Sword of the MacLachlan - 4. The Monastery of Piedmont

By late afternoon, the trackless forest gave way to a meadow through which a game trail ran. The five boys followed the trail through the meadow and a patch of woods until it opened into another meadow. At the western edge of the meadow, its back to a rocky hill, stood a massive, low, stone building. A tower, emblazoned with a symbol of Light, proclaimed it to be the monastery for which Patrick was looking.

 

Patrick gestured for James and Kenneth to take the lead. “They should grant hospitality. If anything seems odd, scratch your head.” James nodded. Followed by Patrick, Alan, and Thom, the two rode to within ten yards of the building. Everyone dismounted, and Alan and Thom took the reins of James and Kenneth’s horses.

 

As the two young clerics approached the building, a wooden shutter set in the door opened. James made a sign, and approached. “I am James; this is Kenneth. We are clerics of the Light. Our companions likewise are servants of the Light. We seek shelter.”

 

Patrick felt the sweep of a powerful detection spell. Quickly, he cast his own, similar spell, piggybacking it on the spell sent from within the monastery so that it would be less likely detected. He examined the echoes, and found only Light and a little paranoia. Apparently the person in the monastery who had examined them had found them acceptable. The wide doors opened, and an adult figure in plain, white robes gestured for them to come in.

 

“You are James, and you are Kenneth; I am Cedric. Since I was on duty at the gate when you arrived, I will be your host. Welcome to the Monastery of Piedmont.” Addressing James, he continued. “You are responsible for the conduct and behavior of your party. Please begin by introducing them.”

 

James replied, “These are Patrick, healer, and his companions Alan and Thom. Kenneth and I have traveled through danger with them in the service of the Light; I will gladly stand hostage to their good behavior.”

 

Patrick, Alan, and Thom nodded politely when their names were called, but tactfully remained silent. This was James’ territory; it was best that he lead, now.

 

“Be welcome, all,” Cedric said. “The stables are there. When you’ve seen to your horses, I’ll show you where you can clean up. After that, I suspect it will be time for supper.” The monk walked toward the stables as he spoke. The others followed, leading their horses.

 

“If you’ll let me have the saddle blankets, I’ll clean them,” Patrick offered. After collecting all five blankets, he took them outside the stable to the dirt courtyard and shook them out, one at a time. As he did so, he directed a little magic to flow from his hands through the blankets. As the magic traveled through the shaking blanket, it collected the dirt and horse sweat and salt, and forced the mess from the bottom edge of the blanket where it dropped to the ground. When the elf was finished, the blankets were as clean as if they were freshly woven.

 

The others had finished brushing and watering the horses, who were happily feeding at troughs of hay. The monk Cedric watched as James applied a healing spell to a sore that had developed under the saddle of Alan’s horse, Dasher. Thom used a farrier’s fork to pry a few pebbles from one of Nimrod’s hooves. “I think this shoe has gotten a little loose,” he said to Alan.

 

The tween examined the shoe. “You’re right. Hand me the hammer, would you?”

 

Alan stood with his back to the horse, and pulled the affected foot up between his legs, clamping it in place by closing his thighs on it. Thom handed him the hammer, and Alan raised it, sending magic through his arm and into the hammer, so that when it struck the shoe, the magic would not only force the shoe on more tightly, but seal the nails into the horse’s hoof. “There,” he said after a few blows. “Good as new.”

 

Turning to Thom he asks the boy softly, “You want to replace that magic tonight?”

 

Thom smiled and nodded eagerly. After the recent nights in the woods, he was more than anxious to spend the night with Alan in a real bed.

 

The bathing chamber was clean but plain; the water in the soaking tub was cold. The mages were reluctant to warm it; they were in a monastery, and thought the cold water to be part of the monastic tradition. Although they had cleaned themselves (and cleaned their clothes as Patrick had cleaned the horse blankets), they spent far less time bathing than they would have liked.

 

Cedric retrieved his guests from the bathing chamber, and showed them the rooms that would be theirs for the night.

 

“You are more than generous,” James said. “We are, however, accustomed to sleeping in a common room, if there is one large enough?”

