Robert Salvatore: Mortalis

Danube looked up at his advisers, Constance and Kalas, both of whom had seen the parchment before bringing it to him; and their grim expressions accurately reflected one half of the emotions battling within him.

"This could be our salvation," he reminded them.

"Tetrafel is plague ridden and willing to chase any hope," Duke Kalas argued.

"The false hope," Constance was quick to put in. She winced as she considered her own sharp tone, a reflection, perhaps, of her petty fears that Jilseponie had once more come to save the world.

"Can we be so certain?" the King asked. "And we are still days away from the official ducal declaration, dispatched under Tetrafel's own hand."

"Many advance writs prove inaccurate," Kalas reminded him, his tone making it fairly obvious that he was hoping that to be so in this case, as well.

But Danube didn't think so, and he shook his head slowly. "Too important," he remarked.

"Many of the callers are likely as desperate as poor Timian," Constance argued. "Plague ridden themselves or a member of their family, perhaps."

King Danube looked down at the writ again, reading it slowly. Duke Tetrafel was on his way to the Barbacan, it said, along with the entire garrison at his disposal, and most of the folk of Palmaris. How could even desperate callers confuse an event on a scale such as that?

"The particulars might be confused, but the general message of the writ will likely prove accurate," King Danube decided.

"You believe that Timian Tetrafel would be fool enough to turn over his garrison to Jilseponie Wyndon? " Kalas asked incredulously.

"If she has found the answer, then he would likely see that as an obvious course."

Constance snorted and turned away.

"Let us make our plans on the assumption that the particulars of this writ are correct," Danube offered. "That a cure has been found?" Duke Kalas asked, shaking his head with every word. "Are we to tell that to the desperate thousands in Ursal? What riots might we cause, and what of the cost to the Throne if we are proven wrong?"

"Not that far," King Danube corrected. "We will await Timian's official writ before deciding upon any such course as that. But let us assume that the lesser particulars, the desertion of Palmaris by soldier and citizen alike, are indeed accurate. What, then, must we do? "

Kalas' breathing came in hard rasps, and Constance continued to stare across the room, shaking her head. If those particulars were true, then the implications to Danube could be grave indeed. If Timian Tetrafel had turned the garrison of Palmaris over to Jilseponie, or had sent them out in accordance with Jilseponie's words, then this event could prove politically disastrous for an inactive King Danube. But if Danube fell in with his often unpredictable Duke, and turned his army and his citizenry into the hands of the woman, and her apparent "cure" proved invalid, then the disaster would be multiplied tenfold.

"We could send a small force-Duke Bretherford's sailors, perhapssailing north to investigate," Kalas offered.

"And by the time they can return to us, the season will be past, and the roads north closed," King Danube argued. "And the winter will claim many lives that otherwise might have been saved."

Constance turned on her heel. "It sounds as if you have already thrown your faith in with the woman," she said sharply, and she and Danube stared at each other long and hard.

"We are all desperate for an end to the plague," Duke Kalas quietly put in, acting in the uncustomary role of mediator.

"Ready the soldiers for the road," Danube ordered.

"But, my King…" Kalas started to argue, and Constance chimed in, as well.

But Danube, expecting such an outburst, was already patting his hand calmly in the air. "I did not command you to begin the march," he clarified, "only to ready the troops in case we so decide. And let us send for Abbot Hingas, that we might learn the disposition of the Church on this matter. The situation at St. Honce and the other abbeys will likely prove even more tentative than our own, for the majority of the folk have come to single out the Church and not the Crown as the source of the plague."

Rain fell, but it hardly dampened the mood of the Timberlands folk, for the mountains of the Barbacan loomed before them, less than a day's march away. Roger Lockless and Bradwarden knew how to get through those mountains; and from there the trip to Mount Aida, to Avelyn's hand and to salvation, would be an easy one indeed. Roger was up front with Bradwarden that morning, scouting the road carefully, for the centaur had caught a strong scent of goblin and feared that the little wretches were about.

They feared they would encounter a large tribe, an army of the creatures, but the first goblin they actually saw was no threat at all.

It was lying dead on the side of the trail.

Roger went over to inspect the body, prodding it with his foot, then rolling it over. He saw many puncture wounds on the creature's face, neck, and chest-very similar to injuries he had witnessed before.

Immediately his eyes went up to the nearby trees, scouring the boughs.

"What're ye about? " Bradwarden asked. "What killed the little beastie? "

"Arrows," Roger answered, walking about and still looking up. "Little arrows. Elv-"

"Elvish arrows," came the answer from the shadows of one tree, a melodic voice that Roger had heard only once before, but one that he surely recognized.

As did Bradwarden. "Dasslerond?" the centaur asked with a surprised laugh. "Is that yerself, then? "

"Greetings, Bradwarden," Lady Dasslerond answered. "It is good to see you again, though I am surprised to find you in the company of humans in this time of illness."

"Goin' to find an old friend," the centaur answered. "Ye beared o'Avelyn?"

"Jilseponie has told us," Dasslerond answered.

"So ye've been to the arm? "

No answer came back, and Bradwarden understood the elves well enough to let that particular matter drop.

"You will find the road open all the way to Mount Aida," Lady Dasslerond said to the pair.

"Were many o' the goblins about, then? " the centaur asked.

"Not enough," came another, even more familiar elvish voice. "I still have many arrows in my quiver." Belli'mar Juraviel hopped down to the lowest branch on a wide-spreading elm, in clear sight of Roger and Bradwarden. Roger started toward him, but the elf held up his hand and warned the man back.

"We have cleared the road and will remain in place for a short time longer," Lady Dasslerond explained. "But this road is for humans to travel and for humans to guard, and we will be on our way back to Andur'Blough Inninness before the turn of the season."

"Well, ye have our thanks, then," Bradwarden remarked, bowing his human torso respectfully. "And take the goodwill o' Avelyn with ye."

"Straight on to Aida," Lady Dasslerond said, aiming her comment at Roger. "And know that the road will be clear for your return through this region." "There will be many more following us," Roger started to explain.

"They are already on their way," Juraviel put in, "from Caer Tinella and Landsdown-from Palmaris, even, for Jilseponie has passed through the city. Braumin and his brethren will likely find you before you have traveled far out of the Barbacan, and the new Baron of Palmaris, along with a host of soldiers, will be along not far behind."

Roger and Bradwarden beamed at the news.

"Ah, but Pony's a good girl," the centaur remarked.

"And Dainsey," Roger was quick to add. He turned back to tell Juraviel of the new love that had come into his life, but he found that the everelusive elf was already gone, vanished completely into the canopy. He called out several times but was not answered.

The pair went back to the caravan, then, and told them that the way was clear.