brother Piero.”
“My honor, lady.” He bowed to her. “Just promise me I’ll be invited to the wedding?”
They looked at him and then each other in slightly guilty surprise.
“Are we that obvious?” Thaydor murmured.
“Ah, you don’t have to be an oracle to know when two people are in love. I have eyes! I trust you will behave yourselves under our roof, eh? Ilios sees all.” He arched a bushy eyebrow at them as he turned to go, chuckling as they blushed and mumbled their chagrined compliance.
“Piero?” Thaydor asked as the large, portly whirlwind of a man started striding off, dwarfing the narrow hallway through which he passed.
“Aye, lad?” he said, turning around.
Thaydor gazed at him affectionately. “Of course you are invited to the wedding. And the sooner the better.”
“Ha! I knew it! I was only teasing, but when I saw the way you looked at her… Finally! Ah, I am delighted for you both.” He ran back and congratulated them properly, pumping Thaydor’s hand and then nearly breaking Wrynne’s ribs with his big bear hug.
“You two are just…beautiful together. You’re going to have the most extraordinary children! Look at you. All Elysium will rejoice. Amen, I say! Take good care of him, my lady,” he warned, misty-eyed as he set her down on her feet again. “He’s the best we’ve got.”
“I know he is. I will,” she promised, hoping he didn’t crush her fingers as he held both her hands in his two big paws.
“As for your wedding, leave it all to me!” Piero announced with sudden zeal. “Yes, yes, I know you’re on the run for your lives, but this is love we are talking about here! The greatest gift of Ilios! No, don’t fret, ’tis no trouble. With everything you two are dealing with, all you’ll have to do is show up. Leave it to me! I will personally make sure you two have the perfect wedding.”
“You are more than kind.” Wrynne pressed her lips shut and dropped her gaze to the floor to avoid laughing, while Thaydor mumbled his rather astonished thanks.
Who’d have thought a burly, celibate warrior monk would be so keen to plan a spontaneous wedding for his friend? Perhaps the rugged friar harbored a secret romantic streak, bless him.
After Brother Piero had gone rushing off on his many, sudden wedding-party errands, she and Thaydor exchanged a twinkling glance.
“This should be interesting,” he whispered.
She shook her head, smiling. “As long as I end up with the right groom, that’s all I care about.”
“No worries on that point, lovely. You’re all mine. Or soon to be.” He sauntered over and kissed her, but with Piero’s reminder to behave ringing in their ears, they parted, biding their time for now.
Thaydor did, however, send her a playful leer from the doorway before retreating to his room across the hall. It was time to prepare to see the oracle.
* * *
Except for a few noisy birds calling from the fruit trees around the large building, the domed Temple of Prophecy was an especially quiet place. Wrynne and Thaydor followed the cloistered walkway through the afternoon shade to the arched door beneath the sunburst window, where they entered.
Inside the dim, silent vestibule, they followed the usual procedure and, at once, removed their shoes. Then one of the prophetic sisters greeted them. She was draped in plain white robes with a gold clasp at her shoulder and her hair piled in tendrils on her head.
They bowed to her and murmured their thanks for so quickly being seen. With barely a word, she nodded and turned away. “Follow me.”
As the oracle’s attendant led them deeper into the temple, they began to hear the vibratory tones of meditative chimes resonating on the air as they were softly struck, while the scent of incense burning wafted toward them. It helped create a very soothing mood, but Wrynne was still nervous.
She glanced at Thaydor. Never had she dreamed that one day she’d be visiting the Temple of Prophecy with the Paladin of Ilios.
Let alone marry him.
She had never been so happy and so scared at the same time in all her life, but she pushed her anxiety aside as the woman in white gestured for them to sit. There were benches in the large, serene anteroom just outside the center courtyard where the oracle received her petitioners.
They were the only ones there.
“Sit. Make yourselves comfortable. Breathe deeply for a few minutes and think of the matter that brings you here. In your heart, tell the Father of Lights that you seek his guidance and form your question clearly in your mind. Which of you will go first?”
Wrynne pointed at Thaydor.
The woman nodded and continued her recitation of the instructions given to all visitors, whether they had ever been there before or not.
“Whenever you feel ready, go to the table there.” She nodded at the long, waist-high countertop that ran the length of the wall. “Take one of the small squares of parchment provided and write your question on it in as few words as possible. If you cannot read or write, one of us will write it for you. Simply ask.
“Then roll your parchment into a tiny scroll or fold it as you wish and bring it with you to the doorway.” She pointed to the door gracefully. “From there, I will take you one by one to consult the oracle. When your parchment is burned, she will read the shape of the smoke and the ashes, and give your answer privately. What you do with the information, or with whom you choose to share it, is entirely up to you unless she tells you otherwise. Any questions?”
They had none, so she left them to carry out the simple instructions. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, Wrynne found it difficult to clear her mind or concentrate while sitting next to Thaydor. His big, powerful presence was still just too thrilling to her in so many ways. She feared she was a little obsessed with the man, especially after last night.
The way he had touched her… She shuddered with pleasure at the vivid memory.
She stole a glance at him. He was of course doing as he was told, breathing slowly and meditating on his weighty questions and probably wondering how to pare it down to just one. Since his eyes were closed, Wrynne stole a moment to gaze at him.
How beautiful he was. How good. How reassuring to be next to him and to know that Ilios himself had ordained their match, bringing them together…
She just smiled, caught staring.
The way he arched his eyebrow at her in wry reproach nearly made her burst out in inappropriate laughter, given the solemnity of the place.
She got a chiding elbow on the side for that, and he sent her a twinkling scowl that said, Don’t make me laugh, you rascal.
“Sorry,” she whispered, then closed her eyes with determination, though her smile wouldn’t dim. Couldn’t a soon-to-be bride feel a little giddy on her wedding day?
She still couldn’t concentrate, distracted by her acute awareness of the irresistible man who would deflower her tonight.
Only when he rose and went to write his question could she begin to settle down. You’ll have the rest of your life to dote on him, she scolded herself. Now pay attention.
Finally, she managed to clear her mind, but even so, she watched Thaydor with pleasure when he finished writing and walked over to the arched doorway, still rolling his parchment into a tiny matchstick for the oracle to burn.
The white-clad assistant met the tall, princely paladin there and offered the open base of a bronze censer in which to place his question. He did so, then followed the woman out of view into the central courtyard open to the sky.
Consultations with the oracle usually only took about a quarter hour, giving Wrynne time to calm down. At length, she rose in a relatively serene state and walked over to the table. She took a piece of parchment and picked up a stylus.
As she dipped it in the ink, she puzzled over how to word her question. With her entire life having been turned upside down, she decided to leave it up to Ilios to tell her whatever he thought best. Sometimes a mere mortal didn’t even know the right question to ask, so she left it open-ended: Father, what is Your will for me?
She trusted that somehow Ilios would let her know how she could best help Thaydor and the kingdom, which was all she really wanted. It might take time, but she believed whole-heartedly that good would win, that their names would be cleared and justice restored to the kingdom.