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It was late. Evening prayer had long since passed, and only the very pious were still about, murmuring their holy words. The cold rain was beating against the windows of the only room that still emitted any light, coaxed on by a powerful wind.
Feeling a slight chill about his hands, yet still safe from the elements, Rauman dipped the quill into a wine glass filled with ink. He looked up for a moment to see how the candles on the table and the torches hanging from the wall fared. He had lost all sense of time and of how long he had been working. He had a feeling that he had missed evening prayers and maybe even supper. Two weeks had passed since Prolur had left the monastery, and Rauman felt lost. As a consolation, he had immersed himself in his work translating the Haugariad to Sauranian, and since this had been Prolur’s job before, it felt as if he was ever-present during the long nights. He had been stuck on song thirteen forever, which took up Haugar’s defeat over the Tiran Jekul. Rauman’s knowledge of Sauranian was very limited, so he was forced to spend most of his time consulting books on the language to find the correct words and grammatical forms. Adding to that the task of making the text flow and sound poetic, he sometimes believed that he had gotten in over his head. Rauman stared off into the dark recesses of the library, finally yielding to waves of exhaustion. His trance was broken by the soft sound of ink from his quill dripping and hitting the desk. He looked down on the blotch that lay there on the dark brown wood. It had the same shape as the island of Haugar had been given on all the maps—an almost perfect square with a jagged coastline—and he could even see the few islands creating the archipelago on the south side of the huge mass of land. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was starting to become conscious of both how late it was and the rumbling noise his stomach was making. Suddenly, he sat up again. Among the sound of rain and wind, he could hear what sounded like someone climbing the spiral staircase. Before he had completely composed himself, Elden was standing before him in the candlelight.
The haugén had a concerned look on his face as he stepped into the light so that Rauman could get a better look at him. His breath was shallow as if he had run to the library, but he bore no evidence of sweating or exhaustion.
“I saw light coming from here, so I thought I would come by to make sure you were fine,” he said, but quite obviously he had something else on his mind.
“Elden, sir,” Rauman began cautiously. “I am well aware that the hour is late. I also know that you would not be up and here unless there was some news. What has happened?” Rauman was surprised at his own candor and was uncertain that it was him being tired or if he had matured.
Elden was fingering a piece of paper he was holding in his left hand as he stared at Rauman. “I was awakened by a messenger who just arrived from Barnavor,” he said. “It says that a patrol from Cambas was riding through the Coronian Woods when they came upon the remains of a Haugarian party of soldiers. Many of them were identified as members of Prolur’s party. No survivors were found.”
“Are you telling me that Father Prolur has been killed?” Rauman’s heart had almost stopped as Elden had reached the point.
“According to the messenger, Prolur’s body was not amongst the ones that could be identified, but it is believed that he was either killed during the ambush or taken away to be killed later.”
Now Rauman felt his heart stop for sure. He was short of breath and felt light-headed. He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that Prolur was most likely dead.
Elden continued, “I think it best we announce this at morning prayers and make the necessary arrangements afterwards.” Rauman managed a nod and the two men looked at each other for a moment in silence. Elden took a couple of steps back. “I think it would be best if we both retired to our quarters and looked at the situation with new eyes in the morning.” Slowly, he turned and walked down the stairs outside and towards the main building of the monastery.
Rauman leaned back in his chair, covering his eyes with his hands.
The Lord of Saurania folded the parchment in half and tapped it rhythmically against his desk. It had unfolded better than he could have hoped. The ambush on his party had been extremely fortuitous. Naturally, the demise of the young soldiers was tragic, but they would most likely have been killed during the journey through the mountains. He rose from his desk and walked over to the fireplace where a fire was roaring. He tossed the parchment into it and watched as the flames caressed the paper with its red fingers, toying with it until it fell apart in black ash. A sense of calm rose up within him as it did so, and he even ventured a smile as it completely vanished from sight. Whatever threat his cousin had been to him was now gone, and he felt better than he had in a long time.
Suddenly, there was a soft tap on the door to his office. The hour was late, so he figured it to be important. Why else would anyone disturb him? He opened the door only to find Lady Armana’s face ridden with tears staring back at him and her hair a mess. She was clothed only in a nightgown and covered by a robe. She pushed past him before he had the chance to speak. She halted when she reached the desk and turned around waving a piece of paper in the air. “Did you know of this, Lord di Sauria?” she asked in a harsh voice.
“I was only just informed, My Lady,” he replied and knew now that he had a problem on his hands. “I was on my way to tell you the news.”
“I know you are responsible for this.” Her voice was shrill now and showed signs of being quite strained. “I do not know how you did it. Perhaps you suggested it to the king or took an opportunity when it was presented, but you killed Prolur—your own cousin.”
“Why are you so concerned, Lady? Why do you care for an old monk?” He tried to control his voice, but disappointment and anger was filling him, replacing his earlier glee.
“You know very well the nature of my past with him.”
“Past, Lady. Not present. You do not have a present with him,” Lord di Sauria matched her agitation word for word.
“I do not care for your agenda, di Sauria. That you would sacrifice your own cousin for some twisted reason is disgusting.” She hurled herself at him with her hand raised ready to slap him, but he caught it and twisted her arm. Her facial expression didn’t change at all as he pulled her towards him.
“Bite your tongue, Lady. Do not test my patience for your well-being due to my goodwill. Do not forget it.” He forced her back and out the door. She tried to get out of his grip, but fatigue and sorrow had weakened her. After slamming the door in her face, he turned, leaned against its hard wood, and collapsed to the floor.