The Deepcombers

Chapter Thirty One

"As near as I can tell, the entrance is under the infirmary," Melcart rolled the map and pointed uphill. "That's right in the center of the monastery." He made no allowance for stealth. If they proceeded north along the watercourse they'd be seen many villagers and the craftsfeigors in the construction site and by all the archers on the walls. But that was okay thought Lon, if this scoundrel leaves me underground at least there'll be lots of witnesses who saw us together.

The sun had set and their long shadows faded into darkness. Lamps and lanterns were lit all over the settlement. The two youths eyed each other warily as they strolled the cow path beside the mountain stream. In his heart, Lon didn't trust his counterpart.

"The temple is older than the town." Melcart said.

"I know." Lon replied. He said it quick just to prove he wasn't entirely clueless, but he regretted the tone. He didn't want to restart the rivalry, so he continued. "The holy brotherhood built here because of the waterfall I imagine, and now I'm guessing maybe because of catacombs too?" He pointed as they walked. "The north battlements up here, these are the original walls of the settlement; you can see the inner wall is missing."

"How do you know all this?" Mel asked.

"Look how far down the cows have to come. The byres are so far from the gate. If the Calbians had their way they'd have have put the dairy atop the hill, or brought the gate lower." Lon waved all around.

"Hah. Your logic is flawed."

"How so?"

"The dairy used to be at the bottom of the hill by main gate. It became their army barracks. We stood on the foundation when we watched the cocosta."

"How do you know that?"

"Been here for almost four months."

"How come you don't speak the language?'

'I do. You heard me." Melcart faced him and waved hello. "Dass hass bone isuss,"

Lon chuckled. The Calbian tongue really was an impossible mixture of ess sounds mixed with vowels. All the same he practiced the local greeting in his head as they walked.

The young masters paced along until they were opposite the busy construction site; the stonework on the other side of the river looked about ready for the waterwheel. It was sunset and some craftsfeigors  cleaned their tools by the creek. The lads looked and listened for Atar but they couldn't see him or hear his laugh.

Up ahead the riverbanks were shaded by weeping-willows. Lon watched the lamplighters refill and then ignite the lanterns over the bridge.  Moments later the freshly lit lamps twinkled through long willow fronds. 

Atar's Falls chuffed on the cliff side and caught the moonlight and mesmerized Lon. Through a break in the trees he watched the water cascade. The spectacle never failed to impress the lad who reckoned it was just about the prettiest mountainside he'd ever seen in his life. Melcart paused under the last droopy shade tree and studied their surroundings. 

The willows made it easy to enter the monastery grounds in a clandestine manner. Lon reckoned there were no monks-on-patrol, but of course they all had eyes, and so did the sentries on the walls. The white-haired lad was still wary of Melcart and so he let the cocky accomplice lead the infiltration. The thought occurred many times that this could all just be a ruse, an elaborate set-up to expose him, embarrass him, or worst yet abandon him deep underground. All these thoughts crossed through his clever brain as he followed the untrustworthy knave deeper into the temple's denizens.

The rogue signaled that the coast was clear, and the pair made a dash. They bisected bushy herb gardens to hide in the darkness behind the second largest building on site. They both pressed-up against the wall and caught their breath. From here Lon could see the inner courtyard and he saw how one structure on the square was fashioned from white stone with marble columns in a portico entrance.