The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  “I’ve been expecting to hear that, too,” said Sir Conal gravely.

  “In that regard, no news is good news,” said Cecile. “If the palace had crashed, we would hear of it even in this remote part of the world.”

  They rode on, day after day. The route they were taking was leading to the dragon duchies. Eloping couples such as the conte and the princess generally traveled to the part of the realm that was under dragon law. There they could be married without parental consent or Church interference.

  Cecile had assumed that Eiddwen would soon leave the main highway, turn aside to her true destination, wherever that might be. She could not believe that this was truly an elopement.

  But as they drew nearer and nearer to the duchies, Cecile began wondering if she had been mistaken. Perhaps this young man really was planning to marry the princess. Such a marriage would be horrible; the young man was a murderer. Cecile found herself almost praying for this outcome. A marriage could be annulled.

  After five days on the road, she and Sir Conal spoke hopefully of catching up to them. A tollgate keeper had said the three had passed through his gate only a few hours ahead of them. They continued their pursuit with renewed vigor when the sky grew dark, the wind strengthened, and rain poured down in torrents. The road became a river of mud in which the horses slipped and staggered, causing the post chaise to slide into a rut. The wheel struck a rock; Sir Conal managed to save the carriage from overturning, but at the cost of a broken wheel. Their journey was delayed two days while they waited for the local wheelwright to make a new one.

  When they were back on the road, they came to a crossroads. The highway to the dragon duchies ran east. The other road continued north, a route far less traveled. Here they found out that their fears were confirmed. Eiddwen had not gone to the dragon duchies. The people at the posting inn on the eastern road had not seen the three, nor had the gatekeeper at the tollhouse.

  “They must be traveling north,” Sir Conal reported.

  Cecile sank back in the carriage, fear and misery almost overwhelming her. She had known all along that this was an abduction.

  Sir Conal climbed back in the driver’s seat. “The road leads into the western slopes of the Oscadia Mountains.”

  “Where can they be going?” Cecile wondered, puzzled.

  “And why?” Sir Conal asked.

  He cracked the whip and the chaise lurched forward.

  They picked up the trail of the three after several days of weary traveling. The road was little used, the only posting inn along this route in a village at the end of the mail route. Sir Conal drove the post chaise into the yard and dismounted. As he held open the door for Cecile, she descended and looked around in dismay.

  “The end of the road,” she murmured.

  The village of Alsac was located in the rolling foothills of the mountains. From her vantage point, she could see flocks of sheep and goats spread out over bright green hills set against a backdrop of darker green pines. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the few houses scattered about the landscape. The road ended in the carriage yard of the inn. From here a pony trail led into the mountains. She studied the trail ahead. It wound up into the foothills, the terrain slate gray and forbidding.

  The innkeeper, seeing a private post chaise and well-dressed, if travel-worn guests, came out personally to greet them. Sir Conal gave the innkeeper their standard story, how they were searching for Cecile’s runaway niece.

  “I remember the three quite well,” said the innkeeper readily. “Two women and a young man. I remember because a gentleman had been waiting three days for them. He had flown here on griffin-back and he had two griffins with him. I had to find room in the stables for the beasts. The older woman seemed surprised to see him. They had a long talk. The three stayed the night and the next morning the older woman and the young man flew off on the griffins.”

  Sir Conal and Cecile exchanged startled glances.

  “But what became of the young woman?” Cecile asked. “My niece. She and the young man were going to be married.”

  The innkeeper regarded Cecile with sympathy. “I think you must have been mistaken about that, madame. The young woman left in company with two monks. She is taking the veil, joining a convent.”

  Cecile stared at the man, incredulous. “That is not possible. We cannot be talking about the same young woman.”

  “I am not likely to be confused, madame,” said the innkeeper. “They were my only customers at the time. The young woman was fair complected, about fifteen, and in possession of a small dog, which the monks allowed her to take with her. She called the dog Bandit.”

