DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  But then Francis caught him off guard.

  "I can get you out of St.-Mere-Abelle," the monk offered, "and you might fly away and hide."

  "You would help us?" Viscenti cried doubtfully. "Have you found truth at last, Brother Francis?"

  "No," Braumin answered before Francis could respond. Braumin studied him curiously. "No, he does not agree with our beliefs."

  "I called you a heretic," Francis confirmed. "My word for you, and not the Father Abbot's."

  "Then why would you help us? " Braumin asked. "Why would you see us out of St.-Mere-Abelle when you know that we present no threat to you or your beloved Father Abbot?" Even as he spoke the words, Brother Braumin wondered if the Father Abbot might know of Francis' visit, might have sent Francis here in an attempt to quietly rid himself of the problem monks. "Or do you see a threat?" Braumin asked slyly. "Perhaps you fear the reaction, from within the Church and without, when we five, like Jojonah before us, are tied to poles and publicly burned. Perhaps you wonder how solid the Father Abbot's hold over the Church truly is."

  Francis was shaking his head slowly and somberly, but Braumin pressed on. "Thus, you convince us to leave, and by that overt action, we have severed our position in the Church."

  "Your reasoning is not sound, brother," Francis replied. "You overestimate the negative reaction of the populace to a gruesome execution. Many of the villagers still speak in excited, even thrilled, tones about the burning of the heretic Jojonah."

  "Do not call him that!" Brother Viscenti demanded.

  "They were not terribly upset by the spectacle, as you well know," Francis went on. "And indeed, they would welcome another bit of excitement in their mundane existence. And as to the other Church leaders, they are back at their own abbeys now, recovering from a war. They will not raise more than an eyebrow, I assure you. The Father Abbot will name you as heretics and be done with you before any can protest; and then, the deed done —one less problem before any of them—they will let the matter fade."

  The answer set Braumin back on his heels and killed his previous suspicions about Francis' motives. Markwart, who dared to usurp the power of Abbot Dobrinion while he was in Palmaris, who took citizens of another town captive and let them die in his care, who burned Jojonah publicly before the Church leaders, would not fear any retaliation if he chose to get rid of a handful of minor conspirators. But why, then, was Francis here?

  "You haven't the belly for it!" Marlboro Viscenti said suddenly, hopping back and pointing at Francis. "Even Brother Francis, the Father Abbot's avowed lackey, was sickened by the treatment of good Jojonah."

  Francis didn't immediately respond, and Braumin looked from him to Viscenti, who wore a confident expression. Marlboro Viscenti was not considered a great thinker by either his peers or his instructors, but Braumin knew that he was possessed of certain insights. Perhaps it was his perpetual nervousness that kept him keenly aware of his surroundings; but whatever the reason, Viscenti many times found answers to puzzles that had seemed quite beyond Brother Braumin.

  "You believed Jojonah a heretic," Braumin said to Francis.

  "His actions doomed him," Francis said firmly. "You heard him admit that he helped the intruders steal our prisoner."

  Braumin waved his hand as if that mattered not at all. "I'll not argue the virtue of his actions with you," he explained. "We can agree that you considered him a traitor to the Church, and yet my good brother Viscenti has spoken truthfully. Why then, Brother Francis, do you fear to see us burned? Why did the spectacle of Jojonah's fate so unnerve you?"

  Francis was fighting hard to hold his cool, determined demeanor, but he was losing the battle now, Braumin could see. He was trembling, sweat on his forehead.

  "Master Jojonah forgave me," Francis at last blurted. "He forgave me my sins, against him and against others."

  Braumin eyed him incredulously, then looked at Viscenti, trying to make some sense of it, but found his friend staring at Francis, equally at a loss.

  "Do not confuse my coming to you with compassion or any agreement with your beliefs," Francis added. "I offer you a chance to save your miserable lives, to get out of St.-Mere-Abelle, out of my life and the life of the Father Abbot. To go hide in a hole and bury your foolish beliefs with you."

  "How do you plan to do that?" asked Viscenti.

  "And where are we to go?" Braumin added.

  "You know that Jojonah aided the escape of the centaur Bradwarden," Francis explained. "And with him, we believe, were two former friends of Avelyn Desbris."

