Bay hurried down the narrow road to the valley as if he were in a race. Silvas made no attempt to slow his pace even though it made him edgy. The drop at their side would hardly be forgiving. But Bay never made the slightest misstep. And when he reached the flat below Mount Mecq, Bay really stretched out to cover the last few hundred yards to the village green-even though the bishop and his retinue were at least a quarter hour away.
Brother Paul had begun to marshal the people of Mecq to greet the bishop. The village could offer little in the way of decoration, but the families were gathering in the village green. The vicar had found some white streamers for the front of St. Katrinka's. They fluttered in the light breeze.
"You saw that he is coming?" Brother Paul asked as Silvas dismounted.
"One of the sentries on the hill spotted the riders. I identified the bishop's pennant."
Brother Paul looked across the river. The riders were scarcely visible from this vantage. The vicar couldn't make out the design of the pennant.
"You have exceptional eyes," Brother Paul said, raising an eyebrow. Silvas nodded.
"Will the bishop have time to shake the dust from his robes before the attack comes?" the vicar asked.
Silvas looked around the green, then up at the sky. "Perhaps. So far the Blue Rose has attacked only at night. Whether they will attack tonight or not, only they know." He shook his head. "I am reluctant to hazard a guess."
"At least the bishop should arrive before trouble comes," the friar said.
"Or be close enough to come to our assistance," Silvas said grimly.
By the time the bishop's party reached the bridge across the Eyler, the entire population of Mecq, except for those who were working in the castle, had gathered.
The members of the bishop's party were all dressed alike, even the bishop. The white cassocks of their order were covered by traveling cloaks of unbleached gray-brown wool. The bishop himself, according to rumor, never wore the more ornate robes of his office except when he officiated at Mass in his cathedral on special feast days. There was no flurry of dust as the thirteen riders pulled to a halt at the edge of the village green. The ground was soft and moist from the rain of two days before. The dust didn't come until the riders dismounted and started beating at their cloaks.
Silvas scanned the group quickly. Bishop Egbert was easy to identify. For the moment, though, Silvas was more interested in the dozen monks who accompanied him. There was not a fat belly in the group. Although the monks ranged in age from youngsters barely old enough to have taken final orders to men showing the signs of great age, they all moved spryly. Their eyes were clear and deep, and all showed the aura of mystic power.
Bishop Egbert was easily the most impressive of the churchmen. He looked incredibly ancient, immediately reminding Silvas of Auroreus, though except for the air of tremendous age there was no resemblance between them. As the bishop stepped forward, away from the horses, he peeled off his traveling cloak and handed it to one of his monks.
The bishop might dress only in the white robes of his order, but the cassock he wore was not of the simply spun cloth that most monks of the White Brotherhood wore. The fabric was close-woven and polished, and there were innumerable arcane symbols worked into it in a white that was so near the base fabric that only a person with some gift for magic would be able to make out the symbols-not just the traditional Christian devices of crosses and stylized fish, but some of the symbols of the trimagister and the Greater Mysteries as well.
Egbert had long white hair, worn unencumbered by any cap while riding. His face was deeply lined and roughened by age and weather. He was so thin that he appeared emaciated, though that look was common in many chapters of the White Brotherhood. Egbert's hands were long and bony, with fingers that seemed to be half again as long as they should be, an effect heightened by long fingernails. His eyes were dark and so deep-set that it was impossible to tell at a glance what color they were.
To those sensitive to such things, he had a clear aura of magical power, as much stronger than that of Brother Paul as it was weaker than that of Silvas. Brother Paul could never hope to be as powerful as the bishop, and Egbert was clearly not as powerful as the wizard. The auras of the monks who had arrived with Egbert ranged between the bishop and the vicar, perhaps averaging closer to the bishop. The cathedral chapter of St. Ives could marshal considerable force in concert, though even together they would never match Silvas in sheer magical power.
There were several minutes of confusion on the village green, a babel of voices. Even without the backdrop of fear, the arrival of a bishop in a small backwater parish like Mecq would be a major event, one that the parishioners would talk about the rest of their lives.
Brother Paul stepped forward and made his proper obeisance.
"Get up, brother," Bishop Egbert said. His voice was high and reedy but strong, showing no edge of age or infirmity. The bishop's eyes immediately went to Silvas, and the wizard stepped forward.
"I am known as Silvas, Your Excellency. We have not had the pleasure of meeting before."
"Your fame is known," the bishop said. A cautious smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "A couple of the brothers recall the service you did Bishop Alfred some years back."
Silvas bowed his head respectfully. "He was a good friend."
"I did not know him, save through correspondence, more's the pity," Egbert said. "He did give sage counsel, though."
"He did indeed," Silvas agreed. "His words are missed by many."
Bishop Egbert looked around at the people of Mecq. They had almost encircled the bishop and his retinue-except for an open space on either side of the pillar of smoke. Once the bishop had started speaking, the villagers had fallen silent. Apart from their worries, they would wait for the bishop to give them his blessing. The blessing of a bishop, perhaps available only once in a lifetime for the people of a place such as Mecq, had to count for more than the blessing of a country vicar like Brother Paul.
