by Unknown
The Garwig's beastlike lips curved into a hideous approximation of a smile. Striding forward, he summarily knocked Renulf to the ground with his knobby left fist and planted a booted foot in the middle of Renulf's chest. His vulgar laughter assaulted Renulf's ears as he raised his sword above his head in preparation for the death blow. Renulf steeled himself, hardly able to believe he was about to die but determined to do so with dignity. Ozwyn would outlive him only by a few moments, he guessed. What a tragically wasted effort his rescue attempt had been.
The sword came down swiftly, the metal blade flashing in the sun. Just as it was about to cut through Renulf's robe and sink into his flesh, however, a curious event occurred. The sword dropped from the Garwig's hand, hit the ground beside Renulf's shoulder, and fell into the dirt. The Garwig followed his weapon a moment later, collapsing like a toppling tree. Renulf barely had time to roll out of the way and avoid being crushed by his bulky, green-skinned body.
For a moment he lay where he was, too dazed to do more than blink up at the sky. He assumed the Garwig's evil heart or miniscule brain had given out. Then he turned his head and noticed the thick arrow jutting up from the center of his back.
In his bewilderment, he looked up at Ozwyn. "But how…?" he started to ask.
Ozwyn didn't answer in words. He simply pointed.
Another figure was heading across the courtyard toward them. This time, there could be no debate that what they saw was a man—and a magnificent man, to be sure. His chest, thighs, and shoulders gleamed as his polished armor reflected the light like leaping flames. His dark blue cloak fluttered behind him in the breeze, giving the impression that he was borne along by wide, dark wings. The same breeze stirred the loose brown curls that hung nearly to his shoulders. And over one arm he carried the crossbow that had just saved Renulf's life.
Ozwyn stepped toward Renulf and helped him off the ground by extending one hand. His hood shadowed his eyes, as always, but Renulf saw the white bristles around his thin lips move as he moved his mouth in astonishment.
"This is impossible," he grumbled while Renulf remained speechless with wonder. "We have had no visitors here since … well, since I was your age. Why would a Garwig and a knight both arrive on the same day?"
Renulf was about to venture a guess when Ozwyn held up a hand to stop him. The knight was moving closer now. In a moment or two, he would be near enough to converse with them. Renulf could hardly wait to hear what he might say.
"Wait," Ozwyn whispered. "Do not speak to him. I will tell him you were born without the power of speech. Why should he question it? You will be safer that way. Let me deal with him on my own."
Though disappointed and even outraged at the suggestion, Renulf knew he had no choice but to obey his master. No doubt Ozwyn was only concerned for his well-being; he often warned Renulf against associating with those from the outside world. Renulf lowered his eyes as the knight stepped up to them. Ozwyn, however, stared him boldly in the face.
"We welcome you to the Sanctuary of Xir," Ozwyn said, bowing. "I am master here. This is my acolyte, Renulf."
Renulf felt the knight's intense blue gaze travel over him. He glanced up only briefly and then dipped his head again, his cheeks flaring with heat.
"I am Lord Bazel. I come from the western mountains," their visitor announced in a strong, clear voice that sent a pleasant shiver down the center of Renulf's back. Lord Bazel lowered his crossbow and let his traveling satchel drop from his shoulder to his booted feet. He spared a look of disgust for the Garwig crumpled nearby. "I have been tracking this one for several suns. I suspected he was planning nothing admirable. However, I do apologize for the mess."
"No matter. We will take care of that later," Ozwyn said. A concerned scowl twisted the lower half his face. "Do you think there might be more?"
Bazel shook his head. "Our friend here was a deserter who broke away from a larger unit moving west. I assure you he worked alone, planning to steal what he could for his own benefit."
"Ah." Ozwyn nodded. "I … suppose you seek shelter?"
"Yes. Just for a few days. I have been walking for a long time. I require sleep and nourishment. I trust you have a spare bed, but I am not particular. The floor will serve me well enough."
Ozwyn sighed. "Beds we have aplenty. Renulf and I are the Brotherhood's only members at present."
"Oh?" Lord Bazel's sleek brows, the color of richly polished wood, rose to his hairline. "What became of the others? Not swept away by disease or some natural disaster, I hope?"
