“You do’no know your place,” Talmadge teased.
“I do know my place,” Aoleyn shot back. “And so I make it.”
Talmadge blinked and took a moment to digest that, then came forward and kissed Aoleyn on the forehead. “Please do not ever change,” he whispered to her.
“I’ll go get the others,” Khotai said.
“I’ll come with you,” said Talmadge.
But Khotai looked at Aoleyn, both their smiles widening. “You’ll only slow me down,” Khotai reminded, and a flick of her leg sent her floating for the door.
* * *
A tired and annoyed Brother Thaddius lifted the ridiculously large door knocker ring and thumped the chapel door yet again. He knew the place wasn’t empty, for he had seen the candlelight moving about from window to window on his approach through this small town still far from the borders of Honce-the-Bear.
“It’s probably vagrants in the place,” Sister Elysant told him. She looked around at the small village. “They’ve probably had no chaplain here for many years.”
Her words were proven false even as she finished the sentence, though, as the large door of the small chapel swung open, revealing a large, round, balding man of at least fifty winters wearing the robes of an Abellican brother. He seemed quite annoyed at Thaddius for just a moment, but then his eyes went wide indeed when he realized that these were fellow Abellican monks come calling.
“Yes? Umm, brrr,” he asked, and cleared his throat. “But what have we here? Who and why and when and how?”
“Greetings to you, too, Brother,” said Thaddius.
“Master,” the man corrected rather importantly. “Abbot, actually. Cornelius Chesterfield. Abbot Cornelius Chesterfield.”
“Greetings, then, Abbot Cornelius,” Elysant said.
The large man—and he was thrice Elysant’s weight, she figured—scowled down at her, seeming rather unpleased to see her, or perhaps to see that this second monk was a “her.”
“Abbot Chesterfield,” he corrected.
“As you wish, Abbot Chesterfield,” said Thaddius. “I am Brother Thaddius of Saint-Mere-Abelle, and this is Sister Elysant of Saint Gwendolyn-by-the-Sea.”
“Saint Gwendolyn was sacked, was it not?”
“It was,” Elysant answered.
“I was asking him,” Chesterfield insisted.
“Saint Gwendolyn was sacked, yes, and many of her brothers and sisters slain,” Thaddius answered.
“But not all,” Elysant added, against the abbot’s scowl. “And that was a decade ago.”
“We have been on the road for many weeks,” Thaddius said. “May we enter?”
“On the road to find me?” Chesterfield asked, not moving out of the way, and though it was a wide door, the large man more than blocked it.
“No,” said Thaddius.
“We did not know who you are, nor where we are, nor that there was an Abellican house of worship to be found here,” Elysant said. When Chesterfield again scowled her way, she added, with not a little sarcasm, “A fortunate find for us all, yes?”
Grumbling under his breath, the large man moved aside, holding open the door, scowling all the while. He watched every movement, Elysant noted, as she and Thaddius each took an end of the wooden box they carried, one they had bought to hold secret the three alabaster coffers they had taken from the tomb. Chesterfield glanced at Thaddius only briefly, and at the curious walking stick the brother carried, which Thaddius had wrapped in leather to conceal the gems he had set into the sockets of the strange and wondrous item. The large monk then turned his stern gaze on Sister Elysant.
She wasn’t surprised. The reign of Father Abbot Braumin Herde had brought many women into the clergy, but not without many objections from the traditionalists—or, at least, from the men who conveniently and self-servingly claimed a patriarchy as “traditionalist” within the teachings of St. Abelle. Many of the Abellicans, she knew—and not even only the ones who had followed the ways of Marcalo De’Unnero—had been secretly pleased at the downfall of St. Gwendolyn-by-the Sea, preferring their order to be one of brothers alone. Elysant wasn’t bothered by the attitude, or by Abbot Chesterfield’s obvious disdain, as she had witnessed it so many times before.
She simply took private pleasure in her confidence that she could put Abbot Chesterfield down to the ground with little effort.
“If you’re not here with any mission to find me, then tell me why you’ve come,” the large man said to Thaddius. “You’re a long way from Saint-Mere-Abelle, Brother.”
