The Worlds of Katherine Kurtz

(Posted once again in behalf of Revanne, whose internet continues to be "quirky.")

Edwin woke stiff and sore, not only from the after effects of the brawl, but from an uncomfortable night spent on the floor of the uncouth stranger's room, wrapped in his cloak with his head pillowed on his precious satchel. The man had offered a share on his straw pallet but Edwin had been too wary to accept, he didn't think the man would stab him as he slept but he would rather not find out. Besides which it was likely enough the man had lice.

He silently gathered up his satchel and let himself out of the room. The click the latch made as he lifted it caused the man to stir but Edwin slipped rapidly out of the room and headed downstairs. The idea he had formed between bouts of fitful sleep had been to slip out of the inn and return to his student life, not exactly intending to break his promise to copy the women's letter, more conveniently forgetting he had made it. It had all been a bit too intense and peculiar for his liking.

"Keep your head down lad, and don't get dragged into other folk's concerns."

His father's words, wise or otherwise, were immediately thwarted as he stepped off the staircase into the common room of the inn and saw that the two women were already seated at one of the benches drinking small ale and breaking their fast. His conscience awoke, or maybe it was just the smell of new baked bread, and he stepped towards them making a small bow of greeting.

He sat himself opposite them and ate hungrily from the common basket and, as the irritated looking serving maid brought him a tankard of ale, he fumbled for some coins and handed her rather more than the customary amount to fend off awkward questions as to where he had spent the night.

Then since his satchel was open, and as evidence of the good faith, which Elspeth might well with good reason have doubted, he brought out the tools of his trade, mixed a little water with the powder he poured into his inkwell, and trimmed his parchment to the size of the letter Elspeth laid with care on a dry area of the table.

Elspeth looked at him appraisingly. "I trust that you understand that this letter is for Canon Damian's eyes only and you are not to share its contents with any other. I begin to understand that in this town of learning, women who seek knowledge are regarded with suspicion."

Edwin froze. He knew himself to be something of a rogue but he had the pride of his calling. A scrivener might not be bound by any seal of confessional but none worth his salt and, it must be admitted, with a desire to keep his own skin whole, would dream of sharing what he wrote for others.

Without a word he trimmed his quill, dipped it in the ink and wrote. Once he had finished he carefully tidied away his tools, and then, being certain the writing was dry, he rolled the parchment up and carefully placed it in the breast of his cotte. He stood up, bowed formally to Elspeth and headed out of the inn.

Elspeth stared after him musingly. A strange mixture this young man but she would withhold judgment until word came from Canon Damian. If it did. If it didn't she was unsure of her next move and they were wasting precious time and coin.

Nibbling slowly on the last slice of bread richly moistened with butere; the soft churned cream of milk not commonly gotten in the port town of Carbury.  At least not at the Broken Mast. Fresh butere and soft cheeses were the one thing Amy missed the most about her childhood. Dairy had been the chief farming of the valleys around Droghera. Her half-sister's husband was the Master Fromager; the spices he used to add to his creations...delectable.  Amy whipped the last crumbs from the side of her mouth. She wondered... No don't... that hurts too much!

She tore her eyes away from the empty bread plate and was glad to see Elspeth's scribe putting away his tools and standing up from the table. She did not pay much attention to his departure and she did not look up when Elspeth made some small prayer hoping that she could trust him.  She supposed it was her lack of response that caused Elspeth to duck her head down to Amy's eye level and ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"  Amy only pressed her lips tighter. "What happened last night?"

Very aware that there were people in the room, Amy tucked her head lower and pulled her thoughts inward. "No..." She managed to whisper. But that was not fair to the woman who had saved her life, Elspeth knew much, but even this she had not told to another living soul. Could she...?  "My past... " No No not ever! "It's nothin', Speth, just a haunting from poor sleep."

Elspeth nodded with understanding and caring in her beautiful heavenly eye. "I have said it before... You know you can tell me more about what happened 4 years ago. I will always support you, who... whatever happened." But now was obviously not the right time. "Why don't you go back up to our room and give yourself a chance at some real sleep."

Amy nodded, anything to be away from the noise of the tavern. She lifted her skirts just enough to clear the steps. At her room door she remembered that the water pitcher was empty. Should she just fall into bed? But washing her face and hands would really help her sleep better. Thinking of faces, just how was that poor injured m'lord's face doing? Cool fresh water might help him sleep better too.  Maybe she should get a fresh water pitcher and take it to his room first, check on him, and then refill her own to ease her mind, thus allowing her a real rest.

The red-headed serving girl reached the top of the stairs in the same moment that Amy filled her pitcher from the water bucket on the stairs landing. She didn't at first notice the platter of food that the serving girl carried.

"Oh, excuse me," Amy exclaimed with a quick backstep, attempting to neither splash the water over the pitcher's edge nor knock it into the serving girl's ladened platter. "Umm. Miss, I'd like to check on my patient. He's in the northwest corner. Can you let me into his room?"

The maid looked at Amy as if sizing her up and estimating her trustworthiness. Then she nodded. "I'm bringing him food right now, I can let you join me. But I will ask you to leave if he says he doesn't know you."

"That's fair, thank you," Amy said as they continued down the hallway. "Can I help you with anything there?"

"No, I'm perfectly balanced at the moment. But you can hold the platter when we get there so I can unlatch the door." Amy happily took over this task once they stopped at the door. The girl went through the keys on her belt until she found what she sought, then tried the door. It snicked open.

"Oh. Not even locked. I hope he's all right," the girl said, and Amy earnestly agreed.

He certainly looked all right, lying there on the bed—at least, as all right as one who'd taken the beating he'd taken last night. Better in fact than he had a right to be. The purple bruises were darkening nicely, but much of the swelling had already receded, leaving him looking battered but not mis-shapen and nearly dead. As the serving girl set her platter on the small table, his eyes opened and flicked towards her, then at Amy. Amy steeled herself, waiting to hear that ghostly voice to come into her mind.

Silence. His eyes showed no flicker of recognition. Had he completely forgotten the events of last night? That could happen with a patient suffering head trauma.

"I've brought you food, milord," the other girl said, dropping a curtsy. His eyes moved back to hers. "Just porridge and bread, a little ale. I can bring you more if you'd like."

"Thank you," he said. His lips moved and Amy heard his voice clearly through her ears. "I'm sure what you brought will be plenty." Then, before she could offer to help, he sat up.

Amy blinked. He hadn't been able to do that so easily in the early hours when Edwin and Bede had brought him back to his own room. And his speech was no longer mumbled through swollen and split lips. He sounded almost normal.

