Mortalis dw-4

by Robert Salvatore

  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

  Borne on Wings of Desperation

  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.

  "What happened? " he asked repeatedly. "Did you defeat it? "

  Pony's expression spoke volumes. Roger slumped to the floor, fighting hard against the sobs.

  Pony gathered her own strength-she had to, for Roger-and went to him, dropping her hand on his heaving shoulder.

  "We do not surrender," she assured him. "We will use the herbal poultices and syrups on her, as many as we can make. And I will go back to her with the gemstone. I promise I will."

  Roger looked at her squarely. "You will not save her," he said.

  Pony could not rightfully disagree.

  They huddled on the field before St. Belfour as they huddled before all the other abbeys in Honce-the-Bear, the pitiful plague victims praying for help that would not come. For the rosy plague, in all its fury, in all its indifference to the screams of the suffering, had come to Vanguard.

  Inside St. Belfour, the scene was no less one of distress. The plague hadn't crept into the halls of the abbey yet, but for the brothers of St. Belfour-gentle Brother Dellman and all those trained under the compassionate guidance of Abbot Agronguerre-witnessing such horrendous suffering in their fellow Vanguardsmen was profoundly upsetting. After the initial reports of the plague in Vanguard had filtered into St. Belfour, Abbot Haney and Brother Dellman had huddled in Haney's office, arguing their course of action. The two had never truly disagreed, yet neither had they been in a state of agreement, both of them wavering back and forth, to help or not to help. They knew Church doctrine concerning the rosy plague-it was written prominently in the guiding books of every Abellican abbeybut these were not men who willingly turned their backs on people in need. And so they argued and they shouted, they banged their hands in frustration on Haney's great desk and thumped their heads against the walls.

  But in the end, they did as the Church instructed; they locked their gates. They tried to be generous to the gathered victims, tried to pers
uade them to return to their homes; and when that failed, they offered them as many supplies as they could spare. And the crowd, understanding the generosity and much closer to the brethren of the region than were the folk of many southern cities to their abbeys, had complied with Abbot Haney's requests. The gathered victims had formed two groups, with a distinctive space in between them so that the monks could go out on their daily tasks, mostly collecting food-much of which would be turned over to the plague victims.

  Still, for all the cooperation and all the understanding on both sides of St. Belfour's imposing wall, Haney and Dellman remained miserable prisoners, sealed in by the sounds of suffering, by their own helplessness. Every day and every night, they heard them.

  "I cannot suffer this," Dellman advised his abbot one morning. He had just come from the wall, from viewing the bodies of those who had died the previous night, including two children.

  Abbot Haney held up his hands. He had no answers, obviously; there was no darker and more secluded place to hide.

  "I will go out to them," Brother Dellman announced.

  "To what end?"

  Now it was Dellman's turn to shrug. "I pray that you will afford me a single soul stone, that I might try, at least, to alleviate some of the suffering."

  "Ye're knowin' the old songs, I trust," Abbot Haney replied, but he was not scolding. "And ye know where the Church stands concernin' this."

  "Of course," Dellman replied. "The chances are greater that I will become afflicted than that I will actually cure anybody. I, we, are supposed to lock the gates and block our ears, sit within our abbeys-as long as we do not contract the plague-and speak of the higher aspects of life and of faith." He gave a chuckle, a helpless and sarcastic sound. "We are to discuss how many angels might kneel upon our thumbnails in ceremonies of mutual prayer, or other such vital issues."

  "Brother Dellman," Abbot Haney remarked, before the man could gain any momentum.

  Dellman relented and nodded, understanding that his friend was as pained by all this as he was.

  They stood facing each other quietly for a long while.

  "I am leaving the abbey," Brother Dellman announced. "I cannot suffer this. Will you give me a soul stone? "

  Abbot Haney smiled and turned his stare to the room's only window. He couldn't even see out of it from his angle, for the opening was narrow and the surrounding stone wall thick; and even if he could have seen through it, the view was of nothing but the trees of the hills behind St. Belfour. But Haney didn't actually have to see outside to view the scene in his mind.

  "Do not leave the abbey," he said quietly.

  "I must," said Dellman, shaking his head slowly and deliberately.

  "Ye canno' suffer this," said Haney, "nor can I. Don't ye leave the abbey, for we'll soon throw wide our gates and let the sufferers in."

  Dellman's eyes widened with shock, still shaking his head, even more forcefully now at this unexpected and frightening proclamation. "Th-this is something I must do," he stammered, not wanting to drag his brethren down his own chosen path of doom. "I did not mean…"

  "Are ye thinkin' that I'm not hearin' their cries? " Haney asked.

  "But the other brothers…"

  "Will be gettin' a choice," Haney explained. "I'll tell them me plans, and tell them there's no dishonor in takin' a boat I'm charterin' for the south, for the safety o' St.-Mere-Abelle. Let them go who will-they'll be welcomed well enough by Abbot Agronguerre in the big abbey. And for St. Belfour, we'll make her a house o' healin'. Or oftryin', at least." He rose from his seat and came around the desk, nodding his head for every shake that Dellman gave of his. When he got close to the man, Dellman broke down, falling over Haney and wrapping him in a hug of appreciation and relief. For Holan Dellman was truly terrified, and Haney's bold decision had just lent him strength when he most needed it.