"None of those things. They left of their own accord. The demands of Xir are not for everyone," Ozwyn answered curtly.
Lord Bazel laughed. The sound tickled Renulf's ears. He couldn't help smiling. He seldom heard laughter. "Of that I am sure."
"Renulf will show you to a room that should suit you well. Later you may join us for supper." He held out the gourds he had saved from the Garwig's grasping paws.
"Excellent. I would like company. I have been talking to myself and the sky for nearly a month." Bazel lifted his traveling sack and slung it at Renulf. "Carry that, if you have the strength. Later, you may help me bury this heap of refuse." He kicked at the Garwig and hesitated, obviously waiting for Renulf to answer. When he did not, Bazel's face tightened in irritation. "Do you not speak?"
"Renulf was born without the ability to form words aloud," Ozwyn said hastily. "Fortunately, his hearing was not affected. You may tell him to fetch you whatever you require, milord, and he will obey."
"I see."
Renulf's eyes narrowed as he hoisted the bag to his shoulder.
"Follow him and he will prepare your room for you. I will prepare the supper, meanwhile. Luckily, our garden has been fertile this season. I must warn you, though—it will not be what a lord like you will be accustomed to at his own castle."
"No matter. After an entire moon-cycle of eating naught but acorns, berries, and game, anything would seem delicious."
At last, Ozwyn left with his vegetables, and Renulf bowed and led Bazel to a spacious corner chamber with two shuttered windows. Ozwyn had told him once that in the old days, when the sanctuary had functioned normally, it had been used to house visiting dignitaries who sought spiritual relief and sometimes political asylum. At night, fragrant air swept in, healthy and brisk, from the forest beyond. His lordship would be happy there.
Though no one else dwelt there, Ozwyn made sure there were plenty of clean supplies around. Renulf himself spent many days washing and folding them over and over again.
Bazel’s voice was gentle as he patted Renulf's arm. "So you really cannot speak a word? Too bad. There is much I would like to discuss with you. I suspect I would get plainer answers than I will from your master. Well, no matter. I will figure it out myself. In meantime, help me shed my armor, and then fill two pails of water and leave them in the courtyard for me. I plan to wash the grime of travel from my skin before we sup."
Renulf nodded. He longed to tell the truth, to share words and experiences, to learn more about Lord Bazel and the world beyond the sanctuary. Ozwyn's orders, however, bound him to silence. He did as ordered, unclasping the various buckles and ties that held Lord Bazel's magnificent armor tight against his body.
The last thing he saw before he ducked out of the room was Lord Bazel pulling his padded tunic and undergarments over his head. His cheeks—and a few other parts of him as well—burned like flame as Renulf closed the door between them.
TWO
As the sun went down, the three of them shared a modest meal consisting of boiled produce from the monastery garden and the loaf of bread Renulf had carried back from the village on his last excursion there. It was a little hard, especially around the edges, and Renulf was glad they were using it up. He didn't mind walking off to get some more—in fact, he looked forward to the long journey to the village so he could enjoy time away from Ozwyn's task-mastering. Maybe Lord Bazel would accompany him at least part of the way when it was time for him to leave
… even if the thought of him leaving did dampen Renulf's mood for reasons even he wasn't entirely sure about.
To sweeten the meal, Ozwyn brought wine from the storage room in the cellar. While he filled each of their goblets, he crowed over saving it from the Garwig's clutches. "I would sooner have smashed every bottle in the storeroom than give a single one to that beast," he asserted.
"No matter," Lord Bazel said, laughing as he drank. Free of dirt, dust, and sweat, he really was most handsome. An alluring floral smell wafted from his skin, as though he had rubbed scented unguent on himself after washing with the buckets of water Renulf had left for him. "He would not have got far with it even if he had wrestled it away from you. Then again, it is tasty enough that I might have hesitated to return it! It has been a long time since I have sipped anything so rich. Not even the cellars at my own castle stock such fine potions."
"I have made perfecting my recipe a life-quest," Ozwyn answered. "Along with serving the tenets of Xir, of course."
