The Robin And The Kestrel bv-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  Bits of bark caught in his sweater, and the bough sank towards the ground. Good! That meant less of a drop.

  But now he would have to carefully gauge the strength of the tree-limb he was on. If he went too far, he was in danger of snapping it.

  The limb creaked a little as it bent_then it came to rest on the top of the wall. Enough. It wasn't going to get any better than this.

  He clung with his hands, and slowly lowered his legs until he was hanging from the limb; then let go, flexing his knees for the fall.

  He landed on turned earth; a tumble of frozen clods that made footing uncertain and gave him a bad moment as his ankle started to twist. But he managed to save himself by flailing his arms for balance, and a moment later Gwyna landed beside him.

  He tapped her on the shoulder; she followed him to the building, where they crouched in shadow for a moment, listening intently.

  Nothing. All was silent.

  There were some advantages, he reflected, to trying to break into a building in a place where there were treekies at night. No such place would ever have guard dogs or sentinel geese; the treekies would happily make a meal of them.

  This was probably the kitchen garden; the rear door into the kitchen itself would be to his right. But he didn't want that door_for as he had told Gwyna, the kitchen might well have a guard on it. He wanted a side door, preferably one that led into a meditation garden.

  He went to the left, with Robin following. He left one hand on the wall to guide him and tried to feel how the ground changed under his feet. Here in the kitchen-garden, it would be gravel between the plots and the building; once he reached the meditation gardens, the gravel should give way to grassy lawn.

  From time to time his hand encountered the frame of a window; when that happened, he warned Robin, and crouched down below the level of the sill, crawling on hands and knees to get past it. All it would take would be one sleepless Brother staring out at the stars, and seeing a man-shaped shadow pass between him and them, and it would all be over.

  Finally, his foot encountered grass; thick, well-tended grass, by the feel of it. In the summer it must be like a plush carpet. Very difficult to achieve and maintain that effect; now he knew what the poor novices here spent their disciplinary time doing.

  Praying and weeding; praying the weeds don't come back. He smiled a little, but it was a smile without humor. What need had an Abbey for a lawn like that? He wondered if the surly Brother Pierce was permitted to walk in this garden; such a lawn would make a barefoot "penance" into a sensual pleasure.

  Two more windows_then his hand encountered a frame that did not mark a window, but a doorway. Exactly the place he wanted!

  The door was unlocked, and swung open at a touch, without the creaking that the kitchen door would likely have emitted. A tiny vigil-lamp burned beside it on the inside wall. He slipped inside, Robin followed, and they closed the door lest a draft give them away.

  This doorway gave out on a short hall; they followed it to the end, where it intersected with a much larger hall. He thought for a moment, trying out the pattern of most Abbeys in his mind.

  The Library was always next to the Scriptorium, where the manuscripts and books were copied. The Scriptorium needed very good light, which generally meant a southern exposure; the Library demanded much less, lest the manuscripts fade. He thought that the wall they had come in on faced south_

  There were two doors to the left; none to the right. He went left, and opened the one to the room that had an outside wall.

  The smell told him it was the Scriptorium; wet ink and paint drying.

  So the room across the hallway should be the Library.

  He tried the door; it was locked. He smiled to himself in great satisfaction. He knew from all his other clandestine forays that if the Library was locked, it would definitely not be not guarded or watched. Locked, because every Library had some "forbidden" work in it that the novices spent their entire novitiate trying to get at to read. But it would not be guarded, because, of course, novices would not dare to remove the treasured tome, lest they be caught with it in their possession.

  But the locks of Libraries, as he had reason to know, were built to impress, not for efficiency.

  Gwyna might be skilled at picking pockets, but he was a Master of Library Locks.

  It was a matter of heartbeats with the help of a long, slender wire and a bit of wood. The lock fell open, and the door swung inward.

  To his relief, there were more of those tiny vigil-lamps burning here; they would not have to work blind. As Gwyna closed the door behind him, softly, he studied the bookshelves, and suddenly realized with dismay that he had no idea where in all of this to start!

  There were hundreds of books in here, not the mere two or three dozen he had expected! Bookshelves filled the room, reaching from floor to ceiling, and all of the shelves were full. If they were cataloged in any way, he didn't know what it was. The key to all this probably resided in the Librarian's head_

  As he gazed at the wealth of books in an agony of despair, he shoved his hands down into the pockets of his breeches_and encountered a small, hard lump wrapped in silk.

  The pendant!

  In a heartbeat, Talaysen's lessons on the laws of magic flashed into his mind. What once was one is always connected. Things that are related are connected. Things that are similar are connected_

  It was the second law that he needed to use now. Things that were related were connected, and under the proper circumstances, they would attract or resonate with each other. Since the pendant had something to do with the Ghost, it followed that the pendant could lead him to something else that related to the Ghost.

  He hoped.

