The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga)

by R. A. Salvatore

  Sadye found herself drifting over to the table, taking a seat to the side of Orrin.

  “There is no alternative to the Abellican Church in Honce-the-Bear, of course,” Orrin went on. “And events of recent years have shown us that the Church is not as stable as many believe. They covet their gemstones as proof of their god, and as their source of power.”

  “The Brotherhood does not seek power from the stones?”

  “Always there is the sarcasm of young and pretty Sadye.”

  That statement put the woman back in her seat, and she felt a flush come to her cheeks.

  “Power and wealth, yes,” Orrin explained. “Of course, there is always that, and to some, it is the ultimate goal.”

  “Like your red-haired friend.”

  “Indeed. But to others, the luxury afforded by the items is the penultimate goal. Behind the understanding, you see, and the craftsmanship, and the delving into the secrets of magic itself. That is the real purpose of our little network of wizards. The rest of it, moving items, selling items, is all to provide the environment we need. Most of us aspire to comfort only because in that wealth we can find the time we need to try to craft an item of our own: our legacy, and our gift to those who will come after us.”

  Sadye didn’t quite understand everything Orrin was talking about, but the man’s demeanor struck her profoundly. She had never seen him this intense, and the weight of his words and his involvement with them pressed in on her.

  “Worry not about my redheaded comrade,” Orrin assured her, and that alone clued Sadye into her own slack-jawed expression. She straightened and composed herself.

  “He is a blustering fool, the likes of which you will meet often in your life, I assure you,” Orrin went on, and his face brightened and he stood straight. “The world has changed so dramatically over the last years, with the coming of the demon and its minions and the advent of the plague. But the Brotherhood has survived greater trials in the past! We must hold firm to the principles that have so long guided our way, though some would seek an easier course. Fear not the fools.”

  Sadye nodded, not really knowing how to respond, not really understanding what Orrin was talking about.

  *****

  Sadye let her head roll with the bouncing of the wagon as she sat up on the bench beside Orrin. Her thoughts remained on that meeting with the red-haired man and Orrin’s explanation to her that his was a calling beyond the promises of wealth offered by smuggling.

  In her youth and inexperience, Sadye couldn’t quite grasp the depth of that argument, and honestly wasn’t sure that she could even understand why anyone would want to spend a decade or more in the sole pursuit of creating a single item, no matter how beautiful or powerful that item might be. Still, something about Orrin’s oration — perhaps it was the sheer intensity in his old gray eyes, an uncharacteristic flash of true life — had caught Sadye’s attention and had held it through all the days since the meeting.

  For his part, Orrin had said no more about it, nor about the red-haired man. “Do not fret about it,” he had answered Sadye’s every question, and usually with a dismissive wave of his hand and a denigrating chuckle.

  What he had done to mitigate Sadye’s curiosity, however, was to allow her open and continual access to the hematite-lined lute. She even had it now, on the open road, safely tucked under the bench seat, instead of in the crate settled in the back of the wagon. And most amazing of all, Orrin had told her that he would not sell it unless the purchase price included another lute of master craftsmanship, if not magical enhancement.

  As she thought about the lute now, Sadye’s eyes drifted down to the hollow below the bench seat.

  “Do take it out and play,” Orrin bade her, and when she looked at him, he was smiling widely. “I so enjoy your music, girl. You bring the exuberance of youth and the passion of life’s love to every string you pluck.”

  “When I can decide which string I should strike next,” Sadye replied.

  “Ah yes,” Orrin said with a laugh, “and the indecision of so many wondrous possibilities! You are not tied to the designs of those who came before you, nor the adult’s fears of humiliation.”

  “So you believe that my playing humiliates me?”

  That brought another laugh, this one straight from Orrin’s belly. “If I did, would I beg you now to play for me?”

