A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 14 (Part 2 of 2)

For two days, the astronomer kept his counsel regarding the Anvil.  Pyros need not know, not yet. 

On the ninth day, a new arrival was expected at the Nest.

“Chaplain comes up once a month to take a few services,” one of the Watchmen told Imlon.  “He’s one of these strange ones who like to come up alone.  Calls it a pilgrimage.”

“Is he from the Cathedral?” asked Imlon.

“Don’t think so,” said the Watchman, shrugging.  “Think he has a church near the Fortress of the Watch, nothing grand.”

Throughout that day, each time he thought of the lone rider climbing the mountain, Imlon clenched his hands, ground his teeth, and regretted both.

The chaplain, a tall, wiry man with a weatherworn face, arrived later that afternoon.  The astronomer, only recently awakened from sleep, watched him from a doorway.  As the priest dismounted, Imlon caught his eye: the man’s gaze was as steely as his hair and the dull pectoral wing around his neck.  The astronomer retreated inside.

A few hours later, as the men congregated in the hall for their evening meal, Imlon noticed the chaplain edging towards him, speaking briefly to the soldiers along the way.  Just before they sat down, Imlon realised, with a shiver of anger, that the priest was coming to talk with him.  There was a rich parchment envelope in his hand.

“Greetings,” said the chaplain, in a voice that Imlon thought could be ten times as powerful.  “Are you Master Imlonavar Held?”

“I am,” said Imlon.  At the mention of his surname, several Watchmen nearby stopped talking.

“I was asked to deliver this to you,” said the chaplain, handing the envelope to Imlon.  It bore the seal of Princeheight College.

“Might I ask who gave it to you?” asked the astronomer.

“A messenger from the College.  I was told only that I would find you here.  I pray it brings you good tidings.”

Imlon watched the chaplain’s back as he walked away.  He slipped the letter into a pocket.

The meal was quieter than usual and the soldiers around Imlon seemed reluctant to talk once again, but they did not dismiss him with bored words as before.  Instead they avoided his eye completely, almost in the same way they avoided looking at their imposing commander brooding at the top table.  Imlon knew exactly why: though Storrick and the captain of the supply column had seen his full name on the license, the soldiers had not heard the name of Held until now.

After the meal, Imlon scuttled back to his room as quickly as he could.  Pyros, who had not taken dinner in the hall for three days, sat up in his bed as Imlon entered.

“Imlonavar?” he said, wiping at his tired eyes and looking at the envelope.  “What is that?”

“It’s from Princeheight,” said Imlon as he tore open the envelope, unfolded the parchment, and read.

“Imlonavar Held of House Exodus, Princeheight College, greeting.

I hope your survey is progressing well.  In anticipation of your return you are instructed to present your findings to an assembled session of the College Court and the Chapter of the Cathedral of the Holy Virtues, in Chancellor’s Hall at noon on the last day of this month. 

Ivon Raetho

Dean, House Exodus”

Imlon stared at the letter a moment longer, each of the words boiling up into a single hostile intention before his eyes.  He threw it to the floor.