Mortalis dw-4

by Robert Salvatore

  But then Francis had withdrawn his support for Pony, and-despite the man's continuing opposition to Abbot Je'howith-Braumin wondered now how much trust he could put in Francis.

  And now Pony was leaving, and though he still had Castinagis and Viscenti supporting him, and though he understood that Brother Talumus and several other minor-ranking monks of St. Precious had given themselves to his cause, Braumin remained afraid. Because now he was in charge of it all. His would be the primary voice battling stubborn Duke Kalas; he would be the one answering any questions that came to St. Precious from St.-MereAbelle; he would be the one fronting the cause of Master Jojonah at the College of Abbots. And that cause, he knew, would not be an easy one to sell to many of the Abellican leaders, including many of the masters whom Braumin had served at St.-Mere-Abelle less than a year ago.

  Only then, with the sound of that closing door, did Abbot Braumin come to realize the truth of it all: he had depended upon Pony to protect him and bolster him, to fight the battle for Avelyn and Jojonah from the lead position.

  He was very afraid.

  On a drizzly spring morning two days later, the small wagon bearing Pony and Belster O'Comely rolled through Palmaris' northern gate, bouncing along the road that would take them to Caer Tinella. Many heads turned to regard them as they crossed the city and then the rolling farmlands just north of Palmaris, and the departure of this most notable woman sparked many whispered conversations.

  In a copse of trees on a hill just beyond those farmlands, Marcalo De'Unnero, too, noted their passing. From the farmers, he had heard that Pony meant to leave Palmaris, and now he was very glad to see that the rumors were true. De'Unnero didn't want to face Jilseponie now, for he believed that any such encounter would end in violence, a battle that would prove disastrous for him, whether he won or lost.

  He waited for more than an hour after the wagon had rolled out of sight, considering his course. Many times during that hour, the former bishop reminded himself that he had controlled his inner beast, despite the ultimate temptation. He had defeated the demon within, and thus was ready to take his rightful place back in the Abellican Order.

  Though what that place might now be, the man could not be sure.

  Marcalo De'Unnero had never marked the days of his life with fear or lack of confidence, and would not do so now. He jumped up from his mossy seat and trotted down the face of the hill onto the road, turning south for Palmaris. The same heads that had regarded Jilseponie's departure turned to mark his approach, but they seemed not to care.

  And why should they? De'Unnero asked himself. He hardly resembled the man they remembered as their bishop, the man who had fled Palmaris months before. He was leaner now, a thick beard upon his face, his black curly hair hanging several inches longer, bouncing at the base of his neck. Indeed, the guards at the open north gate hardly seemed to pay him any notice at all and didn't even ask his name.

  He felt even more invisible as he moved unrecognized along the busy streets of the city, and he found that he did not enjoy that anonymity. Rationally, he knew it to be a good thing-he had not left the folk of Palmaris on good terms, after all! — but still he did not like it, did not like blending into a crowd of people he recognized as his inferiors.

  Soon enough, he came to the front door of St. Precious Abbey, and he paused there, staring at the structure with his emotions churning. The farmers had told him the name of the new abbot, and that alone made him want to spit at the place. Braumin Herde? When De'Unnero had fled the city, the man wasn't even formally a master! And though De'Unnero knew that Markwart had once meant to promote Herde, it was only for political reasons, to quiet the other side, and certainly not the result of anything Braumin Herde had ever accomplished in his mediocre existence.

  De'Unnero stood there, outside the door, for a long time, playing through his emotions and his anger, throwing the negativity aside with conscious reminders that he would have to find a way to fit into the new order of his Abellican brotherhood. "May I help you, brother?" came a question from a monk approaching De'Unnero from the side, a monk whom the former bishop did recognize.

  De'Unnero pulled back his hood and turned a hard stare on the man.

  "Brother? " the oblivious monk asked again.

  "Do you not recognize me, Brother Dissin?" De'Unnero asked rather sharply.

  The younger man glanced up, scrutinizing the speaker, and then his eyes widened.

  "B-bishop De'Unnero," he stammered. "But I–I-had thought-"

  De'Unnero waved at him to stop his blabbering. "Lead me in," he instructed. "Announce me to the new abbot of St. Precious."

