Marion Zimmer Bradley - Darkover 34 by Zandru's Forge

Author:Zandru's Forge
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-02-03T23:51:13.455000+00:00

BOOK II

31

Colder than Zandru's seventh hell, went the old saying. Carolin thought, not for the first time, that it ought to have gone, Colder than Nevarsin in winter. Or spring. Or autumn, Or any other season. The monastery of Saint Valentine of the Snows had been built among the arms of the glacier ice, carved of the solid rock of the mountain. There were many pleasures that came with being the heir to the Hastur throne, but the tempera-ture of Nevarsin was not one of them.

He had brought his sons to live and study with the monks even as he had planned, and had stayed longer than was strictly necessary. As he had vowed on Alianora's deathbed, he had placed her rosary with the other tokens of devotion upon the sanctuary altar. Over the course of a month, he had met with his distant Aldaran kin, the Keeper of the Tower, and the Father Master of the monastery, drawing out each session to delay his returning alone to Hali.

Meanwhile, he would not disgrace his house or himself by grumbling. As he lay on his narrow cot under his blanket of thick sheepswool, he reflected that he had the privilege of a blanket and warm food to eat, and he could exercise as he wished and sit by the fire in the guest house. Young boys, novices in the Order of Saint Christopher, even his own sons, had none of these luxuries. He'd heard the whimpers of those

newly arrived. Soon, the monks said, they would accustom themselves, learning to regulate their bodies to generate heat and thrive on whatever food was provided.

The bell for arising had already rung and Carolin had de-layed long enough. Although as a guest he not bound by the rigid hours of prayer and work, he preferred to observe the rhythms of the community. In this way, he gained a greater sense of the lives and cares of the cristoforos. That knowledge had already given him new insights into his own people.

Carolin set his teeth together to keep them from chattering and heaved himself out of bed. Once he'd broken the ice on his basin, the worst would be over. He forced himself to wash properly. If he could not control feeling cold, as the monks could, at least he could master his own actions and not race through his morning ablutions like a cat in a river.

He dressed with care, taking an extra moment to settle the wide leather belt. Like his wool tunic and pants, it was dyed a soft gray. Over it would go the tartan of Hastur blue and silver. He smiled, remembering the red belt he and Orain had fought over as boys.

Orain. . .

He had not thought of his foster-brother this last handful of tendays. Orain was back at Hali, in Lyondri's service.

Carolin went down to the guest house refectory, where one of the cristoforo brothers offered him steaming porridge. A cup of wildflower honey and a pitcher of cream, clearly

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