  Sadye reached under the bench and produced the lute, bringing it reverently to her lap. Despite her little jibe with Orrin, the young woman knew that she had talent. Orrin called it “an ear for the strands of natural music playing all about her,” and Sadye considered that an apt description. It was almost as if she heard music in her head and had a natural ability to filter that music through her fingers and onto the strings of the lute. She wasn’t a great player — she knew that! — for she had only begun to realize all the possibilities of sound the lute presented to her. Nor could she yet manipulate her fingers to quickly and in rhythm take advantage of the possibilities she did understand.

  Sadye quieted then and sat up straighter in her seat. She closed her eyes and found those songs flitting all about her, the rhythms of the world, and then she began to play.

  She found melody quickly and settled into a cadence, and was barely aware that her cadence was being strengthened by the percussion of hoofbeats.

  It took Sadye a long while, and even took the pressure of Orrin’s hand clenching her arm, before she stopped her playing and opened her eyes to the world around her.

  “Riders?” she asked.

  Orrin nodded and motioned with his chin behind, and when Sadye turned, she noted the approach of a trio of riders, charging hard to catch up to the wagon.

  “Kingsmen,” Orrin explained. “Fear not, for they’ll believe me to be an honest merchant.” He tossed Sadye a wink. “Especially since I’m traveling with my beautiful and talented daughter.”

  Sadye grinned; she understood that this was one of the reasons Orrin had bade her to stay on, after all. “Your beautiful and talented daughter who is not possessed of an adult’s fears of humiliating herself.”

  “Yes, there is always that,” Orrin quipped without the slightest hesitation, and Sadye’s grin widened.

  She began to play again, but couldn’t help but glance back as the trio came thundering by the wagon, two going left, past Orrin, and the third galloping his mount right beside Sadye. She watched the soldier with sincere interest, even awe. He wore a full helm and a metal breastplate, with sleeves and a skirt of interlocking chain links, and shiny black boots that sported large spurs. A broadsword was strapped on one hip, bouncing as his horse galloped past. That horse, a chestnut whose coat glistened with sweat, was tall and strong, an impressive creature, though not as much so as the magnificent To-gai ponies used by the more elite of Ursal’s soldiers, the Allheart Brigade.

  To young Sadye, this soldier, this dashing warrior, elicited the dreams of wide horizons, the thoughts of adventure and freedom. She watched him ride up alongside the wagon’s trotting horse and grab it by the bridle, then bring it and the wagon to a fast stop as his two companions rode up beside him.

  “Whoa! Good soldiers of King Danube!” Orrin said, and he pulled back his reins, halting the progress of the wagon completely. “All you needed to do was ask, of course! I am an honest merchant, bound for Maer’kin Duvval with my beautiful and talented daughter.

  The soldier centering the trio lifted the faceplate on his great helmet. “Your name, good sir merchant.”

  “Orrin Davii, of the Ursal Daviis.”

  “I know not your family.”

  Orrin shrugged. “We are not of noble blood. Merchants, one and all, serving in loyalty to the line of Ursal.” He stood up and bowed as he finished.

  “Then serve him now, Merchant Davii,” said the soldier. “Come down from your seat and show us your wares.”

  “But they are all packed!”

  “Then unpack them.”

  The seriousness of the soldier’s response s
et off an alarm within Sadye, a sudden feeling that not everything here was as it seemed. She glanced at Orrin for consolation, but found that, despite his smile, his movements betrayed a similar uneasiness.

  Apparently feeling her stare, Orrin subtly motioned her to stay calm, then stiffly descended from the wagon, his old joints creaking after hours on the bouncy road. He moved back, followed closely by two of the soldiers, while the third, the one who had passed by Sadye’s side, continued to hold the bridle of the draft horse.

  Again Sadye felt her heart flutter at the sight of him, so tall and strong in the saddle on so fine a mount.

  Sadye finally managed to tear her gaze away and look back, to see Orrin leaning over the back of the wagon, trying to pull one of the crates back. The two soldiers had dismounted, but made no move to help, standing to either side of the old man.

