Saer steered his tawny mare off the road and into the trees flanking the pathway as he drew closer and sensed, with certainty, the heat signature of one of theDaemoenica.
Once within easy walking distance but still not in sight of any who might keep watch at the structure’s main entrance, he dismounted and rummaged through the various packs he’d saddled the horse with.A grotesque stench emanated from within, enough to make Saer twist his face in disgust.
The mare craned her neck around towards her rider and grunted.
“Oh, itisthat bad.I assure you.”
The horse snorted and bowed her head, content with nibbling at the greenery.
Saer fished out a long, tattered and threadbare cloak.The bottom frayed edges were caked with mud and manure, the rest of the garment scattered with holes and speckles of black mold.He stared at it, stalling.
The horse nickered off to the side, a sound like a laugh, and received an unamused growl in response.Before he had more chance to regret the decision, he swirled the fetid cloak around his shoulders, then pulled the hood over his head.
Saer tied a length of rope to the mare’s reins so she had enough leeway to drink from the edge of the river and continue to graze.The opposite end, he bound to a tree branch in a loose knot.He put out a shallow hemp sack of oats, then touched the side of the horse’s soft nose.“Should you be clever enough to get free, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay until I returned.”In response, the equine nuzzled against the inviting heat of the Saer’s hand, and he couldn’t help the half-smile which graced his lips as he answered an imagined, silent question.“Hopefully not long.”
Offering the mare one last neck pat, he took his leave from the trees and back to the pathway, walking with a forced, hunched limp.
“Sickly visitor to the front!”
“Fetch Abbot Maurice!”
“Draw a bath, inform the medic!”
“Good sir?Can you hear me?Where did you…oh, Heavens, that smell—”
Having feigned a collapse at one of the entry points to the abbey, Saer’s face remained covered by the hood, the cloak shielding his body.A young gentleman in a modest brown robe had approached him and touched his arm, then sounded the alarm to the feverish temperature of his flesh—while swallowing back a gag.
Saer cleared a faked, worn throat, his voice a whisper.“The angel speaker …”
The hubbub around him quieted and slowed.One spoke above the rest.“Why do you seek her?”
“Need to see…”
Saer chose that moment to slump completely, as dramatic as one might imagine Pride could be.
“A few more hands to the front, please!”
“The litter is coming, let them through—”
“Roll him up to his side…Arms.”Another choked-back gagging sound.“Legs...Back down...There we go.”
Loaded onto a pallet of sorts, the men heaved and lifted Saer.
“Goodness, he’s...heavy.”
He almost broke right then, tempted to snap at the lot of them.But that wouldn’t get him where he needed to go.Not with ease at any rate.
Saer kept his eyes closed, his body carried while his bearers muttered amongst themselves.All male voices.
“Everyone coming to talk to her, we’re going to have to start turning them away eventually.”
“If they’re all willing to wait to see her …”
“The way this one stinks, we should push him to the front.”
“Do you think he’s almost passed?”
“Did you feel his skin?He’s burning up.The scent of death is…” The observation punctuated itself with a hard swallow.