 

“Of course not,” Cedric chuckled. “You are young, and your magical reserves must be low if you’ve traveled so far to be with us. I’ll have some extra blankets put in…let’s see…this room. It’s the largest, and has its own toilet. You can leave your gear…and swords, if you please…in here.”

 

Supper in the refectory was simple but hearty: a vegetable soup sweet with turnips, mustard greens, crusty bread, strong cheese, and water so cold that their teeth ached at the touch of it. The meal began with a blessing, and the boys felt the strength of the senior who offered it. Surely he was a force to be reckoned with!

 

During the meal, one of the monks read from a volume of history. The boys tuned out his droning voice until the name, “MacLachlan” cut through the Monk’s musty words.

 

“MacLachlan!” whispered Kenneth, to a startled look and a Shush from Cedric. Patrick caught the boy’s eye, and nodded.

 

The Monk ended the reading and closed the book with a snap. A hubbub of voices immediately filled the room. Several acolytes, boys and tweens, came over to meet the adventurers. While this was going on, Patrick asked James, “Would you ask if we can read that book? Tell them what you think best about our interest in MacLachlan.”

 

James nodded, and turned to converse with Cedric. Patrick and Kenneth were lionized by two elven boys.

 

“We’re visitors, too. They said we could stay until Darryn’s horse’s leg heals. He stepped in a prairie dog hole…” the one boy began, only to have his sentence finished by the other.

 

“…and got a terrible sprain. Ghost was more surprised than I was when he stumbled…” Darryn continued until interrupted.

 

“…and you should have seen the look on his face. Ghost, I mean, not Darryn.” The boy pulled his companion to him, his arm around the smaller boy’s waist. “Darryn didn’t flinch, and managed to stop Ghost before the foot would have been broken…”

 

“We bound the foot and put everything on Achernar—that’s the star, you know, the one at the end of the River constellation—and sort of stumbled down a track…”

 

“…until we found this place. They did healing spells on Ghost, and he’s already a lot better…”

 

“…and he’ll be ready to leave in a few days, I think, and we’ve not seen elves in days…”

 

“…or months, maybe. We’re Keewaten, by the way. This is Darryn and I’m Greyeyes even though my eyes are green I think my mother was colorblind or just a joker but she’d never say…”

 

“You’re Firespear, aren’t you? You’re not wearing the badge…neither are we, of course, I guess it’s just not done outside of elven lands, although I have mine on a chain around my neck, see…”

 

“Of course he’s Firespear. See how red his hair is…and you,” turning to Kenneth, “You have Darryn’s hair and my eyes I’ll bet you’re Keewaten, too, where are you from…” Seeing the bewilderment in Kenneth’s face, Greyeyes and Darryn both stopped talking. Patrick and Kenneth’s ears rang with the sudden silence.

 

Patrick smiled at the two elven boys. “I’m Patrick and this is Kenneth. Yes, I’m Firespear, but I haven’t lived in Elven Home for many decades. This is Kenneth. And, yes, he’s Keewaten reared in his human father’s house. We’re on an adventure. That’s Alan, and Thom, over there. James is the one talking to the monk.”

 

“We’re on an adventure, too…” Greyeyes began.

 

“…but we haven’t found any, yet. How long does it take…”

 

“…to find an adventure. We don’t count Ghost spraining his ankle. That’s not a real adventure…”

 

“That’s a pretty silly question, isn’t it, but we don’t seem to know how to find an adventure. Come on, Kenneth…” the elf said, taking the boy’s hand…

 

“…come to our room with us. It’s right across the hall from yours…”

 

“…and you can tell us how to find an adventure.”

 

Kenneth looked for James, but he was nowhere to be found. He turned to Patrick. “May I, please?” he asked.

 

Patrick gave the boy a little push. “Go. Have fun. See you, later, okay?”

 

Some hours later, James wakened as Kenneth slid his warm body under the blanket and snuggled against the tween’s chest. “How was it?” James asked.

 

“I’m so full of boy magic, I could just burst,” Kenneth answered, sleepily. “And Darryn and Greyeyes are, too.”

 

James wrapped his arms around the boy. Sleep came quickly to them both.