  Something about their posture, about the way one’s hand kept moving near to the pommel of his sword, had the hairs on the back of Sadye’s neck standing up. She widened her scan instinctively, looking past the pair, and noted a fourth rider back down the road, milling about in the shadows under a few trees they had just passed. From this distance and under that cover, she couldn’t make out his features, but she could hardly miss his red and curly hair.

  Eyes wide now, Sadye glanced back at Orrin, and saw the man beside him draw forth a short sword.

  “Orrin!” she cried, but she knew it was too late and that she couldn’t possibly warn the old man in time. She stood up so fast that she nearly tumbled off the wagon.

  Had Orrin Davii needed her warning, he surely would have been slain, but the old man was no fool, and knew the difference between an honest inspection on the road and a pretense for a murder. He spun about, one hand on his belt buckle, the other reaching inside the folds of his robe, even as the soldier moved to strike.

  Sadye screamed, and then nearly fell over again as a sudden surge of bluish-white energy erupted from Orrin’s belt. That stumble actually saved her life, for the soldier up front came charging past, his sword slashing across in a swipe that would have beheaded her had she still been fully upright.

  She tried to register the scene, to get past the shock and surprise. She saw the rider cut about the back of the wagon, saw Orrin produce a thin metal wand, its end open, or at least concave. Beside her master, the two soldiers squirmed on the ground weirdly, jerking in spasms the likes of which Sadye had never before witnessed.

  She took it all in at once, eyes darting all about, but then they fixed on the remaining soldier alone, on his strong posture, sword high. Somewhere in her thoughts, she heard the sharp ring of metal, and then she watched, mesmerized, as the faceplate of the soldier’s helm folded in, as his head jerked back violently and as the back of that helm blew off, a crimson gore spraying into the air.

  His horse kept going, brushing past Orrin and knocking the old man hard against the back of the wagon and then to the ground.

  Despite her fears for Orrin, Sadye could not take her eyes off the spectacle of the rider, still sitting upright, still holding his sword, though he was obviously quite dead. His horse continued its canter far to the side of the road before stopping, and only then did the man seem to register that he was indeed dead. Slowly, he slipped off the side, tumbling hard to the ground.

  Sadye looked back, and so dry was her mouth that she could not even scream out! For there lay Orrin, beside the two soldiers, one of whom was lying quite still now, while the other was trying futilely to rise to his feet, on legs that wobbled weakly and buckled. Those two hardly mattered, though, for in the moments she had been looking away, the redhead had come in. He stood over Orrin now, a long dagger drawn and tip-in at Orrin’s heart.

  Hardly even registering the movement, Sadye brought her lute up and began to gently touch the strings.

  “I offered you wealth beyond your understanding!” the redhead shouted at the prone wizard. “You fool! Together we could have done so much. But I need you not, you see? The soldiers are not so stupid as Orrin Davii. They see the value of gold, while you revel in the glory of the spirits of men long dead!”

  The redhead spat on helpless Orrin, who closed his eyes. Behind them, the soldier fell over yet again.

  “Join them, fool!” the redhead cried and he gave a growl and retracted his arm just a bit, as if to strike.

  And indeed, he meant to do just that. But somewhere between his backstroke and the killing thrust, a thought intervened, a suggestion carried on the waves of gentle and beautiful music.

  The redhead held there, motionless, listening, enchanted, as the moments slipped past.

  Sadye watched Orrin open his eyes, to stare incredulously at his would-be killer. Finally, as if he suddenly recognized the music, Orrin turned to regard her.

  She played on, filling her notes with suggestions of peace and quiet, with emotions soft and tender, denying the redhead his fury and his intent. The soul stone caught those emotions and projected them forth.

  Sadye watched while Orrin slowly moved his hand out to retrieve the small wand, which had fallen to the side. He clasped it and unobtrusively turned its tip toward his attacker.

  A sudden ring of stone on metal jolted Sadye from her playing. She reflexively went back to it – or started to, for she realized that there was no need.

  The redhead still stood over Orrin, holding his knife, or what remained of it. For the blade had been snapped in half. Eyes wide, the murderer staggered backwards and tried to straighten, and only then did Sadye realize that the snapped blade had shot straight into the man’s belly. He reached down and clutched at his wound, blood and entrails spilling forth.

