Robert Salvatore - Mortalis

Pony started to argue, but she felt a sudden tug as her body separated yet again from her spirit and sped back to her room in Dundalis. She blinked her spirit eyes open to find that Dasslerond had already receded into the misty blanket of fog. She thought to follow, to demand an answer, but Pony understood it all too clearly: if she did go down there, Lady Dasslerond would use her emerald to bring her body back, and then she would be killed.

Bradwarden and Dainsey arrived in Dundalis the next morning, to find the folk already preparing to make a pilgrimage to the north. How they cheered Dainsey, many running over to give the miraculously cured woman a big hug, though it was obvious that Roger didn't want to share her with anyone!

"I'm going to need you to lead them back to the Barbacan," Pony said to Bradwarden when she found her way to him.

"Bradwarden and Roger and me," Dainsey said, her eyes sparkling.

Pony shook her head. "I need you," she explained to the woman. "We must go south, to Palmaris, perhaps farther, to show them the miracle, to begin the pilgrimages."

"South, then," Roger said.

"But north for you," Pony said to Roger. He started to protest, but her simple logic cut him short. "You have not yet entered the covenant of Avelyn," she reminded.

"I do not want to be away from Dainsey," said Roger, and he and his wife stared lovingly at each other.

"You will have your time together," Pony promised, "but not now." She grabbed Dainsey by the arm and pulled her away from the man. "You ride Greystone, and I, Symphony."

"Now?" Roger asked. "This very minute? She has just returned, weary already from the road. And we have not even found the chance to-"

"And every minute we wait means that another person will die," Pony said. "That is the truth, is it not? And measured against that truth, does Roger still believe that we should tarry here in Dundalis? "

The man looked at her plaintively, then turned his loving gaze back to Dainsey. But then he sighed and kissed his wife. "You and Pony go with all speed," he said.

"Not Pony," Jilseponie stated, more out of reflex than any conscious thought. Both Roger and Dainsey looked at her curiously, wondering if she had changed her mind, if she had decided that Dainsey must go south alone while she went back to the Barbacan. Pony looked up at them, her expression as determined as any either of them had ever seen.

"Jilseponie," she declared, "not Pony. Pony was a woman who lived quietly in Dundalis. I go south as Jilseponie."

Roger thought about that for a long moment, then nodded. "A fine road and a fast horse to both Dainsey and Jilseponie, then," he said. "Go with all speed."

They did just that, riding out of Dundalis only a few minutes later.

"I telled ye she'd find her heart," Bradwarden remarked to Roger as they watched the pair gallop away.

"Off to save the world," the dejected man said with more than a little sarcasm.

"She lit her fires." The centaur laughed. "Now she's ready to go and fight, beside Braumin, against the plague. Against the Duke, if he's not hearin' her, and against the King himself, if she has to. Ye remember her walk across Palmaris when she had enough o' the fool Markwart? " Bradwarden said with a laugh.

Roger stared hard at the centaur. He did indeed remember that journey Jilseponie had made across the city. All who witnessed the bared power of the angry woman remembered it well, and would not soon forget.

"Why're ye lookin' so wounded?" Bradwarden asked, clapping Roger hard on the shoulder. "Weren't ye the one complainin' when she came back to us after refusin' both city and Church? Well, boy, ye got what ye wanted!"

"Maybe she can make a difference," Roger admitted.

"To herself, at least," said the centaur, and Roger looked at him curiously. "Ye need yer purpose in life, lad," Bradwarden explained. "Without it, ye got nothin'. She's seein' her power now, and clearly, and knowin' the responsibility that power's bringin' to her. If she doesn't use it, or at least try, then she'll be failin' her very purpose, and that's a wound ye canno' heal."

"You think she'll beat them all?" Roger asked.

"I'm not knowin' if ye ever can, nor is Pony," Bradwarden admitted, "but ye can beat 'em one at a time, beat 'em back and go on as best as ye can. Pony'11 do good for the kingdom, don't ye doubt, and for the little folk who got no hope. A hunnerd, hunnerd will live better, or live at all, because of her workin's, and how can Pony ignore that callin'? "

"Jilseponie," Roger corrected.

They came toward him, toward him, smelling of peat, their lifeless eyes staring at him, envious of his warmth. He tried to run-always before he had been able to escape-but this time, the walking dead had come to him in greater numbers and seemingly in coordinated fashion. Whichever way he turned, they were there, reaching for his throat with stiff arms.

He kicked out at one, spun and punched the face of another zombiethough the horrid creature showed no sign that it had felt the blow.

He dropped and scrambled desperately, pushing through.

But they crowded around him, a wall of rotting, dirty flesh, and he had nowhere to run.

He called out for his companions, but then realized that he had no companions, that he was on his own.

And so he tried to fight, briefly, but then he was down on his back, the walking dead looming over him, coming down at him… down at him.

Duke Tetrafel woke up with a shriek, clawing at his bedsheets so wildly that he wound up on the floor in a tumble of blankets. He continued to scream and thrash for some time, until the haze of dreams flitted away, revealing the dawn, the secure dawn in Chasewind Manor.

He sat there on the floor for some time. The dream was not new to him, had followed him all the way across Honce-the-Bear every night since his expedition had been savaged by the little folk and their host of zombies.

But this time, for the first time in his dreams, he had found no escape. This time, for the first time, the walking dead had caught him. Duke Tetrafel pondered that disturbing notion for some time, until the door of his room banged open and one of his attendants came rushing in.

"My Duke!" the man cried. "Are you murdered? "

Tetrafel chuckled and held up an arm to keep the concerned fool at bay. To his surprise, though, his signal, while stopping the attendant, onh seemed to make the man grow even more concerned. He stood a few strides away, gawking openly, and then, to Tetrafel's further astonishment, he began shaking his head and backing away.

"What is it?" the Duke asked, but the man did not-seemed as if he could not-respond. He continued backing, almost to the door.

"Speak up, fool," Tetrafel demanded. "What is-"

The man turned and bolted from the room.

Still on the floor amid the tumble of blankets, Tetrafel stared at the open door for a long time, wondering.

And then it hit him, and then the variation of his too-common dream made perfect sense. Slowly, slowly, he brought his arm back in and turned it over.

Rosy spots.

His screams came even more loudly than before.

Abbot Braumin rubbed his hands together nervously as he walked along the quiet corridors of St. Precious. The day had not been good, not at all, with devastating rumors rolling along the unruly streets of Palmaris. And now this news, of a secret visitor that Viscenti had considered important enough to be admitted to the abbey-quietly and after a thorough gemstone inspection.

The abbot came to the door and paused, taking a deep and steadying breath, trying to find his heart. He pushed through, to find Shamus Kilronney waiting for him.

"Brother Viscenti claims that you are packed for the road," the abbot said, trying to keep his tone lighthearted.