R. Salvatore - The Highwayman

"Is founded upon the old reality of individual holdings," Prydae interrupted. "It is time for all of us to look forward."

Bathelais settled back in his chair, his eyes widening as Prydae continued to stare hard at him, driving the implications of his point home with the intensity of his gaze.

"Yes, perhaps Brother Bathelais should be the one to tend ailing Laird Pryd," Prydae remarked.

The monk wiped a hand across his mouth but did not, could not, blink.

"How fares old Father Jerak?" Prydae asked.

Bathelais jerked in surprise at the abrupt change of subject. "H-he is well," he stammered.

"For such an aged man."

"Yes."

"His successor will be determined as much by the laird as by the Church of Abelle, of course."

Bathelais sucked in his breath, and Prydae smiled, marveling at how easily he had taken control of this meeting. The prince settled back comfortably in his seat. "Tell me more of this Brother Dynard fellow and of the exotic goods that he brought back from his journeys through the wild lands of Behr," he bade, his wide smile showing interest, amusement, and most of all an understanding that Bathelais was in no position to refuse.

The Dangerous Concubine "There may perhaps be a place for your concubine here at the chapel, though I warn you that your behavior is unseemly," Father Jerak said.

"She is my wife," replied Brother Dynard, biting his emotional response back. He knew that Jerak's error was neither benign nor a simple misconstruing of his relationship with the woman of Behr.

"Your concubine," the old monk bluntly stated, confirming Dynard's understanding.

"She is as much a part of my heart as any wife could be," Dynard protested. He looked across the small room at Brother Bathelais for support, but found none forthcoming on the icy visage of the monk. "Any ceremony-and of course I agree to such!-would be a formality, following the vows of marriage SenWi and I already exchanged in southern Behr."

"Vows unrecognized by the Church of Abelle."

"True enough, father, and so I say again that I willingly submit-"

"Your concubine will agree to forsake the ways of the Jhesta Tu?"

The question nearly knocked Brother Dynard from his seat.

"For, of course, no brother of Blessed Abelle can enter a sanctified union with a woman who is not devout in her faith to Blessed Abelle. Would you not agree, Brother Bathelais?"

"Of course, Father Jerak. The logic is self-evident."

Brother Dynard rubbed his hands over his face and tried to sort out his thoughts in response to this unexpected barrage. He had always recognized that there would be some resistance to the exotic SenWi, resistance from within and without the Church, but he had never imagined gentle Father Jerak to be so stubborn, determined, and apparently prejudiced against the Jhesta Tu.

"Well?" Father Jerak asked.

"Well?" Brother Dynard helplessly echoed.

"Will this woman, SenWi, willingly renounce the ways of her current religion and devote herself to understanding and following Blessed Abelle? Do you suppose that to be the case?"

Brother Dynard couldn't find the words to answer, but he was already shaking his head anyway.

"Nor do you believe that she should move away from this cult, do you, brother?" Jerak accused.

"Father, there is a joining here of beauty and possibility," Dynard started to explain.

"In you and SenWi?"

"In Abelle and Jhest," Dynard continued.

"Brother, you went to Behr to enlighten, not to be enlightened."

"But if such was an unintended consequence-" Dynard started to argue, but Father Jerak held up his hand to cut him short.

"Brother," the old monk said gravely, "do you ask me to detail the possibilities before you if you have moved away from the teachings of Blessed Abelle?"

Brother Bran found it hard to breathe. How could he explain to Father Jerak and to doubting Brother Bathelais that he had not moved away from Blessed Abelle through learning the ways of Jhest, but rather that he had enhanced his understanding of magic-gemstone and other-and thus of godliness? How might he best illustrate to these suddenly hostile brothers that, far from being a threat to the glory of Blessed Abelle, the ways of the Jhesta Tu would only enhance the beauty of the Blessed One's teachings?

After a long pause wherein Brother Dynard could merely shake his head and mumble under his breath helplessly, Father Jerak cleared his throat.

"There may be a place for your concubine here at the chapel," he said. And he sat back and smiled, as if he seemed to think that he was acting quite generously. "I would ask for a measure of discretion, though. You, we all, must serve as examples to those around us, after all, and while your physical needs are understandable and perhaps undeniable, you would do well…"

Brother Dynard wasn't listening, for his mind had wandered down a sand-swept Behrenese road and to a place that he realized he badly missed at this terrible moment. Had he erred by returning to Honce? To his Church and his home?

Father Jerak's voice trailed off, and Dynard, thinking that his inattentiveness might have caught the man's attention, hurriedly glanced back up.

There sat Jerak, seeming perfectly content, having had his say.

Brother Dynard simply had no answer and no argument. "I trust her not at all," Prydae told his father. "The idea that a dangerous and armed beast of Behr is living right beside Castle Pryd bodes nothing good."

"Rest easy, my son," Laird Pryd replied. He seemed his old self again after his week-long bout with sickness-through no fault of Brother Bathelais, who had done little in the way of real healing, Prydae knew. "This Brother Dyn-what was his name?" the old man asked Rennarq, who stood in his customary spot behind the throne.

"Brother Bran Dynard, my laird," Rennarq dutifully replied. "A man of little consequence, so I was told. By you, I believe."

"But this woman-" Prydae started to say.

"Yes, she would indeed seem more formidable, my laird," Rennarq agreed. "By all reports, she slew several powries in fair combat in a single fight."

Prydae did not miss the man's emphasis on the notion of "fair combat," the subtle reference Rennarq was making to his own exploits in an armored chariot.

"She is in the care of the monks?" Pryd asked.

"Yes," Prydae answered before Rennarq could, drawing Pryd's gaze back his way. "Brother Bathelais has informed me that this beast of Behr will likely remain in the chapel as a worker."

"What would you have me do in that case?" asked Pryd. "Am I to deny her my trust when the brothers of Abelle have seen fit to take her in?"

"It is not within their province to deny your claim," Rennarq put in; the harshness of his tone served as another reminder of his general feelings toward the brothers of Blessed Abelle.

"She should be surrendered to the laird until her disposition can be properly determined," added Prydae.

"You fear her," Laird Pryd remarked as if suddenly realizing it. "Or is it, perhaps, that you fear that her reputation will outshine your own?"

Prydae narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, one foot tapping on the stone floor. A moment later, Laird Pryd laughed at him.

"Forgive me, my son." The old man was quick to explain, "I have seen this creature from Behr from afar, and she is but a wisp of a thing."

"Who slew several powries in combat," said Rennarq, for no better reason, apparently, than to thicken the tension in the air.

Laird Pryd stopped laughing and turned to offer a stern glance to his longtime friend, then turned back to his son.

"Would you have a stranger, a foreigner, a beast of Behr capture the hearts of the peasants as a hero?" Prydae asked. "A foreign creature who is allied with the brothers of Abelle and not with the Laird of Pryd Holding?"