Elbryan looked at the man, sincerely touched by his concern and his offer. "Here," he replied. "Dundalis will rise again, in defiance of the goblins and the demon and any others who would try to stop us. Right here, a town again as it was before; and when the region is secure, we shall bring others —folk with children—to fill the air with song."
Murmurs of assent came from every member of the group. "But where to start?" one woman asked.
"Up that hill," Elbryan answered without hesitation, pointing up the north slope. "A tower up there will command a view of all the northern trails. And down here, we will start with a strong meetinghouse, a place of drink and song in times of peace, a shelter should winter at last descend, and a fortress should war find its way here again."
"You sound as if you've planned it all," Tomas remarked.
"A thousand times," Elbryan replied, "every day from the day I was forced to run and hide in the forest. Dundalis will rise from the ashes again —this time to stay."
That brought smiles, encouraging whispers, and even cheers.
"And the other towns?" Tomas asked.
"We have not the manpower to reclaim Weedy Meadow and End-o'-the-World at present," Elbryan explained. "Bradwarden and I will scout them out, but for now, let them lie. Once Dundalis is alive and thriving again, more settlers will come north, and we will aid them in the reclamation of the other two towns."
"Each with a meetinghouse fortress?" Tomas asked with a wide grin.
"And a tower," Elbryan replied.
"And a ranger," said Bradwarden with a laugh. "Ah, but ye'll be runnin' all about, Nightbird."
And so they began that very day, clearing debris and staking out lines for some of the new structures. The foundation of the central building was cleared, the walls outlined, and first poles —the bottom rigging of the tower Elbryan wanted placed overlooking the valley of caribou moss—were placed later that same afternoon.
Up there, on the ridge of that northern slope, the ranger relived some of the most vivid and powerful memories of his youth: his father leading the hunters back with the dead goblin, the first sign of trouble; his many days spent up here with Pony, looking down at the beautiful white brush blanketing the ground about the rows of fir trees; the night he and Pony started up here, only to be stopped by the spectacular sight of Corona's many-colored Halo glowing across the southern sky like a heavenly rainbow.
And, perhaps the most vivid memory of all and the most painful, he remembered his first kiss with Pony, the delicious and warm feeling that was shattered by the screams as the goblins sacked the town.
He told all that to Tomas and the others that night around the campfire. They all were weary from a hard day of work, and all knew that they would have another equally grueling schedule the next day. Yet not a person fell asleep, entranced by the tale the ranger wove for them. The moon had already set by the time he finished, and every one of them went to sleep with even more determination that Dundalis would rise again.
P A R T T H R E E
Politic
There is something freeing about this existence, Uncle Mather, something true and without hypocrisy in living among the ever-present dangers on the borderlands of so-called civilized lands. I have been watching Tomas and his friends, many of whom have lived most of their lives in Palmaris, and have witnessed a change: gradual, but not so subtle if I measure their present state against the attitudes I saw in them when first I came to Caer Tinella. Their facades and pretensions have gradually slipped away, I think, to allow the real faces of these men and women to shine through. And I, who was raised in Dundalis and then among the blunt often brutally blunt! Touel'alfar, greatly prefer these true faces.
Simple survival out here requires trust, and trust requires honesty. Without it, all is in jeopardy, for when danger descends, cooperation holds the key to survival. I know my friends, Uncle Mather, and my enemies, and I would willingly take a spear aimed at a friend, as any of them would for me. That notion of mutual benefit, of true community, has been buried in the lands where the thrill of life on the edge of peril has been replaced by the competition of intrigue, the building of secret alliances. A secure, comfortable life, it seems, allows the darker aspect of human nature to emerge.
I have spent many hours thinking on this since my journey through the populated lands, through Palmaris and to St.-Mere-Abelle. It might be that the people there are bored, for much of life's risk and adventure have been removed; and thus, the folk have added their own adventures, false adventures. The levels of intrigue that I found in the populated South, particularly in the Church, have overwhelmed me. It almost seems to me as if these people have too much time to think, and they sit around weaving improbable conclusions to misguided beliefs.
