t had been good to train Intoran in his swordsmanship that morning, despite the covering fog. His oryx squire was proving a facile student and would be quite an accomplished knight in the years to come. Egland felt pride in seeing him progress so steadily and earnestly, the same sort of pride he remembered seeing in his own teacher and in his father many years ago. He, the quiet lad who had once told his father he wished to be a minstrel, was now a knight and teaching another to be a knight, and in a form that would give his family a shock. Life had many odd turns, he mused.
And not all of them pleasant. While he occasionally wondered what his life would have been like if his father had not forced him to follow the path of knighthood, he had no regrets about his investiture. Losing Akabaieth had been a painful blow, as was what had happened to Bryonoth, but those wounds were healing; having Intoran to share his life helped immensely. But standing as he was now before the door to the rooms that the Patriarch had once used awaiting his time with the Questioners was one that he would never find solace in.
The two Yesbearn, dark-faced soldiers assigned to the Questioners because they were ruthless men who did not themselves ask questions, opened the door and bade him pass. Sir Egland had never liked the Yesbearn; their cold countenances always made him feel uncomfortable, as if they thought him nothing more than a roadside mut to be kicked out of the way. They regarded him with distant eyes, staring at his heraldry sewn within his green jerkin as if they did not believe it were true.
He stepped through the door, and the two Yesbearn on the inside closed it behind him. His short tail twitched in agitation as he heard the wood crush against the stone jamb. The room inside was decorated in bright whites and shades of sky blue and daffodil yellow. Staining that brightness were the three Questioners, seated as they were like judges ready to sentence execution. Egland scuffed his hooves upon the thick carpet beneath him as he stumbled forward a few paces.
“I am Sir Yacoub Egland of the Ecclesia,” he announced, the silence filling the room a living thing he wished to kill.
“Sit, Sir Egland,” the centre priest spoke, his words firm, doing nothing to dispel his unease. Egland crossed to the right of the empty chair and settled down within it. He had doffed the mail shirt he’d worn while out in the fields sparring, and had selected a fine jerkin of his father’s house, and the green tabard of a knight of Yesulam, the white tree upon his breast.
The Questioners were sitting with their hoods up, almost completely obscuring their faces. The middle priest spoke again, “I am Father Kehthaek, this is Father Felsah,” he gestured to the priest at his right, “and this is Father Akaleth.” The one to his left. “I would like you to begin by telling me what you remember of the night Patriarch Akabaieth was murdered.”
Egland blinked once, wishing that he could expunge the memory of that night from his mind. Now he must bring it all back. “Well, it was raining heavily, making it very hard to keep any fire going. So we could see very little in the darkness. Sir Bryonoth and I were out on patrol, keeping our eyes on the hills and forest in the distance. Two of the Yeshuel went to investigate something they saw in the forest.”
“Which two?” Felsah asked.
“Kashin and Iosef.” At their naming, their faces returned to his mind, bright warm smiles, good hearty laughs, and kind hearts all fondly remembered. Though Egland had known of many Yeshuel, he’d never grown close to any as he had those two as well as Lakaesh and Alfais on that journey northward from Yesulam to Metamor. They were travelling companions, saddle mates, friends around the fire. And now, apart from Kashin, like so many amongst that party, gone from the world into Eli’s protecting arms.
“What did they see?” Felsah asked again.
“I don’t know, but they never came back, so I believe it was our attacker who drew them away from the others. I do not know how they were killed, but Iosef was sliced in two, and Kashin lost his left arm.”
“How is it that you did not see what happened?” Akaleth asked, his voice distant, as if he had recently suffered some wound.
“It was raining heavily, and it was well after dusk, nearly midnight. The shadows were in the forest, and neither Bryonoth nor myself were on that side of the camp at the time. I only remember being told that Kashin and Iosef were investigating something they thought they had seen.”
“Why were you on the other side of the camp at that time?” By his voice, Egland could tell that the priest was about his own age.