Curious. Amy had heard of men of a noble race who performed miracles of healing. Could this man possibly be one such? As curious as she was, she did not dare to touch him with the gift her grandmother called the blessing of Mother Nature, but more notably called second sight by the people of Cassan. She knew enough about Deryni to know that their touch could be bewitching, but somehow that did not frighten her. She knew first-hand that Deryni could be as vulnerable to hatred as men of all races were. So what was it about this man? She looked up at him for the first time, meeting his eyes. Both eyes; his right eye was open as well as the left. Deep black covered the right side of his face, but his blue eyes looked back at her almost with as much curiosity as she looked at him. But then ... Nothing... nothing followed.  No words of the mind, no tingling sensations. He seemed as normal as any young man looking at a pretty girl.

*****

Airich's shields were locked tight now, and nothing would get through them. Nor could he casually snoop on the medic's assistant to see if she really might be Deryni. No, that wasn't his business, he could keep his curiosity to himself.

He wished she'd stop staring at him with such suspicion. It unnerved him.

The serving lass was much easier to look upon. She'd offered him porridge and a thick slice of bread, heavy with butter. And a smile that made him feel like last night's beating was worth it.

"You are going to lose that tooth if you chew down hard on that bread," the dark-haired woman said—Amy or Elspeth, he didn't know which was which.

"This woman says she is your infirmarian," the serving lass said, "but if you don't know her or don't want her here, I will send her away."

"No, she's... what she says she is." Airich looked at the woman in question. "What if I tear it into small bites and soak it in the porridge?"

She pursed her lips. "Soak it well," she finally said. "If the chewing causes any pain, I would stop eating the bread immediately."

"Thank you, Mistress..." He paused, hoping she would offer her name.

The woman shook her head and sighed, "Drink lots of fluids. Not the hard stuff, mind you. I will send Mistress Elspeth to see you around dinner time. I hope you don't have plans of wandering off.  If you do, I will send my man in here to make sure you stay put. Have I made myself clear?"

As clear as the Sword Master at Rheumuth's training ground.

"Yes Ma'am," he said. He might not keep his word, for there was still much he needed to research while here in Grecotha. But she—Amy, presumably—seemed to believe him; she set her full water pitcher on his table and abruptly left his room. That left him with the sole tender attention of the pretty redhead.

"Thank you for bringing up the food," he told her. "Last night's stew seems quite a long time ago. And I wasn't sure if I would be able to make it to the dining room without falling over again."

She chuckled, eyes downcast demurely. Then she surprised him by dropping to her knees before him and grasping his hand that held the spoon in both of hers.

"My lord! Thank you! You will always have my gratitude for what you did for me last night. I don't know what I would have done had you not interfered. It was Jasper's intention to take me back to his home and force me to become his wife, will I or nay. And he is a brute. I know I can't prove that he killed my sister, but I saw him beat her many times. I fear for my life if he ever lays  a hand on me again."

Airich listened, aghast. At the time, he hadn't even realized that he'd been casting out again, but it was no wonder he'd picked up on her wordless panic. As hard as Jasper had hit him, he couldn't imagine what such a blow could do to a woman's delicate flesh and fragile bones.

He imagined someone laying a hand on his mother or sisters or nieces like that. That someone would be dead and Airich would be on the run from the law.

He set his bowl on the little table that held the candle, then took her hands in his. "I trust I taught him a sound lesson to not touch you again. But if he so much as looks at you with a cross eye again, you can tell him that Sir Airich O'Flynn will come looking for him. And I promise I will leave him with more than just a headache, I will remove a small piece of him because I will be armed. And if he does it again, it will take a larger piece and wear it as a trophy like the Northmen do. And I will keep taking pieces until he finally leaves you alone or runs out of pieces for me to take."

She stared at him, open-mouth and wide-eyed. Airich sat back. "I expect it wouldn't come to that. And I don't think I'd look very good with a chain of bloody fingers around my neck. The King frowns on that kind of thing at court."

She smiled now, long delicate fingers covering her lips. Airich took that moment to collect the dagger on the floor next to the bed. He offered it to her hilt-first. "You should take this."

"What would I do with that?"

"Protect yourself if you know how to use it. Sell it if you don't. Save your money and go home to your family if they don't beat you."

"You're too generous. I can't take your dagger."

"Spoils of war," Airich said. "I took it off Jasper's cheating buddy and now I bequeath it to you. You need to be safe. Don't go out without friends. You have friends?"

"I do. And I keep finding more."

((Bede uses his Vigilance to wake up. 3d6: 1 + 5 + 3 = 9)) As the vagabond archer slumbered, his dreams of home were tread upon by the sound of footsteps receding from his room. When the door shut again, his eyes opened. Normally such sounds would be cause for concern, but he was still weary from the exertions of the day before. Too much so to roll out of his straw bed. Besides, he thought he got the measure of his guest after he had asked him just what his game was, when they had settled into this room last night; there was no reason to keep him here now that the sun was up. The plan the student had devised with the approval of his employer was a good one, he was loathe to admit, but it was more subtle than the ones he was on the edge of proposing. He turned over for another ten minutes of rest, wincing at the coarse bed's grinding against his sometimes sensitive flesh.

He scratched his scalp, yawned and took the rough blanket off of his bare chest as he rose. Then he made to pull out fresh clothes for himself, before realizing that he was pawing empty air. Right. You are indeed a scarcely endowed one. He washed his face in a basin quickly and then put on the clothes of yesterday. And the day before, and then came the determination to find something new for himself. Something inconspicuous for a city, he decided as he tucked the dirk in his belt along with his eating utensils, briefly distracted from his self-consciousness by the sound of wood scraping against stone outside.

((Bede either Perceives someone before they do him or not. 2d6 6 + 5 = 11)) As he closed the door to his room, he came alert, as though a memory grabbed him by the scruff of his stubble and stared him in his face; somewhere in the hall was Muirea, he knew from details only privy to one familiar with another by fathomless lengths of time. Sure enough, there she was, leaving Airich's room. He felt a twinge of worry, but dismissed it as he caught her in the embrace he had wished to give her the night before. He whispered shakily, "It truly is you, lass," as she returned it with strength enough to nearly trip him. He grimaced as he felt the lump of a knife on her person, but would never fault her for that. When they separated, he asked her, "How the devil did you get here?"

She pursed her pink lips. "I might ask you the same, but ai'm beginning to piece it together. You got yourself a Kheldourian bride, did you? The strong dark one, or ..."

"God, no. You know better than to assume such things," he chided her, flustered. "I am their hired man. It's a new development. Might not last another week, if they're successful here."

"And then what?"