I could not survive in that world, and would not deign to try. I shall let the rise and set of the sun and the moon guide my hours, and let the weather and seasons guide my actions. I shall eat enough to sustain life and never descend to gluttony, and always shall I remember to appreciate the animal, or plant, that provided me with food. I shall hold nature in a place of godliness and stand humbly beneath her, remembering always that she could destroy me in the flicker of an instant. I shall tolerate weaknesses in others, for in them, I see my own. And I shall raise my sword or bow in defense only, never for personal gain.
These are the vows that have come to me in my reflections, Uncle Mather, and I know them to be the ways of the ranger. I choose to live simply, and honestly, as did my father, as did you, Uncle Mather, and as the Touel'alfar showed me. As those in the cultured and civilized kingdoms have seemingly forgotten.
I shudder at the concept of a world tamed.
—ELBRYAN WYNDON
CHAPTER 16
Lessons
In the two weeks following the speech of the new bishop, Palmaris had changed considerably. Every fourth day, St. Precious was filled to overflowing, more than two thousand people at a time celebrating the holy rituals. Few dared question why those rituals involved several collections of the silver and gold bear-stamped coins of the kingdom, or even, if the person had no money, a piece of jewelry or clothing.
Outwardly, there were few signs of discontent. The Bishop's show of power —monks and soldiers parading the streets daily—kept the peace, kept a smile, however strained, on the face of every member of the congregation. In the words of Pony, it was "faith by intimidation."
For the Behrenese in the dockside neighborhood, the situation worsened. Since De'Unnero had taken charge, the soldiers and monks had been given free rein to harass them, but now even the common Palmaris citizen thought nothing of hurling an insult, a ball of spit, even a rock, at the "foreigners." The Behrenese, with their dark skin and different mannerisms, were easily identifiable. Convenient targets for De'Unnero's scapegoating, Pony noted. She spent many days by the docks now, watching and studying; and it seemed obvious to her that the Behrenese, though they showed no outward signs, had begun to put together an organized plan of common safety. Before the soldiers and monks arrived on any given day, though they followed no schedule, most of the weaker Behrenese —the elderly, the infirm, a woman great with child—seemed to have disappeared.
And always, Pony noted, the same handful of men and a pair of women were about, accepting the insults to pride and to body.
Another fellow caught her attention, and Pony watched him more closely. He was a tall, dark-skinned sailor, commanding a ship called the Saudi Jacintha —a man of some renown, apparently, one even the monks did not bother. Pony knew Captain Al'u'met by name, for he had been the one to ferry her and Elbryan, Bradwarden, and Juraviel across the Masur Delaval on their return from St.-Mere-Abelle. They had gone to him on Master Jojonah's recommendation; and with that monk's writ in hand, had secured transport with no questions asked.
Al'u'met was much more than a pirate, Pony and the others had realized, and much more than captain of a ferry for hire. He was Jojonah's friend; the Master's recommendation had been of the highest
order, words based more on principle than on pragmatism. Now, it appeared, the captain was again showing courage. Outwardly he appeared removed from all the turmoil, walking the decks of his ship, but Pony saw him exchanging knowing nods with the leader of the Behrenese on several occasions.
Pony's work with Belster was going fairly well —most of his substantial network were, to Pony's relief, not enamored of the new bishop—not at all. Now she dreamed of linking her group to the Behrenese, but that, she knew, would prove a far more difficult task.
That captain of the Saudi Jacintha might prove to be the key.
"I shall accompany you personally this day," an agitated De'Unnero explained to Brother Jollenue and several soldiers as they prepared to leave the abbey on their daily rounds of the merchant quarter in the relentless search for gemstones. The night before, the Bishop, with his garnet, had detected some fairly powerful stone usage from a particular mansion, a house the monks had visited before. The merchant there had sworn he had no magic stones.
Brother Jollenue eyed De'Unnero suspiciously and fearfully. Jollenue had been Bishop De'Unnero's leading collector of stones. There had been whispers in the abbey —though mostly from brothers jealous of the attention Jollenue was receiving from the new bishop—that Jollenue had been making deals with the merchants, allowing them to keep their more precious stones, surrendering only those of lesser power.
