The Harrowing of Gwynedd Read Online Free PDF Page B

Tiernan removed what appeared to be a small, suede leather pouch, no bigger than the palm of his hand. This he tucked into the front of his habit, signing for Queron to rise and come with him toward the screened-off northern transept.
    As Queron followed his guide through a doorway in the screen, several more black-robed monks backed off skittishly from a bare patch of earth in front of the transept altar, bowing cowled heads over folded hands as they pressed against the far wall. They had been shifting heavy flagstones back into position to cover the bare patch—which might pass as a grave, to the uninitiated; but Queron recognized it instantly as the probable site of the Portal he knew Evaine and Joram had planned to construct.
    â€œGod bless the work,” Queron murmured, declining to speak more specifically until he knew the exact status of the men watching him.
    His quick mental cast locked on the Portal’s distinctive tingle almost immediately. Cautiously he moved the few steps necessary to center himself within it—to the apparent consternation of several of the watchers. And to his own consternation, a quick stretching of his powers failed to touch any other Portal. Either he was out of range, or all the others he knew about had been destroyed or blocked.
    â€œInteresting,” he murmured under his breath. “Brother Tiernan, I don’t suppose anyone left me any more explicit instructions?”
    With a quiet hand sign, Tiernan signalled the other monks to depart. Only when they had gone did he move close enough to Queron to hand him the brown suede pouch.
    â€œThe Lady Evaine asked that I give this into your keeping only when you had placed yourself where you now stand. I—do not know what it contains or what will happen when you take it out.”
    â€œBut I am to open it here,” Queron said, gingerly feeling at the contents of the pouch through the leather. It seemed to be something flat and round, perhaps of metal, possibly a medallion of some sort.
    â€œCurious,” he murmured. “Did she give you any other caution?”
    Tiernan shook his head. “No, my lord. I watched them all leave through this Portal, though. I know what happens, and I am not afraid.”
    â€œAnd you are rare among humans for that,” Queron replied. “Did you know that, Brother Tiernan?”
    Tiernan shrugged. “I am only an ignorant monk, Domine. But I trust the Lady Evaine and Father Joram. Ah—he said that you would recognize what lies inside and that you would know what to do.”
    â€œFather Joram said that?”
    â€œAye, Domine.”
    â€œThen, we must not make a liar of him, must we?” Queron loosened the strings of the pouch and peered inside.
    â€œWell, what’s this?” he said, beginning to pull out part of a narrow, green silk cord, along with what was attached to it. “It’s—a Healer’s seal. It’s Rhys’ Healer’s seal!” he breathed, as he caught the dull, silvery medallion in the palm of his hand.
    Rhys’ name and the year of his matriculation from Saint Neot’s were cut into the side facing Queron; and if he turned it over, he knew it would bear Rhys’ personal coat of arms augmented with the star-pierced hand that was a Healer’s badge of vocation.
    â€œBut—Rhys would never give this up. Not to anyone. Not unless—”
    Convulsively he clutched the medal harder in his hand as the implication registered. Now he thought he knew why Evaine had wanted him to stand precisely here, in the center of the new Portal, before he opened the pouch. For something had happened to Rhys—he feared the younger Healer was dead—and reading that tragic message here, in this place, would send up a psychic beacon for one of them to come back to get him.
    He had to blink back tears as he tucked the empty pouch into the top of his scrip and then smoothed the silk cord over the back of