The Hekamon Read online

  Such practical purposes were a secondary concern, with one exception. The light's capacity to extend his time for study. The pryor's skills as an hospitaller were self-taught and he still had a lot to learn.

  There remained enough hours of daylight to get things done for now, but longer nights were approaching and the days growing shorter.

  Since his studies would keep him busy in the months ahead, Jervay was grateful for the apiaries that had been so productive over the summer. Not only for making honey and pollinating the orchard, but for providing the wax from which he and the chaplain made the candles. Their sweet scented aroma as pleasing to the senses as the light they gave out.

  With the nave's candles lit, Jervay walked across the red and gold tiled transept floor and into the chancel. The chaplain, Leofrey, was already there, deep in prayer, knelt before the altar and the statue that rose above it.

  It was the spiritual heart of the building, and adorning the statue was the priory's most important possession, the centuries old relic, Harvill's Crown.

  It was not an obviously valuable crown, made as it was from the entwined branches of a tree. But its meaning and historical importance made it the object of pilgrimage for people from tens, and even hundreds, of miles away.

  With Leofrey's prayer and contemplation complete, the chaplain rose, and on seeing Jervay approach, graciously bowed his head and stood to one side. Allowing the pryor to take his place on the hassock.

  Kneeling, Jervay began praying for guidance in the treatment of the man who had earlier been entrusted to his care. Praying for the decisions he made on the treatment of Enyon Croneygee, to be correct and in keeping with the knowledge he'd gained from his studies in the practice of medicine. While he was doing so, there was a knock on the main door.

  He remained where he was but listened intently as Leofrey moved to answer it. A visitor at this hour was unusual and likely to be important.

  No sooner had Leofrey opened the door, than he called to him.

  "Pryor, we need your assistance."

  Standing and moving quickly to the vestibule, Jervay could see that it was indeed important. A man he knew well, Brice, was helping another man into the building. Leofrey had closed the door and was now assisting, too.

  Brice was one of the Priory's most important patrons. Jervay had been a comrade of the man's son, Wynter, and had helped the young man after he had sustained injuries at the battle of Tetten forest. It was this experience that had lead him to become a practitioner of medicine. There had been others he could have saved, if only he knew how.

  Helping Wynter had brought Jervay belief in his abilities and underscored the deficiencies he'd encountered with other fallen men. Men he was unable to save with his limited knowledge at the time. If only he'd had greater experience in the art of medicine he could have done more.

  He'd made the decision to follow in his father's footsteps, and took a position at the priory with the intention of re-purposing it, from a military academy to a hospital.

  "Inside, right away," he said, sensing the serious nature of the injured man's condition.

  He was unable to support his own weight and could barely walk, even with help. He was dirty, his clothes blackened and his face smeared by blood and grime. There was blood splattered down the front of his tunic, and on his hair and back.

  "I found him wandering on the edge of town. The poor wretch seems to have been done a mischief," Brice said, as he and Leofrey helped the man across the transept and towards the infirmatory hall.

  Brice carried much influence in Demedelei and was an important benefactor. He'd donated money which had enabled the hospital to become established and his support had been vital.

  Lord Jephson had opposed the change from the priory's former purpose of training and housing knights and officers. Jephson, and especially Captain Tregarron, thought the transition had weakened Demedelei's fighting capabilities. Jervay knew there was still some animosity toward him for that.

  The injured man began groaning and mumbling incoherently, and while Brice and Leofrey held him, Jervay went to the chapter house and brought a canvass stretcher. The stretcher was slung low and held off the ground by short wooden supports.

  "Place him here for now, we'll clean him up and tend to his injuries before taking him to the infirmatory."

  Brice and Leofrey helped the man onto to the stretcher and when done, Brice puffed out his cheeks and expressed his concern for the man.

  "I had to almost drag him the last hundred yards, he was out on his feet. How bad does it look."