  Chapter 7

  Brynn Dharielle

  She edged closer, closer, and the biggest challenge to her, it seemed, was trying hard not to giggle. For though this was considered one of the prime tests of her training, to Brynn Dharielle it was just a game, and an easy one! She blew a strand of her long black hair-hair so dark that it seemed to show all the colors of the rainbow within its depths-from in front of her equally dark eyes and chewed her lip, again to prevent the giggle.

  She saw the white-tailed deer, and it saw her, and it believed her no enemy. As long as she made no sudden movements, no sudden sounds..

  As long as she continued the quiet humming, the song of grazing that she had learned as a very little child, before she had ever come to the land of the Touel'alfar…

  The young girl crouched lower, slowly and deliberately placing one foot ahead and twisting it gently into the moist grass, shifting her weight forward, slowly, slowly.

  Another step. The deer seemed frozen in place now, staring at her intently, and so the girl likewise stopped all movement, even keeping her jaw set, though she continued to hum that coaxing, calming song. The moment of tension passed, and Brynn began to lift her hand, opening it palm up to reveal the sweet, crushed pulossa cane.

  The deer caught the scent, its ears popping straight up, its nose twitching.

  Brynn Dharielle took a slow deep breath, holding her patience, though she wanted to run right up to the beautiful animal. She continued to move delicately and unthreateningly, her hand out. And then, almost anticlimactically, she was there, beside the deer, letting it lap the pulossa cane from her hand while she lovingly stroked its sleek, strong neck and rubbed it behind the ears.

  She knew that she was being watched, monitored, and measured, but she didn't care at that moment. All that mattered was the deer, this beautiful creature, this new friend she had just made. What a wonderful spring day in the most wonderful place in all the world.

  Over in the thicket not so far to the side, Belli'mar Juraviel put his head in his hands and groaned. Did this spirited young lady do anything by the rules? Ever?

  But Juraviel was chuckling, too-and not out of helpless anger, not even out of frustration-but out of sheer surrender. Brynn Dharielle had charmed him, he had to admit. Never had the elf encountered a human female quite like her. She seemed possessed of two spirits: the warrior intensity of the To-gai-ru-the fierce nomadic riders of the steppe region of western Behren-combined with a level of playfulness and impertinence beyond anything Juraviel had ever seen, even in an elf! Her given name was Dharielle Tsochuk, but Lady Dasslerond had quickly added the name Brynn, in honor of the ancient elven heroine credited with aiding in the creation of Andur'Blough Inninness by relinquishing her life and soul to the spirit of a tree that became the heart of the enchanted valley. In the tongue of the Touel'alfar, brynn meant "butterfly," and ironically, there was an elven word very similar to dharielle which meant a bee stinger. So Brynn Dharielle could be translated into "butterfly with a bee stinger," and how appropriate a description Juraviel thought that to be for this little one!

  "You were supposed to be hunting the deer, not befriending it," Juraviel scolded, walking up to Brynn and her newfound pet-and the creature seemed quite relaxed, licking the last remnants of the pulossa cane from the girl's hand.

  "You instructed me to touch the deer," the kneel
ing Brynn Dharielle replied, looking up at Juraviel, her smile gleaming brightly against her brown skin.

  She was indeed a paradox, Juraviel recognized, both physically and emotionally. Her eyes were so bright, yet her irises so black. Her skin, typical of the To-gai-ru, was much darker than that of the people of Honce-theBear, and certainly darker than the smooth and delicate golden-hued skin of the Touel'alfar; and yet on Brynn Dharielle it seemed as if possessed of an inner glow. Inside she was the gentle huntress, the friend of deer and rabbit, and yet she was also a savage warrior, able to turn on primal instincts for survival when the elves brought her out for training in bi'nelle dasada.

  So complex and yet so simple, and so possessed of the finer qualities of both human and elf. This one would do well, Juraviel knew, and he was glad that Lady Dasslerond had given him this task.

  "The point of the lesson was for you to move up to the deer unnoticed," Juraviel tried to explain. "The silent hunter."

