R. Salvatore - The Dame

Bransen gave her a hug and assured her that all was well. They went to the window together, where Bransen pulled the curtain aside.

They recognized Dawson McKeege immediately, riding a horse with an escort of several grim-faced soldiers and a single, empty wagon.

“To take us where we wish to go,” Bransen insisted when they pulled up outside his door.

“With winter coming on strong?”

“Trust in Dame Gwydre,” said Bransen. “I have her word.”

Cadayle motioned toward the window then. Bransen turned to see Callen, who had gone across the road to borrow some spices, moving over to speak with Dawson, who smiled widely at the sight of her and tipped his floppy hat.

Cadayle started for the door, but Bransen held her back and bade her to watch the exchange-the undeniably pleasant exchange. Dawson hopped down from his horse and even kissed Callen’s hand. Suddenly the men around him didn’t seem quite so grim-faced any longer.

The young couple went onto their porch.

“Greetings!” Dawson said upon sighting them, his crooked smile still wide.

“Have you found another battle to which to drag my husband?” Cadayle asked sarcastically.

Dawson paused as if confused, then said, emphatically, “Oh, no, no, good lady. Your husband’s heroics in the northland seem to have ended all that!”

“The war is truly over?” Bransen asked.

“What we’re hoping, at least,” Dawson replied. “No fighting, no goblins, no trolls, and no Samhaists that we can find. I’m thinking that Dame Gwydre’s gamble did its work, and wouldn’t that be a grand thing for all of Vanguard?”

“It would, indeed,” said Bransen. He paused and considered it all for a few moments, then added uncharacteristically, “I hope it’s true.”

“Then why have you come?” Cadayle asked.

Dawson stepped back as if slapped.

“I mean, you came here for us, didn’t you? For Bransen, at least, but it can’t be time to sail the gulf.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be putting my Lady Dreamer out now, so late in the season! Not if all the demon dactyls were chasing me!”

“But here you are, with an empty wagon.”

Dawson laughed and bowed. “Guilty, my lady,” he said. “We came for you-all three with an invitation from Dame Gwydre for you to winter at Castle Pellinor.”

Cadayle looked at Callen, who nodded hopefully. Then Cadayle turned her confused expression to an equally confused Bransen.

“Back to Pellinor?” he asked. “Why?”

“It is more comfortable than here, of course. You’ve earned that at least,” Dawson answered, but Bransen knew better and shook his head in reply.

“There’s trouble,” Dawson admitted.

“He’s done fighting for you!” Cadayle insisted.

“Not that kind of trouble,” Dawson said hastily. “I weren’t lying to you when I said that all was at peace, good lady. No fighting to be found and none asked of Bransen. Nay, this trouble’s with the brothers of Blessed Abelle.”

“A group for which I care little,” said Bransen. “I put them not so far above the Samhaists, to be honest.”

“Brother Jond?” Dawson asked, and Bransen perked up at that. “He calls you his friend.”

“I am.”

“And Cormack?”

“He’s no longer of that order.”

“But the order isn’t letting him go so easily,” Dawson explained. “Father De Guilbe is a fiery one, full of anger, anger aimed at Cormack. Cormack’s been arrested.”

“Father Premujon put him in chains?” Bransen asked.

“Dame Gwydre took him,” said Dawson. Bransen gave a little hiss of disappointment and dismay.

“She had no choice in the matter,” Dawson continued. “Father De Guilbe demanded it of Father Premujon-the big idiot De Guilbe apparently has some power in the order and with Father Artolivan, who leads them all. He put Premujon in a tight corner to be sure. Dame Gwydre had no choice but to give in to De Guilbe’s demands and arrest Cormack for trial. She’s got him, but rest assured he’s comfortable and outside the influence of his former brothers.”

“To what end?” asked Bransen. “Is he to be sentenced? He risked everything for Vanguard and fought with courage and strength. Without him Ancient Badden would have won the day and your war…” He stopped when he noted that Dawson was nodding with his every word.

“There are rumors that he is to be tried before both court and church,” Dawson explained. “If it comes to that, it will be fair, I promise. Dame Gwydre will preside and will surely mitigate any demands of the brothers upon Cormack with her knowledge of his heroics in ending the war.”

“What of Milkeila?” Bransen asked. He turned to Cadayle and reminded her, “The barbarian woman, wife of Cormack.”

“She is well, and within Pellinor with Cormack. They are not ill-treated, I promise you. I came to relay all of this and to extend Dame Gwydre’s invitation. I hope you will agree to join us in Pellinor. Your presence would be a great boon to your friend Cormack.”

“I have already said everything on his behalf. What influence could I possibly bring to such a trial?”

Dawson glanced back at his men, and they all laughed at that.

“You still do not understand, do you?” Dawson asked. “You, who dropped the head of Ancient Badden at Dame Gwydre’s feet, do not understand the power of your mere presence. You’re a hero, boy! Your name is being whispered through every vale in Vanguard. To have you there, at Cormack’s side, will surely carry great weight. It will bolster Gwydre’s hand in this argument and diminish De Guilbe. You shame him, Highwayman, for you went where he would not, and you did what he could not. Cormack’s stature rises with the Highwayman beside him. I beg you to join me. You will find Pellinor comfortable for the winter, and you will do a great favor to this man you call a friend.”

Bransen turned to Cadayle, who nodded.

“My ma, too?” she asked suddenly of Dawson.

The man turned his smiling face to Callen Duwornay and gave her a playful wink. “Ah, but that I insist upon,” he answered.

Callen’s blush was not lost on Cadayle.

I can go back, but it’s getting cold and I’m getting old,” Jameston Sequin said, starting the conversation on that note as Dame Gwydre walked into the room.

“Do you need to go back?” the woman asked.

Jameston shook his head. “It’s done and over.”

“You have met with Samhaists directly?”

“A couple. One, I trust. The other… well, he’s a Samhaist, but I don’t see why he’d lie to me. The stories were consistent. This was Badden’s stand. He wanted to take Vanguard as his own since his order has lost southern Honce to both the warring lairds who just love those monks and their baubles.”

Dame Gwydre stiffened at that comment, a curious movement. Jameston looked at her quizzically.

“The brothers of Blessed Abelle have powerful magic, you know,” she said, and Jameston nodded. “They can deliver messages over far distances in a hurry, it would seem.”

“I’m no expert on Abelle gemstones,” Jameston admitted.

“They can,” Gwydre replied. “Not an easy task, apparently, and not without danger to the courier. So they reserve this practice for the most urgent messages alone.”

“Sounds like you have something important to tell me.”

“Laird Delaval is dead, murdered by Laird Ethelbert,” said Gwydre.

Jameston shrugged as if he hardly cared. “One of them had to go.”

“But while Laird Ethelbert’s assassins were killing him, Laird Delaval’s men were chasing Ethelbert’s army back to the south.”

“They’ll keep fighting without a laird leading them?”