"And then ... I hardly know. I was going to repent in earnest for our rebellion and a list of more personal sins ..." He wanted to move on, but she raised that eyebrow of hers, so much like an inquisitor's vise. "Insurrection, robbery, smuggling, poaching,  ... och, drop it, will you? You still haven't answered my question, Muirea."

She sighed with regret and lamentation. "The war was hard on the family. It interrupted our plans, not that you need reminding. When the soldiers of Gwynedd came, many of them treated us fairly. As fairly as war might allow. After all, they still have to eat, and so they 'foraged' away our entire flock. We were down to the last farthing, and friends like you were nowhere to be found. But he was." Bede raised an eyebrow. "The man who the knight trounced. Jasper, a low, low footsoldier of Gwynedd. He promised my sister and me security and love here in Grecotha. He's a liar, as he was then. He beat her ruthlessly and coveted me too. I can't prove it, but I know he killed her. This tavern and its keeper have been my only sanctuary, Bede."

"I see..." he was beginning to lose his appetite. "If he's not allowed in here, but he's free to prowl the streets looking for you, you're trapped, aren't you? What can I do?"

There was hope in her eyes. He had not seen that in four years. "Either get rid of him or me. There's not much keeping me in this city now, you know."

"I'll do whatever I can for you," he promised. "But where is Winnifred? Do you know?"

She sighed and looked as if she might be sick before she gathered herself enough to nearly look him in the eyes. "Last I heard, Winnifred was in a fishing village deep in Laas Bay, Bede. I'm sorry." And then she went back downstairs, resuming her work as if nothing was ever amiss.

He waited a minute or so before doing the same, and was glad to see Elspeth down there. Assuming his most chivalric posture, he nodded curtly as he gestured at a free stool at her table. With her assent, he joined her. "Are you well on this sunny morning, Mistress?"

"I am, thank you, Bede."

He ordered something simple involving eggs and ate vigorously, speaking only between bites. "Is the student on his way?"

"He is, with a copy of the letter in hand. Just a copy. I'm not foolish enough to part with the original."

"Of course. Very wise of you to keep to that line in the dirt, Mistress. And what shall we do while we wait for this door to open? I suggest we go over some alternatives, if he is to fail. Ah, hear me out: should he run afoul of something that would prevent any meeting between him and the canon, I need only some string and to know which window belongs to our intended." He made a gesture with his hands, holding the left palm flat and making to pull some imaginary missile with his right before releasing it.

She laughed gustily, which normally would not have stung, if only he was not serious. "I beg you to have some faith, Bede."

It was not her eyes but her face that struck him with its dual meanings, then. Although the eyes helped, he was sure, before he shook his head. "On the contrary," he spoke numbly between bites, "I cannot get enough, Mistress. What then shall we do?"

A sudden draft let her not only see but smell her hired man. "I think it's time we all got ourselves a few baths. And then I must review my notes before the research can begin. Why don't you explore the city a little after that? And when you're tired, I need someone to stay with the patient."

He liked the idea but he also urged her to stay close to Amy until he returned. ((Bede Sharpshoots in a contest of bows. 3d6 3 + 4 + 5 = 12)) After he washed up, he did wander the city, wary as he was curious. All was dreadfully mundane to his eyes and ears until he heard an especially boastful guard declaring himself to be an archer without rival.

He came back in a good mood around noon, wearing a shirt the same indigo as that belonging to the guard, who was now that much chillier after their little wager. After eating his fill, he gently opened Airich's door with supplies of his own in tow, explaining himself. "I'm not here to rob you, Milord. I'm here to tend to you and make sure you do not hurt yourself in leaving too soon. Mistress Elspeth's commands." Then contendedly, he laid out his sheet of canvas on the floor and broke open his containers of painting clays.

With resignation, Airich propped himself on his elbow, curious as to what would follow.

Edwin paused at the door of the inn.  He had hoped to complete his task from Elspeth and then return to his own life. Why did nothing seem to go the way he wanted lately? He could see no way around this, so he might as well get on with it.

He felt a glimmer of hope as he entered the inn and did not see either of the two women.  That hope was dashed as Amy came down the stairs with Elspeth following, the hood of the older woman's cloak drawn up for privacy.  Of course they spotted him immediately.  There was no escape.

"Were you able to see Canon Damian and deliver the letter?" Elspeth asked immediately as they all sat at one of the tables. 

"Yes, I did, and he was most gracious,"  Edwin began, wondering at the best way to phrase his report. He was wary of rousing Elspeth's anger again, although he was sure she was fair-minded enough not to blame the messenger. Besides which, he had increasing sympathy for her frustration.

"You are hesitating," Amy stated as she studied his face.  "Why?"

"Canon Damian was adamant that he could not give access to the library to any woman, even one with such a high recommendation from the Prior,"  Edwin said.  Those hadn't been the canon's exact words, but close enough. 

"That's not fair!" Amy said tartly. 

"But he did offer an alternative, and I think it's a good one."

"Go on,"  Elspeth said cautiously.

"He offered to allow you to conduct your research in the cathedral library," Edwin said hurriedly.  "I have often heard that it is almost as extensive as the Grecotha library.  He believes there is a good chance that what you are looking for might be there."

Edwin looked at Elspeth hopefully as she carefully considered what he had said.

"His invitation will include Amy as well?" she finally asked.

"Yes, I made sure of it,"  Edwin replied  "However, he also insisted I escort you myself and remain with you in the library," he added cautiously.

"So the canon has reservations about our request,"  Elspeth said.  "That does not surprise me.  I confess, I had looked forward to being the first woman allowed into the grand fortress of the University of Grecotha. But if that's not to be, I'll accept the alternative. It's better than being turned away completely."

"Shall we go now?" Amy asked, hoping activity would lessen her friend's obvious disappointment.

"Why not?" Edwin responded.  "It's only late morning, and we have the whole afternoon ahead of us."  The sooner this task was completed, the better.

"We'll leave at once," Elspeth said, rising from her seat.  "Let's not allow Canon Damian the time to change his mind."

"Canon Damian!" the monk cried as he hurried after the retreating figure.

Canon Damian turned around to face the young monk who called after him.  "Yes?" he inquired.

"Did you see her eyes, Canon!"  Brother Martin crossed himself while looking at the canon for guidance.

"Have no fear," Canon Damian responded.  "The prior of Saint Stefan's letter told of the woman's disfigurement.  He also assured me she is a humble, pious woman.  You have no need to fear her presence."

"Yes, Canon Damian," the monk replied, though perhaps not as sincerely as the canon would have hoped.

"As we discussed, assist the women in finding the volumes they need to consult," Canon Damian instructed.  He paused for a moment and then added, "But take note of the volumes they read.  We may need to know some time in the future."

