R. Salvatore: The Highwayman

Both Reandu and Bathelais started for Bransen at that moment, but they hadn't a chance and were backed again by the gleaming tip of the leveled sword.

"I am long past mercy, Master Bathelais," Bransen warned. "Hesitate again, and a monk will die." He pointed his sword at Father Jerak. "Hesitate again, and he will die."

"What do you want?" Master Bathelais asked.

"You and you," Bransen added, waving the sword at Reandu, "and the Stork are going to pay a visit to Laird Prydae."

As he spoke, Bransen pulled the black armband from his sword arm, revealing his birthmark, and began unfastening the black silk shirt.

The Waterfall at River's End "You should not be here, not at this time," the sentry at the gatehouse of Castle Pryd said to the three unexpected visitors late that night. The man looked at the two monks-for all purposes, the two leaders of the Church in Pryd Holding-and then scrunched up his face in obvious disgust as he turned to regard the third visitor, the Stork, swaying and drooling and leaning on a long, narrow canelike implement that was wrapped in cloth.

"We have information regarding the man who has put this castle and town in a state of frenzy," Brother Reandu replied, and Bransen did not miss the not-so-subtle look that Bathelais shot him.

The sentry perked up at that, and stepped aside, calling to his companions to hold his post so that he could escort the trio into the keep.

The sentry and the monks huddled as they crossed the open courtyard, for a shower came up then, suddenly, with a crackle of lightning splitting the dark sky and big heavy drops splashing down.

Bransen shambled along behind them, trying his best to mimic the walk that had been his natural step all his life. He held his soul stone firmly in hand, his other hand tight on his "cane," which was, of course, his sword. He lolled his head and thrust each hip out before waving the respective leg forward. He babbled and moaned and let the drool flow from his mouth. In that moment, despite all the vital events that were churning about him, it occurred to Bransen how unpleasant a creature he was, how awkward this damaged physical coil appeared. Surely the outside world cringed at the sight of him, and while he did not relinquish his disdain for that shallow and unsympathetic attitude, he understood it more fully now. That thought only made him appreciate more acutely the one person who had fought against that flow, only made him realize the depth of kindness Cadayle had shown to him all these years.

He didn't let the steeling of his determination to rescue her interfere with his awkward gait. His focus held firm, and he kept to the course.

They entered the well-guarded keep at the rear of the castle, and those guards who met them moved back at the unexpected sight of the Stork. Bransen looked up at them and smiled stupidly, his head rolling, and that only intensified their disgust and drove them further aside.

"The laird is…engaged," the sentry reported back to the monks a moment later.

Bransen gave a grunt and secretly nudged Master Bathelais.

"This is more important," the monk replied, offering a quick glance back at Stork. "Take us to Laird Prydae at once."

"It would not be wise to interrupt-" the sentry started to protest, but Reandu cut him short.

"Do you begin to understand the importance of this?" the younger monk snapped. "The Highwayman is within our reach, right now, and any hesitation will cost us this one chance we have to put things aright."

"We understand fully," the man retorted. "The death of Bernivvigar is no small thing!"

"The death of Bernivvigar?" both Bathelais and Reandu asked together.

"His head lopped from his shoulders this very night by the Highwayman," the sentry explained. "He appeared out of the Samhaist fire, as if summoned from hell itself, so said the onlookers-half the town saw it! He walked through Bernivvigar's magic, and not even the Ancient Ones themselves could stop him!"

"Bernivvigar dead this very night," Master Bathelais murmured, and both monks widened their eyes at that remarkable news; both turned again subtly to regard Bransen.

Bransen managed to slip them a look reminding them that they, too, could easily find such a fate this night.

"That only strengthens our need and desire to speak with Prydae!" Bathelais said suddenly, with great animation. "Admit us at once, you fool, before all the holding is destroyed by the hands of this outlaw!"

The sentry babbled some protest, but he eventually led the monks past the surprised and curious looks of the other soldiers. A grand stairway swept up from the ground floor to a balcony that lined the left hand wall. From the other end of that balcony, the stairs climbed to the higher levels of the tower.

The foursome climbed the first flight to the balcony and started along, with the sentry pausing at the door in the middle of the wall and knocking hard as the monks and Stork moved past.

Bransen turned as he heard the familiar voice booming behind him, to see a man well known to him come out of the room. Bannagran gave him only a cursory and disgusted glance, then turned to the soldier; but Bransen could not tear his eyes from the imposing warrior.

The monks moved away from him, but he didn't notice.

Brother Reandu called for him to keep up, but he didn't notice.

Finally, he broke the spell and turned, just as Master Bathelais swung around, fist up high. "Bannagran, to arms!" he cried. "The Stork is your Highwayman! Seize him!"

Bransen's eyes went wide in the face of the deceit, and he lifted his cane and waved it in tight circles to free its of its cloth casing. Or at least, he started to, for then a streaking bolt of lightning erupted from Master Bathelais's hand and slammed him hard in the chest, throwing him backward.

Bransen heard the cries of Bannagran and the sentry, heard the protests of Brother Reandu, and heard most of all, the continuing fury of Master Bathelais. He collected his wits and his focus immediately-he knew that he had to-and fell inside himself, visualizing the line of his chi. That spark of energy, that focus of life, was exactly the attack point of the lightning, as Bransen could see by the dispersing flares. He tightened his focus and forced his chi back into alignment. He used his Jhesta Tu understanding and his soul stone, countering the effects of the jolt.

And he did it all in the blink of an eye.

On instinct, Bransen dropped low, and the sentry who was charging him from behind flipped right over his bent back and tumbled down, but not before intercepting Master Bathelais's second lightning blast.

Bransen went around and thought to stand to meet the charge of Bannagran, but then stayed low instead, kicking one foot right into the leading foot of the warrior.

Bannagran tripped off to the side of the moving Bransen and stumbled forward, but recovered quickly, purposely running into the wall to secure his balance. He spun around, ready to meet Bransen's charge.

But Bransen wasn't charging. He hadn't come here to do battle with Bannagran or with the monks. He hadn't come here to exact revenge or to punish anyone.

He remembered all that keenly with battle so clear before him, and instead of charging forward to stab Bannagran or to thrust his sword into the treacherous Master Bathelais, the Highwayman leaped onto the railing of the balcony and then sprang from it just ahead of another of Bathelais's searing lightning bolts.

Bransen's muscles propelled him up and out, as he lifted his chi to lighten the resistance against that great leap, making it seem as much a flight as a jump. He soared across, catching the railing of the next ascending staircase and pulling himself over it in one fluid movement. He glanced back to see the commotion he had left behind: the man shivering on the floor from the sting of Bathelais's second lightning bolt; Bathelais shouting and pointing his way; Bannagran, with other soldiers now in his wake, running along the balcony to the base of the staircase.