Captain Javes stepped away from Jusson and, figuring that he was going back to his troop unit, I shifted to let him pass. However, Javes was stopped by me. Turning, he lifted his quiz glass to watch Arlis. Neither Jeff nor Arlis were with me, Thadro having made it very clear that they did not need to guard me as I guarded the king. Arlis had gone back to visit with his old troop mates, looking very dashing with his goatee and Royal Guard tabard against the drabber army uniforms. Beyond him Jeffen stood talking to Captain Suiden and Lieutenant Groskin. Groskin was frowning as he listened, while Suiden was turned slightly away, his gaze fixed on Arlis.
“Interesting choice for a personal guard, what?” Javes murmured very softly. Apparently the captain had no illusion about his former trooper. He didn’t wait for a response but dropped his glass and looked at me. “How are you doing, Rabbit?”
“All right, sir.”
“You don’t sound it,” Javes observed. “Or look it either.”
“It’s been a rough several days,” I said.
“So I’ve heard,” Javes said, scanning the entire lea. “You can tell who went through the ordeal and who did not.”
The captain was right. More folks had appeared, coming from the surrounding mountain villages to greet their king.
They didn’t look as hard-used as their town cousins. They also seemed more inclined to look at me askance than with wide-eyed wonder. As they did my teachers in the talent. Wyln was over by the altar with Dyfrig, the enchanter holding what looked like several small wreathes made of fall grass and colorful leaves. As I watched, Dyfrig nodded and Wyln placed the wreathes on top of the jars of ashes. I’d expected to find Laurel also at the altar, but instead he was standing with Peacekeeper Chadde, holding what looked like an intense discussion.
“Any word on Helto or Bram, sir?” I asked, idly watching the conversing pair.
“No,” Javes said, sighing. “The troops searching have found no sign of them. But then, both are familiar with every back path and deer trail. They’re probably more than halfway to Gresh by now.”
“Very likely, sir—” I stopped, stiffening. Despite the chill, Chadde wasn’t wearing gloves and I could see something on her palm. Something that gave a faint glow in the dimness of the clearing. Something that I had etched on the palm of my own hand.
“My word,” Javes said, also staring at the peacekeeper. He once more lifted his quiz glass, the better to see the truth rune. “She hadn’t had that yesterday.” The captain turned to the king, but Jusson had moved a little ways off to meet the villagers. “Does Jusson know—”
Javes broke off as Dyfrig stepped in front of the mobile altar and tapped his Staff of Office on the ground, causing the tiny bells to jingle. All conversations in the lea ceased and we turned to the doyen. At that moment, the sun crested the treetops, bathing Dyfrig and the altar in cool morning light. Perfect timing or something else, I wondered. Then, hearing the lapping of waves against a sandy shore, I decided I didn’t want to know.
“Have you noticed lately that every time we leave a place, it’s after a funeral?” Javes murmured.
“A mere coincidence, sir,” I murmured back, fighting the urge to bless myself.
Dyfrig must’ve noticed us talking, for he tapped his Staff of Office again, and the captain and I fell silent. The doyen then leaned the staff against the altar and faced us, empty-handed. “A long time ago I came upon a murder happening here. I did nothing to stop it and walked away, feeling no more compunction than if I’d come across a goodwife ridding her house of bugs. I was wrong.” He began taking off his vestments, revealing white penitent sacking underneath. “I could preach a week-long sermon on how wrong I was, and how I spread that wrongness to those given into my care.” He laid his vestments on the altar. “But a sermon, however well intentioned, is only words.” He toed off his shoes, rolled off his hosen, and stood barefoot on the cold ground. “Instead, let our actions speak.”
There was silence, then Jusson removed his crown, shed his cloak and also took off his shoes and hosen. Thadro and the Royal Guard followed suit, as did Jusson’s nobles and their armsmen, as did Ranulf and Beollan. Rosea, already barefoot, covered her face, tears leaking out the edges of her hands as the townspeople and villagers went shoeless too. Ebner turned to signal his troopers, but they were already taking off their cloaks, some sitting down to have others help pull their boots off. I managed it standing and set them next to my cloak. Wyln considered the doyen for a moment, his head tilted as if he were listening to something only he could hear. Then he too shed cloak and shoes, while Laurel removed his coat and leaned his staff against a tree.
Dyfrig waited until we were facing him once more, some shivering, our breaths misting out before us. “In a few days we will celebrate the gathering in of the harvest,” he said. “In the time leading up to Harvestide, though, I declare a holy fast and days of mourning.” He turned to the altar, one penitent among many. “Let us pray.”
As I recited the prayer of contrition, the butterflies flew from the surrounding trees to land on my shoulder, their weight connecting me to the earth. I turned, expecting to see an antlered shadow in the trees, but no one was there— which meant nothing. Then I felt the ground move under my bare feet and I jumped aside, startled. Thadro, Suiden and Commander Ebner all frowned at me. Javes didn’t; he just shook his head. However, he stopped shaking it and raised his quiz glass even as he continued to pray. There, just where I’d been standing, water was welling up—a new spring that carried away the dirt, leaves and other debris as it flowed towards the trees, to wend its way to the mountain cliff beyond.