"I shall not fail, my lord," the monk, a fifth-year brother, remarked. "I have been most thorough."
De'Unnero's look was incredulous.
"It d-does not please me to bother a man as important and busy as you," Brother Jollenue stammered, melting under that gaze. "I endeavor to fulfill my duty."
De'Unnero continued to stare at the man, enjoying watching this underling squirm. His decision to accompany the monk had had nothing to do with distrusting him but was more a matter of his own boredom —the chance to make an example of this lying merchant.
"If you have heard something less than exemplary concerning my performance in this most vital mission you have assigned —" a nervous Jollenue started.
"Should I have heard such?" De'Unnero interrupted, unable to resist. The young brother was trembling now, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.
"No, no, my lord," the man replied immediately. "I mean . . . they are just the false accusations of jealous brothers."
De'Unnero was enjoying this; in truth, he hadn't heard a single complaint against Jollenue.
"Every stone collected," Jollenue went on, a hint of desperation in his voice. He grew more animated with every word, waving his hands. "Never would I allow a man not of the Church to keep even a tiny diamond, even if his house was bereft of candles," Jollenue declared. "Pray in the darkness, I would tell him. Reveal your sins to yourself. Let God —"
The man's words turned into a groan as De'Unnero caught one of his swinging hands and bent his thumb back. Faster than the brother could react, the Bishop stepped beside Jollenue's shoulder and drove his index finger up under poor Jollenue's ear on the pressure point.
Paralyzed with agony, poor Jollenue could only whimper and beg for mercy.
"Why, dear Brother Jollenue," Bishop De'Unnero remarked, "it never occurred to me that you might be cheating me and cheating the Church."
"Please, my lord," Jollenue gasped. "I have not."
"Are you lying?" De'Unnero casually asked, pushing so hard with his finger that Jollenue's legs buckled.
"No, my lord!"
"I know the truth," De'Unnero declared. "I give you one last chance to speak that truth. If you lie, I shall push my finger right into your brain, a most painful death, I assure you." Jollenue started to answer, but De'Unnero pushed harder. "One last chance," De'Unnero repeated. "Have you cheated me?"
"No," Jollenue managed to say, and De'Unnero released him. He fell over, curling up on the floor, groaning and clutching the side of his head.
De'Unnero raked his eyes over the soldiers, and each of them backed away respectfully.
That reaction pleased the new bishop immensely.
After Jollenue recovered, they set off —a half dozen soldiers and the two monks. At first, Brother Jollenue remained a respectful stride behind De'Unnero, but the Bishop beckoned the man to his side.
"You have been to this house before —or perhaps it was one of the other groups," De'Unnero explained. "It does not matter," he quickly added, seeing the man grow nervous, probably formulating some excuse for his failure. "This merchant is cunning, it would seem. I am not certain if he surrendered some stones, keeping his most prized, or if he somehow managed to elude us altogether."
"But only for a short while, it would seem," Jollenue said hopefully.
De'Unnero's lip curled, as much a snarl as a smile, and he glanced at Jollenue. He picked up the pace, walking determinedly. Soon they were in the merchant quarter, walking along a cobblestone road, neatly trimmed hedgerows to either side and great stone houses set far apart, each a fortress of its own, complete with a surrounding wall.
"That one," De'Unnero explained, pointing to a rather plain brownstone dwelling.
Brother Jollenue nodded and lowered his gaze.
"One of your inspections?" De'Unnero asked.
"Aloysius Crump," the monk replied. "A boisterous man, strong of body and of spirit. A trader of fine cloths and furs."
"He refused your right of inspection?"
"He allowed us entry," one of the soldiers explained. "The man cooperated fully, my lord, as much as a proud man like Master Crump can cooperate for such an indignity as an inspection."
"You speak as if you know the man," he accused.
"I guarded a caravan on which he was a principal," the soldier admitted. "A journey to the Timberlands."