  Orrin retracted one leg and kicked him hard in the gut, and he tumbled away, groaning in agony.

  “Keep playing,” Orrin bade Sadye as he shakily climbed to his feet. “Put thoughts of healing in your song, dear girl, but please aim it only at me!”

  Sadye hardly knew how to react. Thoughts of healing? What was this all about? She knew that she had affected the murderer, but how? And now Orrin was hinting that she could produce some healing effect upon him alone, through the music?

  It made no sense, even in light of all that Orrin had told her of the Brotherhood and the enchanted items.

  She looked from her lute back to Orrin. “More than one lodestone in the wand,” he said, offering her a sly wink. “A devilish gem, with a powerful” – he glanced at the redhead – “and deadly attraction to metal.”

  Sadye started to ask one of the million questions that was swirling about in her thoughts, but she stopped short, noticing a movement from the red-haired man. He rolled over suddenly, his face a mask of pain and outrage, and she noted a flash of red – a red gemstone, she thought.

  And then she felt all hot and flushed.

  And then she was flying backwards.

  She hit the ground hard and lay there stunned for a long while, and when she finally managed to look back up, she saw the wagon ablaze and saw Orrin’s horse galloping down the road, trailing fiery reins. She heard the screams, of three of the murderers’ horses, fleeing in all directions, and of the men behind the wagon. She saw one go rushing out, flapping his arms, immersed in fire, and she looked away in horror, knowing that it had to be Orrin!

  What was she to do? She scrambled to her feet and patted out some of her smoking black hair, then brought a hand up gingerly to touch her pained face.

  What was she to do?

  Across the way, the remaining horse reared and whinnied, pawing the ground beside its dead master.

  The image of that man riding past her flashed in her thoughts again, the sense of freedom that he had evoked, so tall and sure and swift on his great steed.

  They were all dead now, she knew, the murderers and Orrin, and the goods all ruined. All that remained were Sadye and that one agitated and intimidating horse.

  And the lute, she realized, and she bent down and picked it up.

  She began to play as she approached the horse, and by the
time she arrived beside the beast, it was standing quite still, and its frantic whinny had turned to a soft nicker.

  THE END

  THE EDUCATION OF BROTHER THADDIUS

  This is madness! Master De’Unnero St.-Mere-Abelle at the head of a great army, beside the son of Elbryan and Jilseponie, the boy who declared himself king, the boy who should be king!

  Does lineage not matter? And is there a more worthy heir to the throne of Honce-the-Bear than the son of the heroes of the Demon War? Particularly when one of those heroes is the Lady Jilseponie, the Disciple of Avelyn. By all accounts there is no one in the world more powerful with the sacred Ring Stones. Surely she is blessed by God.

  And therein lies my madness, my confusion, and my pain. The measure of holiness rests in affinity to the gemstones – of this, I am sure. I have been ordained as an Abellican monk for only two years, but before that, I trained in the nunneries, or more precisely, I was tested there, repeatedly. I did not understand my training at that time, for I was not allowed to handle the sacred Ring Stones, of course. None of us were. But the stones were being handled, quietly, all about us, as those who would decide which lucky few could enter the class of God’s’Year 845 at St.-Mere-Abelle determined which held affinity to the stones.

  Not everyone can use them. Fewer still can use them well. I am one of those few; there is no doubt in the mind of the Masters and Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy as to my proficiency. I am the youngest student ever to be allowed to light the diamond sconces of many of the lower halls of St.-Mere-Abelle, and I can do so with the intensity one would normally see from a Tenth-Year Immaculate, or a Master, even!

  Brother Avelyn was blessed in the stones, and was declared a heretic and murderer, and hunted by the Church.

  The new powers of St.-Mere-Abelle have reversed that edict wholeheartedly, and there are whispers that Brother Avelyn will soon be beatified, and almost certainly sainted soon after that.