"As you instruct, Canon Damian."  The monk seemed relieved.  He bowed and turned toward the Cathedral library at a more sedate pace.

Canon Damian watched him leave and then turned back to his original path.  He had known the Prior of Saint Stefan's for a long time, but you never know how time might have changed a man's direction in the world.

 
"Do most people run from you, Mistress Elspeth?" Edwin asked in dismay.

"No, usually they just hastily cross the street," Elspeth replied mildly.

"The nerve!" Amy replied hotly.  "He could only have been ruder if he had run screaming!"

The conversation ended as Brother Martin reentered the library.

"You have what you need to start?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you Brother Martin," Elspeth replied politely.  "We will let you know when we need your help to find more."

Elspeth looked at the four volumes laid on the table before them.  She had been specific that they needed medical texts from the time before the regents.  She was fairly sure her request was regarded with some suspicion.  She opened the first book and started to scan the contents.  Amy took the second volume.  They were thick and would take some time to review.

"Do you need help with the Latin, Mistress Elspeth?" Edwin asked as Elspeth turned several pages of text over.

"No," Elspeth replied, absorbed in the work.

Amy reached over and laid a hand on her friend's arm. Had Elspeth forgotten her lecture to Edwin on how to treat people properly so soon?

For a moment Elspeth gave Amy a confused look and then nodded.

"Beg pardon, Edwin.  I am quite competent with Latin.  I do thank you for asking."

Edwin nodded, but did not look completely mollified.

Elspeth sighed and continued.  "My father may not have been able to change my eyes, or change the way people treated me because of them.  But he did the next best thing; he provided me with an education.  I had the best tutors he could find that were willing to teach a girl.  Finding them was not always an easy task, I am sure.  Instead of the normal finery a ship's Master would bring home to a daughter, he brought me texts and scrolls from far off lands.  Unfortunately, after he was lost at sea, the tutoring ended.  But I still have all the reading material stored safely away, and I return to review it whenever I can."

"I understand," Edwin said.  "Perhaps I should be asking for your help."

"I think we can agree to help each other," Elspeth said and smiled.

For a moment, Edwin was taken aback by the sheer beauty of her smile.  Elspeth noticed his reaction, blushed, and returned quickly to her text. 

Edwin opened the third volume, looking for any references to medicines or potions, as Elspeth had instructed.

Morning became afternoon.  Brother Martin excused himself briefly to attend the offices and join his brethren for lunch.  None of the three researchers were inclined to stop for food; the search for knowledge slaked whatever hunger they noticed.  If they noticed.

By the time Brother Martin returned, they had finished the first four volumes.  Although the reading was interesting, it did not hold what they were looking for.  The monk dutifully fetched three more volumes, one of which seemed older than the rest.

"I'm afraid there isn't anything more after these,"  said Brother Martin.

"Let us be hopeful these will suffice," Elsepth replied, already opening the oldest volume.
((Elspeth is educated, so makes a standard roll to see if she finds anything.  2d6 1+6=7.  At last!))

Amy stifled a yawn and rose to go and look out of one of the open shutters. The shadows of the trees in the courtyard below were growing longer.  The afternoon was fast slipping away.

Elspeth turned a page of her text, reading quickly towards the bottom. She stopped, drew a sharp breath, then began to read the words a second time.

"...gather the talicil plant after it has gone to seed, boil it for several days and dry it in the sun.  Then it must be ground..."

"I've found something!" she exclaimed, doing her best to keep her voice low.  "Damn, the page is torn away right at the bottom."  She glanced rather sheepishly at Brother Martin, who gave her a stern look.  " Who would be so careless with this knowledge," she continued as she carefully turned the page.  Other plants were referred to, but nothing more on talicil.

"Edwin, would you please make a copy of this passage?"  Elspeth asked as Amy came to look over her shoulder.

"It will be my pleasure."  Edwin gathered his writing materials and set to work.

Amy went back to the text she had been reading.  Elspeth's discovery had sharpened her mind again.  ((Can Amy discover something to help Elspeth.  2d6 2+5=7.))  When she turned the page, she spotted a piece of folded parchment that had been placed in the book, possibly to mark a reader's place.  It looked older than the book, and she opened it carefully.

"Use this to dampen the effect of the cursed drug."

Amy felt the words almost scream into her head.  She hastily refolded the parchment and set it aside, not willing to read it any further.  She would mention it to Elspeth once Edwin had finished his copy.

"I'm afraid you must be leaving now,"  Brother Martin said sternly.  He moved forward to begin gathering their volumes.

"Just a quick moment more, Brother Martin," Edwin said, holding his hand up to forestall the monk.  "Let me make sure this is dry first."

Brother Martin harrumphed and closed the volume Amy had been reading.  He approached Edwin, who nodded to indicate he could take the rest of the books. 

"You need to leave now. I have already let you stay longer than I should."  Martin did not look as if he would entertain any objections.

"Thank you, Brother Martin, for allowing us so much time," Elspeth said placatingly as she closed the wax tablet she had used to make a few notes of her own. 

Amy noticed that the folded parchment still lay on the table.  Brother Martin was already turning away with the volume that had contained it.  "Take this too," Amy said to Elspeth softly so the monk would not overhear.  "I don't know what it refers to, but it may be important."

Elspeth gave her a quizzical look, but placed the parchment in her satchel.  If it was important to Ams, then it was important to her.  And Brother Martin was doing his best to show them out of the door as quickly as possible.

"Somehow, I don't think he'll let us return," Edwin said.

"Likely not," Elspeth replied as they began to retrace their steps to the Inn.  "And I have made you miss your lunch."

"And ours!" Amy reminded her.

"I know of a stall that serves excellent meat rolls," Edwin announced.

"Then lead on!" Elspeth waved her hand in a forward motion. "It will be my treat.  We've earned it, and it will be a small payment for your help this afternoon, Edwin."

It was Edwin's turn to smile as his stomach gave a loud rumble.  They were in good spirits as they went in search of food.

(The next few sections were a collaborative effort by the whole team.)

"I suppose we should check on our patient," Elspeth said as the three entered the King's Arms.

"Likely. You did instruct Bede to sit on him if necessary to keep him in bed. The least you can do is make sure he actually needs it," Amy said. She stretched her aching neck and rubbed her cramped shoulders. She was not accustomed to spending the better part of her day hunched over a book, regardless of how interesting the subject matter might be. 

Oh! That reminded her: the slip of paper...

"Trust me, he still needs it," Elspeth said. "I know you said he was sitting up without help this morning, and it's good that he has a strong constitution, but that probably means he's going to over-exert himself and do himself harm before he's ready to be up and about."

