R. Salvatore - The Highwayman

"Where is Dynard?"

"You should not be outside," Garibond remarked, and he glanced around. "They are still looking for you."

"Where is Dynard?" He started to go by her, but she caught him roughly by the shoulder and held him back. "Tell me."

"He is alive but under guard in the chapel, so I heard. You and Brother Dynard are the talk of all the town, of course."

"They are not mistreating him?"

"Who can know what the brothers do," Garibond replied, and he gave a frustrated sigh. "I doubt you'll be well treated if Prince Prydae and his soldiers find you, and that is our main concern."

"No."

"Yes! There is nothing we can do for Dynard, and do not forget that it was his choice to return to Chapel Pryd. I promised him that I would look after you, and I'm not about to go back on my word."

SenWi's expression clearly revealed that she wasn't buying the argument.

"This is likely part of the process," Garibond went on more forcefully. "Dynard knew that it would be no easy task to persuade the monks."

"Where is the book?"

Garibond shrugged.

SenWi looked out toward the distant keep tower, her thoughts spinning as she suddenly came to recognize the potential depth of this problem. "You must return to town, to the chapel itself," she improvised. "I will know more of Bran and of the Book of Jhest. You must do this for me, at once."

"And mark my house for suspicion?" Garibond argued. "Shall I pause and visit Castle Pryd before my return and simply tell Prince Prydae that the woman he and his soldiers seek is safely hidden in the tunnels, or will you remain outside to greet them?"

With her limited command of the language, it took SenWi some time to understand the sarcasm in the remark.

"I cannot do it, girl," Garibond said bluntly.

SenWi didn't argue any further, for her thoughts were already moving in another direction. With her returning strength came the return, she understood, of her responsibilities to her husband and to the prize he had carried from the Walk of Clouds. So deep in contemplation was she that she hardly noticed that Garibond had moved to the door and had pulled it open.

"Come along inside, then," he said. "I've brought some fine spices. I'll make us a stew."

SenWi didn't argue.

Long after supper, with darkness spreading across the land, SenWi sat across from Garibond as he half sat and half reclined before a roaring fire. She said nothing, and brushed off his feeble attempts to begin a conversation. She watched and she waited, and when at last he nodded his head in slumber, she went to her travel sack and rummaged through it, producing the suit of black silk.

She changed and went out into the night, dark and silent, trotting swiftly toward the town and Chapel Pryd. She spent a moment trying to recall its layout, then moved to the base of the northern wall. There was only one window here, set high up.

SenWi fell into herself, grasping the energy of her chi and twisting it so that it battled against the natural pull of the ground. Then she picked out handholds in the wall and began to climb, moving steadily and easily-almost as if she were weightless. She arrived at the window in short order and squeezed through, entering the bedroom of Father Jerak himself.

SenWi resisted the urge to awaken him with a choke hold that she might force the information from him. No, such a bold course could prove catastrophic for her husband, she knew. She slipped across the room and through the door to the antechamber, and before she took another step, she saw one of her missing prizes.

The Book of Jhest lay there right before her, opened upon a wooden pedestal beside the low-burning hearth fire. Many other books were set haphazardly on shelves flanking that hearth; and even from this distance, SenWi could see the dust that had gathered on them. Was that the fate that awaited the product of Bran's long toil?

Her fingers trembled as she felt the smooth pages of the opened book, and she promised herself that she would come back through here on her way out after locating and securing the release of her dear husband.

She moved away, but before she even reached the door, a renewed wave of nausea washed over her and nearly buckled her legs beneath her. Black spots flitted before her eyes, and it was all that she could do just to stand there and not fall over. Instinctively, SenWi clutched at her belly and it took all of her considerable willpower to bring her breathing quickly back under control.

"Bran," she whispered helplessly, and another wave brought her to one knee. She knew that she was in trouble. Her physical exertion in running all the way out here and, even more so, her mystical exertion in scaling and levitating up the wall, had been too much, she only now realized. She thought of the days she had spent in Garibond's house, incapacitated beyond anything she had ever known, barely conscious and without the strength to even stand. What might it mean for Bran if she fell ill here?

With that troubling thought in mind, SenWi glanced back at the Book of Jhest. Then she looked past it, to the shelves and the piled, disheveled tomes. Glancing all around, improvising as she went, SenWi searched the deepest recesses of the shelves and found a book of roughly similar size to the one sitting on the pedestal. She meant to tip the pedestal to the floor toward the open hearth, and nearly did so as she swooned, but fortunately, she caught herself at the last moment.

She didn't want to make a ruckus that would awaken Father Jerak and half the chapel, after all!

Regaining her balance and a measure of her strength, SenWi placed the Book of Jhest off to the side, then gently lowered the pedestal to the floor, lining it up with the hearth. She then opened the other book, taken from the shelf, and placed it on the embers, and after blowing on those orange coals for a bit, managed to set the book aflame.

SenWi glanced back at the crowded bookshelf and wondered how effective the ruse might prove. For good measure and taking care not to obviously disturb the dust, she jostled the remaining books on the shelf to better hide the theft. With no other options before her, she gathered up the Book of Jhest, and with a rueful glance at the room's other door-the one that would lead her deeper into the chapel and hopefully to her imprisoned husband-she staggered back the other way, back into sleeping Father Jerak's bedchamber.

She squeezed out onto the windowsill and glanced down the twenty feet or more to the ground. SenWi told herself how important this was, reminded herself of the grim consequences of failure-for her, for Bran, and for the precious book. She felt inside herself again, found the line of chi, and tried again to free herself from the bonds of gravity.

Father Jerak stirred behind her, and she knew she could wait no longer. She turned and slipped down from the windowsill.

And then she was falling.

She arrived at Garibond's house many hours later, after the dawn, dragging one broken leg, barely conscious, and trembling violently in the grip of a high fever.

She was still clutching the book.

The Inspiration of the Season She heard the birds singing every day but never did she open her eyes at their inviting call. She felt the movement around her and knew it to be Garibond, and occasionally heard his whispers.

But it too was distant, and nothing that could bring her forth from the damaged shell of her physical body.

She tasted the cool water and warm broth when he managed to get some into her mouth, but they were sensations of another time and place, of another world altogether, it seemed.

For most of SenWi's thoughts remained inward, sharing herself with her unborn child, offering her love and her warmth, watching the awakening of consciousness. It seemed to her such a beautiful and comforting thing that a piece of Bran and a piece of herself should create an entirely different and independent little being. She felt its presence keenly within her own corporeal coil, and knew after a time that it sensed her as well.