  "Is it not better to befriend your enemies or your prey?" Brynn asked innocently. "An easy kill," she said, looking into the deer's huge eyes. Juraviel doubted that claim, doubted if he could ever get Brynn to actually kill a deer unless-or perhaps even if-she was starving.

  "That is not the way we intended the lesson," Juraviel tried to explain.

  "And did you not tell me that I should develop my own style?" Brynn asked without hesitation. Surely Juraviel wanted to drop his head into his hands yet again. The deer turned and started to wander away, and Brynn slapped it on the rump to get it moving more quickly. "Am I to be the imitation of every other ranger, then?" the girl asked, wiping her hands and standing up-and she was almost as tall as Juraviel. "Am I to be Andacanavar the strong, cleaving goblins with my great sword, or Nightbird, perhaps-the great Nightbird who went to Mount Aida to wage battle against the greatest enemy of all?" Her voice trailed away and she looked down.

  For a cloud had crossed over Juraviel's fair face.

  "I am sorry," Brynn offered.

  Juraviel held up his hand, then lifted his face and managed a smile. "No," he said. "No need for any apology; and no, you are not to be an imitation of any other ranger. In the case of the two you just named, though, I assure you that some imitation would not be a bad thing."

  "Mostly of Nightbird, right?" Brynn asked. "Tell me about him again."

  "There is so much to tell," Juraviel replied.

  "And we have all the day!" Brynn said happily. "You thought it would take me all day to pat the deer and yet it is still not midmorning and I have passed the test."

  Juraviel wanted to dispute that, but he found, against the girl's disarming smile, that he could not. He suspected that Brynn had asked him about Elbryan the Nightbird only to heal any wounds she might have caused by her mentioning the dead ranger, but when he saw the joy and eagerness on her face and that dazzling and innocent-and yet he knew not so innocent! smile, he could not resist.

  And so he led her to a mossy bank, sat her down, and told her of Elbryan, the lost boy who had watched his town of Dundalis sacked by goblins; of Elbryan, the impetuous youngster, headstrong and prideful, who had so frustrated Tuntun of the Touel'alfar. And he told her of Nightbird, the man Elbryan had become, as mighty a ranger as Andur'Blough Inninness had ever produced; of Nightbird, who had gone to Aida to battle the demon dactyl and who had traveled back to the civilized lands to continue the battle against the demon's eternal spirit. With tears filling his eyes Belli'mar Juraviel told her of Nightbird, who had given his life to save thi world.

  Juraviel closed his eyes and described how Nightbird's caisson wa pulled by the centaur and then by Symphony, the most wondrous horse i: all the world, through the streets of the great city of Palmaris, through th farmlands, and to the north to the town that had been his home. When he finished, Juraviel opened his eyes, to find Brynn standing right before him, her expression full of sympathy and sadness. "Thank you," she said and she gave her elven mentor a hug.

  Juraviel led the girl away, along the spring-blossoming slopes and wooded thickets of the elven valley of Andur'Blough Inninness, back toward the heart of the enclave, the deepest part of the forest, sprinkled with tree houses and low, unobtrusive cottages. This was Caer'alfar, the home of the people, a place of song and of dance, of poetry and philosophy, and the spouting of wisdom gained in centuries of living. This was the very heart of the Touel'alfar, now as it had been for millennia, a place that many of the elven folk had believed eternal. But in the day of the dactyl, Lady Dasslerond had gone out to save Juraviel and some human refugees he had gathered together. The demon dactyl had come upon them and would have destroyed them all, but Dasslerond had used her potent magic, a powerful emerald gemstone, to transport herself, Juraviel, the humans, and, unintentionally, Bestesbulzibar, back to the elven valley; and there, before he ran away in defeat, Bestesbulzibar had left his lingering scar, a rot that infested the very ground and was slowly spreading.

  On their way to Caer'alfar, Juraviel and Brynn passed that region of disease, and though a couple of years had passed the infection had not spread very far at all, only to a single tree, and that tree was still alive, though not blooming as vibrantly as in years past. To a human, the disease would not have seemed such a threat, but to the elves, who measured time so differently-who viewed the passing of a year as a human might view a monthit seemed as if Bestesbulzibar had begun a fire.