“We were making rounds. Our attacker probably waited until we were well out of sight before making his move.”
“What happened after Kashin and Iosef were drawn away?” Felsah asked, speaking only moments before the youngest of the three could pose another question.
Egland rubbed at his head, feeling the nubs of velvet growing up out of his skull. He had wondered how many points his new set of antlers would bear, an odd sort of question considering his father often boasted of the number of points the deer mounted upon his walls had borne. “I think that he must have killed the soldiers still sleeping. They were all found murdered in their beds, necks snapped. Alfais and Lakaesh had ordered the rest of the men roused from sleep. All the knights were woken without incident, but when Sir Camasin went to rouse the soldiers, he was stabbed by the attacker and drug into the tent.
“One of the soldiers was dispatched to wake the Patriarch, and the rest of us readied ourselves to kill this murderer, or at least keep him busy while the Patriarch escaped.”
“That is odd, forcing a ninety year old man to run away in the middle of a dark rainy night. The chill alone could have killed him even if you had stopped his attacker,” Akaleth pointed out rather brusquely. “Why did you put him out like that?”
Egland shook his head. “It was not my decision. I do not remember who ordered it. But a few minutes more, and the Keepers would have arrived to save him. I wish he’d been able to get farther, he might still be alive if he had.”
“So the Keepers arrived just too late to save Patriarch Akabaieth?” Akaleth asked, his voice suddenly slippery. Egland felt there was something subtle about the question, but he could not grasp what, like a an eel, it wriggled from his grasp when he thought he understood.
“That is correct,” he said, knowing that he could answer only the truth, no matter how much he wished to otherwise. If he lied to these men, they would find out, and then he would be in jeopardy. They could revoke his investiture, or even order his excommunication if it came to that. There were far worse things they could do if they thought fouler deeds than lying of him, things he did not wish to think about.
A strange fluttering came from Akaleth’s robes, the rub of fabric against fabric a soft sibilant hiss as the priest shifted about in his seat. “Who was it that came from Metamor too late?”
Egland shook his head. “I do not remember.”
“And why not?” the priest’s voice was suddenly threatening, and Egland felt his body tense, as if he’d heard a sword drawn from its scabbard.
“My horse rolled over my legs, breaking them. I’d passed out from the pain. The next thing I remember is waking up here at Metamor with my legs in splints.”
“Why did your horse roll over your legs?” Felsah asked, lifting one arm to gesture to the cervine legs he now bore.
“Well,” Egland sighed, remembering once more the battle scene. “After the man emerged from the Bishop’s tent, we knights attacked him. We hoped to run him down, as he was on foot, but he killed any of us that drew near. He then flung his arms at Sir Bryonoth and myself. I felt as if he’d hit me, and I feel from my steed. Galadan in his fright rolled across my legs, crippling me. I don’t remember anything that happened after that.”
“Galadan is your steed?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember what the attacker looked like?” Kehthaek asked, his voice almost surprising.
Egland paused, his flesh trembling, short fur rising along his body. The whirlwind in the rain, ending the lives of his friends so swiftly, was both clear and muddled. There were moments when his face was perfectly clear, every detail standing out as if mocking him from the past. And then there were other times when he was a blur, a smear of darkness against the already dark night.
“Mostly. He was tall, with dark hair. I’m not sure where he was from, his features were foreign to me. He was wide shouldered but slim as well. I don’t remember anymore than that.”
“And why not?” Akaleth snapped.
“It was dark and raining. I only caught a few glimpses of his face.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Felsah asked.
That was an easy question to answer, as he had already recognized him again. In the trial, he could well remember that drawing, the way it stared mockingly, gloating in his guilt. It was not a face he cared to remember one bit, but it would be with him to the end of his days.
“Yes, I would.”
“Had you ever seen him before?”
“No, never.”
“Do you have any idea where he was from?”
Egland shook his head. “From no place I have lived, that is all.”
“Why did you not return to Yesulam?” Akaleth asked then, idly fingering something inside his robes.