 

After breakfast the next morning, Patrick took his friends into the library, and reported what he had learned. “This book is a history of the Highlands, to the northwest of here. It contains much the same story about the MacLachlans that we already know. So, that wasn’t much help. However, our curiosity about the MacLachlans has opened a door. I learned much more from Cedric.

 

“Two or three score years ago, or so, a man calling himself Baron MacLachlan seized control of an old Highland castle, situated atop a mountain called Tor Myddin. He has attracted to himself the worst of the evil elements in the region, including human brigands and—if reports are to be believed—Trolls. The self-proclaimed baron supports this band by raiding the villages in the foothills, caravans, and the like.

 

“According to legend, the castle on Tor Myddin was the Hold of the MacLachlans, and has never been taken by force or by siege—only by treachery. Cedric found one story in an old book that suggests that there’s a mine which leads to natural caverns under Tor Myddin. The passage is unclear, but I believe it means that these caverns connected with the dungeons in the lower levels of the castle. It doesn’t say, however, where the mine is.”

 

Patrick then asked, “What should be our goal, our quest? Do we want to undertake an adventure to this Tor Myddin?”

 

Alan interjected enthusiastically, “Go into the castle, and kill as many of them as we can!”

 

“We want to come, too!” Darryn’s voice piped up from behind a bookshelf. He and Greyeyes stepped out from their hiding place.

 

“We can help…” Greyeyes added, wistfully. The two elven boys stood together, holding hands, awaiting the judgment of the others.

 

James looked to Patrick, who nodded as if to say, This is in your hands.

 

“Please go to the refectory, and wait,” James instructed Darryn and Greyeyes. “We’ll think about it, and let you know.” The two hastened to obey. Greyeyes cast a look full of yearning as he closed the door to the library behind them.

 

“Well,” Alan said. “What do you think? Would it be a good idea to add two children to the party, even if they have horses and weapons?”

 

“They do look like children, don’t they?” Kenneth interjected. “But they’re not. They’re boys. They’ve been boys for years. And, they’ve both finished apprenticeships.”

 

Alan looked at Patrick for confirmation.

 

“It’s likely true; Kenneth would know if they’d lied, I’m sure. And they could be several centuries old. For elven boys, especially the Keewaten who are the slowest to mature physically, appearance is never a good indication of age.”

 

“I think we need to know more about them, and about their skills. And, they’d have to take an oath, too,” James added. “Cedric was quite taken with Patrick’s interest in the library, and I’ll bet he’d like to get a look at that encyclopedia you carry around. It wouldn’t surprise me if we could stay here for several more days on the strength of that, alone. That would give us time to check these boys out, and for the horses to get some needed rest. Me too, for that matter.”

 

Kenneth was chosen to take a message to Darryn and Greyeyes: “We’re going to stay here for a few more days while Patrick and Cedric do research in the library. James and Alan will test your skills. Patrick will examine you. You’re to move into our room right away, and do everything with us. In three days, if we agree and you agree that you should come with us, we all will swear an adventurer’s oath.”

 

Darryn and Greyeyes faces lit up; they rushed to Kenneth, nearly knocking him down in their enthusiasm to hug him. “Thank you, Kenneth. You stood for us, didn’t you? I knew you would…”

 

Greyeyes interrupted Darryn. “Let’s get our things and get them into the other room. It’s time to start showing that we are reliable.”

 

Kenneth watched as the two quickly and efficiently cleared the room of their possessions, stuffed them into two packs, and stood silently by the door, waiting for him. This was an entirely different side of the two boys. Kenneth was impressed, and a little awed.

 

*****

 

Robert, the Monk who was Master of Arms of the monastery, was delighted to be asked to spar with Alan, and agreed to supervise a series of exercises designed to assess Darryn and Greyeyes. “I know the style, strengths, and weaknesses of every one of the brothers,” he said. “I get pretty stale sparring with them. You are something different. En guarde!”

 

Alan had stripped to tights. His feet were bare; his hair was bound with a leather strap to keep it out of his eyes. He and the Master of Arms held practice swords, freshly spelled to mark, but not to cut. They could, however, bruise flesh and break bone. James acted as Alan’s second. Kenneth and Thom sat in the shadow of the courtyard wall with Darryn and Greyeyes, and most of the inhabitants of the Monastery.