"Indeed," said the Bishop. "And tell me of Master Crump."
"A warrior," the soldier said, obviously impressed by the merchant. "He has seen many battles and never shies from a fight, no matter the odds. Twice he was left for dead on a field, only to walk back in hours later, very much alive and seeking revenge. They call him Crump the Badger, and it is a name, I assure you, that is well earned."
"Indeed," the Bishop said again, obviously not impressed. "You trust and respect this man?"
"I do," the soldier admitted.
"And so, perhaps your judgment of the man hindered Brother Jollenue's inspection," the Bishop surmised, putting the man on the defensive. The soldier started to protest, but De'Unnero held up his hand. "Our discussion of this matter will wait until a more convenient time," he said. "But I warn you, do not hinder my inspection. Indeed, you shall wait out here in the middle of the street."
The man bristled and squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest. De'Unnero marked his defiant attitude and realized he could enjoyably put that pride to the test later.
"Come along, and quickly," the Bishop ordered the others. "Let us pay the merchant a visit before he has the time to hide his precious gemstones."
"Master Crump has dogs," Brother Jollenue warned, but that hardly slowed De'Unnero. He rushed to the gate, leaped and grabbed its top, then pulled himself over in one fluid motion. A few seconds later the baying of hounds began, and the gate swung open wide. Jollenue and the soldiers ran to join the Bishop, but De'Unnero didn't wait for them, rushing into the open yard, in defiance of a shouting guard and the two barking dogs, their short black coats shining, their white teeth gleaming.
The lead dog sprinted for the Bishop and, barely ten feet away, leaped high for his throat.
De'Unnero quickly dropped into a sudden squat. Over his head went the the dog, and up snapped De'Unnero's hand to grab its hind leg. Up went the bishop and out snapped his other hand, catching the dog's other hind leg. His hands were crossed, left holding the dog's right leg, right holding the left. He lowered the dog down to its front paws, the beast trying to turn and bite him.
De'Unnero pulled his arms back, forcing the dog's legs wide, beyond the tolerance of its pelvic bones. Hearing the crack, De'Unner
o dropped the howling, crippled dog to the ground and spun in time to react to the second dog, flying like an arrow for his throat.
Up snapped the Bishop's forearm, under the dog's snapping jaw, turning the dog in the air. The beast slammed into him and managed to nip his forearm, but De'Unnero's free hand shot out to clasp the dog's throat.
With a feral growl, the Bishop held the hundred-pound dog out straight with seemingly little effort.
Behind him, Brother Jollenue and the guards gasped in amazement; before him, the lone guard slowed his charge to a walk, mouth open.
De'Unnero held the pose for just a moment, then crushed the animal's windpipe. He tossed the dying creature to the ground at the feet of Crump's guard.
The man uttered some low threat and advanced a cautious step, sword extended.
"Stop!" Brother Jollenue yelled at him. "This is Marcalo De'Unnero, the bishop of Palmaris."
The guard stared hard at the man, obviously unsure how to proceed. De'Unnero made the decision for him, walking boldly to the man and slowly pushing him aside. "There is no need to introduce me to Master Crump," the Bishop explained. "He will know of me soon enough."
Up to the door he went, Brother Jollenue and the soldiers falling into line behind him, the guard still standing in the courtyard, staring blankly at the intruders. A kick had the door swinging wide, and the Bishop walked right in.
Servants, who had come into the foyer to see what the disturbance was about, scrambled to get out of the dangerous man's way. Then another man, a huge, ruddy-looking fellow with thick curly black hair sprinkled with gray, entered from a door across the way, his face a mask of outrage.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
De'Unnero glanced back at Brother Jollenue.
"Aloysius Crump," the younger monk confirmed.
De'Unnero turned slowly, a smile spreading over his face, to regard the man, who was now approaching as if he meant to lift the Bishop and throw him out into the street. Certainly this Crump was an impressive specimen, closer to three hundred pounds than to two, De'Unnero estimated, and the lines of several garish scars were clearly visible, including a scab on the side of the man's neck, a very recent wound.
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