  Again Braumin painted that suspicious look on his face. Were he and his companions to become the signal beacon to the lair of a larger conspiracy?

  "Yet there remains at St.-Mere-Abelle another of those conspirators, a man who came in afterward and only recently learned that the centaur and his other friends had escaped. He will be returning to them, I believe, and I believe also that you might persuade him to take you along."

  "How convenient for you and the Father Abbot," Braumin remarked.

  "I'll not guarantee your safety," said Francis. "Once you are out of the abbey, you must fend for yourselves —and do not doubt that powerful foes may come against you. Do not doubt that the Father Abbot will recapture the centaur and take the other conspirators as well. No, your fate beyond St.-Mere-Abelle is your own to decide. I only do this one thing alone to repay Jojonah. I'll not spend the rest of my life in the debt of a heretic."

  "If he was a heretic —" Viscenti started to protest, but Brother Braumin held up his hand, indicating that the man should be quiet. Braumin understood, if Viscenti did not—if even Francis did not.

  "All that I ask in return is that you do not name me if you are captured," Brother Francis went on. "And . . . the book."

  "What book? " Braumin asked.

  Francis turned a stern stare on the man. "The book you read from at your ridiculous meeting," he explained, "the book of lies about our past, by which you measure the rumors about our present."

  Braumin scoffed at the notion.

  "You will not leave St.-Mere-Abelle unless I have that book," Francis said calmly.

  "Why?" Braumin retorted. "So that you might put it on a shelf of forbidden tomes? So that you might bury it away with all the other truths that would tumble down the walls of your sacred institution? "

  "There is no compromise here, brother," Francis stated. "I will have the book, or I will take it from your room while you are burning."

  "Jojonah gave me that book," Braumin said. "He bade me to keep it safe."

  "It will be safe," Francis replied. "And back where it rightfully belongs."

  Brother Braumin closed his eyes, understanding that Francis would hold fast. He prayed to Master Jojonah for guidance then, to help him through this dilemma. Was it now his time to stand up for the truth? Was his fight to end so soon? Jojonah had wanted him to ascend the ranks of the Abellican Order, but if he left now, that would be impossible. Even if he managed to elude Markwart's executioners, he and his friends would be outside the Church, unable to bring about any positive change.

  But if they stayed, Braumin believed, they would die, and soon.

  His answer came in the form of an image, a memory of a faraway place, once the home of evil incarnate but now the tomb of a true saint. Braumin saw again the arm of Avelyn, sticking from the ground, uplifted, the final act of defiance against the demon dactyl, the final act of reaching for God.

  Brother Braumin had his answer. Whatever God had in mind for him, he wanted to see that place again before he died. He moved to the side of his bed, bent down to the floor, and reached under it, then moved back to stand in front of Francis, locking the man's gaze with his own. Braumin gave a slight nod and turned over the book. "Read it," he said. "Read the words of another Brother Francis of St.-Mere-Abelle. Learn what once was, and know the truth of the man you serve."

  Brother Francis didn't say a word, just moved past Braumin for the door, then out of the room.

  "You g
ave it to him," Marlboro Viscenti said incredulously and fearfully. "Now he will surely betray us."

  "If he meant to betray us, then Markwart would already have us," Braumin insisted.

  "Then what are we to do? "

  "Wait," Braumin answered, laying a comforting hand on Viscenti's shoulder. "Let Francis do as he promised. He will return to us."

  Brother Viscenti wiped his hand across his lips and shuddered. He didn't question Braumin further, though, just stood with him, staring at the door, wondering.

  In truth, if the door hadn't been there to block their vision, the two men would have still seen Brother Francis in the empty and dimly lit corridor, staring down at the tome Brother Braumin had given him. In one unacknowledged corner of his brain, Brother Francis understood that there might well be a measure of truth in Braumin's claims. Surely Francis had seen enough brutality perpetrated by his beloved Church to give some credence to the pessimistic man's arguments.

  And now Francis held this ancient book, which could shatter the foundations of his beliefs, which could make a lie of his life and a devil of his master. If he opened the pages and read it, would he, too, be brought into the depths of heresy, as had Jojonah, and now these disciples of the man?