  “That is Sophia,” Cecile said dazedly. “I … I need to sit down.”

  Sir Conal gripped her arm. “Come inside, my lady. This has been a shock.”

  The innkeeper fussed over her, treating her with solicitous kindness. He led them to the inn’s common room and shouted loudly for the serving girl to stir up the fire. Sir Conal escorted Cecile to a chair. She sat down and rested her head in her hand.

  “I think we should stay here the night, my lady,” said Sir Conal in a low voice. “We need to find out what is going on.”

  “That was my thought, as well,” said Cecile softly. “You go tend to the horses. I will be fine.”

  “Are you certain?” Sir Conal asked worriedly.

  “Hearing about Sophia was such a shock it took my breath away,” said Cecile. “I am much better.”

  Sir Conal gave her a comradely pat on the shoulder and whispered, “Find out what you can from the serving girl. I’ll talk to the stable hands.”

  He hurried away.

  Having lived most of her life in the royal court, Cecile was well aware that servants make the best spies. People tend to view their servants as just another piece of furniture. They forget they are present, forget they have eyes and ears. Servants can blend into the background, and have been known to listen at doors, peer through keyholes.

  Cecile kept her head bowed and observed the serving girl from beneath lowered lashes. The girl was young, about fourteen. Her cap was crooked, her brown hair straggled out from underneath. Her apron was torn, stained and rumpled where she used it to wipe her hands. She was looking at Cecile with wide eyes, her hands plucking at her apron.

  “You seem poorly, mum. Can I fetch you something?”

  Cecile lifted her head and smiled. “What is your name, child?”

  “Anna, my lady.” The girl dropped a pretty curtsy.

  “Could you fix me a posset, Anna?” Cecile asked.

  Anna flushed in confusion. “I’m sure I’d be glad to, my lady, but I don’t know how. I could ask Cook—”

  “We don’t need to bother Cook. Bring me milk, brandy and honey, a pitcher, two mugs and I will show you.”

  When Anna departed, Cecile took off her damp cloak and moved her chair closer to the fire. She felt chilled to the bone. She tried to make sense of the news the innkeeper had told them. Eiddwen and that young man departing on griffin-back, leaving Sophia in the company of monks! From what the innkeeper said, Eiddwen had been surprised to see the man with the griffins. This journey was unexpected. Where had she flown in such haste? And why abandon Sophia when they had gone to so much trouble to abduct her? Had the purpose been, all along, to bring her here? To monks? Try as she might, Cecile could not think how any of this made sense.

  Anna returned with the ingredients for the posset. She hung the pot over the fire and, under Cecile’s direction, poured in milk and honey and began to stir it with a wooden spoon.

  “You must scald the milk, but be careful not to let it burn,” said Cecile. “When the milk starts to bubble around the edges, you will know it is the right temperature.”

  The fire was low. Scalding the milk would take some time.

  “I understand from the innkeeper that my niece was here,” Cecile continued. “A pretty young woman of about fifteen. Her name is Sophia. She has a little dog.”

  “Yes, mum,” said
Anna, her gaze on the milk.

  “Can you tell me how my niece seemed? Was she all right? I am worried about her. She ran away from home. Her parents are extremely upset.”

  Anna’s cheeks grew red. She cast a fearful glance at the door that led to the entryway where the innkeeper stood at his desk. Biting her lip, she kept stirring.

  “I’m not supposed to talk about the guests, mum.”

  “I feel a draft,” said Cecile. Walking over to the door, she told the innkeeper she was feeling unwell and asked that no one disturb her. He promised she would be left in peace. Cecile smiled at him and then shut the door. “The room stays warmer this way, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, mum,” said Anna, stirring the milk assiduously.

  Cecile drew her chair close to the girl.

  “Please, Anna,” Cecile said softly and persuasively. “I am sick with worry for Sophia. You may talk to me. I will tell no one. Was that the name of the young lady? Sophia?”

  Anna looked at her, looked again at the closed door, and seemed more at ease.