  "You should not be here, my friend," Prince Midalis said to Andacanavar when the ranger arrived unexpectedly at Pireth Vanguard. "Our fears have come true: the plague is thick about the land. Run north to your home, my friend, to the clean air ofAlpinador."

  "Not so clean," Andacanavar said gravely, and Midalis understood.

  "I have no answers for you," he replied. "We have recipes for salves and the like that will ease the suffering, so it is said, but they'll not cure the plague."

  "Perhaps the winter, then," Andacanavar said. "Perhaps the cold of winter will drive the plague from our lands."

  Prince Midalis nodded hopefully and supportively, but he knew the grim truth of the rosy plague, and he suspected that the fierce Alpinadoran weather would only make the plague even more terrible for those suffering from it.

  She went at the plague again, and was again overwhelmed. She tried different gemstone combinations-and many of the previous ones-and was again and again overwhelmed. They used the salves and the syrups and their prayers, all to little or no avail. Pony quickly came to realize that she would not save Dainsey, and also strongly suspected that this infection, so brutal and complete, would be the one to get her, that her attempts with Dainsey would spell her doom. And yet she understood that she could not stop trying. Every time she looked at Roger's heartbroken expression, she knew that she had to try.

  One evening after her latest miserable attempt, the exhausted Pony rode Greystone out of Dundalis to the north, to the grove and the little hollow she used for Oracle. She was going to Elbryan this night, as much to inform him that she believed she might soon be joining him as to garner any particular insights. She just needed his spirit at that moment, needed to know in her heart that he was close to her.

  Such a dark night was coming on by the time she got to the hollow that Pony had to set a candle just outside the opening, using its meager light to give her enough of a view of the mirror to recognize the shadowy images within that other realm. She sat back and half closed her eyes, her focus solely on the mirror, her heart leaping out in a plaintive call to her Elbryan. And then she was comforted, for he was there, in the cave with her.

  And then she was confused, for Elbryan's shadowy silhouette faded, replaced by another indistinct image, one that Pony could not make out for a long, long while.

  And then it came clearer to her, combining with memories of a long-ago time in a faraway place.

  Avelyn's hand.

  "She's clear to the stream, and that's where ye should be settin' yer camp," Bradwarden said to Pony.

  "And you will look beyond it tonight, while I am at work with Dainsey?" the woman asked.

  The centaur gave her a scowl. "Ye get yerself some sleep tonight," he demanded. "Ye been runnin' yerself straight for the five days since we left Dundalis. Ye got Symphony tired, and that's not a thing I've seen done before."

  Pony started to argue, but wound up just nodding her head, for his words were true. She had gone straight back to Dundalis after her vision at Oracle, had roused Roger and Dainsey, and then had gone out from the town, sending her thoughts wide and far for Symphony, magnificent Symphony, the only horse in all the world strong enough to get her and Dainsey to the Barbacan and Mount Aida in time to save poor Dainsey.

  The horse had come to her almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for this very moment, as if Symphony-with that intelligence that was not human but seemed in so many ways to be beyond human-had known that he and Pony would make this journey.

  Perhaps that was exactly it, Pony dared to believe. Symphony had been intimately connected to both Elbryan and Avelyn through the turquoise gemstone. Perhaps those same spirits that had imparted the image to Pony at Oracle had done the same to Symphony through the continuing magic of the turquoise.

  Pony had to believe that, for the sake of Dainsey and of herself and of all the world.

  They had set out that same night-and wasn't Roger heartbroken when Pony explained without room for debate that he would not be joining them, that Greystone, for all his strength and desire, could not begin to match the pace they needed to set with Symphony. Two days north of Dundali
s, Pony had found unexpected assistance when they had come upon Bradwarden; and the centaur, with the strength and stamina of a horse and the intelligence of a human, had agreed to scout the fields and trails ahead of them long into each night, then report back to her on the best and fastest course.

  And how swiftly Symphony, though carrying both Pony and Dainsey, had run that course. Pony had aided Symphony's effort with the malachitemagically lightening the load-and with the hematite-spirit-walking and leaching some of the strength from creatures, deer mostly, along the road, then imparting it to the stallion. Now, five days out, they had covered hundreds of miles. The ring of mountains that marked the Barbacan was already in sight.

  It was a good thing, too, Pony knew. For though she had spent every night with Dainsey, using the soul stone to try to beat back the edges of the encroaching plague, and though she had coated the woman in salve, Dainsey was nearing her bitter end. She couldn't even reply to Pony anymore, spent her days and nights in delirium. Her eyes rolled open and closed, unseeing; her words, when she said anything, were jumbled and confused. Dainsey could die at any moment, Pony knew; so she could only pray that the woman would live long enough to get to the flattened top of Mount Aida, and that Pony's interpretation of the vision would prove correct.

  The thought of going back to Roger with news that Dainsey had died nearly broke her heart.

  They traveled to the stream and set camp. Bradwarden lingered about the area for a while, then disappeared into the forest to scout the road ahead. To Pony's surprise, he returned a short while later, looking none too pleased.

  "Goblins," he said. "Ye knew we'd meet up with the scum."

  "How many? " she asked, scooping up her sword and buckling it about her waist, then checking her pouch ofgemstones.

  "Small tribe," Bradwarden asked. "I might be finding a way around them."

  Pony shook her head. "No time."

  "Now what're ye thinkin'?" the centaur asked. "If ye go in there throwin' yer fireballs, then ye're likely to bring hosts o' the creatures down upon us. I'll find us another road."