“And a longer way, we were,” Thaddius answered. “A meal, perhaps? Let us break bread that I might find the strength to tell you of our journey.”
“First you tell me why you’ve come to the chapel of Appleby-in-Wilderland. I doubt you’ve arrived unseen, and more than a few of the suspicious folk of the village will come knocking and wanting to know why.”
“We did not know that there was a chapel of Appleby-in-Wilder … ness?” Elysant interjected.
“Wilderland,” Chesterfield gruffly corrected.
“Wilderland, then,” Elysant went on, before Thaddius could jump in. “We didn’t even know that there was an Appleby-in-Wilderland. We saw the distant fires and figured to find a cluster of hunting lodges, or farmhouses perhaps. We’re tired from the road and so thought to find a brief respite in a comfortable bed or even a bale of hay.”
“One you two would share?” the large man asked, looking accusingly from Thaddius to Elysant and back again. He ended on Thaddius, as if expecting an answer from the man, but all he got was a great sigh from Elysant.
“Abbot,” Thaddius then said, “we are fellow Abellicans, monks of the Church and strong in our faith. We come to your door seeking respite and the hospitality one Abellican must expect from another. Nothing more, nothing less. Are you of a generous nature?”
“Piety, dignity, poverty, charity,” Elysant said, the first pledge of any Abellican, and a stark reminder to Chesterfield of his duties here to any traveler who happened upon his door with good intent.
The large man harrumphed, then pulled himself away to gather some plates and bread and stew for his uninvited guests.
“Take care how much you reveal to that one,” Elysant warned Thaddius when they were alone.
“He has been too long out here, perhaps,” Thaddius replied.
“I care not why, but take heed of your words. We carry with us great treasure, and so great temptation. Abbot Cornelius Chesterfield seems a man who has long given up resistance to that which he covets.”
Thaddius started to nod, but his expression changed suddenly and he stared at his diminutive companion. “And you take care,” he warned.
Elysant snorted and tapped her stone stave on the floor. “He’ll be standing straighter with this halfway up his fat arse,” she promised.
“Well, come on, then!” came a shout from one of the side rooms of the evergreen-shaped nave of the chapel. “I’m not about to bring it to you!”
The two moved across the way and into the side room to find Abbot Chesterfield standing beside a table, staring at them, particularly at Elysant, every step of the way. He motioned to the table, where he had set two small bowls of stew, a torn lump of bread beside each.
“Your robe’s ill-fitting, Sister,” he remarked as Elysant took her seat.
“It’s newly acquired,” she replied, not making eye contact.
“You’re new to the order?”
“Eleven years.”
“And they haven’t found you a robe that would properly fit?”
Elysant looked up. “I have another robe. One that properly fits. I prefer this one. It’s newly acquired.”
“And the staff you carry?” he asked, his suspicions quite obvious. “What is that?”
“A staff.”
“Strange wood.”
“It would be, if it were wood.”
“Strange metal.”
“Do you wish to hear our tale or not?” Th
addius interrupted.
“It is stone,” Elysant answered anyway. “A staff made of stone.”
“Ridiculous,” said Chesterfield.
“If you’ve one of wood, perhaps we can see,” Elysant said with a little smile, one that had Thaddius sucking in his breath.
“I’ve a rather large sword,” Chesterfield replied. “One of strong steel.”
“I am sure you think it large—” Elysant started, but Thaddius cut her off.
“We have been away from Honce for the better part of a year,” he said, lifting a spoon for his first taste of the stew. He motioned to the chair across from him, and Abbot Chesterfield, after a pause to stare some more at the woman, finally sat down.
“On an exploration,” Thaddius went on. “Seeking the veracity of some old writings, at the request of Father Abbot Braumin Herde himself.” It wasn’t exactly the truth. The father abbot hadn’t sent them on a mission, but neither had he stopped them, and the abbot of St. Ursal had been quite excited to let them follow the leads they had uncovered. The Abellican Church remained in a precarious position, and the world needed heroes, after all.
