R. Salvatore - The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars

“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 her 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.