“He is a Samhaist,” Ohwan said with open disgust. “Need I list to you the atrocities of that foul religion?”
“Need I recount for you the image of the skin curling from the bones of goodly and godly Master Jojonah?” Father Abbot Braumin countered.
The hateful look Abbot Ohwan flashed him at that served as a warning of things to come, Braumin knew.
“What would you have, Abbot Arri?” Braumin asked.
“I would take Sister Mary Ann back to St. Gwendolyn with me, if she will,” he answered. “Her reputation is without blemish.”
“Until this,” Abbot Ohwan said with a sneer.
“I will not denounce Elliot,” Mary Ann insisted. “Nor will I pretend that my love for him is no more.”
“But you wish to remain an Abellican?” Braumin asked.
Mary Ann hesitated and looked to Arri. “Yes,” she then answered.
“Are you sure?”
“I am sure of nothing anymore, Father Abbot,” she answered honestly. “I thought my life settled and complete, but Marcalo De’Unnero and his followers showed me differently.”
Braumin nodded, and bade her to go into the anteroom that they might discuss their decision, and when it came to that moment of truth, Father Abbot Braumin was greatly surprised and greatly relieved to discover that he would not have to exercise his greater rank to break the tie, for Abbot Dusibol voted Sister Mary Ann innocent along with Arri and Braumin, and Abbot Ohwan, frustrated as he was, had no recourse and so agreed to accept the decision.
“All that we ask of you,” Braumin explained to Mary Ann later on, “is that if ever you learn something of the Samhaists that is important to our Church, to your Church, that you not be silent.”
“You would have me be your spy?”
“I would have you be honest,” Braumin replied immediately. “To us and to your love. Should you come to see the Samhaist way as suited to your heart, then you must renounce your position in the Abellican Church. Until you have done so, you must never forget your responsibilities to St. Gwendolyn-by-the-Sea and to the other abbeys and chapels. If the Samhaists plan to return in large numbers and vie with us for the hearts of Honce, then we will know of it, Sister Mary Ann.”
She started to argue, but Braumin cut her short in no uncertain terms.
“When we go back out among the others, there will be calls for you to be executed, sister,” he said harshly, and Mary Ann stiffened her jaw and did not blink. “Do you understand what Abbot Arri and I, and even Abbot Dusibol, have offered to you? In any normal time, you would be found guilty of heresy and burned alive. Or even if mercy were to be shown, you would have you head shaven and would be stripped of your robes, outcast from the Order of St. Abelle forever. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, Father Abbot,” she said quietly, and humbly.
“But these are not normal times,” Braumin went on. “Abbot Arri trusts you, and needs you, as do I. You accept our offer to remain in the Church, so you cannot dismiss the responsibilities that comes with the white robe you wear.”
“Yes Father Abbot,” she said.
“Good then, it is settled. Be true to your heart, sister, in all matters.”
When they went back out among the others, and Sister Mary Ann took her place beside Arri and Mars, Braumin’s prediction came true, and indeed calls of “Burn her!” erupted in the hall, and so began another great argument, like all the others before it.
Except this time, Father Abbot Braumin would not hear it. He slammed down the gavel repeatedly, demanding quiet, and when finally it came, he spoke with the voice of Avelyn, and Jojonah, and Jilseponie, and Mullahy, and Francis even, he spoke with the voice of all who had stood up against the abomination that had festered in his beloved Abellican Church.
“We are Avelyn!” he shouted. “We are not Markwart! We are Jojonah – Saint Jojonah, I say, and so I will I prove! We are Jilseponie, who battle the demon dactyl beside Avelyn, and who should now be sitting as Mother Abbess of our Order – would any have dared vote against her?”
The Father Abbot paused there again, but not a sound was to be heard in the hall.
Pointedly, staring at the contingent from St. Honce, he finished, “We are not Marcalo De’Unnero.”
And so the debate of Sister Mary Ann ended, but had Father Abbot Braumin glanced her way with his final proclamation, he might have noticed the scowl that crossed the face of Master Mars, standing right beside her.