“Do tell me of your exploration, if it was that important,” Chesterfield said sarcastically.
“For a lost chapel in the foothills of the Belt-and-Buckle,” Thaddius replied. “An ancient place, so hinted the clues, and so it was, far to the south and the west.”
“There is a chapel southwest of Appleby?” Chesterfield replied, doubtfully. “I know of no brothers southwest, or west at all.”
“Ruins,” Elysant explained. “Ancient ruins.”
“A pair of monks sent so far to look at pocked and broken stone? Foolishness!”
“And tombs,” said Elysant. “Do not forget the tombs.”
“Tombs?”
“Abellican tombs,” she replied.
“And knowledge,” said Thaddius. “Knowledge, most of all. For that was our purpose, to confirm the rumors, to seek the truth, and to return the truth to Saint-Mere-Abelle.”
He stopped there and went to the stew, laughing when Elysant tore off a piece of bread, the jolt of her sudden movement sending a bit of thick broth flying into his cheek.
“And…?” Abbot Chesterfield asked, when neither of his visitors moved to add to the story.
“And? That is all,” said Thaddius. “We were sent to learn the truth and return that truth, and that return brought us, by happenstance, to this place and to your door. So, greetings once more, good abbot, and thank you for the food, and for the beds we expect you’ll offer.”
Abbot Chesterfield rubbed his thick chin and nodded. “Indeed.”
* * *
“You’re all welcomed to stay at Matinee for as long as you’re desiring,” Marley Bruuin announced to Talmadge and some others, a couple of days later. The refugees had told the story of the fall of the Ayamharas Plateau and the destruction of Loch Beag, to many sympathetic nods, that first night in Matinee, and the gathering had asked for privacy that they could digest the news and offer a unified response.
“Stay?” Aydrian answered, before Talmadge could respond. “Did you not hear what we told you?”
“Aye,” said Hawker Fief, another of the hunters gathered for Matinee. “We heard, and so we’re opening our larders for you. We’ve got the food and drink, and all we’ll ask in return is that you and yours do your part, and that your part includes a bit of the magical healing yourself and that small girl there promised.” He nodded toward Aoleyn, who was off to the side with Catriona and some others, and only then took note that the frontiersmen had come out.
“We should all be on the move to the east,” Talmadge replied.
“With all haste,” Aydrian agreed. “All, save a few clever scouts and those supporting them to relay the news.”
Marley and Hawker looked to each other with clear skepticism.
“You don’t believe us?” Talmadge asked.
“We believe you got overrun by a swarm of strange-looking men, aye,” said Marley.
“And from your tale of your journey here, we know it to be, what, a thousand miles? Two thousand?” said Hawker.
“Closer to two,” said Marley. “And that’s what you’ve said in the past, aye, Talmadge? Months of river riding, months of walking?”
“It is a long way,” Talmadge agreed. “But there isn’t much between the plateau and here.”
“Goblins and giants, bears and snakes, deep snows and hot suns,” said Marley.
“We made it,” Aydrian reminded.
“And you rafted half of it,” Marley said. “Spring melt’s lowering already. Moving a hundred folk ain’t moving an army of thousands.”
“More than thousands,” Talmadge insisted.
“More than you could ever know,” added Aoleyn, walking over and shaking her head. “And they’re coming, a swarm like you’d no e’er imagine. They’re no stopping—they’ve no need to stop.”
“We’ve sent eyes to the west,” Marley Bruuin said to her, patting his hands in the air as if that would calm the obviously agitated young woman. “Most hunt in the west, and they’ll be watching for signs, don’t you fear.”
“And then it will be too late,” Aoleyn snapped back at him.
Aydrian stepped before her and looked down at her, quietly begging her to be calm.
“How many people did you say got killed?” Marley asked Talmadge. “Few thousand?”
“Three thousand or more.”
“These red-and-blue-faced monsters swept over the mountain and overran the villages.”
“Yes.”
“A swarm.”
“A swarm?” Marley asked. “Ten thousand? Fifty? Five hundred thousand?”