  Brother Francis tucked the book under his arm and started briskly for the stairwells that would take him to the lower library, where he might rid himself of the dangerous tome. He had to pay another visit to Roger Billingsbury and had many other preparations to make, but they would wait, he decided. Burying this book in a dark corner of a dark place was far more important.

  P A R T T W O

  Church and State

  Still, we did not hear much from the man, or from any of his emissaries.

  But what of the crimes of the Church, Uncle Mather? Logically, the King should be their counterweight, yet I have heard of no complaints from King Danube about the treatment of the Chilichunks by the Church. Perhaps it is a matter of practicality, with King Danube and his nobles weighing the value of the Chilichunks lives against the trouble that exposing the Church might bring. For that matter, would King Danube strike hard against the Father Abbot if he knew the actual cause of Baron Bildeborough's death?

  Or, perhaps, has the balance of power dangerously shifted?

  This is my fear, Uncle Mather, and I do not think I am simply overreacting to personal loss. I believe the Abellican Church has always held the upper hand in this struggle. The daily routines of the subjects of Honce-the-Bear are no doubt more greatly influenced by the state than the Church. Taxes, the military, construction of roads and tolls to pay for them are all the domain of King Danube.

  Destroyed?

  Or maybe not, Uncle Mather. Perhaps the dactyl's spirit is alive and well and living in an even more dangerous host.

  —ELBRYAN WYNDON

  CHAPTER 7

  Shifting Winds

  The fire burned low. They were fugitives now and had to take precautions, but the night was cold. Brother Braumin had allowed Dellman to light the small fire.

  Braumin took some comfort as he considered his four companions. It was no small matter that they had all agreed to flee St.-Mere-Abelle and thus leave the Abellican Order. Even the youngest of them had been a member of the Order for a decade, not to mention the eight years of preparation required to be allowed entry into St.-Mere-Abelle, and now to throw all of that work away... .

  And it was not just fear of Markwart's temper that had inspired the desertion, Brother Braumin realized, and he was warmed by that knowledge. He chuckled as he considered Marlboro Viscenti, the nervous man now crouching by the fire, his head darting from side to side as he scanned the darkness beyond the fire. Perhaps for Viscenti, fear of Markwart was enough of an inspiration.

  Braumin recalled the reactions of the others when he'd told them that they were to run away from St.-Mere-Abelle with this kitchen hand who had some unknown tie to those who had once befriended Avelyn Desbris and Master Jojonah. His four friends were even more incredulous when Braumin had disclosed the source of his contact with the man. To think that Brother Francis had put them on this course! And yet, in trusting in Braumin's decision, in leaving St.-Mere-Abelle with him, these four young monks had passed the most important and difficult test thus far. Long before this last crisis, they had joined Braumin to carry on the work of Avelyn and Jojonah, but until this morning, the work had been naught but talk, secret meetings full of complaints, even hiding the feelings they'd had as they'd watched Jojonah burn. Now Markwart was apparently about to make his move against them. Each of them had been faced with a desperate choice: to hold fast beside Braumin and be executed or to betray the words and spirit of Jojonah.

  Braumin wasn't sure which course his friends might have chosen had that critical moment come. He wanted to believe the others would have stood beside him, accepting Markwart's immoral judgment, as had Jojonah. He wanted to believe that he, too, would have held true. But fortunately, Brother Francis had offered them a third option, and at least postponed that supreme test of faith.

  For Markwart would come after them, Braumin Herde did not doubt, and if the Father Abbot caught them, their lives would surely be forfeit.

  Now, Braumin decided, his thoughts had to turn instead to the road ahead, to hopes of meeting the mysterious friends of Avelyn Desbris and finding confirmation of all he held dear.

  He sought out Roger Billingsbury, who was sitting alone on the other side of the camp, drawing in the dirt with a stick. He was not surprised to find that Roger had drawn a rough map of the region, with pebbles representing St.-Mere-Abelle, the Masur Delaval, Palmaris, and some points far to the north.

  "Your home?" Braumin asked, indicating those.

