Robert Salvatore - Mortalis

Too many questions, too many dire possibilities. But none, Pony pointedly and repeatedly reminded herself on that wild run to the south, were nearly as dire as the reality that the folk of the kingdom now knew, the reality of the rosy plague and so many dying with each passing day.

With each passing minute, she told herself; and she used the malachite as much as she could to lighten Symphony's load; and she used the soul stone to catch some of the strength from nearby deer and other animals, giving it to Symphony; and she used the cat's-eye circlet to see in the dark, then transferred those images to Symphony so that the run could continue long after sunset.

On one such night, in the light of Sheila, Pony found a solitary form standing vigil on the ridge north of Dundalis; and she was not surprised, but her heart was warmed.

"Greetings, Roger," she called, urging Symphony ahead. The man nearly fell over trying to get to her. "Tell me!" he cried. "Where is Dainsey?"

"With Bradwarden, some miles behind."

"Did you get to the B-Barbacan? " Roger stuttered, hardly able to speak the question. "Did Avelyn…"

Pony slipped down from Symphony's back, and when she turned, her beaming smile was all the answer Roger Lockless needed. He exploded into motion, wrapping Pony in the tightest hug she had ever felt, his shoulders shaking with sobs of joy.

They were in Dundalis soon after; and there Pony, strengthened by the miracle of Avelyn's blood, fought the rosy plague.

Her spirit entered the body of an afflicted man. But now she held no fear of it at all. None. It could not latch on to her spiritual arms as she attacked the disease, scraping it from bone and organ, her healing spiritual touch dissipating the greenish disease.

She stayed with the afflicted man for a long time, moving to every edge of his being, fighting and fighting wherever she found sickness.

Finally, exhausted but satisfied, Pony made her way to her own body. She sat back, her eyes closed, reorienting herself to her corporeal form.

"I am healed!" she heard the man cry, and then came a host of responding cheers.

Pony blinked open her eyes, to find Roger and Bolster and Tomas Gingerwart and many, many other folk of Dundalis gathered in the room or just outside the window. And all of them were cheering for her, for her healing of this man.

But Pony knew the truth of it. "You are not cured," she told the man bluntly. The cheering stopped immediately, and the man seemed as if he would topple out of his bed. "I have granted you time, a temporary reprieve, but there is only one way for you to be truly cured."

She paused and looked around, to find them all, every man and every woman, hanging on her every word.

"You said that Dainsey was cured," Roger dared to remark.

"You must travel to the Barbacan," she explained, "to the flattened top of Mount Aida and the arm of Avelyn Desbris. You will see blood in his palm. Kiss it, taste it, and you need not fear the rosy plague anymore."

"The Barbacan?" the man replied, his face bloodless. All about him, people began repeating that question, that name.

Pony understood their terror. Along with the fact that the Barbacan was a place of legendary evil that had been home of the latest incarnation of the demon dactyl, the difficulty of that northern, wild road gave them all pause. Again that tumult of questions, simple logistical problems, assaulted her thoughts. They had to go to the Barbacan, everyone afflicted-and even those who were not yet caught in the grasp of the plague would do well to make the journey. But how?

Pony went back to Fellowship Way soon after, needing rest. The townsfolk had asked her to lead them to the Barbacan, and she had told them that she would answer them in the morning, but in truth, she had known her answer all along. She could not go back now. No, her road must continue to the south, to Caer Tinella and to Palmaris, at least. The word had to be spread far and wide.

She knew the only hope for making this miracle known to the whole land: she would have to enlist the aid of the King's soldiers and the Abellican brothers. All of them.

Even if she accomplished such a thing, though, how could she secure the northern road so that the pilgrimages could begin at once?

For every passing minute brought pain and grief, every passing day made the pile of corpses grow larger.

Pony fell asleep with those disturbing thoughts in mind, trying to work out the speech she would make to Braumin and the others, to King Danube and Duke Kalas, trying to figure out some way that Bradwarden and Bolster could find aid to begin the first pilgrimages. She woke up sometime later, the night still dark, the dawn still far away.

She had her answer.

Pony fell into the soul stone once more, freeing her spirit from its corporeal bonds, then flying, flying across the miles to the west.

Soon after, she came to a place where she knew that she was not welcome, but she called out anyway for the lady of the land.

A few minutes passed; Pony considered plunging through the misty vei] that covered Andur'Blough Inninness, invading the elven homeland with her spirit. But then, suddenly, she felt a pull and recognized that Lad) Dasslerond was using the magic of her emerald gemstone to bring more ol Pony's corporeal form to the place, that they might speak more clearly.

And then the lady of Caer'alfar was before her, glaring at her danger ously. Pony noted that many other Touel'alfar were about, and that thosi she caught sight of were carrying their deadly little bows. Instinctively, shi reached down and felt her own body, recognizing that she was solid enougl for Dasslerond's archers to truly harm her.

"We have already had this discussion," the lady said sternly. "Our boi ders are closed, Jilseponie, to you and to all others of your race."

"The situation has changed," Pony started to say.

"No, it has not!" Lady Dasslerond insisted, narrowing her golden eye "The plague is a problem for the human kingdoms. We'll not let it, or yoi touch Andur'Blough Inninness. Now begone from this place-I will relea; your body and I expect your spirit to follow. On pain of death, Jilseponi your spirit must follow."

"I have found a cure!" Pony yelled at her, and that did cause the lady eyes to open wide. "At the Barbacan, the arm ofAvelyn," Pony began to explain, "the same arm that brought forth the miracle and killed the goblins. The palm bleeds, Lady Dasslerond, and that blood, the blood of Avelyn, confers immunity to the plague."

"Our community has not been touched by the plague," Dasslerond replied. "Why, then, do you come to tell us?"

" Because you must know, for if the plague does find your valley, you can survive," Pony replied.

Lady Dasslerond thought for a moment, then nodded. "Perhaps we misjudged your return," she admitted. "You have our gratitude for this information. Should we find that we need it, we will heed your words."

"But I need your help," Pony boldly went on. "The folk will begin their march to the Barbacan, by the dozens, the score, the hundreds. Until King Danube and the Abellican monks get their people in place, that will be a road fraught with danger, I fear. With goblins and starvation."

"What do you expect of the Touel'alrar? " Dasslerond asked, a tightness coming back to her voice.

"I expect nothing," Pony replied, "but I beg of you that you lend aid in this time of our need. A host of elves would greatly aid that necessary journey. Your people could chase away the goblins, even could leave food along the road, and would never have to make contact with the pilgrims. You could-"

"Enough!" Dasslerond interrupted. "Your point is made."

"And is my plea heard? "

The lady made no movement, no shake of the head and no confirming nod.

"Begone from this place, Jilseponie," she ordered after a short while.