“I don’t know! Too many! They swept us from the mountain, chased us onto the lake, and eight tribes fell, wiped away, other than these few from each who managed to run off with us. Aoleyn is the only Usgar left, I expect, and hers was the strongest of the eight tribes by far.”
Marley and Hawker again exchanged those skeptical looks.
“We’re not lying,” said Aoleyn.
“We don’t doubt you,” Hawker replied without hesitation. “And we’re sorry for your great losses, lass. Nor do we doubt that you think this the greatest army you’ve e’er seen. But that’s because you’ve no understanding of the lands to the east, of the cities a hundred thousand strong, with walls as tall as your mountain.”
“I know them well,” Aydrian said, but in a whisper, and he lowered his gaze. And when he considered it, he really wasn’t surprised by the reaction of the folks of Matinee. He should have anticipated this, he realized. A hundred people fleeing for thousands of miles from an enemy they had seen for but a single day? An enemy they could not name in any way to properly convey the danger to these men and women who had never heard of the xoconai, a name Aydrian only knew because of Aoleyn, and who had never seen a man with a bright red nose lined by bright blue cheeks riding a green and golden lizard?
“They have a dragon, a great flying serpent!” Aoleyn shot back at Hawker.
The man directed her gaze to the south. “You see those mountains? Closer than your home, aye? Much closer. Just beyond them there’s a dragon, Agradeleous by name, and that one’s flown about the lands to the east before, oh aye.”
“Big dragon, from all the tales,” Marley Bruuin added.
Aydrian nodded. He knew Agradeleous well, and the woman who had ridden the beast into the battle of St.-Mere-Abelle.
“We’ll keep an eye aimed west for your dragon and the red-nosed enemies,” Hawker assured them. “A thousand miles of wilderness is a long way to move an army, and two thousand’s a lot more, eh? No fields of grain, no towns to sack, no fights to keep the soldiers in line.”
“And you’re welcomed, any or all, to stay,” Marley added.
“Our road is east,” Aydrian said. “Aoleyn and I will continue the healing for another few days, and then we’re away. Horses and some wagons would greatly help.”
�
�We’ve some to spare,” Hawker assured him.
“Fools,” Aoleyn said, when the two frontiersmen had gone back inside.
“We should have known,” Aydrian told her. “The threat is too distant.”
“These folk have lived on the edge of disaster for many years,” Talmadge added. “Many have been killing goblins and giants longer than you’ve been alive. They know this ground, all of it.”
“But only Talmadge knew Loch Beag,” said Aydrian.
“Not only Talmadge,” Khotai said, and Talmadge looked to her with obvious surprise, to which she merely shrugged.
“Talmadge and Khotai,” Aydrian corrected.
“And one other,” Khotai reminded.
Talmadge nodded, remembering Redshanks, an old man now, who was a legend among the frontiersman but who had stopped his wilderness ways and joined the Matinee several years before. He lived in one of the many communities in the region known as the Wilderlands, just west of Honce-the-Bear’s western borders, a town called Appleby-in-Wilderland.
“Our road is east,” Talmadge agreed.
* * *
“I’m not going to continue this game with you,” Elysant told Abbot Chesterfield the next morning after breakfast, when she found herself alone with the always-scowling man, sitting across from him at a small table.
“You are leaving, then?” came the sarcastic reply.
“I am an Abellican sister,” she replied. “I have as much right to be in this chapel as you do.”
“I am the abbot,” the large man protested.
“Because you are here alone, and only because of that. It is a title you’ve given yourself, where a simple rank of chaplain would more than suffice. You err in believing that you are superior in the eyes of God and of the Church to Brother Thaddius Roncourt.”
The man snickered.
“He has the ear and confidence of Father Abbot Braumin Herde,” Elysant told him. “He fought at the Battle of Saint-Mere-Abelle among the titans and the dragon. He was sent to the aid of Saint Gwendolyn by the father abbot, above all others.”
“Brother Thaddius,” Abbot Chesterfield said, emphasizing the first word. “Not even a master, but merely a brother.”
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