"When we've finished, 'Speth, there's something I need to show you," Amy said. "I picked it up in the library just before Brother Martin escorted us out."

"Oh? Let's see to the business at hand, and then I want to hear all about it."

Amy and Edwin followed Elspeth up the stairs, then down to the northwest room. Edwin was quiet and seemed lost in thought. 

The light of multiple candles leaked out from under the door. "Heaven forbid you sleep, like a sensible wounded man," Elspeth muttered, then knocked on the door, opening it simultaneously. "Hello, it's just us, we're here to check on the invalid."

Two pairs of eyes looked up from their tasks to greet the women. Bede, paintbrush in hand, knelt over a thick bolt of canvas, folded and refolded on the floor. Airich sat on his bed, cross-legged like a tailor. And, in fact, was working on his decorative overshirt with needle and thread on a small embroidery frame. When he saw the women enter his chamber, he set aside his stitching, then stood up and walked to the window, then grabbed his undershirt, freshly scrubbed of blood and looking mostly dry. He pulled it on over his head and shoved his arms through the loose sleeves before returning to greet them. 

Elspeth cocked an eyebrow: he really was healing fast. Either that or he was a damn good actor. But what might his game be? "Sir Airich, how are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Mistress Elspeth," he walked toward the newcomers and bowed before his physician, "I feel much better. I understand I have you to thank—oh bloody hell!"

It never failed to amaze Elspeth how some people could make such utter jackasses of themselves when they looked at her eyes for the first time. So it was to her delight that Airich's eyes popped open wide as he crossed himself, then took an involuntary step backward and stumbled onto the bed. He sprang upright again and stuttered "I didn't—I mean, you—I—I didn't see—." His own eyes flicked desperately from her left eye to her right and back again, as if he couldn't figure out which eye he needed to address. Elspeth kept all traces of mirth from her face and let him suffer.

The poor boy finally dropped to one knee before her, head bowed in supplication. "My lady," he finally said, "I offer you my humblest apologies and beg for your forgiveness. I have no excuse for this rudeness, and if my own father were here, he would take me out behind the stable and thrash me like a lazy page. Have mercy upon me and tell me how I may earn your grace." He lifted his head and looked her directly in the face.

Elspeth suspected he was actually focusing on her nose.

"And why should I forgive you?" she asked archly. "You are merely one of the many men who mock me or treat me like a demon or monster each day. I see no reason why I should forgive any man who treats me with such disdain."

That ought to make him sweat, she thought with amusement. The amusement was short-lived as she saw the devastation on his face, as if by her word she had condemned him to  the deepest pit of hell.

He dropped his face away from hers, but before she could think of the words to end this, he'd grasped the sheathed longsword that lay nearly hidden by the bed. He held it upright before him with both hands, the pommel reaching nearly to her sternum.

"Give me a task," he said, looking back into her face, and this time, he met her gaze unflinchingly. "I will serve you until you are satisfied with my sincerity and grant me forgiveness."

Elspeth stared at the earnest young knight, for a knight he surely was.  Although she was tempted to come up with some ridiculous task, she couldn't do it.  The man was deadly serious.  She would not take advantage of his genuine contrition.

"Let's not be hasty, Sir Knight," Elspeth said after a moment.  "I have no task to put before you, or quest for you to follow.  Perhaps the fact that you make the offer is absolution enough."  She could not resist a slight smile.  "What would my patients think if a noble knight followed me around carrying my satchel?  They would likely slam their doors in my face!"

Bede stepped forward. "Act with some dignity, milord," he suggested to Airich, while offering his hand to the knight. Airich shot him a scowl and knocked away Bede's offer of help with the back of his hand, then stood. Bede steeled himself momentarily, wary of what Airich might do now, but Elpeth stopped Bede with her own powerful gaze.

"Sir Airich," she said, and Bede could hear her using her stern voice. "If you would kindly seat yourself upon the bed, I need to check on your progress."

Bede returned to his canvas, musing about how Elspeth could better use that stare to her advantage as he painted dual suns: one aqua and one a rich goldenrod.

Watching these goings-on, Amy was slightly amused but also a little surprised by Airich's quick submission to the infirmarian's words. She shivered. There was a deepening unseasonably chill in the air. She worked her way toward the window casement to shut out the night air, stepping gingerly between the bed, Bede, and Bede's canvas before pulling closed the window. A bright rush light burned in its stand beside the window and cast its light over the projects that both men had been working upon. Amy was intrigued by Bede's painting, but at the moment her focus settled elsewhere. She turned to looked at the hoop stretching out the delicate embroidery design around the neck line of the expensive looking shirt that Airich had tossed absently across the edge of the bed at the time when Elspeth and her followers had arrived.

It was clear now to all observers in the room that this brawler from yesterday was indeed a knight; that sword was proof beyond doubt. Bede did not seem surprised by this and Elspeth seemed to take it in full measure as she turned down his offer to complete a quest of her asking. Humbling a nobleman, however much the peasantry might joke about it, was in truth a serious matter and not to be abused.

"My lord, this workmanship is extraordinary. Do you mind if I look at it." She had bent down slowly toward the hoop but had yet to reach out to touch it.  Airich, distracted by Elspeth's ministrations, absently acquiesced to her request before thinking about it.

Her hand brushed the stitching, She felt a cascading warmth like sun on a summer day reflecting off the threads that rolled over the length of her fingers and into her palm; it was not quite the shock she had received from it last night but at least now she understood why that sensation had surprised her so yesterday. "Ahh..." she sighed, mesmerized, unwilling to move her hand away.

At the sound of her voice, Airich's head swiveled towards her, and intently watched her reaction. Amy's gaze focused inward on the sensations under her fingertips, an unnatural warmth; she felt as if she was drawn into the fabric, into the very history of the linen and silk threads.

Was this what had surprised her last night? Before that ghostly voice had manifested. Yet now, as then, the source of the feeling eluded her. What made this so inviting and so precious? Certainly it was not just that a man was doing the stitching? ((Amy using perception, does she understand what the magic/prayers are that have gone into the embroidery of Airich's shirt  3d6= 2 + 4 + 4 failure)).

"It's a fancy shirt, nothing special about it," Bede said, trying to not feel put upon over something as trifling as who was receiving attention for their art. He couldn't deny a certain concern over Amy's reaction, however. It was almost as if she were staring into one of Jester MacBee's spinning discs that could make people go into a trance. Was she in danger? Bede picked up his canvas and stood close to Amy, pretending to look for someplace safe for it to dry. He kept his ears open for anything suspicious.

