And offended Kalas, too, Danube noted, as the man walked past him and took the seat Constance had vacated, dropping his chin to his palm and staring blankly ahead.
Outside, on the streets, occasional cries of outage, of betrayal-by both the monks and the peasants-resonated grimly in their ears.
The rallying shouts ended abruptly as Marcalo De'Unnero, the self-titled Brother Truth, shoved through the ranks of the Brothers Repentant and the gathered peasants of Palmaris, and charged down the lane the short distance to where the Behrenese had gathered.
The dark-skinned southerners had come out in response to the shouts of anger, a group of men and women asking for nothing but to be left alone at their dockside homes in peace. But Brother Truth had spoken, had proclaimed the mere presence of the Behrenese as a source of God's anger, as a source of the rosy plague.
The nearest Behrenese man lifted a weapon, a gaff, at the charging monk, but De'Unnero skidded to an abrupt stop and snap-kicked the underside of the shaft, launching it far and wide. In the same motion, the expert fighting monk brought his leg down and to the side, caving in the knee of the next closest southerner. Then, still without ever bringing his foot back to the ground, De'Unnero brought his leg back, kicking his first opponent in the gut, doubling the man over.
De'Unnero dropped his foot and pivoted it, lifting his other foot as he turned, angling it to slam the Behrenese in the chin, snapping his head violently to the side and dropping him facedown on the stone.
Then he felt the weretiger roaring within him, screaming to be let loose that he might devour and destroy all who stood before him. He almost complied, almost fell into the beast, but then his consciousness screamed out even louder that to reveal that side of himself in this city-this city that had lost its beloved Baron Bildeborough to such a cat! — would surely spell his defeat. He fought with all his willpower, concentrating, concentrating, and actually took a slight hit from one of his pitiful opponents, so distracted was he.
But then he had the urges put down, and he leaped ahead, spinning and kicking. He landed right before one man, who, apparently thinking he had the monk vulnerable, brought a huge axe straight up over his head. De'Unnero hit him with a left, right, left, right, left, right, square in the face, and the axe fell to the ground behind the stunned man. He started to drift down, but vicious De'Unnero hit him again in the face-left, right, left, right, left, right-all the way down to his knees. There the Behrenese remained, kneeling and beyond dazed, and De'Unnero leaped in the air and came down with a double stomp on the top of the man's chest.
He heard the crack of backbone.
De'Unnero threw his arms up high, fists clenched, and roared in victory; and then he looked around and saw the hundred Brothers Repentant and twice that many common Palmaris citizens driving hard against the Behrenese, overwhelming them with sheer numbers, dragging them down and beating them to death.
But even more satisfying to Brother Truth was the spectacle of the Palmaris city guard, sitting astride their horses down at the end of a lane, a force large enough to successfully intervene. They did not; they sat and they watched, and the Brothers Repentant swept the Behrenese enclave away, killing those they could catch and burning down every structure that had housed any of the dark-skinned folk.
Chapter 35
It's Roger!" Pony said happily to Belster, when she recognized the man driving the wagon that was rolling into the southern end of Dundalis. Her smile disappeared almost as soon as it began to spread, though, as she took note of the form beside her friend, slumped and huddled under a heavy cloak, though the day was quite warm.
It was Dainsey, Pony knew, and she could guess easily enough why the woman was so postured.
"She's got the plague," Belster remarked, obviously deducing the same thing. "Why'd the fool bring her here, then? "
That uncharacteristically bitter statement brought a scowl to Pony's face, and she showed it to Belster directly.
He shook his head, showing embarrassment for the callous remark but also holding fast to his anger. Pony could understand that well enough;
Dundalis had remained relatively free of the dreaded disease thus far, but one victim could change all that, could send the rosy plague rushing through the town like a fire. Those who knew the oral histories of the plague had claimed that entire villages, even fair-sized towns had simply disappeared under the deadly sweep of the disease.
But, without even talking to Roger, Pony also understood why he had come. She could see the look on his face as the wagon approached, an expression sad and panicked, a desperate and hopeless plea.
Some people went out to Roger, calling greetings, but he waved them back from the wagon. "A safe distance!" he cried, and every one of those villagers wore at first a perplexed expression but one that inevitably fast turned to horror.
They knew; everyone in the kingdom knew.
Then Roger spotted his dear friend, the last hope of his beloved Dainsey. "Pony," he called weakly. She rushed up to the wagon and grabbed the bridle of the draft horse, stopping the beast.
"Stay back," Roger warned. "Oh, Pony, it is Dainsey, sick with the rosy plague!"
She nodded grimly and continued past the horse and onto the wagon's bench. She gently lifted the edge of Dainsey's hood, reaching in to feel her forehead.
Dainsey's teeth were chattering, but she was hot to the touch.
Pony sighed. "You've tried your best, but you are tending her in the wrong manner," she explained, pushing back the hood, untying the cloak, and pulling it off Dainsey's frail-looking shoulders.
"I tried…" Roger started to reply. "I went to Palmaris, to Braumin, but he…"
"He turned you away," Pony finished grimly.
Roger just nodded his head.
"Well, you will not be turned away here," Pony promised, and she gently lifted Dainsey into her arms-and how light she was! "Follow me to Fellowship Way," she instructed.
"You can cure her?" Roger asked.
Pony couldn't ignore the flicker of hope that came into his voice, the light that suddenly brightened his face. She wanted to say that she couldhow she wanted to tell Roger that! — but she knew that false hope could be a more devastating thing than no hope at all, and she could not lie to Roger.
"I will try," she promised, turning to slip down the side of the wagon.
Roger grabbed her by the arm, and she turned to see his desperately pleading face.
"This is the rosy plague, Roger," she said softly. "I have had no luck at all in battling it thus far. None. Everyone I have attempted to heal is dead. But I will try."
Roger sucked in his breath and stood, wavering, for a long moment. Then he collected himself and nodded.
True to her promise, Pony brought Dainsey into her private room above Fellowship Way, gathered her hematite, and went at the disease with all her strength and determination. As soon as her disembodied spirit entered Dainsey's battered body, though, she knew that she had no chance. The plague was thick in the woman, thicker than Pony had ever seen it before, a great green morass of disease.
She tried and she tried, but inevitably wound up fighting the wretched stuff away from herself and gaining no ground at all in actually helping Dainsey.
She came out of the gemstone trance a long while later and slipped off the side of the bed. Her legs wouldn't hold her, so exhausted had the battle made her, and she slumped heavily against the wall, then slid down with a thump to the floor. She heard Roger call out to her, and then he was there, beside her.