 

At first, Alan and Robert seemed evenly matched. Their swordplay was fast, agile, and close—no sweeping overhand strokes, no fancy footwork. Alan drew first blood…a magical mark across the stomach of the Master of Arms that would likely have gutted him had it been a real fight. “Nicely done!” Robert crowed, almost as pleased as was Alan.

 

James brought water to Alan and Robert, who repeated the last few blows of the fight in slow motion until Robert was sure he understood Alan’s tactic. Back to the center of the courtyard, and it was Alan who challenged, “En garde!” The second round began.

 

This round clearly went to Robert, who pinked Alan on his left forearm, and then struck a hard blow to the tween’s right side, turning the sword at the last fraction of a second to hit with the flat rather than the edge. Still, Alan staggered. “Oof!” he gasped. “Where did that come from?”

 

After Alan and Robert re-played the sequence of blows, James applied healing power to Alan’s side. “That’s going to be sore, and the bruise will be a beauty, but you’re not in danger of blood clots, and there’s no internal damage,” he reported.

 

Alan thanked James, and continued the match with Robert. Two rounds ended in ties, with both fighters making small marks on the other. For another two, Alan had a slight edge, perhaps because of his youth and stamina. Then Robert got his second wind, and his experience told the day as he bested the tween with severe blows to the neck and shoulder. Again, James applied healing to his friend.

 

The acolytes cheered their Master’s victory; Robert turned to Alan and clasped his arm. “Thank you, Alan. I haven’t had as much fun since I was a boy.” Turning to the acolytes who had crowded around him, he added, “And I learned from him. Remember that. There is no one from whom you can’t learn something. You are never so good in something that there isn’t something more you can learn about it. You saw that today. Don’t forget it.” The boys, touched by the serious tone of his voice, nodded.

 

Robert had identified two acolytes to spar with Darryn and Greyeyes. Though they were tweens, they were short; they’d not have an undue advantage from height or reach. They were among his top students; they could test the two elven boys to nearly a Swordmaster level.

 

The match began with drills, formal patterns of thrust and parry designed to train muscle memory and to create a repertoire of movements that would, over time, become instinct. Each drill consisted of 10 to 50 movements. The first run-through a drill was performed to a slow cadence, supplied by a drummer. The next iteration the drill was performed faster, but still to a drummer’s cadence. The third and fourth repetitions were faster, still accompanied by the drum. The fifth repetition was ad lib to a tempo established by the combatants, themselves. Beginner drills were straightforward: feet fixed on one position, thrust and parry, up and down, left and right, upper left and lower right. As the drills became more advanced, the movements became more complex, footwork became integral, shifting of body weight was necessary to put energy into a blow or a block.

 

Alan and James watched intently. Robert stood beside Alan, occasionally pointing out a particularly adroit move or egregious error. For the most part, Greyeyes held his own, and more. Darryn tended to miss the more complicated moves, and by the time the drills had reached the fifth level, he was obviously out of his element. Robert looked questioningly at Alan, who nodded. “Break!” called the Master of Arms. “Rest and drink some water, all of you! Freestyle, next. You know what to do!”

 

Darryn and Greyeyes stood together, a little apart from the others. “This isn’t going well,” Darryn said. “I’m not going to make it, am I?”

 

“Of course you’re going to make it! We just did fifth level! You did very well through fourth. There’s a lot of professional soldiers that never get past fourth! I’ll bet that these two are the only ones here, except maybe the Master of Arms, who can even do the fifth level drills, much less do them with any skill.” Greyeyes encouraged his friend. “We’ll beat them at free-style, I’m sure!”

 

“Break’s over; back to drill,” Robert called. “Switch opponents, lads,” he instructed. “Free style; keep it clean; en garde!” The boys set to.

 

Both Darryn and Greyeyes switched their swords to their left hands, and attacked. The acolytes were stunned by this sudden move, and were caught completely off guard. Within three seconds, each had red hit-marks on arms, chests, and legs.

 

Robert stood, nearly as stunned as his students, then called, “Halt! Halt! Come here, all of you.”