"Why... How... I don't understand this," Amy said. She looked at the knight sitting on the bed, staring at her. He was as much an enigma to her as that other knight from long ago. Yet this man was whole, unbroken. She was pleased to see the bruises across his face were already changing from purple to green. "Are you a Healer?" she had to ask in a whisper.

There was a long pause of stillness in the room, like everyone was holding their breath.

"A healer?" Airich repeated, finally breaking the silence.  "No, such gifts are not mine to command, I fear." He felt around in the bedclothes, pulling out a delicate white handkerchief, which he held out toward Amy. "This is a gift from a woman of my acquaintance. I think it's what you're probably wondering about."

"Hold still, my lord, I want to check the lump on your temple." Elspeth plucked the handkerchief from Airich's hand and passed it on to Amy and continued her work. "Please remain sitting, if you would."

Amy accepted the handkerchief, and even though she was expecting it this time, she gasped at the intensity of the feeling. ((Amy touches Airich's handkerchief using perception- 3d6 4 + 3 + 4 failure)) Something there, so strong it frightened her. She tried to look closely at the elaborate stitches that were even more numerous and finely placed than those in the shirt. Very delicate and time laden work was this. She pulled it closer to her face and stared deeply at the stitching.((Unaware, Amy uses Power trait after she sees the confusion in Airich's face = 1d6= 1, failure)). Transitioning to an inner space she had never been before, she heard a woman's voice, chanting.

En el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo, te bendigo con salud y fortaleza y una pronta recuperación de tus heridas.

Terrified, Amy felt faint. Her hand weakened and the white square of fabric slipped from her grip.


((thank you team for helping put this together))

There you go, put the knight to the question, Amy, Bede had thought. But what's going on? Why is Amy so dazed?

Standing nearest to the lady, Bede fast-stepped and quickly swept the falling white fabric away from the floorboards and somehow kept it from touching the wet paint of his canvas. He gave the fine cloth a quick glance. "Oh yes, this is the one from last night, isn't it?"  He felt it probingly between callused fingers and tested its strength gently. It was beautiful, in a way, but not the sort of thing he was familiar with. ((Bede is an Educated fool with money on his mind 2d6 1 + 1 = 2 OW))

Bede considered the implication in Airich's words and the presentation of this mysterious handkerchief. "Healing, Milord? In all my travels, I have never seen something so inanimate bless a man so freely. To what extent does it heal a man?"

Airich's wary eyes held none of his usual good humor and more than a hint of warning. "It is a gift from someone very dear to me. I would rather we not find out."

"Yes, of course not," Bede said, pretending as if he was not about to bite his thumb like a maniac to test its restorative properties. It indeed had an effect on everyone. "Does it affect most women in the way it has Mistress Amy, or is there something deeper going on here?" Bede took a sniff of the fabric. "Soft, yeah, but no perfume. It smells faintly of blood, which is only natural, I suppose." Besides his befuddlement and curiosity, he felt quite himself. "What do you say, Scrivener?"

"Let me see it," Edwin said, quickly snatching away the prized handkerchief.

"Enough!" Elspeth thundered. "I have a patient I am trying to see to, and none of you are helping. Kindly return his handkerchief and leave the room." Her tone brooked no discussion or argument. A minute later, she and Airich were the only two people left in his room.

Airich was quiet as Elspeth continued to minister to his hurts. He finally said, "I meant it about the task."

"I know you did, dear," Elspeth replied. "It was a kind gesture. Of course I forgive you."

The furrow between Airich's brows finally relaxed.

Leaving Airich's room, Elspeth hurried down the hall to the women's room and slipped inside the door. Amy was curled up on her bed sobbing silently into her pillow.

"I'm so sorry, Ams!" Elspeth exclaimed, gathering Amy into a maternal hug. "I couldn't concentrate with all the talking, and Airich just wouldn't hold still with everyone passing that silly piece of frippery back and forth, and I had to have silence."

"I know." Amy sniffed. "I don't blame you. You did what you needed to do."

"Forgive me?"

"Of course."

Elspeth settled on the bed next to Amy. "Now tell me about what upset you. You have my undivided attention... ."

Brushing the wetness out of her eyes, Amy sat up with her feet still curled up under her on the bed. At least she had had enough sense to take her shoes off before she had collapsed into the softness. She looked up at her best friend and then subconsciously back at her feet. "How can I tell you what I do not know myself?"

"Small words, remember, that is how you got through this before. Tell me what frightens you so, in small words?"

"It chanted..." she said, how was she to describe what she had heard?

"Chanted? Like the monks of the abbey?" Elspeth's look was of confusion.

"No. Not men's voices... a woman singing very softly..." Amy thought back. "reverently, in words I have never heard, but I think it was a prayer.  Didn't you feel it when you touched it?"

"The handkerchief?  No, it was certainly beautiful. Airich said it was a token from a woman." Elspeth smiled, "He is a knight, Ams, of course he has girlfriends. I mean, a man who looks like that must have a dozen."

That made Amy smile shyly, and the smile made her feel better. "Well at least one of his amours has a very special talent. Seeing as how this knight is so eager to jump into battle,  I can see why his love would give him such gifts; the shirt, too."

Espleth opened her eyes in understanding. "Bet it is not the first time this nobleman's been nearly bludgeoned to death. Any woman in love with him would be pulling her hair out every time he was out of her sight. I bet she's been chanting prayers every night in hopes she will find him alive the next day." Elspeth shook her head in certitude. Amy stifled a giggle.

Not wishing to have to answer any questions he took himself downstairs where, tankard of best ale in hand, he found a dark corner to ponder how he had got himself in this mess.

It had really started as he accompanied the lasses to Canon Damian. Neither of them was inclined to talk, which had given him time to think. Far too much time as it turned out. Seeing how real their frustration was at being barred from the University library, he had considered for the first time how unfair it was that women should be excluded, given how uninterested some of the male students were at ever putting their privileged noses inside a book. One thought had led to another and soon he was thinking of the barmaid last night and how vulnerable she was, and women like her, to any passing lout who thought that his lust should be as easily slaked by a tavern wench as his thirst. And that had led to thoughts of Aline back in Culdi, who he had kissed and cuddled and fondled with promises of love which he had had no intention of fulfilling. He had not gone so far as to risk getting her with child, but that had been with no concern for her. And he had mounted his newly won horse and ridden away from Culdi with no thought at all for the girl who he had used to while away a tedious summer.