"Of course," Lord Bazel said with a slight frown. "I'm sure you have many important duties here."
His gaze shifted to Renulf, who gulped from his own cup. True, Ozwyn's wines were always delicious, made from berries he cultivated and crushed himself. In fact, Renulf felt the strong concoction going to his head. More than once, he started to ask Lord Bazel a question before remembering that he was not supposed to speak and closing his mouth. The enforced silence made him squirm. He longed to ask if Bazel were on a quest, like the knights in the books he copied day after day, but Ozwyn asked only the most general questions, which Lord Bazel seemed reluctant to answer. Renulf wondered about that, but what right had he to question a knight? By the end of the meal, Renulf knew only that he had been traveling for many days and nights. He knew not what Bazel's destination might be, nor what his purpose was.
After dinner, they moved out to the courtyard and seated themselves on the stone benches there as they did every night. Ozwyn did not seem entirely pleased that Lord Bazel accompanied them.
"Now we shall enjoy a few measures of music, as is our nightly ritual," Ozwyn said. "Renulf is quite adept on the pipe. I taught him every note myself."
He signaled for Renulf to produce the instrument in question, which he did at once, drawing it from the pocket of his robe. Ozwyn listened intently, as if waiting for Renulf to miss a note. Though unnerved by the intense scrutiny, Renulf played the usual tune without error. Lord Bazel seemed to enjoy the performance, his stern gaze riveted to Renulf's lips and fingers as he played. By the time he finished his last note, Renulf felt slightly flushed in spite of the cool evening air. He glanced up to find Bazel staring at him with undisguised interest. Renulf wondered if Bazel sensed the emotional pull between them, as Renulf did. Did he share it?
No, that was too much to hope for. Shame burned inside him. Ozwyn would surely beat him if he knew the sorts of fancies Renulf entertained. Such thoughts were forbidden to an acolyte, to say nothing of the acts themselves.
"I think I will retire now," Bazel said. He rose, smoothing down his tunic. "I'm looking forward to a good rest tonight. In the morning, with your permission, I would like to show your acolyte how to clean my armor. It could use some polishing after being exposed to the open skies for so long."
Ozwyn failed to cover his irritation with a smile as he nodded at Bazel. "Certainly, milord. You are our honored guest. We shall do whatever pleases you."
"Good. I'll show myself to my room," Bazel said, standing and taking one of the lighted torches stuck into the ground around them. "You two can stay out here if you like. Don't trouble yourselves on my account."
"Goodnight milord," Ozwyn said, bowing from the shoulders up. When Bazel walked through the wooden door that led back inside the sanctuary, though, Ozwyn tilted his head to indicate that Renulf should follow. "Make sure he goes directly to his room," he whispered. "Do not let him see you."
Nodding, Renulf stood and hurried after Bazel. At first, he felt indignant over Ozwyn's lack of trust toward a man he called their honored guest. His outrage dissipated, however, when he saw Bazel pausing at every door on his way down the darkened corridor. Each time, he lifted his torch and peered inside. He found nothing to interest him until he reached the scriptorium. Renulf flattened himself against the wall, hiding in the shadows, as Bazel briefly glanced up and down the corridor to make sure he was alone. Then he entered the scriptorium.
Every muscle in Renulf's body trembled as he crept to the doorway and crouched low beside it, keeping himself just out of Lord Bazel's view. He watched as Bazel examined the open books on the bench, holding his torch aloft. If he were to drop it, Renulf knew, his years of work would turn to ashes in a matter of moments. From there, he moved to the shelves where the still uncopied books were piled. He pulled a few at random and paged through them. His attitude and handling seemed respectful. Was he a collector of antiquarian books? A scholar, perhaps? Or was he looking for something to read in his room? Renulf could not deny that most of the volumes in Ozwyn's collection would be useful as sleep aids.
Finally, just when Renulf had begun to fear that he would give his presence away somehow, Lord Bazel replaced everything he had moved around and prepared to leave the library. Renulf retreated a few steps, flattened himself against the wall again, and held his breath as Bazel headed back down the hall to his room. He paused briefly in mid-step, as if sensing Renulf's presence, but he did not look around. Eventually he went inside and closed the door.