  “Yes, mum. That was what they called her. She was here in this very room,” Anna said, barely speaking above a whisper. “She didn’t want to be, neither. I served supper and Sophia didn’t eat enough to keep a dickey bird alive. That’s what Cook said when I took back her plate still full of food to the kitchen.”

  “Who was with the young lady?”

  “There was a woman they called Eiddwen. She said she was the young lady’s companion, but I thought she acted like her jailer. There was a young man, too. His name was Lucello. I didn’t like him, though Cook thought he was very good-looking. I think the milk is ready, mum.”

  “Well done, Anna,” said Cecile warmly. “Pour the milk in the pitcher, then into the mugs, carefully now. Then add the brandy.”

  “Cook said some cinnamon and clove would be good.” Anna sprinkled the spices carefully on top of each mug of frothy, steaming milk. “Who is the other mug for, mum?”

  “It was for my friend, Sir Conal, but he is still with the horses and this will get cold. I do not like it to go to waste. Perhaps you would like to drink it, Anna?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t, mum!” said Anna, even as she glanced longingly at the fragrant milk.

  “Please, I insist,” said Cecile.

  She handed the mug to the girl. Anna sat nervously on the edge of a chair. She took a tentative sip of the milk. Her eyes grew wide. “This is ever so good, mum!”

  “I’m glad you like it, Anna,” said Cecile. “Tell me more about Sophia. The innkeeper said she was going to join a convent. She left with two monks.”

  Anna drank more of the posset. Her face grew flushed. She began to talk freely, without reservation.

  “The young lady didn’t want to go to no convent, mum.”

  “How do you know, Anna?”

  “A man flew here on a griffin. First time I ever seen a griffin, mum,” said Anna. “They’re fearsome beasts. The lady called Eiddwen brought him in here and they talked while I served supper. He told her that orders had changed. She was to go to Freya. Something about a saint and drummers having to stay home because the storms were so bad. She was to send the savage to the monastery.”

  “Savage?” Cecile repeated, perplexed. “What savage?”

  “I think that was the word they used. They meant the young lady.”

  “Savage,” Cecile murmured to herself. Then she understood. “Savant! Was that the word?”

  “It might have been, mum. This milk is awfully good!”

  Cecile sipped the posset. “What happened after that?”

  “Eiddwen and the young man, Lucello, and the man with the griffin finished their meal and left the room. Eiddwen told Sophia to stay put, she wouldn’t be gone long. The moment they left, Sophia asked me if there was a back door. I nodded my head and she picked up her little dog and told me to take her. Before we could leave, that Lucello came back. He caught hold of Sophia and twisted her arm, hurting her. Then he took the little dog away from her and said he was going to kill it! I was so frightened, mum. I couldn’t move.”

  Anna’s eyes filled with tears. She put down the mug and wiped her nose with the tip of her apron.

  “What happened then?” Cecile prompted her.

  “The poor young lady fell to her knees, mum. She begged him not to hurt the little dog. She said she wouldn’t make trouble. She would go where they told her. He threw the little dog on the floor and dragged the young woman into the yard. There were two monks on horses. They had brought a horse for Sophia to ride. Lucello took the little dog and shoved him in a gunny sack and tied it to her saddle. The dog howled somethin’ frightful.”

  “Anna, is there a convent near here?” Cecile asked.

  “No, mum. There’s some old monastery up in the mountains, but no convent. I told Cook and she wondered about that, too.”

  The sound of footsteps approaching and a knock on the door caused Anna to set down the mug, hurriedly wipe the telltale signs of milk from her mouth and run for the kitchen. The innkeeper entered with an apology to tell Cecile her room was ready. She followed the innkeeper up the stairs.

  Cecile looked at the bed with its straw mattress and shabby wool blanket. She thought of her bed chamber in the palace, her bed with the finest cambric sheets, the embroidered silk coverlet, the goose-down pillow … and smiled ruefully.