Perhaps it had been entering the cathedral with this in his mind, or seeing the Canon who all but the most reprobate recognised as a good man, but as they finished their meal, on an impulse he had asked the lasses to wait for him and had gone in search of the Canon in his study at the end of the Cathedral cloisters. It had not been a pleasant experience making his confession to the Canon. Well, confession never was, but the priests in Culdi had been easy enough to fool with his half-truths; the Canon, for all his gentleness, had made him feel as though he was a dirty cloth, scoured clean and hung out to dry. He had been laden with prayers to be said daily for a month, and strictly enjoined that until the young ladies, as the Canon referred to them, left Grecotha for home, he was to consider himself responsible for their protection. Well, that was probably his own fault, as in an attempt to restore something of his own self-respect, he had painted a less than flattering picture of either of the two other men.

After he had finally received absolution, as he had risen from his knees and was turning to go, Canon Damian had called him back and asked "You are a scrivener are you not, my son? You copied the letter for the lady? Do you often copy things for people here in Grecotha?" Edwin had replied "Yes" readily enough. The Canon had looked worried and said with warning in his tone, "Be careful what you become involved with, my son."

That had made no sense then, and it made no sense as he pondered it now. He took a deep draught of the ale, that at least was good, and wondered again what he had got himself into.

"Mistress Elspeth, we need to talk," Bede said, once again catching her at the tail end of her meal in the main hall of the inn. This time, Amy was with her. "Do ye recall the maid over whom the brawl was started?"

"The one you ran after? She just finished serving breakfast."

"Yes, her. I had my reasons, and if you'll hear them out, I think you would understand."

"Please, Bede, do not worry so," she shook her hooded head as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Just because you were hired to help two women does not mean you are forbidden from helping one more."

His posture relaxed as relief entered into him. He chuckled, "I could not have hoped for a more understanding woman for whom to work. Especially since ... well, she needs our help this time."

Puzzlement shined like a broken mirror on Elspeth's face. Amy narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Bede beckoned the maid in question over to them and continued his explanation. "This woman, 'Muirea'," he said like he had no practice at it. "Is imperiled by an unwanted relation. The brute who our knightly friend brought low, whose knife she now carries as a gift from the knight, killed her beloved sister in some sick rage, and now he wants her for a replacement. The simplest way out for her is to come with us when we return to Carbury, and from there ... you may send her on her way."

Amy queried not her guard, but the barmaid. ((Amy's Second Sight: go! 2d6 5 + 3)) "What is this unstrung bowman to you, Muirea?"

Bede was astonished by her remark. Muirea, for her part, attempted to wave away the question, "Just an acquaintance who has the decency to check on lasses in distress."

Amy was unconvinced. "'Chivalry costs extra' he once said. The same night he went after you and did not see us again for nearly an hour. I don't understand it. What price is he having you pay for his company?"

Bede found himself again and sternly interjected, "Mistress, if you have questions on this matter, you should address them to me, and if I'm wrong, the lass may walk or run now and I won't do a thing about it."

There was a moment of uncomfortable, unflinching stillness, until Amy pressed the issue. "I simply wonder what the difference is between her and us, Bede. You've already found a way to fold two contracts into the same time if you wish it."

He seemed mildly outraged, but Amy had the feeling that was a front for something. He dared her, "Are you attempting some sort of renegotiation or goading my avarice?"

"I simply wonder what she is to you," she insisted tensely. ((Amy's Second Sight: go! 2d6 3 & 6 she's gonna sweat him out now))

It was too chilly for him to be perspiring, with the morning frost only beginning to recede, yet there he was. "I ... could never do that to her. Where were you all four years ago?" Leofric the Thespian, I call upon your lessons, he thought. "She and I are both lapsed children of Meara. She's a washerwoman from Talacara, and I had the misfortune of being a loyalist for the Haldanes, and the blessing of having been long out of the country before the war even began, for I: Bede Archer son of Kay Archer had long been in Torenth by then, guarding Gwynedd's interests," and then he chuckled, "As well as my own. I first heard the news of the violence and turmoil in my beloved home at a Torenthi magicker's mercy. He had taken a strange interest in my entourage, and only through the sacrificial efforts of my father did we escape to slowly make our way westward again. Not so easy to accomplish on foot, and with terrible injuries, healed slowly and most assuredly only by a gracious God. By the time I reached the church of St. Follian for a rest, the only news I trusted was that it was too late for me to intervene. In despair, I spiraled around these lands, taking jobs like these where I could, afraid to face a home changed so severely. After all, if Gwynedd came to this, then how much worse could the foolish losers have suffered? And for proof, here is Muirea. You are right to ask of her payment, Mistress Amy, but I would not take what little she has from her. Instead, I would take her stories, if she deigns to tell me. Stories of home," and his voice almost cracked from the strain of saying the word.

Amy was speechless, nearly retching upon this tale; this man is a liar. Yet he lies so thoroughly that I cannot pick one falsehood from another. But I know he has less love for Gwynedd than he pretends and more for her than he admits. Her grey eyes burrowed into his but he did not flinch. Lying must be part of his soul, Amy thought.

After his pseudo-confession, he excused himself abruptly, leaving for some fresh air in his full kit of indigo, grey, brown, and adorned in the very real weaponry of his dishonest trades. The three women were yet to part. Elspeth looking charitably at the maid of "Talacara" soothed her bubbling anxiousness. "The war took its toll on all of us. None of us will turn away a woman in need, girl."

Muirea began to speak but Amy struck first with her own words. "I hope you can forgive my suspicion, Muirea. It's a difficult habit to lose."

"Forgive?" the heritage of her beautifully tuned voice shone through, released by the raw relief she felt. "Nay, I'm already in your debt, friends. Och, and before I forget, Sir Airich gave me something for you," and she produced a few iridescent coins from a fold in her work-dress. "Payment for saving him so."

The two women of Carbury smiled their thanks and received Airich's coin, and for a brief time before another patron called for her, Muirea stayed and established a real rapport with them, trading true stories of times gone by, the triumphs of their actualization and the littler causes for smiles come and gone.

The dying gardens were lovely. Airich leaned back on the bench and rested against the stone wall of the University's chapel and tried to take in the beauty of the late-summer shrubberies and vines climbing the centuries-old walls. He looked down at the book in his hands where he'd scrawled the words to the hymn he and Edwin had found the other day. His handwriting was not so clean as the scribe's, but he read the words again, hoping they would bring him comfort.

He'd gotten up at first light, dressed, packed his gear, settled with the innkeeper, and ridden Aran to the library a final time. He'd wanted to cross-reference one more of the passages Edwin had tracked down to see if it might lead to the identity of the poet who'd written the hymn. The clue had been a dead end, as were the two other hints. So now he found himself in the courtyard, trying to remember a melody he'd only heard once before in his imagination.

Finally, Airich closed the book and set it atop the heavy wool cloak that had become too warm for the day. Then he unfastened his dagger from his belt and held it before him, hilt up. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at it.

