Lux Tenebris: The Monks of Threadwood Abbey - Part 4

Fericille swept up the winding stairway of High House, Elkedren and Malora carried along in her wake. As they ascended, Fericille kept up a constant flow of chatter that made Malora think of babbling brooks.

They emerged through a green door into a large hallway illuminated by glowing glass lamps. In their soft, steady light Malora observed a uniformed servant emerge from a door at the end of the hall.  Fericille headed straight for him.

"Is Lord Terret in his study, Squire?"

"He is, lady," said the man. He glanced past her, at Elkedren and Malora, and sighed. "Shall I announce you?"

"No. Thank you."

Fericille stepped past the servant and Elkedren and Malora had no choice but to follow. Malora saw Elkedren share a knowing grimace with the servant. At the end of the corridor, Fericille knocked twice on a green wooden door before pushing it open and stepping inside, calling, "Eamor, there are some people here to see you."

Lord Terret's study was a spacious room, the walls lined with living wood shelves. Those shelves were jammed with books of every size and description. A massive woven rug covered most of the floor, its surface decorated by a complex design of black and gold loops. A stuffed crocodile hung from the ceiling and Malora thought she saw one dead eye roll in their direction. It could have been her imagination, but she'd learned never to dismiss anything in a wizard's sanctum.

Lord Terret sat behind a slender desk of pale wood, in a high backed chair. He looked younger than Malora had expected. Slim and pale, he wore glass spectacles over hazel eyes. The right side of his head was shaved, but the left sported long auburn locks. The blue-veined flesh of his scalp was scarred as was the right side of his face. His right arm, she noted, was sheathed in fine leather and his hand was gloved. A golden circlet embraced his brow, and jeweled rings glittered on the fingers of his left hand.

His slim auburn brows arched as Fericille approached the desk, and his hazel eyes flashed from her to Elkedren to Malora. He pushed the book he had been studying away from him. It closed with a snap, rose from the desk and filed itself on a shelf.

"Well met, Sheriff. Squire just told me you were waiting."

"They're here to talk with you about those beastly monks, Eamor," said Fericille. "They've gone too far this time. You simply must let El take action!"

"Must I?" A smile flirted with Lord Terret's lips, as he levelled his gaze on Elkedren. "Very well, Sheriff. Tell me what's happened?"

Elkedren nodded and recounted Malora's tale to Lord Terret. His lordship sat in his high-backed chair and listened. He stroked his beardless chin with his left hand.

When Elkedren had finished, Lord Terret turned to Malora. "Is my sheriff's account accurate, lady?"

"It is, Lord Terret."

"Well, then, the monks have crossed the line and must be punished."

So saying, Lord Terret stood. Fericille appeared at his side, offering a wooden crutch that he accepted with a nod of thanks. Shoving it beneath his left arm, he regarded Elkedren.

"Sheriff, I am formally charging you with the arrest of the Black Monks of Threadwood Abbey. Take them alive if you can, but dead if you have to."

Elkedren's answering smile was like a knife. "Yes, my lord."

"You are authorized to use what resources and personnel you think you will need," continued Lord Terret.

"Ooh! Ooh! I want to help!" Fericille was practically bouncing in place.

Elkedren blanched. "Mistress Fericille, I...."

"A fine idea," interjected Lord Terret. "A spellcaster of Fericille's caliber could be useful."

"As you say, my lord." Elkedren's tone was polite, but Malora thought he looked less enthusiastic about the matter now.

"As a matter of fact," continued Lord Terret, a thoughtful tone in his voice. "It might be a good idea to involve Brother Elloren, as well."

"Elloren!" Fericille and Elkedren both said, looking genuinely surprised.

"Do you have a problem with the Abashites, Elkedren?" Terret asked.

"No, lord," the sheriff said, tight-mouthed.

"Good," said Lord Terret. "Keep me appraised of the situation."

Leaning on his crutch, Terret hobbled out from behind the desk. He was missing his right leg below the knee. His trouser's leg was pinned up, in no attempt to conceal the loss.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with my wife."

He nodded and swept out of the room.

As soon as the door was shut behind him, Elkedren swore.

"What?" asked Malora.

"Brother Elloren," explained Fericille. "He's the head of the Abashite temple." She made a face. "We don't get along."

Malora sighed. "Priest or palladin?"

"Paladin," said Elkedren.

"You know," said Fericille, "Eamor didn't explicitly say that you had to ask him along, Sheriff."

"He mentioned him by name, Fericille. Lord Terret expects me to ask him. And he'll say yes. You know he will. This sort of thing is the sort of thing Abashites pray for, the chance to bring justice down on the heads of a bunch of evil-doers."

"Maybe he'll say no," suggested Fericille, weakly.

Malora, remembering her own upbringing in the Temple of Abasha, somehow doubted that would happen.