R. Salvatore - The Highwayman

Thus, Jerak had been pleased to learn that Bran Dynard, ever a favorite of his, had come home alive and well.

No, not well, Jerak reconsidered, and he looked again at the book on the small table. To Jerak's thinking, it would take a monumental effort to ever get the wayward brother well again.

There came a soft knock on his door, and Brother Bathelais entered.

"He is contrite?" Father Jerak asked hopefully.

"He has not spoken since we put him in the dungeon," said Bathelais. "He hardly registers our presence when we go to him with food and drink. The only reaction I have seen from him at all was one of surprise and perhaps satisfaction when I asked him yet again the course of the missing Behr woman."

"He was pleased that she has eluded us these three days," Father Jerak said. "And likely now we will never find her."

"Perhaps that is for the best."

Father Jerak didn't disagree, though he doubted that Laird Pryd or Prince Prydae would agree. Those two had urged him forcefully on this decision regarding the disposition of Brother Dynard. Never would Jerak have imprisoned Dynard-certainly not in the wretched and muddy substructure of Chapel Pryd! As angry as he had been, and remained, over Dynard's transgression concerning these southern mystics, Father Jerak had hoped to gently persuade the man back to the fold. He had even for one moment considered having Brother Dynard teach a younger brother, Bathelais likely, to read the flowing script in that cursed book, that he might then expose to Dynard the fallacies of the text.

But Father Jerak understood well that he and his brethren were secure and welcomed only under the sufferance of Laird Pryd. Though Jerak had seen a threat in Dynard's failings, Laird Pryd had seen more. Or perhaps this anger at Dynard was more the working of the laird's proud son, Jerak mused. There were rumors that the heroic prince hadn't taken well to the tales of the Behrenese woman's battle prowess.

Either way, it didn't matter-not now. The die was cast, and appropriately so, Father Jerak believed, though perhaps it had been thrown a bit harshly.

"I fear that if we await contrition before releasing Brother Dynard from his cell, then he will die in there," Brother Bathelais said, drawing the older monk from his contemplations. "Though perhaps that would be the best course for all."

Father Jerak answered that with a scowl.

"Better even for Brother Dynard," Brother Bathelais quickly added. "His path is a road to eternal damnation. Perhaps he has not yet transgressed too far for divine salvation."

"Unrepentant sinners are not welcomed by Blessed Abelle, who sits at the feet of God," Father Jerak tersely reminded.

Father Jerak paused, then, and studied Bathelais, but the man did not respond.

"Keep him incarcerated another week," the old monk ordered. "By then we should know the more about the missing woman."

"And if she has not been found?"

"I have no desire to see Brother Dynard dead in our filthy dungeon. If the woman is not found and our wayward brother has not repented, we will accommodate him more comfortably in a room within the chapel proper."

"A cleaner cell?"

"But a cell nonetheless," said Father Jerak. "I am willing to spend as much time and energy as we can afford to bring Brother Bran Dynard back into the ways of the order, but he will not proselytize this bastardized version of the message of Blessed Abelle. That is not a point of debate."

"Laird Pryd will agree to this?"

Father Jerak shrugged, unsure, and especially if the missing woman was not found. "Laird Pryd will see no threat in Brother Dynard as long as we keep our reins on him tight. And I assure you, Brother Bathelais, that Brother Dynard will know no freedom until he sincerely repents." That last statement chilled Father Jerak's bones even as he spoke the words. He hadn't thought of this matter in those drastic terms before-not to their obvious conclusion. That conclusion loomed before him now, powerfully so. Brother Dynard was more than merely a wayward brother in need of repentance or, absent that, of excommunication from the order.

Brother Dynard, by bringing the Book of Jhest, by his insistence on blurring the lines between the Church of Blessed Abelle and this mystical southern cult, was a threat to the Church-one the fledgling religion could ill afford, particularly with the continuing pressure of the Samhaists.

Threats to the Church could not be tolerated. A week later, SenWi had not been found, to the increasing frustration and anger of Prince Prydae. But, true to his word, Father Jerak had ordered a haggard and ill Brother Dynard brought from the dungeon and placed in a secure room in the chapel. Dynard had lost a great deal of weight, and his body was covered in sores from the standing water and mud. His muscles had already begun to atrophy, and it took two brothers to help him up the stairs and into his new prison: a windowless room on the chapel's second floor.

That night, Father Jerak went to him, the Book of Jhest in hand and Brother Bathelais in tow. He dropped the book on a table near the bed where the ragged-looking Brother Dynard was half sitting-and it seemed as if only the wall was holding the battered heretic up.

"Have you something to say to me?" Father Jerak asked.

Brother Dynard looked up at him, then at the book. "You wish me to translate the tome for you?"

Father Jerak's expression grew very tight and he scowled at Brother Bathelais. "He is to have no visitors. His chamber pot will be replaced every morning and he will be served meals in accordance with the other brothers." He spun back to face Dynard. "But you will not leave this room. Understand that edict, foolish brother, if a brother you remain. Upon pain of death, you are not to leave this room."

Brother Dynard's expression didn't change, the fallen monk didn't flinch as he sat there staring at Father Jerak, though whether that was through stubbornness or a simple lack of strength the old monk couldn't tell. Father Jerak snatched up the book, motioned to Bathelais to follow, and stormed out of the room.

"You did not even ask him about the woman," Brother Bathelais remarked when they were out in the hallway and Bathelais had locked Dynard's door.

"You heard his response."

"A misconception regarding your request? He may have thought that his release had been incumbent upon our lessening our opposition to this supposed knowledge he has brought back."

"The mere fact that he still harbors any uncertainty concerning that tome, or that he still holds, as his tone evinced, any desire to share the words confined within its pages, is all the proof I need that our wayward brother has not come to the truth. Let him fester through this season and the next. When winter's first winds blow against the walls of Chapel Pryd, we will return to him."

Brother Bathelais did wince at the harsh sentence, but only momentarily, and he said nothing, deterred by the power of Father Jerak's scowl. She was having a good day, relatively speaking. SenWi had found some measure of energy and strength that morning, and after nearly three weeks of seclusion inside Garibond's house, she had dared to go out into the sunshine. She stayed close to the cottage by the lake, though, well aware that the authorities of Pryd Holding were seeking her.

She managed her Jhesta Tu training ritual that day, as well, and though a light-headed weakness did return, SenWi pressed through the ritual to completion. She was still outside, sitting in the shadow under the eaves of the house, when she saw Garibond approaching, returning from one of his rare visits to the town. She rose unsteadily, but quickly found her balance and her center, and moved to greet the man with a hesitant hopefulness.

She saw from his expression that things in town were not well.