*****
“I’ve rarely seen a man pout for so long without reprieve,” Diamanda teased Thaddius as they gathered about the fire on their third night out of St.-Mere-Abelle. The weather was cold and miserable, with cold rain, sleet, and even snow taking turns falling on the adventuring foursome.
Still, the other three knew well that Diamanda wasn’t talking about the dreary weather. The three sisters, so thrilled at being able to fully realize their dreams in joining the Abellican Church, so excited about the possibilities Pagonel had shown to them and their remarkable progress in just a few weeks of intense training, could not be muted by clouds and cold rain. Their steps could not be slowed by the mud.
And they had embraced Brother Thaddius fully, their every discussion in the days before their departure pertaining to how they could properly incorporate him into their defensive formation for maximum effect, or of how they had to protect him, so proficient with the Ring Stones, at all costs. When they had left St.-Mere-Abelle, Father Abbot Braumin had told them all that Thaddius was considered the leader of the band, and not one of the sisters had protested publicly or privately.
But Thaddius wouldn’t engage them, wouldn’t answer their talk with anything more than a noncommittal grunt, and wouldn’t even look any of them in the eye. His every expression exuded disgust.
And he was disgusted, and thoroughly, and not only by the inclusion of so many sisters, which before had been a matter of tokenism and nothing substantial, but by the inclusion of unworthy individuals, like Elysant, who could not use the Ring Stones, or even Diamanda, who could barely bring forth their powers. Thaddius had left friends who could not enter the Church with him those few years ago, and most of them, in his mind, were far more worthy than these three.
He had complained about that very thing to Father Abbot Braumin on the day of their departure, and Braumin had promised that he would go back and call upon many of the brothers who had not come to St.-Mere-Abelle beside Thaddius.
Thaddius didn’t believe him, but even if he had, those friends he had left behind did not deserve this honor of ordainment in any case!
But this, these three and the others Braumin had pushed into St.-Mere-Abelle…this was an abomination!
And Mars, Master Mars! Thaddius had gone to great lengths to chase the man out of the Church, and now he was back and as a Master? The man couldn’t light an oil-soaked rag with a ruby on a sunny day!
“Have you ever before seen a man whose entire life had been proven a lie?” Thaddius shot back at the tall and powerful Disciple of St. Bruce.
“Are you a follower of De’Unnero, then?” a smiling Elysant teased, and it was just a lighthearted remark, they all knew, for smiling Elysant seemed incapable of harboring a malicious thought.
The look Brother Thaddius threw back at her, however, was full of just such a sentiment.
“Your home was attacked by De’Unnero!” Diamanda exclaimed.
“He did not say that he followed the man,” Elysant cut in.
“Need it be one or the other?” Thaddius said. “Perhaps there is good in what Father Abbot Braumin is trying to do…”
“But perhaps there was truth in De’Unnero, too, yes? And in Markwart before him?”
Thaddius stared at her but didn’t respond.
“It galls you that we are in the Church now,” Diamanda asserted.
Brother Thaddius didn’t reply, but did glare at her.
Elysant hopped over to sit on the fallen log beside the man, and put her arm about him. He looked at h
er with a shocked expression, and she kissed him on the cheek. “You will come to love us, brother,” she said with a grin.
Thaddius didn’t reply, but this time because anything he tried to say would have been stammered gibberish. He was quite relieved when Elysant moved away again, to the laughter of the other two.
“We will prove ourselves,” Victoria said then, and in all seriousness. “That is all we ever asked for, brother, a chance to prove worthy of the Church we all love.”
“And does loving the Church count for nothing with you?” Diamanda added.
Thaddius looked down into the bowl of stew, and lifted another steaming bite to his lips.
Diamanda started to speak again, but she was overruled then by a gruff, unexpected voice.
“Yach, but there ye are, ye blasted monks,” came a call from side, through the trees, and the four looked over to see a group of squat and square figures coming their way.
Short and powerful warriors wearing distinctive red berets.
