“What did you do?” Colvin demanded of her, his face angry.

“It was too cold. I wanted it warm.”

“How did you…you cannot do that to a gargouelle. This one summons water. That is all. You are not supposed to bring anything else to the summoning.”

“I do it at the laundry all the time,” she said, wondering why he was so upset. “Hot water cleans better than cold, dirty water.”

“You are not supposed to be able to…that is something that few learners even think of…what I mean is…it is just not possible. This one summons water. You are mixing fire with it.”

“How else do you heat water then?”

He looked at her sternly. “It is just not done. There are ones for fire and ones for water. Not both.”

She met his stern look with one of her own. “Do you object because you cannot do it?”

He stood silently, as if chewing his words behind his clenched teeth so that he would not speak them. “I will not argue with you any longer. If you have drunk enough, let us go.”

His hard words had wounded her, but she tried not to let it show and motioned towards the other path. Colvin was utterly infuriating sometimes. Checking with the orb, she followed it over to a maze of hedges, with him pulling the stallion after them. Past those, the pointers guided them to a secluded area not far from it. The view was shielded by beautiful yew trees which formed a boundary around it, and the perimeter was offset with a low stone wall, leading to a circular well-hole. Another Leering, like the waymarker near the ruins at the Abbey, stood at the head of the well hole. It was tall and narrow and carved with the face of a man, a weeping man.

Lia looked down at the Cruciger orb, and it showed the way towards the well.

Colvin wrapped the reins around a branch, tightened it, and then stepped down three short steps, looking curious and confused. She followed him, running her hand over the green foliage of a bush. The sun was nearly overhead, and there was no wind, so the shadows lay flat and still.

Lia looked into the eyes of the Leering carved into the waymarker, wondering what purpose it was built for. It seemed ancient, the features rubbed away by countless years. She joined Colvin by the edge of the well and they both stared down into the black depths. The throat of the well made a sound, as if it were alive but merely asleep and breathing softly.

“Here?” Colvin said, staring into the dark.

A man’s huskily accented voice came from the trees. “Only a Cruciger orb would have brought you here.” He stepped from the shadows, his dark eyes flashing with intensity. He was taller than Colvin, fat around the middle with skinny legs showing beneath his tunic hem, his black hair just starting to go white above his ears.

Colvin grabbed for his sword, and the man charged forward, waving a twisting staff.

“You reach first for a weapon! In my home? In this sacred place?” He was there by the time Colvin’s sword left its sheath and aimed it at the man’s chest. His eyes blazed. “And what are you going to do with it, you miserable little pethet! Eh? Are you going to thrust me through? Eh? You are so brave with a teeny sliver of steel. Braver than the sheriff’s men, even. Go ahead! Spill my entrails to the stones. Let my blood wail to the Medium for vengeance upon you. You little pethet! A limping man’s crutch has made you so fearful? Eh?” He pushed his chest against the tip of Colvin’s sword. “Eh? I cannot hear you. Eh? Why not kill me now and be done. Eh!”

Lia stared at the crazed eyes, sickened by the reek of his foul breath. Reaching out, she put her hand on Colvin’s arm. “Put it away,” she whispered.

His arm remained firm, his eyes distrustful. His jaw muscles throbbed from clenching his teeth.

“Put it away,” she repeated, pushing gently.

“Sound advice, pethet! The wisdom of youth! Listen to the child. Listen to the one who holds the Cruciger orb and makes it spin. Eh! You wish to fight me still? Very well. Then I will fight you. I do not like to fight. But you do not show me proper respect. If I must shame you in front of this little sister, then I must. Vancrola, pethet! Simoin!”

“Put it down,” Lia said more firmly. Then she whispered, “He will not harm us. He is a maston.” She knew it to be true, even though he wore no markings.

Colvin wavered, his arm trembling slightly, then he swept the sword point down.

“I am disappointed in you, pethet. I would have relished shaming you in front of her. Defeated by a cripple!” He struck the staff down in front of him, then leaned on it. “Eh! Well, if you do not wish to fight, then we can talk. Talk is useful sometimes. For that is why you are here. Eh? I did not hear you. You were going to tell me why did you come to the gardens. Eh?”