R. Salvatore - The Bear

"For Giavno," was all the disturbed man would reply. He took a deep breath then and rolled the man over, tugging his arms tightly behind his back. "We need some rope or cloth," he started to say, meaning to finish with "or we have to kill him," but Milkeila was already on the task. She moved to a nearby tree thick with climbing grapevines. She whispered to it and stroked the trunk gently and gave a slight tug on the vine, which dropped to the ground beside her. Still talking to it and gently coiling it, Milkeila moved beside Cormack. She placed the vine on the ground beside the man and called on the spirits of Yan Ossum.

The vine began to crawl of its own accord. It snaked up onto the man's back and slithered about his wrists as Cormack fell back in surprise. Winding ever more tightly, the vine wrapped intricately, weaving in and out and about. With the man's wrists secured many times over, the vine's remaining length climbed up his back and looped like a constrictor about the poor fellow's neck.

"He'll not get free," Milkeila assured her husband. "Let us be quick to Pryd and Laird Bannagran."

Cormack looked at her doubtfully. "If Bannagran learns of this attack, if he recognizes our prisoner as he surely will, then how are we to assure him that Laird Ethelbert is trustworthy and deserving of alliance?"

"How are we to believe that?" Milkeila asked.

"For Dame Gwydre, then," Cormack decided. "We will speak not on behalf of Laird Ethelbert."

"For Dame Gwydre and Father Artolivan," Milkeila agreed. "For the good of all the folk of Honce."

The man on the ground began to stir again, so the couple hooked him under the arms and hoisted him roughly to his feet. They set off at a swift pace, pushing their prisoner along.

Two days later, they arrived in Pryd Town, less than an hour after Bannagran's army had settled about the place.

Clear sailing in the gulf, and Dawson will be ashore in three days!" Dame Gwydre said excitedly, rushing into the audience hall of Father Premujon. The woman quieted immediately, though, when she noted the tenor of the place. She brought her hand to her mouth to muffle her gasp when she spotted Brother Giavno laid out on a bench to the side of the dais. Brothers Pinower and Jurgyen crouched over him, with Father Premujon and several of the chapel's masters standing nearby, shaking their heads solemnly.

"What has happened?" Gwydre asked, rushing over.

"The perils of spirit walking," Jurgyen explained, looking up at her and meeting her gaze squarely. She found no contempt there, nor blame, just a resigned sadness. "He has been driven to madness, no doubt through the sin of possession."

"Can you help him?"

Jurgyen shrugged, and Pinower said, "We have sent for Bransen. Perhaps his mystical skills and the power of our gemstones will penetrate the veil Brother Giavno has constructed."

"It is a terrible loss," said Father Premujon. "But it will not be the last we can expect." He stepped over and herded Pinower and Jurgyen away from Giavno's twitching body. "The army of Vanguard approaches," he said to them. "We must make our preparations and be out to the east to greet them. You have a great and vital march ahead of you, brothers. Go now and sleep-it has been a long night."

"The man is my friend," Pinower struggled to reply. "I cannot leave…"

"You would honor him by deserting the cause to which he has so greatly sacrificed?"

Pinower lowered his gaze and gave a great exhale, a great sigh, and seemed to simply deflate. "No, father."

Premujon hugged him and whispered something in his ear, then pushed him away, toward the door.

Brother Jurgyen caught up to Pinower and supported him and also patted Gwydre comfortingly on the shoulder as he walked past her. The two brothers neared the exit as Bransen, Cadayle, and Callen came rushing in.

Bransen moved right past them, sprinting to Giavno's side, and Pinower and Jurgyen paused to watch, both making the sign of the evergreen.

Beside Bransen, who was already crouching over Brother Giavno, Father Premujon waved them out of the room.

"Can you help him?" Dame Gwydre asked, coming over to the Highwayman.

Bransen looked at her doubtfully. Without saying a word he unwrapped his bandanna and took down the soul stone Master Reandu had given him. He clutched it tightly in his hand, feeling its magic keenly, then placed it on the forehead of Brother Giavno. Almost immediately, the man's eyes flickered open and began to twitch.

Bransen felt the spiritual connection to Giavno. He pictured his own line of ki-chi-kree, running like a thin line of lightning from his head to his groin. Then, in the swirl of the hematite, he saw Giavno's line and felt the constant interruptions to it, the stabbing outbursts of protest causing it to flicker and spasm.

Bransen broke the connection and fell back, confused. He opened his eyes to find Gwydre and Premujon hovering about him, staring at him hopefully.

"I don't know," was all that Bransen said, and with a glance at Cadayle, who nodded her agreement, he fell back into the stone, seeking again Brother Giavno's ki-chi-kree.

It seemed like only a matter of moments, but most of the morning had passed before Bransen again opened his eyes and looked outside the spiritual experience of the soul stone. Gwydre was gone from the room, as were Callen and most of the monks, but Cadayle and Father Premujon sat together on a nearby bench.

"Bransen, what do you know?" a startled Premujon asked when he noticed that the Highwayman had returned from his out-of-body journey.

"Brother Giavno is in there," Bransen heard himself answering, although his concentration remained almost fully upon the task of deciphering all that he had seen, the darkness and the jumble. And then it occurred to him, "But he is not alone."

"Possession?" Father Premujon asked, coming right out of his seat, as did Cadayle beside him. The woman rushed to support her husband.

Bransen shook his head, unsure.

"One of De Guilbe's traitorous monks?" Father Premujon demanded, but again Bransen shook his head.

He wasn't certain. He needed to go back and try again to separate Brother Giavno from this other entity-enough at least to try to gain some information from the monk. But what he needed most of all was to rest.

"After supper," he said. "In the quiet night."

"Dame Gwydre wishes to be out before the dawn," said Cadayle. "You must march with her."

Bransen nodded. He knew that, had pledged that, and, freed of his bout of self-pity and cynicism by the loving slap of Cadayle, intended to fight for Gwydre, for his family, with all his heart. He glanced back at Brother Giavno, though, and knew, too, that he had to come back here, had to go back through the gemstone and Jhesta Tu magic into the realm of the spirit to try to find the lost soul. His friendship to Giavno demanded that, of course, but so, too, did his sense that there was something more here, something important.

I am surprised that you came to Castle Pryd instead of the chapel," Bannagran remarked when Cormack, Milkeila, and their prisoner were marched into the laird's hall. "But I see that you come bearing a gift, at least."

"Demand free me!" said the man from Behr.

Bannagran flashed an amused grin and motioned to a guard, who promptly stepped over and smacked a mailed gauntlet into the side of the prisoner's head. Stubbornly, the warrior began to protest again, but Bannagran warned him to silence with a wagging finger.

"That is one of Ethelbert's hired assassins, I expect," the laird said.

"I believe his name is Wahloon," Cormack replied. "Else, that is a Behr word meaning something else."

"Wahloon, Hou-lei!" Wahloon said proudly, thrusting his chin forward.

Bannagran gave him a sidelong smirk and motioned to the guard, who smacked him again.