  Jervay took a lamp from a nook on the wall, before carefully inspecting the man's head and what appeared to be his most serious injury. The scalp was gashed and heavily bruised, while the dirty wound would need cleaning. If this was the extent of the man's injuries, then he should recover but Jervay was reluctant to make a prognosis just yet. The patient could recover quickly, or it might take days or weeks. Head injuries were unpredictable.

  "I'll clean and dress this head wound and then we'll see how he is in the morning but it's too early to say."

  On hearing that, Brice turned to Leofrey and gave the chaplain some coins, "This will cover things for a few days," he said, "and I'll leave you two to your work."

  "Thank you, Brice," Jervay said, "we'll do what we can for him."

  Brice wished them well before leaving, and having shown the man out, Leofrey returned to help Jervay prepare the patient.

  "What should we do?" Leofrey asked, kneeling beside the man resting unconscious on the stretcher.

  "We'll get him out of these dirty clothes and clean his wounds," Jervay said, "then, once he's prepared, we'll place him in the bed next to Enyon Croneygee. The men will be company for each other during their convalescence."

  91

  The marshes surrounding Ochre Hill were an unworldly and forbidding place at the best of times, but Saskia thought they seemed particularly so at this moment. The chill, autumnal air caused the mist to form into a dense, suffocating blanket. Making the safe paths harder to see, especially in the gloomy eventide.

  The searing flame of Vondern's torch helped in that regard, but the flickering shadows it produced were doing little for Saskia's state of mind. This, along with the information she'd just received about Alyssa, meant her hair stood on end and her nerves were on edge.

  Walking with them was another traveler, a young woman she knew well from the Egret Patrol, and the one who had brought her the news of events at the Rhavenbrook Bridge.

  Saskia had been at Ochre Hill, grinding seeds for a potion she was making, when Loccsleah had arrived with the message. So worried had Saskia been by what her young companion had to say, that she immediately brought it to the attention of the voight.

  Initially, the man had seemed unconcerned, Alyssa in jeopardy wasn't his problem, he'd said, it was something the Egret Patrol could handle. But his interest grew when told of a Coralainian that had been taken prisoner. After that he needed no more persuading. Vondern had a low regard for Coralainians and their air of superiority, he was not going to pass up the chance to interrogate one.

  The three of them had then left Ochre and started making their way through the marshes, and while they journeyed to the stockade, Vondern spoke with Loccsleah.

  "Tell me what happened."

  "We stopped a man, he was traveling from the south and acting suspiciously. We searched him and Kormak found he was in possession of Alyssa's dagger. To begin with, the man denied any knowledge of Alyssa, but he eventually confessed that he had seen her. What little information we were able to extract from him, had to be forced out of him."

  Saskia listened again to Loccsleah's report. She knew Alyssa would not give up her dagger lightly. It must either have been stolen from her, or else taken from her when she was in a confused state of mind. Either way, she was in trouble. Vondern questioned the girl further.

  "You say the man was acting suspiciously, how?"

  "He was loitering. Tolle
suspected him of looking for the iron grippers Kormak had acquired. Then, when Kormak saw the man was in possession his sister's dagger, he became worried for her. All we could get out of the man, before he passed out, was that Alyssa was in the company of someone near the village of Tivitay. Then some guards arrived and they seemed to confirm that there was an accomplice."

  Saskia thought Alyssa's predicament sounded serious and she said as much, "We need to organize a search for Alyssa, she is the priority for now."

  "No," Vondern said, "Alyssa takes after her mother, impulsive, headstrong and prone to cause trouble. Not only that, she's old enough to look after herself. I'm more concerned about this Coralainian. They might pass through Fennelbek from time to time, but loitering and investigating? This would be unusual for them. Understanding the intruder's reasons for being here is our priority. I'll question him myself."

  After this, they traveled on silence, with their attention on the difficult path ahead. The damp air causing a fine glaze to form on their cloaks, glistening in the torchlight, while the only sounds to be heard were those of the marshes around them. Saskia found the spirits and wisps to be unusually active tonight and that rarely boded well. Her eye was caught by every swirl of fog, and her ears pricked by every ripple on the otherwise still pools.