  Sir Conal met her in the hallway outside her door. His expression was grim.

  “What did you find out?” Cecile asked, alarmed.

  “We can’t talk here,” Sir Conal said in a low voice. “Come admire the view.”

  They left the inn and walked to a promontory overlooking the countryside. The sky was blue with only a few puffy clouds. The air was chill even in the sunlight. Cecile wrapped her cloak more closely around her. She told Sir Conal what Anna had told her.

  “Sophia left with two monks,” Cecile said in conclusion. “And there is no convent anywhere around here.”

  “They traveled the road north,” said Sir Conal. “I found fresh hoofprints, three horses. The stable hand said he heard Eiddwen tell the men they were to take the young woman to the monastery of Saint Dominick’s without delay.”

  “But why a monastery?” Cecile asked, baffled. “That does not make sense.”

  “The north road is used only by shepherds and the monks from the monastery. That has to be their destination.”

  “I have never heard of a Saint Dominick.”

  “I asked about him,” Sir Conal said. “The stable hand was glad to oblige. His story is quite curious. It seems that back in ancient times, a man and his son discovered the Gates to Hell. The man opened the gates, letting demons escape into the world. The man made a deal with the Evil One for the demons to serve him. A priest named Dominick opposed this man, who retaliated by sending the demons to murder the priest and tear down his church. Dominick stood in the door of the church and, calling on God to help him, he sent the demons and the evil men who summoned them back to hell.”

  “You are telling me that the Gates of Hell are located in the Oscadia Mountains,” said Cecile drily.

  Sir Conal did not return her smile. “Local legend has it that during the Dark Ages, demons came down out of the mountains and laid siege to the village. The church sent monks to fight them and drive them back through the gates. The monks built a monastery at the site to watch for demons and adopted Saint Dominick as their patron saint.”

  Cecile felt the blood chill in her heart. “Demons … Eiddwen…”

  “I, too, made the connection, my lady,” said Sir Conal gravely. “But I cannot fathom what Eiddwen and Sophia and the Bottom Dwellers have to do with a monastery hidden in the mountains.”

  “The man who came to give Eiddwen her orders referred to Sophia as a ‘savant.’ And Eiddwen told the monks to take the ‘savant’ to the monastery.”

  “Is Her Highness a savant?”

  “She is quite gifted in magic. A natural talent, so the priests said wh
en they examined her. She could well be a savant.”

  “And what do you make of Eiddwen and Lucello flying to Freya?” Sir Conal asked. “On orders from some saint. And all that about drummers and storms. I have no love for Freyans, but if that woman is headed their way, I feel sorry for the poor devils.”

  Cecile remembered Father Jacob warning that the Bottom Dwellers were a threat to all the nations of the world. He had said that the night a bomb using contramagic had nearly killed them. Was Freya somehow connected with Eiddwen sabotaging the palace and abducting the princess? Eiddwen did nothing without a reason. As Sir Conal said, the Freyans should beware.

  “Sophia knows now that Lucello never meant to marry her,” said Cecile, returning to the problem at hand. “She knows his true character. She tried to escape, but he caught her. He threatened her, saying that if she didn’t cooperate, he would kill Bandit. She must be terrified.”

  Cecile had to clamp her teeth on her lips to check her emotions.

  “We will find her, my lady,” Sir Conal replied with quiet reassurance. “The road is too rocky and narrow for the post chaise. I will purchase riding horses and supplies. We can leave tonight, if you are not too tired.”

  “I am not tired.” Cecile smiled at him. “Thank you, Sir Conal. I do not know what I would do without you.”

  Sir Conal O’Hairt was not a handsome man. He was short of stature, of stocky build, with bull-like neck and shoulders. The Knight Protectors were a group of knights assigned to guard priests of the Arcanum, who were often sent on dangerous missions. Sir Conal had served in this capacity for many years until he had begun having difficulty with his knee. He now trained new members of the Knight Protectors in combat.