Forgiveness. Such a simple thing, yet so difficult. Seventy times seven. That was the number of times he was commanded to forgive. And it wasn't as if Airich's own sins weren't greater by far. Really, what was a little paint stain¹ on a piece of fabric that Airich treasured beyond value? That he hardly showed to anyone? Will never show anyone ever again. Never let the damned thing out of my possession. No, that tiny smudge would have no effect on its healing properties. In years to come, he would no doubt see that faded red stain and smile in memory of some of the strange and wonderful people he'd met in his travels.

But dammit! Couldn't they have taken more care when handling such an important and personal item?

Breathe. Relax. Forgive. It's not important.

Forgive.

He brought the cross to his lips, hooked it back to his belt, then dropped his hands to his lap and leaned back again, eyes closed. A pair of red squirrels argued noisily with each other from different branches of an oak tree, presumably over their nut hoards. Overhead, a flock of swallows called to each other as they began their long migration south. And on the other end of the courtyard, a small cluster of students spoke excitedly about how to correct all the wrongs in the world.

Airich cracked open one eye and glanced their direction, then closed it again. Just the same gaggle of boys who had been arguing in the library the other day. He'd seen them around and about over the past few days, and they spoke with the conviction of youth who knew they had all the answers. Duke Dhugal should do this. King Kelson should proclaim that. Archbishop Duncan should announce something else. As if these children knew the first thing about life in the world beyond University.

"...No, I'm serious, he said a fortnight," one voice announced.

"Less than a fortnight, maybe even a week," another one said. This was followed by exclamations of disbelief before several other voices shushed them down.

They no doubt thought they were being quiet. The acoustics of this courtyard bounced their voices around until it almost sounded to Airich as if they were sitting next to him.

"What do you suppose it smells like?" asked a young voice in a much quieter tone. Several voices spoke up with various food-related suggestions, most of them various meat dishes. Airich didn't care to hear about what they were planning to cook, it sounded likely to be unpleasant.

"Do you think there will be any screaming?" This voice was so faint, Airich barely made out the words.

They were going to cook an animal alive? Of all the barbaric...

"They might gag him."

Him?

"Or her. It might be a girl."

"I don't want to see them burn a girl."

"She wouldn't be a girl, she'd be a Deryni, don't forget that."

Airich's blood froze. Were they serious?

"You can't let them fool you. They're not real people, they just look and act like people. But they're just devils pretending to be people."

Airich forced his body to relax, feigning sleep. This cluster of boys—no, many of them were men, in the legal sense—so casually discussing burning alive an actual person. They had to be speaking theoretically, hadn't they?

A man had a certain commitment to his principles, and principles at a cost to self was an acceptable price. Commitment to principles at a cost to others was a different matter entirely. It only took a moment to come to a decision, and then he opened and cast out toward the boys.

He didn't go deep, not with any of them. He merely floated around the perimeter of their thoughts, scanning just enough to understand the lay of the land.²

This land was grim.

They were all deadly serious. Some were incredulous, several were horrified by the very topic they discussed. Two shivered with religious fervor, and one burned with a lust that made Airich recoiled before he got any such filth on him. Airich scanned only one of them deeper, to find the source of this information, but he only got the impression of a sheet of paper with words on it. It was as much as he could gather without committing himself further or going in deeper. But it was enough. Airich brought his shields tight and considered his options.

It was time for a lone Deryni knight to leave Grecotha.

The provost of Grecotha didn't know Airich from any random man on the street and had no reason to take his word for anything. Transha was a two-day ride if he pushed Aran, although that risked laming the poor horse. And there was no guarantee that Duncan Michael or Kevin McLain would even be there. But notifying Transha seemed the best hope to help avert a tragedy.

Airich didn't have long to wait before one or two of the boys separated from their fellows and went their way. Airich stretched, looked toward the sun, collected his book and cloak, and made his way to the stable.

He mounted, then made his way to the road and pointed Aran's nose toward the west gate. If he made good time, he should arrive at the Purple Turtle Inn not long after sunset.

He paused.

A woman with mis-matched eyes who men feared to look upon. She'd been called monster many times in her life. Did evil men need a better reason to put her to the torch?

A girl with second sight who had heard his mother singing prayers meant for him alone. She might be Deryni and she might not, but do the wicked care?

A brilliant scholar and scrappy brawler who researched the Deryni with gusto. Would his interest in Deryni mark him as a target?

And a paint-spattered jester who kept watch over them all.

Airich turned his horse around and headed back to the King's Arms to warn his friends.

---

¹Will the paint come out? 1d6=1, fail.
²Airich spies on boy 1, Normal, 2d6=3,6 Success;
Airich spies on boy 2, Normal, 2d6=6,3 Success;
Airich spies on boy 3, Normal, 2d6=4,4 Fail;
Airich spies on boy 4, Normal, 2d6=2,1 Fail;
Airich spies on boy 5, Normal, 2d6=5,3 Success;
Airich spies on boy 6, Normal, 2d6=6,5 Success;
Airich spies on boy 7, Normal, 2d6=3,2 Fail;
Airich spies on boy 8, Normal, 2d6=5,1 Success;
There are probably more boys, but this gives us a good feel for the group.

An older monk who introduces himself as Brother Phillip finds Mistress Elspeth at the common room of the inn. "You and your companions are to come with me." He demands, "this is by the order of Canon Damian."

He takes the group through a lesser traveled gate of the Grecotha University grounds. The lone guard doesn't challenge him. But certainly gives a raised eyebrow at the arrival of two women being escorted onto the grounds of the oldest university in Gwynedd.

They are lead to the university's infirmary. There they are met by Canon Damian himself. "If you wish to have access to the library. I give you a task in the next room." He gestures towards a door. "Brother Phillip will see to your needs. You may not leave this infirmary without an escort."

With that, the Canon departs and leaves the group and their monk guide.

Brother Phillip leads the way into the next room.

The boy wasn't dead when he was found outside the city gates in the early morning frost. His torn, bloodied, and dirty robes, or what was left of them, marked him as a student of the university. It was hard to tell, but he couldn't be any older than 15 years of age.

He was clinging, just barely, to life when he was brought to the infirmary. Severely beaten with bruises and cuts all over his body. Multiple bones broken and a few dislocated into unnatural positions still.

The term has yet to begun and this student is going to miss the entire term if he survives at all.

Deryni healers are few and far. Most are in the Royal service of King Kelson. None are available to travel to Grecotha. The boy will have to heal on his own with care and time.

The only thing the boy had besides his scholarly robes was a single piece of parchment. Inscribed with the Statute of Ramos barring Deryni from education without permission of their Human overlord.