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And, he thought, she is not going to belong to Gavril.
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Thum tugged at his sleeve. No, Dain, he said with renewed urgency. No.
But watching the lady of his dreams, Dain paid his friend no heed.
The meeting place was a dim, dank room in the auxiliary buildings flanking the
ruined cathedral north of the palace. Having missed his supper for the
investiture fast, Gavril found the walk tiring and long. His feet made little
sound on the soft dirt as he took a shortcut across a meadow. Overhead, clouds
scudded
across a thin moon. He found the soli-tary darkness unsettling. Tiny sounds
startled him: the rustling of animals in the meadow grass, the soft call of a
night bird seeking its prey, the sudden fierce singing of insects.
Several times he stopped in his tracks, listening to the night wrapped around
him, while his hand clutched his dagger and his breath came short and fast.
He was not afraid, of course. Gavril knew himself to be no coward. But it was
one thing to plan a clandestine meeting in a forbidden area, and a far
different thing to actually carry it out, without companions or a protector or
guards. He was unused to being alone, and he did not like it. He found himself
wishing for the silent competence of Sir Los at his back, then angrily shoved
such weakness away. Sir Los would have prevented him from coming here to meet
the priests of the Sebein cult. And besides, Sir Los was dead, having failed
him the one time it really mattered.
Gavril scowled in the darkness and looked ahead at the dark shape of the
cathedral outlined against the night sky. No light shone from its windows. He
listened, but heard nothing to mark the presence of even a single individual.
Alarm crawled up his spine. Would the priest meet him as agreed? Or was he
walking into a trap?
He d been told never to do something like this, never to venture forth on his
own to meet individuals not approved by the palace, never to go out without at
least his protector at his side. Moreover, as outcasts, the members of the
Sebein cult were hardly law-abiding citizens. Practitioners of the dark arts
forbidden since the reformation, they might enslave him or hold him as a
hostage or do any number of things to him.
Dry-mouthed, he swallowed with difficulty before squaring his shoulders and
pushing on. Tanengard lay foremost in his thoughts. He must learn to control
the sword. Next to the urgency of that, the risk he d taken in com-ing here
hardly mattered. Besides, he told himself, it would hardly further the cause
of the Sebeins to harm him.
In a few minutes, he reached the stone steps of the cathedral. Only here,
close up, did its exposed rafters from the missing roof show. Rubble littered
the ground. His feet crunched across broken glass from the shattered windows.
Although he had never been prey to wild imaginings, Gavril sensed something
forlorn and eerie about the place that made him shiver.
Breathing hard, he clutched his Circle and muttered a prayer. He was one of
the faithful; he could not be harmed here.
A shape stepped out from the shadows, making him start.
So you have come, the man said. Gavril had to draw in more than one breath
to find his voice. I
have come, he replied. Alone?
The priest s caution annoyed Gavril. After all, he had given his word. Yes,
yes, of course I am alone,
he said pettishly. It is exactly as we agreed.
This way, the man said, gesturing. He walked off, his figure blending into
the shadows.
Gavril followed him, now and then stumbling over fallen blocks of stone or
pieces of timber that had fallen from the abandoned cathedral. Cardinal
Noncire had periodically urged the king to order this structure torn down, but
King Verence had always refused.
Let it stand as a reminder of what we no longer believe, he would say. Let
it remind those who will not reform of what their fate can be.
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am not backsliding, Gavril told himself as he followed the Sebein into one of
the buildings.
When the door to it was opened, light stabbed out briefly into the night.
Gavril crossed the threshold, and another priest in dark robe and cowl hastily
shut the door on his heels. Swallowing hard, Gavril glanced around at the
poorly furnished room. Lit only by a single, wavering candle, it held a
crudely made table and a collection of stools. The hearth lay cold on this
summer night, its front heavily blackened from the past winter s fires. A
large brass Circle hung on one wall. Small niches beneath it held objects that
Gavril swiftly turned his gaze from.
He felt compressed by an immense weight. He could barely breathe, and his
heart hammered violently inside his chest. His conscience was like something
alive, twisting and writhing inside him. He should not be here. He knew that,
knew it to the very depths of his soul, but although he could have opened the
door and fled back out into the night, he remained there and stared at the two
cowled figures, now
standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of him.
How may we serve your highness? one of them asked.
Gavril hesitated, then lifted his chin. I wish instruction in some of the
ancient arts.
So your message said.
Will you teach me?
Your highness is far too vague. What, specifically, do you wish to learn?
Supposing we could even do as you ask
Oh, come! Gavril said impatiently, sweeping out his arm. Let us not play
such games. Of course you can. You re Sebeins. You have kept the ancient
knowledge.
The forbidden knowledge, the second man whispered.
Gavril glared at him. Yes, he snapped. Forbidden.
Is your highness repudiating his beliefs in order to come to us? the first
man asked.
No, Gavril said.
Then I do not see how we can help you.
Gavril fumed. They were forcing him to tell them more than he wished to. He
did not like the feeling of being cornered, of having less than the upper
hand. But for once, he was the suppliant. They did not have to cooperate with
him. Nor had he means of forcing them to. Even if he ran back to the palace
and called out the guards, these men would vanish like smoke. Beyond that, how
would he ever explain what he was doing here in the first place? An
uncomfortable image of having to stand before the king, making long,
impossible explanations, filled Gavril s mind.
He found himself perspiring. It was too warm and close in this low-ceilinged
room.
Very well, he said in annoyance, his words ending the silence. I have come
across a sword, a special, extraordinary weapon. It is not fit for ordinary
use. Its ... qualities need controlling. I want to learn how to be its
master.
The Sebeins exchanged glances. The taller of the two stepped forward. Did you
bring this weapon?
Of course not, Gavril snapped. I am supposed to be at my vigil tonight. The
sword is under guard, to be given to me at dawn when I emerge.
The one who guards it, is he capable of
A mere servant, nothing more. He is under orders to handle it by its scabbard
only.
Is it not against Mandrian law to own a magicked sword, your highness?
Gavril s mouth compressed itself into a hard line. He shrugged. What of that?
The law does not apply to me.
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