  "Caer Tinella," Roger replied, "and Landsdown. Two towns on the northern edge of Honce-the-Bear. It was in Caer Tinella that I first met Elbryan, the one known as Nightbird."

  "Friend to Bradwarden," Braumin said.

  "I never met the centaur," Roger admitted, "though I saw him once, tied up at the back of a fast-traveling caravan, heading south for Palmaris."

  Braumin Herde nodded. He had been part of that caravan, making the return trip from Mount Aida. "And is this Nightbird a disciple of Avelyn Desbris?" he asked.

  "He was a friend of Avelyn's," Roger replied. "But in truth, his companion, Jilseponie —he calls her Pony—is the true disciple of the monk. No one in all the world can bring forth more powerful magics."

  Braumin looked at him skeptically.

  "I understand the doubts of one who has spent the bulk of his life in an abbey," Roger replied calmly, "but you will learn better."

  Braumin was eager for that. He could hardly wait to meet this woman, Avelyn's student.

  Brother Dellman, looking relaxed compared to the others, wandered over then and crouched low to examine Roger's map.

  "How far from Palmaris are these towns?" Braumin asked.

  "A week of hard marching," Roger replied.

  "Is this where we will find the friends of Jojonah?" Dellman put in.

  Roger shrugged and shook his head. "With the weather holding mild, they may have already left for their original home of Dundalis in the Timberlands." He pointed to the map as he spoke at a spot north of Caer Tinella.

  "Another week, then?" Dellman asked.

  "At least," Roger replied. "Dundalis is about the same distance north of Caer Tinella as Palmaris is south. There is only one road north from Caer Tinella —not a very good road—and I do not know if it is clear. Even before the monsters and the dactyl, the road to Timberlands was considered dangerous."

  "If that is where Nightbird and Jilseponie are to be found, then that is where we shall go," Braumin declared.

  "I want to find them as much as you do," Roger assured him, "but we can only guess where they are. They are fugitives of the Abellican Church, and that is no small matter. They might be in the northland or they might be in Palmaris. I could make a reasonable guess that Bradwarden, at least, did return to the north, for a centaur
wouldn't be easy to hide on city streets!"

  That brought a smile to Braumin's face, but Dellman glanced all around. "Should we be speaking openly of this? " he asked nervously.

  "You fear that we might have spiritual visitors?" Braumin asked.

  "It is possible that Brother Francis put us together with Roger and then let us out of St.-Mere-Abelle that he might follow our movements and find these two friends of Avelyn," Dellman explained.

  That brought a frown to Roger's face, but Braumin remained calm. "I trust Francis —on this matter," he replied. "I do not know why. Surely he has given me no previous reasons to trust him, but this time, he seemed sincere."

  "As he would feign if he was working as Markwart's agent," said Dellman.

  Braumin Herde shook his head. "The Father Abbot could have accomplished what you fear using Roger alone. In fact, that course would have been easier, for Roger, no master of the gemstones, would never have suspected that the monks might be following him spiritually."

  Dellman smiled, accepting that.

  "As to Francis," Braumin went on, "I believe his tale of Master Jojonah's forgiveness was true, for Master Jojonah was dragged past him out of the College of Abbots, and certainly kindly Master Jojonah would have forgiven him."

  "Is that not the whole point of who we are?" Brother Dellman interjected.

  Braumin nodded. "And thus," he added, "it pained Brother Francis to watch Master Jojonah die so horribly. Perhaps it shook the foundations of his world."

  "Your premise is correct, brother, but your conclusions ..." Dellman replied, shaking his head, not convinced. "Francis hated Master Jojonah. That much was obvious to us on our journey to Mount Aida. And he hates you even more, I believe."

  "Perhaps he hates himself most of all," Braumin answered, staring out into the empty night —and he was confident that it was empty.

  Brother Dellman followed that gaze into the darkness. He wasn't as confident as Braumin, but, in truth, it really didn't matter. The Father Abbot would have executed them had they stayed, they all knew, or he would have forced them into terrible confessions and retractions —the price of their souls for the sake of their bodies. Whether Markwart caught them on the road or descended upon them in St.-Mere-Abelle, the end would be the same.