R. Salvatore - The Bear

By the time the two finally got into the cove near St. Mere Abelle's docks, a predawn glow had brightened the eastern sky, and by the time they got onto the docks themselves, the morning light shone brilliantly.

But no more brilliantly to Dawson than the image of Dame Gwydre and of Callen Duwornay, when he met up with them soon after. He rushed to his lady and kissed her hand, then swept over to Callen and crushed her in a great hug and a passionate kiss that went on so long it had Dame Gwydre giggling and Callen's daughter, Cadayle, blushing.

"I told ye I'd be back for ye," Dawson said when at last they broke the kiss, though neither showed any hint of easing up on the hug.

"I never doubted you," Callen replied.

"You delivered my emissaries?" Dame Gwydre asked, and, finally, the couple shifted side by side.

"Aye, they're with Ethelbert, and it seems we've an alliance," said Dawson.

Dame Gwydre breathed a sigh of relief, as did everyone in the room, including Brother Giavno and Father Premujon.

Dawson noted Cadayle staring at him hopefully, but the daunting question came not from her, but from Callen, standing at his side. "Any news of Bransen, then?"

Dawson tried to appear calm, but his sinking expression spoke volumes to all around before he finally stammered out, "We didn't see him, no, but Cormack and Milkeila will find out where he is, don't ye doubt."

Many exchanged concerned looks at the hesitancy in Dawson's response, and all of those gazes eventually settled on Cadayle.

"You didn't see him, but what word did you hear?" Callen asked, and when Dawson hesitated, she added, "You wouldn't be a smart one to start lying to me now."

The old sea dog rocked back on his heels. "We're worried for him, to be sure, but we heard no word, and, truth be told, we feared to ask too much. Ethelbert's bodyguard, a woman of Behr, is carryin' a sword much like Bransen's. Our guess is that them two met. She's just like him in that Jhesta Tu thing, so we're hoping he's out working for her."

"But you're fearing…?" Cadayle prompted.

"Not for knowing," said Dawson. "Cormack and Milkeila will learn the truth of him, if there's any truth to be known in Ethelbert's domain."

Cadayle started to inquire further, but Callen grabbed her arm and hushed her, nodding toward Dame Gwydre and Father Artolivan in a not-so-subtle reminder that there were other matters to discuss, however much they both feared for Bransen.

"So we have Ethelbert with us, and that is no small thing," Dame Gwydre stated. "But our scouts claim that Yeslnik marches once more to Ethelbert dos Entel, and he has us trapped in here by that wretched Panlamaris on the land and a great armada in the gulf."

"And they're hitting at Vanguard, so they're shouting," said Dawson.

"They are," Gwydre confirmed. "The brothers have ventured there in spirit form."

"And we're not for getting to our kin," Dawson remarked.

"Then what are we, here, to do?" asked Gwydre. "We cannot simply sit behind these walls and hope that the events of the world turn in our favor."

"Cormack will approach Bannagran of Pryd, as we proposed," Father Premujon reminded. "He is a fine emissary, and I believe that Master Reandu will support our proposition."

"Bannagran will more likely be swayed if we secure the former alliances of Ethelbert-the coastal holdings east of here," Dame Gwydre reasoned. "Let us bring them into our alliance. "Brave Brother Pinower has shown us that Milwellis's net isn't nearly as tight as he believes, after all. My ship awaits not far from here, I trust."

"Sitting quiet in a cove," Dawson confirmed.

"It is time for me to go out," Dame Gwydre decided, to more than a few fearful gasps. "Fear not, for I will not walk openly and will not walk alone."

"If all the brothers and all the former prisoners here at St. Mere Abelle were to accompany you, and Dawson's crew as well, it would not be enough," Premujon replied. "Lady, I beg, you are too important to take such a chance."

"I cannot simply sit here to the drumming of Panlamaris's catapults and the songs of sailors' taunts while the world is conquered around us."

"And if you go out and are caught, then there is no hope against Yeslnik," Premujon reminded. "None."

Dame Gwydre ran fingers through her short hair and had no response. Truly she felt trapped here, helpless against the waves of troubling tidings.

They all did. Brother Jurgyen yanked open the flimsy door and threw aside the heavy dark curtain, rushing to the side of screaming Brother Auchance, who lay curled on the floor. He couldn't quiet the poor young man, couldn't even uncurl him from the fetal position. He looked into the monk's eyes and saw nothing but a blank stare.

Auchance was looking far, far away.

Jurgyen had seen this before, and so he closed his eyes and hugged the brother close. The man had fallen into the body of another, probably someone a hundred miles away, and had become entwined in a battle of souls for that foreign body. There was no way for a spirit-walking brother to win in that situation, for even a temporary victory would mean possession, and possession could not endure (nor should it, since it was considered among the most immoral possibilities of gemstone magic).

The brother had been evicted. As the magic of the stone had faded, he'd found his way back to his own corporeal body, here in the one of the meditation rooms in St. Mere Abelle. But the experience had broken him, Jurgyen knew from bitter experience.

Other brothers arrived behind him. He backed out of the tiny closet and bade them to take poor, young Auchance to a bed in the rooms of healing. "Tie him down," he instructed, and they nodded, for they all knew that the monk would injure himself in his likely fits of thrashing.

Brother Jurgyen stormed away. Perhaps Auchance would recover, and perhaps he would die. There was nothing that Jurgyen or any of the brothers could do to help with this malady, and that helplessness only infuriated him as he made his way to Dame Gwydre's chambers. He knocked hard on the door and burst through it before the woman had even bade him to enter.

"Brother!" she scolded.

"How many will die for your insatiable need to scour your beloved Vanguard?" he roared. "To confirm the tragedies that the Palmaristown sailors yell at us every day? It is madness!"

"Nay, brother," she replied, keeping her voice very calm and motioning for Jurgyen to take a seat across from her as she sat before the burning hearth. The evening air had a chill, though summer was upon them, for the winds were off the gulf this night.

The monk moved to the chair but did not sit down.

"I am no less concerned than you regarding your brethren," Gwydre assured him. "And I salute their heroism in going forth in spirit form."

"You act as if they have a voice in the matter."

"No more than the warrior who charges the enemy line."

Jurgyen winced at that honest reply as he slid into the chair. He remained determined, though, to hold the edge of his anger. His brethren were depending on him to end this madness of spirit walking, he believed.

"We have lost another one," Jurgyen said to her. "Our ranks thin."

"But you are training more?" Gwydre asked, though her tone made it sound more like an order than a question, as indeed it was.

"Do you mean to destroy the whole of our order?"

"Would you prefer the stewardship of Father De Guilbe and the Church of the Divine King?"

The cutting question settled Jurgyen, and he looked away.

"Dawson McKeege came into St. Mere Abelle this day," Gwydre said. "Brave Brother Pinower's gamble in running across the waves brought to us great news and hope."

Jurgyen reluctantly nodded.

"It is our only hope," Gwydre said to him. "We will know of far-off events before our enemies learn of the situation, and so we will prove more nimble. With the spirit walking of brothers, perhaps our armies will better position for a battle or will learn of traps Yeslnik sets for us. You cannot underestimate the value of that, brother. What commander would not wish to know the movements of his enemy's armies?"