Free The Harrowing of Gwynedd by Katherine Kurtz Page A

little sorry for Queron. “I only hope that you’ll prove better at teaching me than I have at teaching you. Father Alister told me that my Varnarite training was sadly deficient in some areas, when compared to Michaeline or Gabrilite.”
    He had to admire the way the older man rallied, once more the assured and confident Healer-priest.
    â€œWe all have our uses, I suppose,” Queron replied, hardly wistful at all. “Sometimes God does not give us the talents we think we should have, but we must trust in His greater wisdom. I believe that Alister always wished he had been a Healer. One is rarely satisfied.”
    â€œNo.” Tavis smiled sympathetically and held out his hand in a gesture of peace. “Well, I’d best go on to my meeting with Prince Javan. And I believe you had important work to do, before I interrupted you. I shall look forward to studying with you further.”
    â€œAnd I shall look forward to having such an apt pupil,” Queron replied, clasping Tavis’ hand briefly but warmly. “God bless you and keep you safe, my son.”
    Grateful, Tavis crossed himself in echo of the Healer-priest’s blessing, then turned and went out of the chapel, closing the door behind him. And Queron, when he had gone, barred the door and then returned thoughtfully to the table before the altar, where a charcoal brazier, a small, razor-sharp knife, and a coiled Gabrilite g’dula awaited his attentions.

C HAPTER F OUR
    Shall not they teach thee, and tell thee, and utter words out of their hearts?
    â€”Job 8:10
    At least an hour had passed since Compline, by the time Javan finally was able to slip away safely and head for the Portal secreted beneath the King’s Tower. As he left the turnpike stair and headed along the curve of a final, dimly lighted corridor, he reflected that Tavis probably had come and gone several times by now, checking periodically for either Javan’s presence or some message that the prince was not coming. Since royal princes had little business in this part of the castle, especially at this hour, Javan hoped he would not have to wait too long for the Healer’s next appearance, for guards did patrol these corridors.
    But he was nearly there now, and thus far he had not been challenged. He tried to tread very quietly as he approached the shadow of the Portal cubicle, but his pace quickened with anticipation as he sensed a whisper of movement inside. Just as he came abreast of it, however, some sixth sense cautioned him not to speak. To his utter horror, he found a guard using it for the garderobe it appeared to be.
    More than a little rattled, Javan started to ease on past, hoping he would not be noticed, but the guard finished and turned at that moment, as startled as Javan.
    â€œYour Highness,” the man murmured, hurriedly adjusting his clothing before sketching Javan a sheepish salute. “An’ am I glad ye weren’t the officer of the watch. Ye took me totally by surprise. Anything I can do for yer?”
    The man was big, armed and lightly armored, the red ram’s head badge of Rhun of Horthness on the shoulder of his cloak and on his breast. He did not look or sound suspicious—yet—but Javan knew that what the man was really asking, as he got his wits together, was: What the devil are you doing down here? Fortunately, Javan had already thought of a plausible excuse.
    â€œNo, I—ah—was just stretching my legs,” he improvised. “It’s snowing like sin outside, but I thought I’d better walk a little before going to bed—clear my head.” He raised a hand to his forehead in what he hoped was a gesture of faint dismay. “I—ahem—had a little too much wine at the wedding feast.”
    â€œAh, well then,” the guard replied, apparently satisfied. “That’s what a wedding feast is all about, ain’t it, sir? I mean, even them of us as drew guard duty