  They made good progress, and on reaching their destination, entered through the gate in the palisade fence, where Vondern sought out his nephew.

  "I'll speak with Tolle first, I want his take on things," he said.

  Vondern placed the torch in a holder beside the door and entered the stockade. She and Loccsleah followed, and joined with the other members of the patrol inside.

  "Tolle, report," Vondern commanded.

  "We have a prisoner," Tolle replied, standing to acknowledge the Voight of Fennelbek.

  "So I've heard, tell me more."

  Tolle relayed events much as Loccsleah had, but suggested that the man they held captive had been searching for the iron grippers. Saskia noticed that the voight seemed intrigued by the mention of the grippers, and their potential importance.

  "Let me see them," he demanded.

  Tolle lead them to the stockade's armory room. Entering, Saskia could see the armory was sparse, and she knew it would be. Most the items that had been kept there were gone. Requisitioned by more senior ferguths.

  The most noticeable thing in the room was a large wooden chest. It was big enough to contain many military pieces, and at one time had done so, but now it held just one leather bag. A bag with a finely crafted depiction of an eagle with silver talons. Taking the bag from the chest and removing the iron grippers, Tolle handed them to Vondern, who started to inspect them.

  Saskia had seen them earlier but looked at them again, this time with greater interest.

  She watched as Vondern turned them over in his hands, scrutinizing the markings and inscriptions. He called for Tolle to hand him a lantern, which he then hung from a beam above him, using the light to study the grippers more closely. Vondern seemed to pay particular attention to the inscriptions on the wrist straps that would hold them tight to the wearer.

  Saskia was more accustomed to symbols and motifs than with inscriptions. She had not seen this style before, nor could she read it. Could the voight? She didn't know and didn't ask, but suspected not.

  After carefully inspecting them, it seemed the voight reached a conclusion.

  "I'm of the belief that these are what Coralainians call the Plautius Gauntlets," he said, lifting his gaze and facing them, "but I know them by different name. The Haaken Iron Grippers. If they are, then you're right to think the Coralainian was looking for them. The whole of Coralai will be looking for them, too. How is it that they have found their rightful home after all these years?"

  Rightful home? Saskia thought to herself, "Kormak bought them from a merchant on the Regis Highway. He paid a high price for them, thinking they might be worth it. I thought them to be valuable, too."

  "They are valuable but they are much more than that," Vondern said, looking at her. "Whoever wears the Haaken Iron Grippers, commands the Hekamon."

  92

  Jervay began by removing the man's boots, belt and tunic. Their style in keeping with those from the south. Clean shaven and with short hair, another indication that the man was either from Coralai or beyond.

  It was not unusual for travelers from that way to stay at the priory. Pilgrims were common, particularity in the summer months. Visitors would sometimes stop and rest here, due to the favorable reputation it had gained under Jervay's stewardship.

  There was also the unfortunate fact that travelers along the Regis Highway were more likely to be preyed upon by thieves. If they were, then they would typically be sent to him for treatment of their injuries.

  "What do you think, the victim of a robbery?" Leofrey asked.

  From what Jervay could tell, the man had no bag with him, which was unusual for a traveler, so robbery was plausible. Yet he was still in possession of a small moneybag, and his short blade was still on his belt. The blade appeared to be of good quality and valuable.

  "That's certainly possible, Leofrey," he replied.

  "You don't think so, though?"

  "The items on his person seem intact, so there could be other motives."

  "Maybe he put up a fight," Leofrey suggested. "Maybe he was ambushed and struck on the head, drew his knife to protect himself and avoided further harm. The thieves made off with his bag, satisfied with their loot, and he staggered away."

  Jervay considered this, "You might be right."

  "His clothes are covered in coal dust," Leofrey noted, as he shook down the tunic and placed it with the man's boots in a basket.