“I couldn’t,” Egland said, gesturing to his body. “By the time my legs had fully healed, I had already been here a month, and would have been killed had I returned.”
“So, your duty to Eli is not as important to you as your own life?” The young priests asked incredulously.
Egland felt the sting a if he had been slapped in the face by it. He shook his head firmly. “Not at all! I treasure my duty to Eli and to His Ecclesia. I treasure it. I was willing to die if it would have saved the Patriarch.”
“Then why have you not returned to Yesulam?”
“Because I am now serving Eli here. I am still a knight of the Ecclesia, only I protect her parish here at Metamor. We do not have many knights of the Ecclesia here, and so I am proud to help found the order.”
“You are founding an order?” the younger priest asked, his voice doubtful. “If so, are you training new squires?”
“Yes,” Egland nodded, smiling slightly.”Yes I am.” He so hoped that the nervous fear he felt was not visible upon his muzzle.
“How many?”
“Just one. It is not proper for a knight to have more than one squire.”
“Then how can you hope to start an order?”
Egland felt marginally better at this line of questioning. “Well, once my squire is invested as a knight, he can take on a squire himself, and I can take on another. The order will grow like that.”
“Who is your squire?”
He sucked in his breath. “An oryx named Intoran, Father. He has been a Metamorian his whole life.”
“A Follower?”
“Of course. It would not be an Ecclesia order if he was not.”
The younger priest leaned forward, part of his cowl slipped backwards on his head, revealing a twisted snarl to his lips. “Do not show impertinence to the Ecclesia’s Questioners, knight.”
“How does Intoran’s training proceed?” Felsah asked, his voice soft compared to Akaleth’s.
“Very well. I took him out to practice swordsmanship this morning,” Egland let a smile of pride slip across his muzzle. He felt the sting of the younger priest’s anger, but it was not as bad as he thought it might be.
“What happened to Sir Bryonoth?” It was Father Kehthaek who spoke, his voice even more remote than Felsah’s, even though he was sitting directly in front of the elk.
“Our attacker took him after the battle. I do not know where, and Dame Bryonoth does not remember anything about it. When next we saw him, it was during the assault. He kidnapped the Duke on a mad errand for our enemy. He’d been ensorcelled by evil magic.”
“Then what is he doing serving as a knight for the Ecclesia?” Akaleth blurted in obvious disbelief.
“He was freed from whatever evil that held him by Bishop Vinsah. Duke Thomas himself forgave him.”
“And how do you know he was freed of evil?”
Egland blinked. “Bishop Vinsah performed an exorcism over him. Of course he’d be freed from evil.”
“Do you trust him?” Kehthaek asked, cutting off the younger priest who sat back in his chair, pulling his cowl up once more.
Egland nodded quickly. “With my life, Father.”
The priests were silent for a moment. Egland felt as if he were weighed in that moment, all his words and deeds placed on one side of the scale, and some other something placed upon the second. He wondered what he was being measured against, but could not even hazard a guess. He had been truthful as much as he could be. While he did have his concerns about Bryonoth, he hoped that they were just because Bryonoth was now a woman, something that had devastated the Flatlander knight.
Kehthaek rose from his seat, as did the other two Questioners. “You may go, Sir Yacoub Egland. Train Intoran to be a great knight.”
A flush of delight filled him, and he stumbled to his hooves, smiling giddily. He bowed his head low, hands shaking. “I thank you, Fathers. I shall. Eli be with you.”
“And with you, Sir Egland,” Kehthaek repeated, making the sign of the tree in slow deliberate strokes before his chest. Felsah and Akaleth did the same, though the younger priest’s motions appeared exaggerated in some subtle way.
Egland did not wish to stay and find out more about these men though, and so took the opportunity he had, and quickly crossed to the door, passing once more between the cold Yesbearn. Another moment later he was out into the hall and out of their sight. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, he smiled once more. His greatest fear had not come to pass. Intoran and he were safe.
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