Free The Hermetica of Elysium (Elysium Texts Series) by Annmarie Banks

his matted hair back from his face, but this just left a streak of dried mud across his nose.
    Nadira touched her own nose, imagining what she looked like. Worse, they all smelled like a byre. She understood his reluctance to enter the fine house, and also his desperation. She felt it too. The old man beckoned them to follow him. Nadira took her place behind Montrose who was now noticeably limping, favoring his right leg. The house smelled warmly of many fires and the aroma of something delicious roasting in the kitchen. Nadira’s eyes adjusted to the dim light as the old man led them to a great hall where a fire crackled in the hearth and a long wooden table lay set for supper.
    As they entered, the master of this house rose from a chair by the fire. She had never seen such a tall man in her life. He towered above them all, thin-faced but with friendly dark eyes. He was dressed warmly in dark furs and velvets. Montrose signaled to his companions to lower Marcus again.
    The tall man spoke with a gentle deep voice. “Montrose, my friend. You look horrible. Absolutely vile.”
    Montrose grimaced. “Beniste, I apologize for this sudden intrusion. I thank you in advance for your hospitality.”
    “Of course. And shall I call a doctor for your man here?”
    “That would be greatly appreciated.”
    Beniste took Montrose by the upper arm and squeezed, then greeted them each in turn. He was surprised to see Nadira.
    “Greetings to you, my lady,” he said with grace, bowing slightly. Nadira opened her mouth to correct him but was interrupted by Montrose.
    “Adam,” Montrose appeared unable to keep his feet much longer, “please…civilities later.”
    “Forgive me, my lord.” Beniste beckoned to someone hiding behind a door. A boy of nine or ten crept out timidly, looking up quickly at each of them, but not meeting their eyes. “Fetch the doctor, boy, and quickly.” The boy sped off.
    Beniste put a hand on Garreth’s shoulder. “Perhaps your giant friend should lay the injured man on my table. There is more light here and a pot of water already heated on the hearth for my meal.”
    Garreth and Alisdair lifted Marcus from the soiled blanket and carried him further into the room. Half the long table was cleared quickly and Marcus was laid out gently on its wooden surface.
    Nadira chanced a look about the hall while the men were busy with Marcus. The room was paneled in wood except for the wall that contained the great hearth, which had been worked by skilled masons in pale gray stone.
    Who was this Beniste? Likely engaged in commerce, for his demeanor was not that of a nobleman, and he had greeted Montrose with too much honor to be his equal, nor did the servants wear any kind of livery. She saw them peeking around corners and doorways wearing the simple clothing of their class. The hall was very like the one in Barcelona.
    She was blinking sleepily at the tapestries when Beniste startled her with a clap of his hands. A comfortably large middle-aged woman emerged immediately and stood still in the doorway, her hands in her apron.
    Beniste gestured to the table. “Bring some food and wine for our guests. Bring whatever is ready now. Hot or cold, it doesn’t matter. We will prepare a proper feast tomorrow.” Nadira felt ready to collapse. She must have looked it, for Beniste stepped over and took her elbow. He led her to the bench and seated her nearest the fire. She smiled at him wearily. The other men sat heavily on the benches at the other end of the table near Marcus. Garreth lay his head on his arms.
    “My friend,” Beniste began, “surely there is a story behind all this. Look at you, all of you. Good God. And a woman with you...and where is Master Kemberley?”
    “And you will hear it all,” Montrose said in a low voice. “My man John was slain by brigands in the mountains, and Marcus lies near death as you can see. We are too tired and sad to tell it all now.” He breathed in deeply, “And of Richard, we