  "Yes, he must have gone to Serfacre looking for assistance and been mistaken for a drunk or vagrant. They would have moved him on just to get him out of the way. Not everyone is like Brice, it was fortunate he happened by him."

  While Leofrey continued bathing the injured man with a damp cloth, Jervay began cleaning and applying some ointment to his head wound. When that was done, he applied the bandages. Fine, clean, white bandages. He had discovered that cleanliness and hygiene were vital when treating open wounds, and he took particular care to apply and fasten the bandages with a series of pins.

  No sooner had they finished cleaning the patient, than the man started to wake and show signs of vitality. Jervay calmed him, just in case his confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings turned to aggression. It was not an uncommon reaction, particularly among victims of violent robberies.

  "You're safe," he said soothingly, "you are at the Demedelei Priory, hurt but beginning your recovery. Can you tell us your name?"

  The man murmured, but said nothing coherent.

  "Do you think you can stand for a short time? That way we can get you to a more comfortable bed."

  The man could stand, albeit slowly and uncertainly, but well enough to be helped to the infirmatory hall.

  "The bed next to Croneygee?" Leofrey asked.

  "Yes," he replied, and they helped him to the bed.

  "The guards who brought Croneygee in, said he was found very near the fort, they were incredulous at the audacity of the attacker," Leofrey said, as he folded down the sheets. "That's near to Serfacre, I wouldn't be surprised if they were attacked by the same man."

  "I think it's almost certainly the case. When he and Enyon are awake, they can talk to each other and compare experiences. Perhaps between them they can give a description of the man, or men, who robbed them."

  Jervay was about finish making the patient comfortable, when he suddenly grabbed his arm. The man's alertness had returned and so had some of his strength. Perhaps he had heard what they'd been saying and could tell them something of importance.

  "Are you alright?" he asked.

  The man was looking at him, trying to speak, and then said a word that he couldn't quite catch. Could it have been, Hekamon?

  Jervay knew that there was reputed to be a device d
eep within the mountains and beneath the Halvyon Temple.

  Rumors spoke of a row of giant sluice gates, held in place by chains, with a series of levers that enabled the gates to be opened and closed at the behest of a gate master. It was said that Coralainians called this mechanism, The Hekamon.

  Whether such a device really existed, Jervay didn't know. He thought it possible, the flow of the rivers could be altered, that much seemed true.

  What he did know, was that Coralainians were mistaken if they thought the mechanism itself was called the Hekamon. Jervay knew that the Hekamon was not the name of an object, but the name of person. A person of great power.

  "I have treated your wounds and applied some ointment. It will have you back to your old self in no time," he said, moving to listen more closely, as the man tried to speak again.

  "Hayden, my name is Hayden," the voice said, in an icy whisper.

  Jervay stood back and smiled warmly, "See, it's working already, but you need more rest, "and watched, as the man lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

  Satisfied the man was asleep, Jervay and Leofrey left the infirmatory hall, and the two sleeping men to their dreams.

  93

  Saskia stood in the doorway of the strong room and watched as Vondern cast his eye over the valuable artifact. The voight had fallen silent gathering his thoughts, then he spoke.

  "The Coralainians say that a man called Plautius moved a rock blocking the entrance to the inner sanctum of the Halvyon Temple. They say the gauntlets gave him the strength to reveal the previously hidden depths of the mountains."

  "And did he?" Tolle asked, the young ferguth and patrol leader taking a keen interest.

  "No," Vondern said emphatically. "The Temple was neither blocked by a rock nor was its existence unknown. It had been a place of worship for the people who lived among the hills, glades and forest for miles around. The Halvyon Temple, along with the mountains and the Hekamon deep inside, had been considered sacred by them for eons past. It was only when the people who respected that sanctity were attacked and defeated that the temple was taken as a possession. The Coralainians then expanded the Halvyon Temple into the Templum Complex and claimed it as their own."