  As Gwyna watched him curiously, he took the pendant out of its silk wrapping, wincing a little at the discordant "music," and held it in his hands, tuning his mind to find more of the same "music."

  There was music of various sorts all around him; many, many of these volumes had something to do with magic. Some of it was pleasant; some absolutely entrancing, the kind he could get lost inside for hours.

  But he didn't have hours, and he wasn't looking for anything pleasant.

  Then he heard it; a thin, evil trickle that could not by any stretch of the imagination be called a melody. A discordance of which the pendant was only a small part.

  He turned and followed it; it led him to a panel on the back wall, to one side of one of the enormous bookcases. It was a panel like many others in the room, but when he tapped it slightly, he thought it sounded hollow.

  The only trouble was, he couldn't open it.

  He tried everything he could think of; pressed anything that looked like it might be a release, and all to no avail. Gwyna took her turn at it, but her skill was not in this, and she was no more successful than he was.

  He was about to make another attempt, this time at forcing the panel open, when he felt a presence behind him.

  He turned; Gwyna whirled at the same instant.

  Brother Reymond stared at them in dumb shock, his mouth agape with surprise.

  Robin didn't wait to see what he'd do; she muffled his mouth with both hands, as Kestrel grabbed his arms. Together they wrestled him around and stuffed him in a corner.

  He looked at her; she looked back at him. "Now what?" she mouthed at him.

  He shrugged. "We t-try to convince him," he whispered back, then looked into the frightened eyes of the Brother.

  Robin only rolled her eyes skyward, and tightened her hold on Brother Reymond's mouth.

  Afterwards, Jonny wasn't certain how long it took him to convince Reymond simply to stay quiet until he had heard them out. It felt like forever, and he was certain that Robin's arms were aching with strain by the time Reymond nodded a frightened agreement.

  Things went a little faster, after that. She told him in detail about the Skull Hill Ghost, and the curious exception he had insisted on making to his promise. Then Kestrel told him about Padrik and his Healing Services.


  Reymond's eyes grew larger and larger, the more they spoke, but his mouth betrayed, not fear, but dismay. When Robin related her little stay with the Patsonos, his brows drew together in anger_but when Kestrel finally told him about the demon-summoning, and the fate of Orlina Woolwright, he could hardly contain his agitation.

  "Dear and gracious God!" he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper when they were done. "I never thought_I didn't want to think_but this explains all those visitors to the Abbot, the ones who seem to be in a trance, and who disappear, never to be seen again! They all wear pendants like that one"_he indicated the wrought-iron pendant in Kestrel's hand_"and that alone would convince me that you are telling the truth! But I have learned other things since you were last here...."

  "Like what?" Robin asked harshly, as his voice trailed off. He flushed with shame.

  "About your Ghost," he said, unhappily. "I have found manuscripts that told me he was bound there by the first Abbot, some fifty years ago or so. I also learned that there are other manuscripts that would tell me more, much more, if only we could find them."

  "What do you mean?" Robin asked, her face puzzled. "Are they lost? Were they taken away?"

  He shook his head, growing more and more distracted with every word. "No, they were hidden, somewhere in this Library, but I cannot for the life of me find them, and I have been trying _"

  Jonny cleared his throat, very delicately, and Brother Reymond started. "C-could they b-be b-behind this p-panel?" he asked, touching the offending bit of wood.

  Brother Reymond looked at the panel curiously_then suddenly lost all his color. He reached out with trembling fingers, and did something complicated among the carvings.

  The panel swung open. Behind it was a deep recess; in the recess was a bound manuscript.

  They all reached for it at the same time, but Brother Reymond's reach was longer and he got it first. He removed it from the recess, hands shaking_but he did not hold it as if it was something precious, but as if it was something vile that he did not wish to contaminate them with.

  He took it to a reading stand and lit the lamp from one of the vigil-lights. As the steady flame illuminated his face, he began to read, scanning the contents quickly.

  This is what I was looking for," he whispered. "This is the journal of the first Abbot of Carthell. He was a mage as well as Abbot, but he had been rejected as a Justiciar, and the rejection made him an angry and bitter man. He saw this appointment as an exile_I have read his first journals, and they are full of bile in the guise of piety."

  He turned away; Robin moved belatedly to stop him, but he was only relocking the door. "Now we will not be disturbed," he said. "There may be some other restless souls abroad tonight."

  He returned to the manuscript and scanned a little further. "Ah, here it is. I have uncovered a new spell, one that will bind the spirit of a being to a particular place, and make it to do the will of the binder. There, that's what we were looking for. I must have a living being for this, for the spell will not work on the dead, not even the newly dead. Dear and blessed God, he is contemplating murder here! There are many travelers upon this road who are not human. I mean to use one of those. It would indeed be a grave and mortal sin to kill a human, but these monsters and monstrosities are beyond the Church pale and law, and therefore, it is no murder to do one to death."

  Reymond was so white that Kestrel feared he might faint at any moment, but his voice was strong enough as he turned the pages.

