Free Elisha Barber: Book One Of The Dark Apostle by E.C. Ambrose Page B

and nobles. Spread out all around were the cookfires and bedrolls of the common foot soldiers and camp followers.
    At the heart of this stood an old monastery, its towers crooked and collapsing, rents in the walls overgrown with trees and vines. The long nave of the church lay exposed to weather through gaps in the roof and empty windows. The wagons came around the front of this structure toward the old cells where the command post was established; the lower hall, once the refectory, still had a roof by virtue of the intact second floor. From the cries and the stink, Elisha knew they’d reached his destination.
    He jumped down, staring up at the granite façade before him. To the right stood the ruined church. A huge rosette window filled its peak, the stained glass mostly gone, leaving only a few petals of brilliant color that gleamed in the new sun and cast emerald and gold upon the refectory wall, adjoining the church at a corner. The smaller spire alongside it was missing its top, and a flight of doves burst free, circling it in a swooping frenzy that much resembled ecstasy.
    “Take any room remaining—not far from here, naturally,” the physician said. “I’m off for the generals. I’ll expect to see you at the infirmary soon.”
    “Aye, my lord,” Elisha returned, still gazing at the tower.
    Making a harsh sound of irritation, the physician strode away, barking out his orders to the carters as they began untying the ropes.
    After a moment, Elisha pulled out his own bedroll and small chest, carrying them toward a peaked door just visible at the base of the tower. It hung off-kilter on a single hinge, and vines draped one side. A few footprints showed the place had been explored, but Elisha hoped no other had the same idea. Entering the darkness of a windowless chamber, Elisha let his eyes adjust, then found the narrow stair upward and followed it, his boots loud on the stone steps.
    As he’d expected, the second floor had a small chamber once used for storage, but long empty now save a few leaves blown in. The stairs continued up through a sagging wooden floor, but this would serve well enough for him. Under the stairs, he set down the chest and flopped his bedroll on top. He longed to spread out his blankets and get a decent rest before facing what was to come, but that would have to wait for another nightfall. Crossing the floor, he leaned to look out one of the two broken windows and found a view of the camp below. The other window afforded a sight of the castle on its hill, with sunlight just touching its highest towers. Ranks of fortifications surroundedit like trimmings on a lady’s skirt, while the remains of a town spread out below. The river curved around it, a silver gleam overarched by the fortifications on that side. A few blackened areas could be seen on the castle walls, and a few bites of rubble where the king’s siege engines had struck. The scorched corpses of those engines lay scattered about, testifying to the use of burning oil by the defenders. When the wind shifted, the air smelled of smoke and a strange metallic tang such as Elisha had never tasted before.
    Hills rose up again behind the castle, thickly grown with spruce and oak. The plain separating the monastery from the castle was torn and dark already, crows and vultures circling the pits where unseen bodies lay. Standing there, Elisha realized he had never had such a view before, unobstructed by the buildings of town. He was used to the sight of grubby houses, gated stone manors, and tall shops whose top floors he would never know. The castle back in London rose abruptly to one side, a gray obstruction, featureless and massive, its white tower enclosed in moated walls, cut off from the people it ruled. From a distance, perhaps, it inspired wonder in those who approached it and fear in the hearts of its enemies, but Elisha’s work kept him to the north, and he rarely passed that way. But this place—he hated to imagine it