Robert Salvatore - Mortalis

"And if it was discovered that you had become afflicted with the plague? " Tetrafel asked suspiciously.

"Then I would leave St. Precious at once," Abbot Braumin replied without the slightest hesitation and without any hint of insincerity in his voice.

Tetrafel chuckled and stared at the abbot incredulously. " Then you are a fool," he said.

The abbot only shrugged.

"And if I became afflicted?" the Duke asked slyly. "Would I, too, be denied admittance to St. Precious? And if so, would you and your brethren come out to tend to me? "

"Yes," said Braumin, "and no."

Tetrafel paused a moment to clarify the curt responses, then a great scowl crossed his face. "You would let me die?" The soldiers behind the Duke bristled.

"There is nothing we could do to alter that."

"The old songs of doom proclaim that a monk might cure one in twenty," Tetrafel argued. "Would not twenty monks then have a fair chance of saving their Baron and Duke? "

"They would." Again, Abbot Braumin kept his response curt and to the point. "But you would not send them," Duke Tetrafel reasoned.

"No," answered the abbot.

"Yet I risk my soldiers for the sake of your monks!" the Duke snapped back, and he was having a hard time masking his mounting anger.

"We can make no exceptions in this matter," Braumin replied, "not for a nobleman, not for an abbot, not for the Father Abbot himself. If Father Abbot Agronguerre became so afflicted, he would be cast out of St.-MereAbelle."

"Do you hear your own words as you speak them?" Duke Tetrafel roared. "Could you begin to believe that the lives of twenty minor monks were not worth the gain of saving a duke or even your own Father Abbot? Pray you then that King Danube does not become so afflicted, for if he did, and if your Church then did not come to his aid with every Abellican brother available, then the kingdom and the Church would be at war!"

Abbot Braumin seriously doubted that, for it was not without precedent. Furthermore, while it pained gentle Braumin to watch the suffering of the common folk, Tetrafel's point was lost completely on him. In his view of the world, the life of a single brother, even a novitiate to the Abellican Church, was worth that of a duke or a king or a father abbot. As were the lives of every commoner now suffering on the square outside St. Precious. Yes, Braumin Herde cursed his helplessness daily, but he was glad, at least, that he was not possessed of the arrogance that seemed to be a major trait among the secular leaders of the kingdom.

"I have your words and your thoughts now," Duke Tetrafel fumed. "I see your perspective all too clearly, Abbot Braumin. Understand that I now relinquish all responsibility for the safety of your brethren if they venture outside St. Precious. Exit at your own peril!" And he turned and stormed out of the room, sweeping his soldiers up in his wake.

"That went well," Castinagis lisped sarcastically.

As if to accentuate the point, a stone bounced off Braumin's window, clattering for a second, then falling harmlessly away. All day long, since the near riot at the back door, the peasants had been throwing rocks and curses at the abbey.

"We have lost the city," Abbot Braumin remarked.

"We could send word to St.-Mere-Abelle for help," Viscenti offered.

Braumin was shaking his head before the man even finished. "Father Abbot Agronguerre has his own troubles," he replied. "No, we have lost the hearts of those in Palmaris, and cannot regain them short of going out with our gemstones among the people."

"We send out salves and syrups, blankets and food, every day," Castinagis interjected.

"And it is not enough to placate those who know they are dying," said Braumin.

"We cannot go out to them," Viscenti reasoned. "Then we weather the plague within our abbey," Abbot Braum decided, "as it has been in the past, as we have done thus far. We will co tinue to send out the salves and other supplies as we can spare them, but the peasants-led by the Brothers Repentant, no doubt-come against i then we will defend St. Precious vigorously."

"And if we lose the abbey? " Castinagis asked grimly.

"Then we flee Palmaris," Braumin replied, "to Caer Tinella, perhap where we might establish' the first chapel of Avelyn."

"That course was denied," Viscenti remarked.

Braumin shrugged as if that fact wasn't important. "Perhaps it is time v, think about establishing the Church of Avelyn, in partnership with d Abellican Church if they so desire, a separate entity altogether if they d not."

The strong words raised the eyebrows of the other two brothers in th room, and Braumin, too, understood the desperation of such a course. Th Church would never agree to such a split, of course, and would likel declare Braumin a heretic-again-and excommunicate any who side. with him. But they wouldn't come after him, Braumin knew, at least no until the time of plague had passed. And in those years, it was quite con ceivable that he, with a more generous attitude toward the terrified peas ants, might establish himself so securely that the Abellican Church woulc think it wiser to just let him be.

Those fanciful thoughts continued to roll in Braumin's head for a Ion; while, long after both Viscenti and Castinagis had taken their leave. But ir the end, they didn't hold, for Braumin recognized them as the course ol a desperate fool. His current problems were not the making of a new Church-indeed, he and his comrades had pushed the Church in a direction favorable to Avelyn and Jojonah, favorable to his own beliefs. The current problem was the plague, pure and simple, and even if Braumin successfully managed to go and establish his coveted chapel, even if he split from the Abellican Church altogether and began his own religion, what would be the gain? The rosy plague would still be among them, and Braumin would still be helpless against it.

Another rock thudded against the abbot's wall.

He glanced that way, toward the window, and tuned in to the curses and shouts being hurled against his abbey. No, he would not run away. He and his brethren would defend St. Precious from all attacks, and vigorously, as he had instructed. If all the city came against them, then all the city would be destroyed, if that is what it would take.

Braumin hated his own thoughts.

But he wouldn't deny the truth, nor the righteousness, of them.

Pony knelt over Dainsey, holding her hand and talking comfortingly to her, trying to give her some dignity and some sense that she was loved and was not alone at this, the end of her life. How bitter it all seemed to Pony, to fail here, just a mile from her destination, though in truth, she doubted that even if she could get to Avelyn's arm, it would do Dainsey any good. The poor woman was too far gone.

"Let go, Dainsey," she whispered, wanting the woman's misery, her obvious fear and pain, to end. "It is all right to let go."

If Dainsey heard her, she made no indication, but Pony kept talking, kept hoping that she was doing some good.

Then a strong hand grabbed Pony's shoulder and pulled her up to her feet. She glanced back to see Bradwarden, right beside her, holding the pouch of gemstones she had left far back down the path.

"What? " she started to ask.

" Ye get her up on me back and climb yerself up with her," the centaur explained. "I'll get ye to the top o' Mount Aida."

"B-Bradwarden, the plague," Pony stuttered.

"Damn it to the dactyl's own bed!" the centaur roared. "I'd rather be catchin' it and dyin' than to keep away and watch me friends sufferin'!"

Pony started to argue-that generous nature within her thought immediately to protect her unafflicted friend. But who was she to so determine Bradwarden's course, or anyone's for that matter? If she was willing to take such risks with her own life as to dive spiritually right into the disease as it ravaged Dainsey, or even complete strangers, then how could she presume to warn Bradwarden away?