“Powries,” Diamanda whispered.
Elysant moved as if to reply, but she really couldn’t get any words past the lump in her throat. She looked to Thaddius, as if expecting, hoping, praying that he would launch some lightning of fire, or some other enchantment to blow these monsters away! But he sat as wide-eyed and dumbstruck as she.
“Be ready,” Victoria whispered harshly from the side. “We have prepared for this!”
“Ye said ye’d be meeting us in the morn, and so ye was nowheres to be found!” the powrie grumbled.”
“Yach, but never could depend on weakling humans,” said another, and he spat upon the ground.
There were five of the dwarves at least, moving in a tight but disorganized bunch straight through the trees toward the camp. They all carried weapons, an axe, a spiked club, a couple of long and serrated knives, and the one in the middle, the primary speaker, held something that looked like the bastard offspring of a double-bladed axe and a handful of throwing daggers, all wrapped together into a long-handled weapon that seemed like it could do damage from about ten different angles all at once!
To the side, Victoria slowly picked up her short bow.
“They think us allies,” Thaddius whispered.
“Well, see, then, what your words might do,” said Victoria, who appeared very calm through it all, more than ready to fight. He hand held steady the bow, her other eased an arrow from the quiver she had set upon the ground against the log she used for her seat. When she got that one out, she stuck it in the ground beside her foot, in easy grasp and began subtly reaching for the next one.
That movement, so calm, so practiced, so mindful of the lessons of Pagonel, proved infectious for the other two sisters. Elysant moved off the log, but stayed in a crouch, quietly bringing her quarterstaff up before her, while Diamanda slowly shifted around the back of Elysant, putting the defensive Disciple of St. Belfour in the middle, between herself and Victoria.
“Quite far enough,” Thaddius said, standing up. “What do you want?”
“Eh?” the powrie asked, and he stopped as did the four flanking him.
“We said we would meet you in the morning, at the appointed spot,” Thaddius bluffed. “Tomorrow morning!”
“Not what was said,” the dwarf replied. “And not said be yerself, either.”
“Yach, who’s this one, then?” asked another of the powries.
“Ain’t seen him before,” said yet another.
The one in the middle, clearly the leader, patted his thick hands in the air to quiet them. “In the morning, meaning tomorrow morning, eh?” he asked, his voice conciliatory and reasonable.
“Yes, when we join with the others,” Thaddius replied.
“Where might they be?” asked the dwarf. “Over in the farmhouses, then?”
Thaddius looked around at his allies, searching for some answer. “Aye,” he blurted. “That’s where we were to meet them, and with important news from the west. And in the morning, tomorrow morning, we’ll all gather and talk.”
The dwarves looked around at each other, a couple mumbled under their breath, too low for the monks to hear.
“Ah, but I’m losing me patience,” said the leader. “Right at dawn then, and don’t ye be late!” he spun about and slapped the dwarf near him on the shoulder, and the group started away.
“By God,” Elysant breathed a moment later. “Bloody cap dwarves!”
“We should move, and quickly,” Thaddius advised, and the two women nearest him nodded.
“No,” said Victoria, surprisingly, and when the three looked at her, they noted that she had set an arrow to her bowstring, two others stuck into the ground in easy reach. “They will be back,” she quietly and calmly whispered. “Ready your gemstones, Brother Thaddius. Diamanda, slip off to the side and put that cat’s eye circlet to use.”
“How can you know?” Elysant asked, but Victoria held up her hand to silence the woman.
On Victoria’s lead, the three slipped back a bit, to the edge of the low glow of the campfire.
And waited. Their hearts thrummed, but every passing moment seemed an eternity.
“You will stay close, but behind Elysant, Brother Thaddius,” Victoria reminded.
“I am the leader,” Thaddius replied.
“Elysant, dear sister, fall back on your training,” Victoria quietly encouraged, ignoring Thaddius. “Remember the arena. Those brothers were formidable, yet not one got a strike past the swift movements of your quarterstaff. We are ready, sister.”
