But were De'Unnero's actions in that last fight, when Jilseponie and Elbryan had invaded Chasewind Manor with the express purpose of killing the Father Abbot of the Abellican Church, really a crime?
Braumin thought so, but had not Master Francis tried to stop the ranger from entering Chasewind Manor earlier? Did that make Francis a criminal as well? Braumin winced again and tried to find some answer. To him, De'Unnero was indeed a criminal, and he knew that he would not be the only one who saw the dangerous man that way. Certainly Jilseponie would do battle with De'Unnero if ever she saw him again-on sight and to the death.
Then it hit Braumin squarely, the realization that the timing of this meeting was much more than coincidence. How strange that De'Unnero had walked back into St. Precious on the same day Jilseponie had left Palmaris for the northland!
Bolstered by the notion that the dangerous man might harbor some fear of Jilseponie, Braumin Herde squared his shoulders. "I am the abbot of St. Precious," he declared, "sanctioned by Church and Crown, by King Danube himself, and backed by Abbot Je'howith of St. Honce and by all the brethren of St. Precious. I'll not relinquish the position." "And I am simply cast aside? "
"You left," Braumin insisted, "without explanation, without, many would say, just cause." "That was my choice."
"A choice that cost you your appointment at St. Precious," said Braumin, and then he snorted. "Do you believe that the people of Palmaris or that Duke Kalas, who has publicly professed his hatred for you, will support your return to this position? "
"I believe that the choice is for the Church alone," De'Unnero replied calmly, seeming entirely unshaken by Braumin's blunt attacks. "But the point is irrelevant, because I have no further designs on St. Precious, or upon this wretched city at all. I only came here to fill a vacancy at the request of my Father Abbot. You see my loyalty to him as a crime, but given the doctrine of the Church, that is a ridiculous assertion. I am confident that if we battled for this position at the College of Abbots-which I assume will soon be called-I would prevail. My service to St.-Mere-Abelle cannot be undone by your passions, nor can it be twisted into something perverse and evil.
"But fear not, too-young abbot, for I am no threat to your coveted post," De'Unnero went on. "Indeed, I am glad that you are here; I only hope that all of the other followers of Jojonah and Avelyn will flock here beside you. Better that you all fester in this place of minor importance, while I attend to the greater workings of the Church in St.-Mere-Abelle."
Braumin Herde wanted to shout out at the man, to call for the guards and put this wretched criminal in prison, but when he considered it all, he knew that he could do little, really, and that any actions he took against De'Unnero now could have very serious implications at the forthcoming College of Abbots, repercussions that Braumin and his friends could ill afford. For De'Unnero, though his title as bishop had been revoked and his stewardship as abbot of St. Precious had been rightfully turned over to Braumin, was still a ranking master of the Abellican Order, a monk of many accomplishments, a strong leader with a place and a voice within the Church.
A very loud and obnoxious voice, Abbot Braumin understood.
Prince Midalis and Andacanavar sat on a large wet rock overlooking the Gulf of Corona, holding stoically against gusting and unseasonably cold ocean winds and stinging drizzle.
"I keep hoping that we will see a sail, or a hundred," Midalis admitted.
"That your brother will send the help you requested?" the ranger asked.
"Two score Allheart knights and a brigade of Kingsmen would bolster our cause against the goblins," Midalis remarked.
"Where are they, then?" Andacanavar asked. "Your brother sits as king in a land that, by all reports, has defeated the threat. Why has he not sent his soldiers to aid in your-in our-cause? "
Midalis honestly had no answer to that. "I suspect that he is embroiled in other pressing matters," he answered. "Perhaps rogue bands of monsters remain."
"Or maybe he has his soldiers busy in keeping order in a kingdom gone crazy," the ranger reasoned, and that raised Midalis' eyebrows.
"I have seen such things before," Andacanavar went on. "The aftermath of war can be more dangerous than the war itself."
Midalis shook his head and stared back out over the dark waters.
"Where are they, then?" Andacanavar asked. "Where are the ships and the brave Allheart knights? Is your brother so deaf to your call? "
Prince Midalis had no answers. Whatever the reason, it was becoming obvious to him that this fight in Vanguard was his alone among the nobility of Honce-the-Bear. He glanced from the cold and dark waters of the Mirianic back to his ranger companion, and took heart in the sight of the great and noble warrior.
For, whether his brother, the King, came to his aid or not, the Duke of Vanguard-the Prince of Honce-the-Bear-knew that he and his people were no longer alone in their fight. She looked up at the sky and noted the dark, heavy clouds. There would be more rain; every day, it seemed, more stormy weather rolled in from the Mirianic, pounding Falidean Bay and Falidean town, soaking the ground where they had buried poor Brennilee, turning the dirt to mud. That ground had still been hard when they had put the child into it, and some of the men digging the grave had muttered that they hoped they had put Brennilee down far enough to keep her from the rains.
Merry Cowsenfed prayed-prayed mostly that the torrents wouldn't bring up the little box into which they had placed Brennilee. That had happened several times in Falidean town during heavy storms: coffins sometimes rotted through so that you could see the decomposed corpses, floating right out of the ground. Merry stifled a cry and shook her head as her darkest fears and deepest pain led her to imagine the sight of her beautiful, precious Brennilee rotting within that box.
The woman melted down to her knees, head bent, shoulders heaving with sobs. They could rebury the child, she thought.
Yes, soon enough. They could dig up the grave and bury the child down deeper.
Merry Cowsenfed looked down at the rosy spots on her own forearm and nodded. For, yes, she knew, the gravediggers would be working again soon enough.
"Merry!" came a call from the road behind her. Without rising up, the drenched woman glanced back over her shoulder to see about a score gathered there. She couldn't make out many faces, but she did recognize Thedo Crayle and his wife, Dinny, the little Haggarty boy, and one or two others; and from the one thing she knew all those she recognized had in common, Merry could pretty much guess the remainder of the group.
They were the sick of Falidean, people with the rosy spots, and with the awful fever and stomach-churning to follow soon enough.
Merry pulled herself up and pulled her shawl tight about her shoulders, bending her head against the driving rain.
"Ye come with us, Merry," said Dinny Crayle in her gentle voice as she met the grieving woman and put her arms about Merry's shoulders. "We're going to St. Gwendolyn, we are, to ask the abbess to help us."
Merry looked at her, at all the desperate and sick townsfolk, but there was no hope on her strained features. "Ye'U be turned away," she said. "The monks won't be helpin' with the plague. They'll be hidin' from it, as do our kin."
"Cowards all!" one blustery man cried out. "The abbess'U open her door, or we'll knock the damned thing down!"
That brought a chorus of cheers, cries wrought of anger and of determination, but Merry's voice rose above them. "Ye're knowin' the rules!" she yelled. "Ye got the rosy plague, so ye stay put and make yer peace with God and accept yer fate."
"Damn the rules!" another man yelled out.
"Ye got the plague!" Merry yelled back. "Ye stay put, then, so as ye don't go bringin' it to all the other towns o' the kingdom."