She burrowed into the hay, still a little dizzied with the wine she had drunk, and after a time she slept. She dreamed, as she had dreamed before, that she was flying on the wings of hawk or sentry-bird, that there was someone flying at her side, who spoke to her in Orain’s voice, and drowsily caressed her . . . she sank into the dream, never thinking to resist…
She came abruptly awake in the half-light, hearing the clamor of bells – was it some observance of the cristoforo monks for the Festival? She sat up to see Orain, white as death, standing at the door of the little chamber.
“Rumal, lad! Is Dom Carlo with you? This is no time for modesty-”
“Dom Carlo? I have not seen him in days! What do you mean, Orain?”
“There was a time-no, I see you know not even what I mean. Damnation!” He staggered, reeled against the wall. “I hoped against hope – it cannot be that he has been taken! Aldones grant he has already been warned and made his escape – listen!” He gestured and again she heard the alarm-bell ringing. “We have been betrayed, someone has recognized him, or recognized me – I knew he should not have ventured down there today!” He swore, striking the wall with his fist. “Quick, up, boy, search the guest-house! They know that where I appear, Carolin – or his men – cannot be far away! And while the Father Master might not violate sanctuary, I would not trust the Hastur-lord to keep it, not if the Lord of Light appeared before his nose and bade him.”
Orain was dead sober now; he looked ill and haggard, his gaunt face sunken, but his eyes blazing with anger.
“That child of Lyondri’s – did he babble, do you think, to his playfellows? Lyondri’s son – like dog, like pup! I’d run the boy through with my skean and think the world a safer place lest the whelp grow up like his abominable father!”
Romilly shrank back and Orain scowled. “No, I’d not harm a child, not even Lyondri’s, I suppose – get your boots on, boy! We must make haste out of here, out of the city – if we are caught here, none of our lives are worth a feather’s weight! Go and call – no, I will rouse Alaric and the others! You make the horses ready.”
It seemed suddenly as if Dom Carlo’s face swam in the air before her – but he was not there! Still it seemed she could hear him saying to her, Bring the birds, go through the monastery to the highest gate, to the secret pass above the hidden cells on the glacier.
“Move, lad!” Orain snarled, “What are you staring at?” Her voice shaking, Romilly repeated Dom Carlo’s words. “He was here, I heard him; his very voice-”
“Dreams,” Orain said, jerking his head impatiently, and it seemed that Carlo’s voice said in Romilly’s mind, Bid him remember a certain belt of red leather over which we fought and bloodied both our noses.
Romilly caught at Orain’s sleeve as he turned to go. “I swear, Orain, I heard Dom Carlo – something of a red leather belt over which you both bloodied your noses.”
Orain blinked. He made a quick, superstitious gesture. Then he said, “You have laran; no? I thought as much. Aye, that belt was a jest between us for a hand-span of years. I will go rouse the men. Make ready, as quick as you can.”
Romilly found that her hands were steady as she got the saddles on the animals, wrapped herself in the cloak that had been Orain’s Midwinter-gift – grateful for the fur lining – and stuffed a couple of saddlebags with grain and fodder for the riding-beasts and another with the smelly food for the sentry-birds. She hooded them – it would have been impossible to handle them in the middle of the night this way without rousing the whole monastery, but hooded they would at least be quiet – and fastened their blocks to her own saddle and to Orain’s, and gave the third to Alaric’s chervine.