“We are ready, sister,” Elysant echoed.
“Right, southeast!’ came Diamanda’s call from the side, just as the dwarves appeared again before them, four this time, weapons high and charging through the trees.
Victoria stepped forward, right before Elysant and leveled her bow, pointing out in the general direction Diamanda had indicated.
“Two fingers left,” Diamanda corrected, and Victoria shifted and let fly.
“They come!” Thaddius warned, but Diamanda noted movement in the woods and knew that her arrow had not missed the mark by much. She reached back and grabbed a second, and that, too, flew off, and this time, they heard a grunt as it struck home!
“They are here!” Thaddius cried. “Swords! Swords!”
Victoria ignored him altogether, reaching for the third arrow, trusting in her sisters.
Elysant leaped past her, back by the fire, and smashed her quarterstaff across it, launching a spray of embers into the faces of the charging dwarves. The two to the left fell back in surprise, the next in line to the right stumbled and grabbed at his stung eyes, and the one furthest right lifted an ugly knife and leaped in at the woman.
But coming behind it, beside it, and past it, with a great malachite-aided leap, came Diamanda, and she swept her hand across the side of the powrie’s face as she went, only her hand wasn’t a hand, but a great tiger’s paw. The dwarf howled, grabbed at its torn face and stumbled right into its nearest companion, who was also off-balance.
Diamanda landed and side-stepped fast as Elysant cut before her, sliding down to her knees and thrusting her staff into the midst of the tangled legs of the two dwarfs. Up she came immediately, the tip of her quarterstaff planted, and she used the leverage to pitch both the dwarves to the side.
Into the fire.
At the same time, Victoria saw her target clearly, the powrie racing in at them, an arrow sticking from one shoulder, its axe up high over its head. She shot it in the face and it fell away.
And away went the bow, too, the Disciple of St. Gwendolyn drawing the fine sword Braumin had given her, and rushing around Diamanda and Elysant to anchor the far right of the line. She warned Thaddius to keep up as she went.
“Behind Elysant!” she clarified as the brother hustled in her wake.
In mere moments, the three sisters had flanked the confused powries, shifting their entire defensive posture to the right side of the dwarf foursome.
The two in the embers scramb
led up, but one took a wicked crack in the face from Elysant’s staff, the other got his arm ripped by Victoria’s sword.
The other two, though, recovered and swept around their fellows, rushing in at Diamanda, who met them with a scream and quick rush, only to feint and roll away, turning a complete circuit as Elysant swept before her, the quarterstaff banging against that strange multi-headed weapon and driving it to the side enough so that the further dwarf couldn’t get in close enough to score a hit on the retreating Diamanda.
Elysant seemed a blur of motion, then, and indeed a blur, as she called upon the shadows offered by the diamonds in her cloak.
Victoria quickly followed her, cutting in front of the second powrie on that end and stabbing at its face, but not to score a hit, for she could not. No, she simply drove it back a step, so that she could skid to a stop, reverse her footing and throw a backhand with her sword at the furthest to the right, batting down its dagger arm.
Just as Diamanda came around, her tiger’s paw raking at the dwarf’s face, then the stiffened fingers of her other hand shooting forward to jab the dwarf hard in the throat.
The dwarf staggered back, and then fell back more as starbursts erupted in its face, a series of tiny explosions from the hurled celestite crystals of Brother Thaddius. They burned and stung, smoked the dwarf’s dung-dipped beard, and poked little holes in his face.
Diamanda glanced back as she moved to keep up with Victoria, to see Thaddius fumbling with several stones, seemingly at a loss. One hand went back to his pouch where he kept the little firebombs of celestite, while in the other, he rolled several stones, in no apparent coordination.
“Brother!” she said sharply to shock him into the moment.
But she couldn’t say more than that or do more than that. Victoria roll behind Elysant, flanking her to the left and Diamanda had to move in tight to the right of the centering defensive warrior. She hoped Thaddius would have the good sense to get behind Elysant, but if not, there was nothing she could do for him.
The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) Page 12
