The Ippos King (Wraith Kings #3) - Grace Draven Page 0,106
closer, she noted details beyond the majesty and decoration. This was a fortress dressed up as a place of worship, possessing all the architectural hallmarks of any military stronghold. No wonder the Jeden Order had claimed it as their own. It was the perfect sanctuary for sorcerous warrior priests who walked the line of heresy in their belief in and worship of a single god they called Faltik the One.
A swarm of robed and armored clerics spilled from the monastery's entrance and crossed the bridge spanning a dry, shallow moat. They surrounded the arriving group. Anhuset bared her teeth in a warning snarl when one monk reached over the wagon's side to touch Serovek. He pulled back and dropped the same hand to the pommel of the sword sheathed at his waist. Anhuset mirrored his action.
“Peace,” Cuama said in Common tongue. He then addressed the monk in Beladine, but in an accent too thick and too swiftly spoken for her to understand what was said. The other monk backed away from the wagon with a bow but kept pace alongside it.
“You're safe here,” Cuama reassured her. “As is the margrave and Megiddo. Ulsten is one of our best healers. His lordship will be in good hands under his care.”
Anhuset was prevented from asking questions about Ulsten and what the monk intended to do to Serovek by a voice shouting her name from the entrance gate. Erostis stood there, bandaged on one side of his body. He waved to her, face haggard despite his joyous expression. She left the wagon to guide her horse past the procession to where the Beladine soldier waited. She dismounted, offering her arm. “You live,” she said by way of greeting, grasping his forearm in firm grip.
He did the same to her, his smile widening at her succinct salutation. “I do indeed, and I'm glad to see you're still breathing as well.” His gaze traveled to the wagon, the smile slipping away as he caught sight of the riderless Magas. “His lordship?” he asked, voice pained.
“Injured but alive.” She ran her gaze over his bandages. He was up and walking without a stick or the help of another, though he wore the same sickly pallor Serovek did. “One of the monks boasts of strong healing skills. It seems it isn't empty crowing.”
Erostis tapped his shoulder gingerly. “I took two arrows. Bodkin tips instead of broadheads, or I'd be long dead by now. These priests know a thing or two about healing magic.” His grave visage saddened even more. “Klanek wasn't so lucky. The monks tried to save him but to no avail.”
Anhuset had known Erostis and Klanek for a short time, yet it felt as if she'd lost a battle mate. “I didn't know him well, but he was your friend and a valued soldier. I offer my sympathies.”
He nodded. “My thanks, sha-Anhuset.”
Their conversation ended when the wagon carrying Serovek and Megiddo rolled past them. A monk among the group waiting for the procession to pass approached Erostis to coax him back to his room. Erostis shrugged him off, his expression pleading when he turned from watching the wagon roll by to Anhuset who gathered her horse's reins to follow. “You'll tell me when he wakens?”
A good man, loyal to his liege. Anhuset was glad Erostis had survived the attack. “Of course, I'll seek you out as soon as he opens his eyes.”
In the hour that followed, the monks took Megiddo's bier to one part of the monastery while sending her and Serovek to another.
“We reserve this wing of the monastery for visitors,” Cuama told her as they followed a group of priests carrying Serovek down a narrow cloister and up a flight of stairs. They emerged into a hallway that reminded her of the barracks at Saggara. Plain doors on either side, unadorned walls and wooden floors that creaked underfoot.
When Cuama tried to separate her from Serovek at the entrance to one of the chambers, she planted her feet and glowered. “It's worth it to me to fight for the right to stay. Is it worth it to you and your brothers to fight to make me leave?”
Cuama gave a long-suffering sigh before ushering her inside the chamber where she took up residence on a small bench set out of the way in one corner of the room. A bed and table with an unlit oil lamp were the only other furnishings. She watched without commenting as the monks deposited Serovek on the bed, his