 

When the two acolytes and the two elven boys were lined up in front of him, Robert asked, “Who taught you to fight with both hands?”

 

“My father, Elkin of Bramble, taught us both, Arms Master,” Greyeyes replied. There was a long pause.

 

“I served with your father, boy,” Robert said, gently. “Nearly a hundred years ago, when Prince Auric’s father and King Oberon got together to clean out a nest of renegades—humans and elves, they were. They asked for volunteers, and I went. Fought with Elkin of Bramble and a whole company of elves at the Battle of Derry.” He turned to Alan. “These boys had a better teacher than I will ever be. Darryn needs practice, that’s all. I daresay we could all learn something from him and his friend.”

 

Alan thanked Robert. Before he left the field, he called to the Master of Arms, “Hey, let’s do this again tomorrow…if I can walk, that is!” He laughed.

 

Robert chuckled and waved, “It’s a date,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

 

James invited the two tween acolytes who had sparred with Darryn and Greyeyes to join them in the baths. As the boys showered away the grime of the arena, he asked one of them, “Does the tub have to be so cold? Is that…tradition, or something?”

 

David, the younger of the two, answered, “No, it’s just that we acolytes have to reserve our magic for training, and none of the adults seems to care enough to warm it.”

 

The second acolyte, Cameron, added, “The adults don’t use the tub, much, anyway. A quick shower and they’re gone.”

 

“I can fix that,” Darryn offered. “This wall…it’s stone, and faces north. It’s had the sun on it all day. I could boil the water with that much heat.” The boy stepped into the tub and shivered. Then he focused; he moved his fingers to gather magic; he bent the magic into a conduit between the stone wall and the tub; he used the magic to pull heat from the stones into the water. When the water of the tub was almost too hot, he broke the conduit and released the magic back into the ether. “Water’s hot,” he announced, ducking down until he was completely submerged, then surfacing with a sputter. “It’s plenty hot!”

 

While Thom and Kenneth and Greyeyes and the two acolytes played together in the hot water, James and Alan sat on a bench, water to their chests, talking to Darryn. “You didn’t tell us you were a mage,” Alan said.

 

“Yeah,” James added. “That was a good spell. You knew right away what your heat source would be. Tell me, what else don’t we know about you?”

 

“That’s all, really. I studied with a mage for nearly 50 years. Greyeyes’ father is a blacksmith, now. You know that he taught us to fight; sometimes Greyeyes and I would help out in the smithy, so heat spells are something I did a lot. They’re second nature to me, now. My father is a jeweler, so I know about that. Greyeyes is a terrific archer. I think that’s everything.”

 

“That’s plenty, Darryn. That’s plenty enough.”

 

That night at supper, Cedric invited Alan to tell about the destruction of the Fortress of the Troll-Mage. Because the involvement of the companions was still a state secret, he told the story using only the names of their two friends from Agium, Daniel and Michael. Alan couldn’t help but notice that the monks, especially the younger ones, seemed a great deal more interested in that story than the old history that was their usual fare. When he finished the story, the monks broke out into applause, much to Alan’s embarrassment.

 

*****

 

The gong calling the monks to greet the sunrise woke the boys. The three tweens had slept on one side of the room, leaving Thom and Kenneth to sleep with Darryn and Greyeyes.

 

At breakfast, James gave the orders for the day. “Alan, archery with Greyeyes; also some left-handed sword drills. Patrick and I will discuss magic with Darryn. Thom, you’re with Alan. Help him any way you can. Kenneth, those two acolytes…David and what’s his name…”

 

“Cameron,” supplied Kenneth.

 

“…Cameron. They want you to help fill in a map of our trip from Fortmain to the mountains and back. You don’t need to say anything about the ghost…okay?”

 

Kenneth nodded and left the table. Alan stood and beckoned, and Thom and Greyeyes followed him toward the courtyard.

 

“I think in the library,” James said, standing.

 

“Agreed,” replied Patrick, filling a mug with coffee before leaving the table.