"I could feel the nearness of the Blue Rose when we entered the valley," Bishop Egbert said, so softly that none of the peasants hanging around the wizard and the churchmen could quite make out his words.
"As did I," Silvas said. "The feeling was not that specific at first, though. I sensed the evil, but it wasn't until I helped an ill villager that I spotted the signature of the Blue Rose." Even more softly he added, "They seem to be directed by a wizard of my own stature, and they have real power behind them now."
The bishop raised an eyebrow, but accepted the wizard's estimate. "Perhaps we should defer further talk of this until later?"
"That might be wise," Silvas agreed.
Egbert looked past the wizard at Bay then. The bishop had been doing his best to ignore the horse's uncommon size up to that moment, but he could not ignore Bay for long. Egbert met the horse's gaze. After they had stared at each other for a minute or more, the bishop nodded with at least partial understanding that Bay was more than just an exceptionally large animal.
Then Egbert looked at the pillar of smoke. "That is yours, I believe," he said to Silvas.
"It contains my home," Silvas said. "I would be honored to offer the hospitality of the Glade to you and your colleagues for the length of our common stay in Mecq."
Bishop Egbert didn't hesitate at all. He sensed that Silvas's home would be better equipped than anything that Mecq or its thane could offer. "We would be delighted. In turn, let me invite you to attend the Mass I will offer in St. Katrinka's."
To the side, Brother Paul permitted himself a small smile. He was curious about the wizard's reaction to that offer. Stepping inside a church for a few minutes' talk was one thing. But would he be willing to stay through a Mass?
"I would be honored," Silvas said, disappointing the vicar.
"I think tomorrow at sunrise," Egbert said, turning to the vicar.
"As you say, Your Excellency," Brother Paul said. A dawn Mass would not disrupt the daily work of the villagers, and there would be time for the news to get up the hill to Sir Eustace and the people working in the castle. Without much doubt everyone would attend, except for whatever sentries Sir Eustace thought necessary to keep on duty at the castle. He would certainly refuse to abandon his home completely even for the half hour or so of the Mass.
Bishop Egbert turned slowly through a complete circle, looking at the people of Mecq. Then he looked at his monks. All of them had shed their traveling cloaks and stood together in their white cassocks. Good men and devout, Egbert thought. Initiation into the Greater Mysteries could be a sore trial for a pious churchman. Many could not suddenly accept a second level of truth above what they had been taught to believe before. Finally Egbert turned back to the vicar and the wizard. But his eyes were drawn toward the castle on Mount Mecq-or rather to the road leading down from it.
"Someone is coming from the castle," he said softly. Both Silvas and Brother Paul turned to look.
"That is Sir Eustace, with his steward trailing behind," Silvas said. It seems he finally deigns to come down, he thought. Eustace must have received news of the bishop's sighting within seconds after Silvas identified the approaching riders.
"I was about to offer my blessing," Egbert said, "but I think I should wait for Sir Eustace."
Many of the villagers turned to watch the riders. Bishop Egbert waited patiently. There was no conversation around him. Everything seemed suspended while they waited. Sir Eustace slowed his horse only when he had to, and the villagers made room for him to pass through the crowd. The knight didn't dismount until he was within ten feet of the bishop.
Even before he greeted the bishop, Sir Eustace turned his head to glare at Silvas. The look of anger was suppressed, if not entirely, before Eustace went down on one knee before the bishop. Egbert let him stay down a few seconds longer than necessary.
"Bishop Egbert has accepted my offer of hospitality for his people," Silvas told Sir Eustace as soon as he could. "There will be a welcoming dinner this evening. I would be happy if you, your family, and Master Fitz-Matthew would attend."
Sir Eustace hesitated before he answered. Silvas could almost follow his thoughts from the sequence of looks that passed across the knight's face. Sir Eustace was delighted to be spared the expense and bother of housing the clerics, but angry at being usurped in that function. He didn't care to enter Silvas's tower of smoke, but he also didn't want to slight the bishop or miss the opportunity to be with him.
"Unfortunately, my wife is a trifle ill this afternoon. My daughter is required to care for her, and to look after her young brother. I will be pleased to accept your invitation for myself and my steward."
"And you, Brother Paul?" Silvas asked, turning easily to him. "It would hardly be fitting to exclude the vicar of Mecq."
"Thank you, I would be delighted," Brother Paul said.
Silvas glanced at Bay and nodded very casually. The horse backed away from the group and ambled toward the smoke. Few people paid any attention to his departure.
Finally Bishop Egbert raised his hand for the blessing.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…"
All of the villagers dropped to one knee or both. Many bowed their heads. Some looked at the bishop, watching him draw the sign of the cross in the air before them. All crossed themselves after one fashion or another. Even Sir Eustace went down on one knee again and went through the motions. Silvas remained standing, a little to the side, neither bound by the discipline of the flock-nor concerned about standing so clearly apart. His eyes focused on the bishop. Silvas could feel the power in Egbert's ritual words and gestures. Silvas had never discounted the magic of the White Brotherhood or the Church hierarchy, and this sample gave him a closer gauge on just how much power the bishop possessed.
It was not insignificant.