V
Joachim had rebuilt the fire and was brewing tea. I could barely remember the last time I had had a cup. All my concerns of the night before abruptly took their proper place in the greater scheme of life: breakfast first, monsters second. I waited quietly until the tea was ready.
We dipped the remains of a loaf Joachim had brought with him from the royal castle into the scalding liquid. Even stale and tasting somewhat of a saddlebag, it was still indubitably the product of Gwen’s baking.
“I’ll have to get Evrard away from the nymph first,” I said.
Joachim looked at me over the rim of his cup but did not answer. He had somehow managed to appear clean, well-shaved, and well-brushed, and even his vestments were much crisper than clothes might be expected to be after being slept in.
“You probably don’t want to know what that young wizard’s been doing.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “His soul will be the responsibility of the duchess’s chaplain.”
“It would be best, I think, if you stay here in the valley,” I went on, “and continue following your original plan, to determine what should happen to the saint’s relics. Meanwhile-”
I stopped abruptly. Faint sounds of shouting and barking, then the high winding of a horn, drifted down the valley.
I gulped the last of my tea and scrambled out of the hut. The sounds were clearer, and now I could tell that they were coming from above the rim of the valley. Up on top of the plateau, someone — or something-was being hotly pursued.
I ran out from under the trees and a short distance toward the head of the valley, to a position from which I hoped to see. At the top of the cliff, near the entrepreneurs’ booth, was a brightly colored and highly noisy confusion of what I took to be hounds and men on horseback. A dark shape broke away and began rapidly descending the cliff face.
I could hear the priests’ voices a short distance away, saying their morning prayers loudly, either not hearing the noise or not concerned. But Joachim’s voice was quiet at my shoulder. “Is it the monster?”
My heart was pounding so hard it took me nearly a minute to put the far-seeing spell together. But then I could see that the figure coming quickly and smoothly down the cliff was blond and wore a dark green cloak. My attention was jerked back up to the top of the cliff, where, to my enormous relief, I saw Dominic, very much alive and, from his gestures, furious. The duchess, just as furious, was beside him.
“It’s not the monster,” I said in bewilderment. “It’s Nimrod.”
We hurried up the valley to be there when he reached the bottom. Although the people at the top of the cliff were quickly cut off from view, from the sounds of shouting and barking I guessed that they were riding around by the road, and indeed in a moment I saw them as they started down the steep incline. Dominic was in the lead, riding at a pace I was certain was not safe, and the duchess was not far behind.
Joachim and I met Nimrod at the base of the cliff. But he rushed past us without speaking or giving us a chance to speak and headed straight for the Holy Grove. He was breathing hard, and his hands and his boots were heavily scratched, as though even before reaching the cliff he had had to force his way through thorn bushes, or even fight off a pack of dogs.
The three priests emerged from the trees, down toward the apprentices’ huts, and started sedately up the road. Evrard suddenly emerged from the grove and came over to join us. The young wizard looked more tousled than ever. His chin was covered in reddish fuzz; his beard had finally started to grow in.
The first of the riders reached the bottom of the steep road into the valley and galloped toward us. The priests, forgetting their dignity, dove for the edge of the road just in time.
Dominic was riding not his stallion but a long-boned gelding, the second biggest horse in the castle stables. It was heavily lathered, and its eyes rolled wide and white. Neither rider nor mount looked as though they had enjoyed the last few days together.
The regent pulled up the horse, with a hard jerk on the reins that lifted its front feet from the ground, and leaped off. “Where is he?” he roared. He pounded up the track by the waterfall, slipped in the mud, landed on his face, and jumped up again without even seeming to notice. “Where is that coward hiding?” I stepped back nimbly, or the regent might have run me over.
Nimrod stood just inside the grove, waiting impassively, even though his shoulders rose and fell rapidly from heavy breathing. He had his bow and quiver in his hands.
“You’re trapped now!” Dominic cried. The mud on his face and all down his front made him an inhuman monster himself. He wrenched his sword from its sheath as he advanced.
Nimrod spoke then for the first time. “Sanctuary!” he shouted, his voice ringing through the head of the valley. His face was set in grim lines. “I demand the right of sanctuary!” He threw his bow and arrows to the ground and stepped back under the trees.
Dominic stopped abruptly. “Coward!” he shouted. “You’re nothing but a coward! You know I won’t kill you if you’re unarmed. Don’t hide behind a saint’s skirts! Come out and get what you deserve!”
I had not always taken Dominic seriously, which, I now realized, was a mistake. Nimrod did not reply. He watched the regent from a few yards back in the grove.
Dominic unbuckled a long knife from his belt and threw it, scabbard and all, toward Nimrod. It clattered on the ground nearly at his feet, but he made no motion to pick it up. “What’s the matter?” Dominic sneered. “My knife isn’t good enough for you? Do you want a shield too? Shall you wait while I go get you one?”
“I’ve thrown down my weapons,” said Nimrod evenly, “not because I’m afraid of you, but because I have respect for Saint Eusebius. I do not wish to bring instruments of violence into his grove. I have asked for sanctuary, Prince!”
Dominic hesitated for a long minute, during which the rest of us barely breathed. Then, with a massive snort, he advanced toward the huntsman. Light glinted on the sword he held before him. But the old hermit emerged suddenly from the grove and stepped directly into the regent’s path.
“You cannot bring a naked sword into the Holy Grove,” said the hermit with a gentle smile. “It is a place sanctified to God and His saints.”
“But that man- He’s a despoiler, a polluter, a piece of low-born scum! He bribed the retired Royal Wizard of Yurt into making a monster and attacking me with it!” I was riveted at this, but Dominic gave me no chance to consider the implications. “He’s- He’s a sinner!” His voice rose triumphantly, as though he had found the answer. “You can’t give sanctuary to a sinner!”
The duchess’s horse had not been able to keep up with Dominic’s. She and a group of the royal knights of Yurt now rode up with a great clattering of hooves, the dogs swirling around them in a fit of frenzied barking. Diana was off her mount, up the track, and tugging at Dominic’s sword arm almost before the horse had stopped.
“You can’t- This is my duchy- Don’t you dare touch him!” she panted. Her hair had all come unpinned, and she was nearly as red as the regent.
The knights from Yurt did not immediately rush after her, but most of them were shouting. The peacefulness of the steep-walled valley was shattered.
“Put your sword down, my son,” said the hermit, still gently, “and do not fight, my daughter.” The duchess was not, at any rate, having much luck against Dominic. “Sinners most especially have the right to seek sanctuary, where they may repent and seek God’s forgiveness.”
Dominic shook the duchess off his arm but then hesitated. Nimrod still stood silently among the trees.
Diana stopped kicking the regent, looked at the knife and the bow lying on the ground, and turned to Nimrod in angry surprise. “You’ve sought sanctuary?”
“It was long ago adjudicated that this valley is under royal control, not ducal authority,” Dominic said to her, but almost conversationally, no longer in a bellow. The deep red of his face lightened a little toward its ordinary hue.
Joachim stepped up beside Dominic and began talking quietly in his ear. He was as tall as the regent, even if only about half his mass. In a moment Dominic turned grudgingly toward the track by the falls. The chaplain then put a hand on the duchess’s shoulder, and said a few calming words to her as well.
I shook off my amazement and hurried after Dominic. This was definitely not the best time for rational