 

*****

 

That night, Patrick stirred and woke. Something…ah. It was just the night watch, pacing the parapet above their room. On the other side of the room, he heard the soft susurrus of Kenneth’s breathing. In the dim light, his elven sight was hard pressed to separate the four boys who had fallen asleep in a pile of arms and legs, snuggled together like so many puppies. Slowly raising his hand, so not to disturb James and Alan, who were sleeping on either side of him, he gestured. The blanket that the boys had kicked off lifted from the floor and settled gently over them. Patrick lay back, and slept.

 

When they entered the refectory for breakfast, Cedric was waiting for them. He greeted each of them, shaking hands while offering a blessing. Then, “The senior would like James, Patrick, and Alan to break fast with him this morning. Will you please follow me?”

 

Leaving the four boys, the three tweens followed Cedric to a small round table, set for five. The senior, whom they’d met briefly on their first day, gestured kindly for them to sit. “I’ve wanted to spend more time with you,” he started. “You’ve been very busy. But you have to eat!” He gestured, and acolytes brought platters of bread, cheese, and fruit. “And coffee,” the senior said to one. “I hear you enjoy coffee as much as I do, Patrick. Where did you get the taste?”

 

“I apprenticed to a healer in Arcadia for some years. He had a patient who was an importer, and who paid his bills with coffee. My Master didn’t care that much for it, but I became quite a fan, especially when I had to study all night for some test he’d devised.”

 

“You’re a mage, as well. Was your master in magic an Arcadian? Or elven?”

 

“He was elven, Aaron of Clairmont. It was he that thought I should be trained as a healer, and arranged the move to Arcadia.”

 

“I’ve heard of Aaron of Clairmont,” the senior mused. “A very studied and deliberate man, isn’t he?”

 

“Yes, senior, he is. Very thoughtful. A detailed planer. Looked for relationships, for side effects, for potential quirks, before he would try a new spell.”

 

“Be thankful if you’ve learned that, my young friend,” the senior said, with a chuckle. “I’ve got more than one scar that came from going too fast in the alchemic laboratory!”

 

Patrick grinned and nodded, as the senior turned his attention to James. “You are sworn to the temple. Are you content that following your current course is in the temple’s best interests?” he asked. “Wait. Not a fair question. Not in front of your friends. Let me say it this way: Trust your instincts, and trust your friends. As long as you believe without question that you are serving the Light, you will have the blessing and support of the temple. There, how’s that.”

 

James practically glowed with the trust implicit in the senior’s words. “Thank you, senior. I do trust my friends. But Patrick is much more than that. He is a great teacher and a great mage. And Alan is more than just a friend and a boon companion; he’s a tree rooted deep in the earth, and a source of strength for all of us.”

 

What the senior said next did nothing to relieve Alan’s embarrassment. Addressing the tall, ash-haired tween, the Master said, “He’s right, you know. Your ties to World are strong. Listen for her to speak. She will support you, and your friends, when there is need.”

 

Abruptly the senior changed the subject. “What did you think when those two boys switched their swords to their left hands?”

 

Alan was now in his element; he and the senior spent the rest of the meal waving their hands around as they discussed swordsmanship. But what the senior said about World was not forgotten.

 

At the long table where the boys were seated, there was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Kenneth screwed up the courage to ask Darryn and Greyeyes, “What’s wrong? There’s something wrong, isn’t there? You two have been so down ever since we woke up; it’s like you’re sucking in the Light and leaving us all in the gloom.”

 

Darryn looked at Greyeyes, who nodded. Darryn spoke, “How come the tweens won’t share boy magic with us? Is it because they aren’t going to let us go on adventure with you? We don’t understand…” his voice trailed off and he stifled a sob.

 

Kenneth sighed with relief. “No, that’s not it, at all! You see, even though Patrick and Alan and James will ask Thom and me if we want you to adventure with us, and will consider our answers, it is they who will make the final decision. And they don’t want you to think you have to have sex with them in order to join us.”

 

Darryn and Greyeyes still looked puzzled.

 

Thom, who was usually so silent, spoke. “It’s simple, really. When I was a prisoner, I was raped by brigands. They would rape me, and then give me food. They would rape me, and give me water. They would rape me, and allow me to wash myself. They would rape me, and give me a candle against the darkness. They would rape me, and give me a blanket against the cold. Eventually I would beg them for sex, because I knew that was how to get a reward. I became so dependent on the brigands that I didn’t escape when I could. I was tied by a rope with a knot that a child could have untied, but I was so dependent on the brigands that I didn’t want to escape.

