They didn't get in easily, though-Talumus and the others had to kick and punch through a group of stubborn peasants, swatting them away. Finally, with several people down and wounded before the gates, and two brothers bleeding badly, St. Precious was secured.
From the rampart, Abbot Braumin could only watch and shake his head helplessly. He noted a group of city soldiers along the avenue to the right, making no move at all to secure the situation.
He wasn't surprised.
Braumin went down to the inner courtyard then, to greet his unexpected visitors. By the time he arrived, they had pulled back their hoods. Some were being tended for minor wounds, others were simply bent over, trying to catch their breath.
Braumin looked them over curiously, for though many were not young men, he didn't recognize any of them-except one.
"Master Glendenhook? " he asked, moving near to the man.
"Greetings, Abbot Braumin," Glendenhook replied.
"Why are you out of St.-Mere-Abelle?" Braumin asked incredulously. "Why are you here?"
"We are the brothers inquisitor," another monk answered in the thick accent of southeastern Honce-the-Bear-from Entel, likely. "We've come to investigate claims of a miracle at Mount Aida performed by Avelyn Desbris."
Abbot Braumin swayed as if a slight wind could have knocked him over. "The building of the chapel of Avelyn was halted," he replied, "by order of Father Abbot Agronguerre."
" It would be foolish to expose ourselves in such a manner as to dedicate a new chapel," Master Glendenhook replied. "But the canonization of Brother Avelyn must go forward. A full investigation."
Abbot Braumin heard Talumus and Viscenti and others about him give a cheer, but he just stared at Glendenhook curiously.
"The people need a hero at this dark time, would you not agree, Abbot Braumin?" Glendenhook remarked. "Perhaps Brother Avelyn will withstand the scrutiny of the process and become that hero."
It didn't make much sense to Braumin at that time. He knew that Glendenhook was tied closely to Master Bou-raiy, certainly no friend to the memory of Avelyn Desbris. At the College of Abbots, when Markwart had condemned Master Jojonah for following Avelyn, Bou-raiy had been a huge supporter ofJojonah's execution.
"Let Avelyn's name be put forward and let all the world rejoice," Master Glendenhook added, and he seemed sincere.
But when he looked at Glendenhook's smile, Abbot Braumin couldn't help but question that sincerity.
Something just didn't seem right.
Chapter 29
Abbot Hingas desires audience, my liege," the castle guardsman reported to King Danube. Duke Kalas, sitting at the side of the room, snorted derisively. He had no love for Hingas, the interim abbot of St. Honce, whom he thought a complete fool. Kalas didn't care much for any member of the Abellican Church, of course, but in the case of Abbot Hingas, several others of King Danube's court, Constance among them, had to agree with him.
"He has come to complain about the broken windows again, no doubt," said Constance Pemblebury, who had her back to the others, sitting modestly and feeding Torrence, her second son, who was now six months old. Merwick moved excitedly about her chair, setting up little wooden blocks, then kicking them all over the room.
"Or to talk about the weight of a soul," Kalas remarked, "of how it is lighter than the very air about us and so it floats, floats, to heaven." His voice rose an octave as he spoke the words, sarcastic and derisive.
" Your Majesty? " the poor sentry asked.
King Danube rolled his eyes.
"No!" Kalas yelled at the sentry. "Out with him! Out! Send him back to St. Honce and tell him to suffer the rocks and the taunts. Tell them all to suffer, for the good of the world, and when they have finally appointed an abbot, a real abbot, let him come and beg audience with the King."
The fiery Duke's tirade didn't surprise the others, of course, but the intensity of it this time certainly made Danube and Constance look at each other with concern.
"Better off is Je'howith," Constance remarked dryly, and even diplomatic King Danube couldn't deny a chuckle at that.
"In the grave and at peace from Duke Kalas," Danube said.
"Did you wish to speak with the idiot? " Kalas asked, clutching his heart as if their words had wounded him. " Likely you did me a favor," King Danube replied, pulling himself from his chair and walking over to the window.
Below him lay Ursal, quiet, awaiting winter. Every family had at least one victim now, so it was reported; and many houses lay dark and still, full of death, with no one to go in and retrieve the bodies.
Such was King Danube's beloved capital that late autumn of God's Year 829. It should have been among the happiest times of Danube's life. The demon and its minions had been shattered; the Church, always a nagging rival to the Throne, had been pushed into disarray; and his dear Constance had given him two sons: sons whom he was beginning to think of as heirs to his throne-though, of course, he'd have to speak with his brother at length about that possibility.
Yet, here he was, buttoned up within the prison that Castle Ursal had become, a fortress against the misery of the plague, though that most insidious of enemies had found its way even into these fortified halls, forcing the expulsion of two servants and a guard.
So far, though, none of his closest friends had been afflicted; and for that, King Danube mumbled a little prayer of thanks as he stood solemnly at the high window, looking out over his wounded kingdom.
Not much of a blessing, perhaps, but in this dark day, any light at all seemed a good thing.
The snow held off in the northland until after the turn of winter, but when it did come to Dundalis, it did so in fury, with drifts covering the entire sides of houses and burying the fences of the corrals.
Soon after, and still before the turn of God's Year 830, the weather calmed enough for Pony to attempt venturing out. And truly, she needed the time alone, at the grove and Elbryan's cairn, her great retreat from the events of the world.
She saddled Greystone and walked out of Dundalis, up the north slope and along the rim of the vale filled with caribou moss and pines, for the edges of the dale were windblown and nearly clear, while the dell itself was deep in snow. She found the trails within the forest easier going than she had anticipated, though the snow was often halfway up Greystone's legs, and on several occasions, Pony had to dismount and lead the horse along.
She had left early in the morning, and a good thing it was, for it was nearing noon when she at last came to the sheltered grove. The rolling hills and sharp ravines nearby were too deep and too slick, so Pony had dismounted again and tethered the horse in a windblown clearing, walking in the last quarter mile.
Two sets of hoofprints, running the length of the last field and right into the grove, alerted her that she was not alone. At first, she thought that it might be Bradwarden and Symphony-for who else would be out here on such a day-but then she saw a third track, the boots of a rider, beside the line ofhoofprints.
Shadowing the forest line for cover, Pony did a complete circuit of the grove. She spied a lone rider in the distance, sitting quietly along the tree line, bundled under mounds of furs.
Now she fell into her hematite, using its depths to release her spirit from her corporeal body. She went out to the rider first, and determined on her way that he had a companion, who was within the grove-her grove! — and the mere thought of that made her angry.
The rider was a man of about Pony's age, rugged but handsome, with a dark, two-week beard and sparkling, alert eyes. Something about him seemed familiar to Pony, but she could not place it.