Renulf returned to the courtyard, where Ozwyn was waiting for him.
"Well? Did our guest do anything unusual?"
"No, master." Renulf found it incredibly easy to lie. He wasn't even sure why he did. He only knew that he didn't want Ozwyn to send Bazel away. Besides, the definition of "unusual" might mean different things to different people, he realized. Looking at books was a perfectly ordinary pastime. Ozwyn should agree with that sentiment.
"Very well. I can't help suspecting he is here for some purpose he has not yet revealed to us. We must watch him and pay attention to all he says and does."
"Is it so hard to believe he is simply a traveler in search of a few days' shelter? Is hospitality not one of the primary directives of Xir?" Renulf pressed.
To his surprise, Ozwyn grew furious. Before Renulf had time to back away, he had lifted a hand and slapped him hard across the face. Pain blazed in his cheek, and Renulf knew he would bear a mark there tomorrow.
"Insolent creature! You, a novice, presume to dictate the principles of Xir to me? Get out of my sight! I have had quite enough of your insubordination for one day!"
Stunned, Renulf covered his stinging cheek with one hand and hurried to his room. Once inside, he pulled off his robe and got on the bed without donning his nightshirt. He lay still for a long time. His mind raced and his pulse throbbed, especially between his legs. Never before had anyone had so powerful an effect on him as Bazel. But then, he had never seen a knight up close before. Closing his eyes, he stroked his fingers down the middle of his chest and stomach, imaging it was Bazel's hand moving over his body.
"No," he whispered suddenly, his eyes snapping open and his heart pounding in shame. He got up hastily and pulled on his nightshirt, forcing all such distractions from his buzzing mind.
In a few days, Bazel would leave, and Renulf would remain behind with Ozwyn. He would continue to serve the Sanctuary of Xir for the rest of his days. There was no point in considering any other option. In that direction lay only crushing disappointment.
*~*~*
The next morning, Renulf rose early to find Ozwyn waiting for him at the breakfast table. A few sliced fruits and a goblet of ale awaited him. He downed them hungrily while Ozwyn watched with a grimace contorting the lower part of his face. As usual, the top of his hood hid his eyes, so Renulf could not be sure what his mood was. He wondered if Ozwyn saw the mark he could feel on his cheek, and if he felt any guilt about putting it there. Regardless, he made no effort to apologize.
"Today our guest will ask you to polish his implements of war," Ozwyn said, not bothering with a morning greeting. "While you are thus occupied, I plan to distract him long enough for you to search his room. You are to find out anything you can about his origins and his mission."
"How am I to do that?" Renulf groaned. Spying from a distance had been bad enough!
"Must I explain everything to you? You are no longer a child, Renulf. Look inside his satchels and personal effects. Perhaps he carries maps or letters of introduction from some foreign king. Perhaps he is on his way to claim a bride. If so, trinkets of interest to a lady may lie among his possessions. Use your mind, boy!"
"Yes, master." The prospect of Bazel seeking a bride hit Renulf like a fist in the gut, stinging worse than Ozwyn's blow had. Yet what would have been so unusual about it? In the books he copied, all knights took beautiful females as mates. Renulf had seen females in the village, of course, when he went for supplies, and though they did not appeal to him in that way, he could see that some were very attractive. Lord Bazel had every right to admire them and want one for his wife. Still, the idea hurt.
Ozwyn arranged some more breakfast foods on a slab of wood and handed it to Renulf. "Take this nourishment to him … Gain his trust. Indicate to him you are eager to do the work he mentioned yesterday. He will not question your enthusiasm. You must not speak, of course."
"Yes, master." Hating both his mission and in some ways himself, Renulf made his way to Bazel's door with the foodstuffs.
Bazel opened on the first knock, clad in a long blue robe with a silver rope around the waist. He brightened when he saw the fruit and ale. "Come in," he said, standing aside and motioning Renulf inside. Renulf sat the tray on a small table and stood by the door so he could eat in relative privacy. "You will not join me?" Bazel asked, raising a golden-brown brow. Renulf shook his head. "Pity," Bazel said, shrugging. "As I said before, I prefer company, even if it's silent."