 

“When Patrick and Alan rescued me, I offered myself to them…to pay them for saving me. For me, sex was what one did to get something one wanted. Both of them refused. I couldn’t understand it; I felt rejected. They sensed that, but they still would not have sex with me.

 

“As soon as we were safe, they cleaned me, fed me, and dressed me. But they still wouldn’t have sex with me. When we got back to my home, and my father didn’t welcome me, I wanted to die. Patrick and Alan stood up for me, stood up to my father. They took me in, when no one else would.

 

“The first night we weren’t running away from brigands, or on the road…the first night we could sit down and talk, we sat together while they explained. They said that I was vulnerable, and it would have been wrong for them to take advantage of me when I was vulnerable. They said that physical rape is evil, but that having sex with someone who is vulnerable is also an evil. They said that having sex with someone who is in your power or under your control, is also evil. They said that having sex with someone who hopes to create an advantage or take an advantage is also evil. I still didn’t understand.

 

“It took a while for me to understand. Patrick and Alan took care of me, helped me heal—mind and body. It took a while, but finally I understood. It was like the sun came up in my mind. I knew what they were saying, and I was able to ask Alan and Patrick to share boy magic with me without feeling that I was being raped or that I was a whore.

 

“And we three have shared boy magic and beds, have fought together, risked together, ever since. Yes, I’m still a boy, and they’re tweens. They make decisions and I abide by them, but they’re not in power over me. We’re in partnership, by understanding and by oath. And that’s what makes it right.”

 

Thom fell silent. Darryn and Greyeyes sat, stunned by what they had heard. Even Kenneth, who knew most of the story, but had never heard it in such graphic detail, was silent.

 

*****

 

“This letter will go under seal,” Patrick said to James. “If you have one for Alten, we’ll make a package. I’ve already spoken to Cedric; he’ll see that they’re dispatched to Arcadia under temple seal, as well.”

 

Patrick at the Monastery of Piedmont to the Pelican.

 

My companions and I are well, and hope you are also.

 

We have had to leave Fortmain rather suddenly. There was a raid on the city, and the populace seemed bent upon taking out their anger on us because we were strangers. (After all, we’d been there for little more than a year!) A mob armed with swords and clubs tried to attack the two boys; another stormed our room in the inn. We had no choice but to flee. We did a bit of damage making our escape: a fireball scattered a troop of the City Guard. But it was our cleric’s Hammer of Lightsmashing the city gate that got us out of there, and surely made us unwelcome ever to return!

 

There seemed to be no pursuit; in any case, we reached this monastery and have taken refuge here while I’ve been engaged in research in the library. It’s a far different collection than I found in Fortmain, and has many books that would not likely be in the Arcadian libraries, either. This is an old, old place, and a place of great learning.

 

On the way here, we stopped at a farm where James and Kenneth recuperated after being ambushed. We were well received there, and James has written his mentor about taking in two of the boys. They are on the way to Arcadia, even now.

 

We have met the cutest elven boys…both Keewaten…Darryn and Greyeyes. They have considerable skill as fighters, and Darryn is a fair novice-level mage, although he is interested more in the practical application of magic than the theoretical. He uses few spells, but those he uses have become second nature to him, and he can cast them nearly without thought. Despite their skills, I don’t know how they got this far from the elven lands. They have petitioned us to join our group. Alan likes their fighting skills, but is a little concerned about their size and apparent age; James is neutral; I’m generally in favor. Kenneth is firmly on their side. Although half-elvish, he was reared among humans, and has never had elven boys as companions. Thom, as usual, says little but follows Alan’s lead. We’ll meet this afternoon to make our decision.

 

On the second day, regardless, we will depart. Our ultimate goal will be an old castle in the Highland Marches that has become a haven for Dark forces. We will travel through James’ home of Bowling Green, on the way. His father is Constable, there.

 

The Librarian, who has become a fine friend, has agreed to send this letter with the Monastery’s report to Arcadia, and ask a friend there to notify you of its arrival.