“Elder!” someone shouted. “Elder Elmantoz!”

A Monk staggered into the chamber, collapsed to his knees, fell forward onto his face. Jossua hefted his sword and stepped forward, placing its point into the hood of this Monk, lifting slowly to reveal the man beneath.

Flushed red, filled with the rage, the man was breathing blood. His cloak was muddied and torn, his right hand missing two fingers, his face cut and gaping from chin to temple, his shoulder shattered, a sliver of pink bone protruding through a tear in the cloak. “Elder Elmantoz . . .” he whispered, the strength leaving him. “Magic,” he said. “I’ve seen magic.”

“Who are you?” Jossua demanded. The Monks that had left filtered back in, informed of this sudden arrival by Jossua’s raised voice. This man was a Monk, yes, but Jossua had never seen him before. That meant that he came from one of the outlying clans. And now here he was, on this very day, talking of magic.

“Lucien Malini,” the Monk said. “I have news of magic! A boy, Rafe Baburn, he carries it somehow. The trail ran cold, but we picked it up again, chased hard . . . he had a Shantasi with him, a warrior . . . and a witch, and a thief.”

“Where is he now?”

“Fleeing north from Pavisse. Others are in pursuit, I came to warn you, Elder. I came for reinforcements.”

“When was this?”

Lucien frowned, tried to stand but fell when his broken shoulder gave out. “Two days?” he said. “Three? My horse died. I ran. I was attacked by bandits, spent time fighting them off, had to—”

“Lead your reinforcements back,” Jossua said. “There are a hundred Monks here that will come with you.”

Lucien looked up at the Elder Monk, panting.

“That is,” Jossua said, “unless you’d like to stay for a few days. A nice hot bath, a meal . . .”

Lucien did not smile, but he stood and drew his sword. The rust of dried blood marked the blade. “Not while this is still hungry,” he said.

“Then it will be sated,” Jossua said. “Rafe Baburn!” he called. “You seek Rafe Baburn!”

The Monks left, Lucien Malini with them, and soon Jossua was alone. He waited there for a while, climbed the tiered seating so that he could see from the high windows, watched the Monks spread slowly out across the landscape as if the Monastery were bleeding. Then he slid his sword into its scabbard, walked from the chamber and started down long flights of stairs to the ground level.