  Juraviel winced at the sight, as he always did, for he could clearly see the illness within the tree, and he knew that it had come about because of his own choices. Perhaps he should have left the human refugees and continued on his quest for Aida with Nightbird and Jilseponie and Brother Avelyn. Lady Dasslerond had only gone out to face Bestesbulzibar, after all, because one of her own, one of the people, was out there. If Juraviel had been true to the tenets that guided the Touel'alfar, then the refugees would have been slain; but to the elven way of thinking, a few human lives were not worth the price of the rot within Andur'Blough Inninness. To the true elven way of thinking, the rot was too high a price to pay, even to save all the humans in the world.

  More than a few of Juraviel's brethren had reminded him of that fact these last months, this springtime bloom of illness. None had openly accused him, of course, but their songs reflected a melancholy, a wistfulness for what had been and what could never be again; and every reference shot a dart of pain into Belli'mar Juraviel's heart.

  His bright spot now was Brynn Dharielle, the butterfly with a bee stinger, the spirited lass who reminded Juraviel of why he had come to love Nightbird and Pony, even Avelyn and Roger Lockless. To Juraviel, Brynn embodied the best qualities of humanity, and he did not doubt that she would become one of the finest rangers, that her reputation would rise high among the ranks that included Terranen Dinoniel, half elf; Elbryan and Mather Wyndon; mighty Andacanavar of Alpinador; and the legendary heroes, Bimriel the wise and A'juge, who led Brother AUabarnet of the Abellican Church throughout the Wilderlands, seeding the inhospitable forest with bountiful fruit trees.

  Brynn Dharielle, who had such trials ahead of her when she returned to her enslaved people of To-gai-ru, would take her rightful place, Juraviel believed, and he was thrilled that Lady Dasslerond had placed the girl in his care. Except…

  "When will I get to see him again? " Brynn asked innocently, and Juraviel knew of whom she was speaking.

  He shrugged and wanted to let it go at that. But the girl, true to her spirit, persisted. "Tell me, please," she said, rushing about Juraviel and intercepting him, forcing him to look at her directly. "The child-have you even named him yet? — when will I see him again? I would love to hold him and rock him to sleep, as my own mother used to do."

  Juraviel had no answer for her-none that she would want to hear, at least. Lady Dasslerond had made it quite clear to him that neither he nor Brynn was to have any contact at all with the child of Nightbird and Jilseponie. As great as that pain was for Juraviel, he knew that it was stronger for young Brynn. She wanted to see another hum
an being; what could be more instinctual? Juraviel understood his own longing whenever he ventured out of Andur'Blough Inninness for too long. Humans needed the company of humans as much as the Touel'alfar needed others of their own kind. True, almost every one of the other rangers had gone through training without human contact, Nightbird included. But in this rare case, the elves had taken two humans in at the same time, and that knowledge of proximity, of possibility, made the girl's heart long all the more for human companionship.

  Even more than that, Brynn repeatedly told Juraviel that she could help care for the child, and promised with all her heart that she would do a good job; and Juraviel understood the truth of her claim even better than she. Both Brynn and the child would greatly benefit, he knew.

  "If I pass your test the way you intended?" Brynn asked, her smile ever hopeful. "If I sneak up on the deer and slap it hard on the rump instead of letting it know me as a friend? "

  Belli'mar Juraviel took a long, deep breath, changing his focus from the girl's beaming face to the image of rot within the valley, the disease that had come from the actions of Touel'alfar who bent the rules-even as Juraviel had done by transforming duty to friendship with n'Touel'alfar, by Dasslerond in bringing both Juraviel and the humans back to the valley, thus opening the way for Bestesbulzibar; by Nightbird for teaching Pony bi'nelle dasada, the most secretive elven fighting technique. So many of their guiding principles had been temporarily abandoned, and Juraviel had to admit the truth: had the true elven tenets been followed, though the human world might be a darker place, Andur'Blough Inninness would remain healthy and the threat that valuable elven secrets would soon be in the hands of humans would be nonexistent. He pictured the rot and reminded himself of all of that, and so his words came out more sternly than poor Brynn could ever have expected.