  "Here is the spell itself_no, I shall not read it, I had rather burn it! Here he selects his victim _I have succeeded! My spell has worked beyond the wildest of my dreams! I drugged the creature's food, and carried him out to Bare Hill upon my own donkey; there I wrought the spell which slew and bound him all at once_and the spirit arose a hundred times more powerful and deadly than the monster had been alive!"

  Reymond's eyes flickered across the pages, as his voice filled with agony. "Here he tells how the Ghost he created killed at his command, destroying 'sinners' he sent to it for penance... here he tells how it also began to kill anyone who dared to cross its Hill after sundown. Look, here is the list of victims that the Abbot sent_and here the list of those who died 'accidentally'! One of them is the Priest of Westhaven who tried to banish the poor creature! And he says_oh, monstrous! Horrible, horrible _"

  Now his voice broke, and he buried his face in his hands for a moment. Kestrel dared to place a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some sort of wordless comfort. Reymond's shoulders shook, and when he removed his hands, his face was wet with tears.

  But his voice was strong again. "This fiend wrote here, in his own hand, that he told the Priest only 'some things were better left to the hand of God,' and the Priest ignored his warning. His warning! That was no warning_that was not even an attempt at a warning! This man was a monster, a demon in human guise _"

  He shook his head, violently. "And to not only leave that abomination in place, but to continue to use it! This is not the Church I joined; these are not the deeds of a good and God-loving man! This man was a monster of the basest sort, and the current Abbot is no better, cloaking his crimes, using what the other created!"

  Robin broke the silence that followed his outburst. "Was Padrik educated here?" she asked, quietly.

  Reymond nodded. "We thought it a matter of pride, that he should rise to be High Bishop," he whispered brokenly. "And now I find it to be not a cause for pride and rejoicing, but for shame...."

  "My people have a proverb, that two bad grapes don't mean all grapes are bad_but two spoiled grapes contaminate the whole bunch," Robin told him. "He and the Abbot together are doing terrible things in Gradford _"

  "And if they are not stopped, those terrible things will spread." Reymond's back straightened, and his expression went from horrified to determined. "We must put this right, the three of us," he said, finally, and firmly. "I am not a mage, myself, but I have studied magic in the course of my work for some time. I may be able to free this poor spirit_I must study the binding spell, vile as it is. If there is a physical link, I need only break it to break the binding spell. If the spell can be broken at all, I can do so within the next two days. I can wait here for those who Padrik may send, and free them once they reach the Hill, by taking their pendants as you took Orlina's. And if I can, I will go with further victims to the Justiciars at Kingsford, lay this before them, and ask them to deal with Padrik."

  Kestrel silently applauded the man's courage_he knew that the Ghost had killed dozens of people, and yet he was willing to dare its anger to free it! And then, not content with that alone, he would go petition the Justiciars as well, a long and uncomfortable journey in the heart of winter. His regard for Reymond rose, and he tried to put his admiration into his eyes, for he knew that his words alone would not convey it, poor and limping as they were. Now, this was a man of the Church who could restore his faith in the Church's honor!

  "Y-you are a g-good man, B-brother R-Reymond," he said, warmly. "As g-good_as the f-first Abbot was evil."

  Reymond blushed, and smiled shyly. "Thank you for those kind, but inaccurate words," he said softly. "I don't know if anyone could be good enough to counteract this evil."

  "D-don't ever b-believe that, please. E-ever."

  Robin had gone into the Scriptorium for pen and paper when Reymond made his declaration; she had been scribbling furiously ever since. Now she blew on the ink to dry it, folded the note, and handed it to Brother Reymond. "Give this to the first Gypsy you see on the road and tell him it has to get to a Gypsy named Peregrine, immediately," she told him. "I've left notes in other places for him, but you may be my fastest courier. When he reads it, he'll deal with the Clan that is helping Padrik with his frauds."

  Reymond nodded gravely, and put the note carefully inside the pouch hanging on his belt beside the keys to the Library. "And what of you?" he asked, faltering just a little. He clearly wanted to hear them say they intended to do something, but he also was obviously afraid that
they weren't going to.

  Robin smiled, a smile that dazzled the poor man. "We're going to do the obvious," she said, simply, an abrupt turnaround from her earlier attitude that took Kestrel completely by surprise, and left him open-mouthed with amazement. "We're going back to Gradford, to see if we can't expose him as a fraud without getting ourselves thrown in gaol or hung. If you can free the Ghost, that's the least we can do."

  Reymond blinked, and well he might. That was a tall task for anyone_

  "Can you do that?" he asked.

  Robin shrugged. "We can try," she replied.

  Jonny grinned, with a combination of relief and approval that made him want to cheer. "One th-thing w-we c-can do," he said, "is m-make sure as m-many p-people as p-possible learn P-Padrik is p-playing t-tricks. And w-we c-can p-prove it by s-showing that anyone can d-do them."