R. Salvatore - The Dame

“I do not know if Cormack was right or wrong in what he did,” Giavno said in more humble and muted tones. “I do not know if Father De Guilbe acted wisely or acted the fool in keeping the Alpinadorans against their will. We punished Cormack for his betrayal. I beat him near to death with a scourge, and we cast him adrift on the lake to die. But he did not die. And how did he repay us for our punishment? By returning with that man, there”-he pointed to Bransen-“to warn us of impending doom. Were it not for them and for Milkeila and her people, Ancient Badden would have succeeded in dropping the edge of a great glacier into our lake, washing us all away to our certain deaths. Enough, please, Father Premujon. Let Cormack go.”

He looked to Cormack as he finished, tears in his eyes. “I am proud to say that this man was once my friend and sorry to admit that I failed him miserably.”

Again the whispering erupted, more muted and with many heads nodding. Bransen, as surprised as any, watched Dame Gwydre intently. She looked to Father Premujon; the two shared telling nods.

After a long while, Gwydre asked, “Are you satisfied, Father Premujon?”

“I am,” he replied.

“Father De Guilbe claims this situation a matter of the Order of Blessed Abelle. Despite my strong feelings here I am forced to agree,” Dame Gwydre admitted.

Many around the room gasped, but Bransen grinned and nodded, fully expecting what was forthcoming.

“Then I would argue that Cormack is no brother of the Order of Abelle, that his title was lawfully stripped by a man empowered to do so,” said Premujon. “When he was put in that boat and cast adrift he became the charge of Dame Gwydre and not of Father Artolivan or his emissaries.”

“But I defer to you, for your guidance, at least,” said Gwydre.

With a look to Father De Guilbe that was part apology, part exasperation, Father Premujon said, “We have had our justice on the brother, Cormack. It is up to Dame Gwydre to decide whether his actions merit further punishment or celebration. I have witnessed the cost of this war with the evil Ancient Badden for many months now, my good lady. I would counsel you to leniency at the least.”

“Go free, Cormack,” Dame Gwydre pronounced immediately. “With my great, great appreciation for your heroic efforts against the most evil Ancient Badden.”

The room exploded into cheers, but Bransen watched Father De Guilbe. He even walked among the throng swarming Cormack, veering to be near to De Guilbe so that he could hear the man say to Premujon, “Father Artolivan will hear of this.”

“Oh, he will, indeed,” the father of Chapel Pellinor replied.

Bransen laughed, and both men regarded him. He almost mentioned that more monks like Premujon, Cormack, and Jond might make him rethink the value of the Order of Blessed Abelle, but he merely tapped his finger to his black bandanna-his head wrap which held the soul stone Cormack had given to him (and the irony of that pleased him all the more)-and turned and walked away.

The snow fell heavily in spurts this day, but there was little breeze and the temperature was pleasingly moderate, leaving the air dancing with large, lazily drifting flakes. Unlike most winter Vanguard storms, it was not a day where one had to remain huddled beside a fire, though surely many chose that route.

Dame Gwydre, wrapped in a dark blue shawl, was glad to be out, feeling very much like a little girl in a friendly snowstorm. Walking beside her, Bransen was similarly at ease. He had known much snow in Pryd, of course, but there was something very different about the Vanguard winter, something… cleaner. In Pryd, the snow came and melted and left a muddy mess repeatedly, but up here, once the snow landed on the ground, it stayed throughout the winter season.

“I trust you are enjoying your stay at Castle Pellinor,” Gwydre said. “I have been so busy of late that I have had little time to look in on you and your lovely family.”

Bransen continued to look at his companion curiously for a short while, still unsure of why Gwydre had bade him, in no uncertain terms, to come outside and walk with her this afternoon. “We have never been more comfortable, of course,” he answered, but with clear hesitancy in his voice, which drew a knowing grin from Gwydre.

“Always expecting the mule’s arse rent, yes?” the Lady of Vanguard teased.

Bransen stared at her, mouth hanging open as if he had no idea of how to respond.

“You don’t know that old saying?” Gwydre asked.

“The mule’s arse rent?”

Dame Gwydre laughed at him. “Mules are frustrating creatures, particularly if you have one you don’t know well. The mule’s arse rent is the extra and unanticipated cost of renting such a beast when it is returned with boot prints on its arse.”

Bransen just stood there, gaping.

“An old saying, is all,” said Gwydre. “Or is it my use of the crude term that surprises you?”

“You constantly surprise me, Lady Gwydre.”

“Good!”

Bransen laughed helplessly.

“To my point, though,” Gwydre continued, “you fear that I have some ulterior designs in bringing you here-even above hoping that you would speak for Cormack at Father De Guilbe’s spectacle.”

Bransen arched a brow. “The possibility has crossed my mind.”

“You do not trust me.”

“I… it’s not…” Bransen stumbled.

“You have every right to be suspicious,” Gwydre conceded. “My man Dawson deceived you initially to trick you to Vanguard, and I demanded of you that you fight on my behalf.”

“I understand now that you had little choice,” said Bransen. “After meeting Ancient Badden, I better understand your desperation.”

“And you forgive me?”

Now it was Bransen’s turn to laugh. “Forgive you? You saved my life in tricking me here. I understand that.”

“So we are friends?”

“Of cour-” Bransen started to say, but he suddenly felt as if he was walking into another trap here. He stopped abruptly and stared hard at Dame Gwydre, who burst out laughing.

“Oh, but you are insufferable, Bransen Garibond!” she said. “You owe me nothing, of course. I did not demand that you return to Castle Pellinor, did I? Nay, Dawson explained Cormack’s time of need. We trusted that you would do the right thing.”

“Perhaps I am growing tired of doing the right thing.”

“You say that because you suspect that I brought you out here for something other than a friendly conversation.”

Bransen shrugged, not denying it.

The dance went out of Dame Gwydre’s step, and she said in all seriousness, “I wanted to tell you what is happening in the world, the good news and the bad. You, above many, should know.”

“I, above many, hardly care.”

“I don’t believe that,” Gwydre replied. “But even if true you should be told, and I owe it to you to tell you myself.”

“I do care about Cormack,” Bransen admitted.

“That is part of it,” said Gwydre. “Part of the good news, I am happy to say. Brother Giavno’s outburst at the trial has caused a great furor in the Order of Abelle. Father De Guilbe is outraged to this day, of course, but he finds few allies. He is a friend of Father Artolivan, so it is said, but still, Father Premujon, at the urging of our friend Brother Jond, has decided that he will travel beside Father De Guilbe to Chapel Abelle in the spring on Cormack’s behalf. There is even talk that Father Premujon-who is a good man, I assure you-will ask that Father Artolivan overrule Father De Guilbe and offer Cormack reinstatement in the order. This is a fight that will grow within the ranks of the monks, and it is a fight long overdue, I think.”

“Anything to alter their smug faces would be a good thing and, yes, is long overdue,” Bransen agreed.