Mortalis

will defend St. Precious vigorously.'

'And if we lose the abbey? ' Castinagis asked grimly.

'Then we flee Palmaris,' Braumin replied, 'to Caer Tinella, perhap where we might establish' the first chapel of Avelyn.'

'That course was denied,' Viscenti remarked.

Braumin shrugged as if that fact wasn't important. 'Perhaps it is time v, think about establishing the Church of Avelyn, in partnership with d Abellican Church if they so desire, a separate entity altogether if they d not.'

The strong words raised the eyebrows of the other two brothers in th room, and Braumin, too, understood the desperation of such a course. Th Church would never agree to such a split, of course, and would likel declare Braumin a heretic-again-and excommunicate any who side. with him. But they wouldn't come after him, Braumin knew, at least no until the time of plague had passed. And in those years, it was quite con ceivable that he, with a more generous attitude toward the terrified peas ants, might establish himself so securely that the Abellican Church woulc think it wiser to just let him be.

Those fanciful thoughts continued to roll in Braumin's head for a Ion; while, long after both Viscenti and Castinagis had taken their leave. But ir the end, they didn't hold, for Braumin recognized them as the course ol a desperate fool. His current problems were not the making of a new Church-indeed, he and his comrades had pushed the Church in a direction favorable to Avelyn and Jojonah, favorable to his own beliefs. The current problem was the plague, pure and simple, and even if Braumin successfully managed to go and establish his coveted chapel, even if he split from the Abellican Church altogether and began his own religion, what would be the gain? The rosy plague would still be among them, and Braumin would still be helpless against it.

Another rock thudded against the abbot's wall.

He glanced that way, toward the window, and tuned in to the curses and shouts being hurled against his abbey. No, he would not run away. He and his brethren would defend St. Precious from all attacks, and vigorously, as he had instructed. If all the city came against them, then all the city would be destroyed, if that is what it would take.

Braumin hated his own thoughts.

But he wouldn't deny the truth, nor the righteousness, of them.

Pony knelt over Dainsey, holding her hand and talking comfortingly to her, trying to give her some dignity and some sense that she was loved and was not alone at this, the end of her life. How bitter it all seemed to Pony, to fail here, just a mile from her destination, though in truth, she doubted that even if she could get to Avelyn's arm, it would do Dainsey any good. The poor woman was too far gone.

'Let go, Dainsey,' she whispered, wanting the woman's misery, her obvious fear and pain, to end. 'It is all right to let go.'

If Dainsey heard her, she made no indication, but Pony kept talking, kept hoping that she was doing some good.

Then a strong hand grabbed Pony's shoulder and pulled her up to her feet. She glanced back to see Bradwarden, right beside her, holding the pouch of gemstones she had left far back down the path.

'What? ' she started to ask.

' Ye get her up on me back and climb yerself up with her,' the centaur explained. 'I'll get ye to the top o' Mount Aida.'

'B-Bradwarden, the plague,' Pony stuttered.

'Damn it to the dactyl's own bed!' the centaur roared. 'I'd rather be catchin' it and dyin' than to keep away and watch me friends sufferin'!'

Pony started to argue-that generous nature within her thought immediately to protect her unafflicted friend. But who was she to so determine Bradwarden's course, or anyone's for that matter? If she was willing to take such risks with her own life as to dive spiritually right into the disease as it ravaged Dainsey, or even complete strangers, then how could she presume to warn Bradwarden away?

Besides, she didn't disagree with him. There were indeed fates worse than death.

She helped Bradwarden to get Dainsey in place on his strong back, and then she climbed up behind her.

'All this time, you have helped, but from a safe distance,' Pony observed. 'Why now? '

'Because I trust ye, girl,' the centaur admitted. 'And if ye're thinkin' that ye can heal the plague at the arm, and if ye're hearin' that from Avelyn and Nightbird themselves, then who might I be to be arguin'?'

Pony considered the words and merely shrugged.

'I'll keep it as smooth as I can,' the centaur promised.

'She is feeling nothing,' Pony replied. 'Speed is more urgent than comfort. Fly on!'

And Bradwarden did just that, pounding along trails that he knew all too well. He came down the side of the Barbacan ring, onto the expanse leading to Mount Aida, fields growing thick with new grasses after the devastation of Avelyn's fight against Bestesbulzibar. Then up, up, went Bradwarden, running along familiar trails.

'I'll be coming up on the south face,' he explained. 'It's a quicker run to the plateau, but I'll not be able to get up the last climb to the place with ye.' 'I may need you there,' Pony remarked.

'And I'll join ye as soon as I can get meself to the other side,' Bradwarden promised.

On they went. They came to places where Pony had to dismount and run along beside, and one cliff where Pony found the strength to use the malachite, levitating both Bradwarden and Dainsey up behind her and saving many hundreds of yards of winding trail.

'Off ye go,' the centaur announced, skidding to a stop when they arrived at the last expanse. Pony brought Dainsey around, and Bradwarden hoisted her seemingly lifeless form up over the short rise, laying her atop the flat plateau, then helping Pony up beside her.

'I will get you up with malachite,' the woman started to say, but Bradwarden waved the notion away.

'I'll be joinin' ye soon enough,' he explained. 'Ye save yer strength for Dainsey's last fight.' And he turned and thundered away, along the trails that would bring him to the other side of the plateau and an easier route to the top.

Pony turned and stared at the mummified arm ofAvelyn Desbris, standing strong out of the very rock of the blasted mountain. In the final explosion that had destroyed the mountaintop and the physical form of Bestesbulzibar, Avelyn had thrust that arm skyward, holding Tempest and the bag of gemstones for his friends to find. For some reason that Pony did not understand, that arm had not rotted, nor had the continual wind worn it away. It appeared just as she had found it those years before, without the sword or the stones, and she couldn't deny the comfort she felt in merely viewing it.

She gathered up Dainsey in her arms and walked over to the arm, laying the woman on the ground gently before it.

Now what?

Pony knelt before the arm and began to pray, to Avelyn, to Elbryan, to anyone who would give her the answers. Before her, Dainsey continued to squirm uncomfortably, fighting against the seemingly inevitable end.

Pony prayed harder. She took out her soul stone and fell into its magic, then soared boldly into the rot that was Dainsey Aucomb. Might she find better results here, in this sacred place?

Pony attacked.

And was beaten back.

'No!' she cried when she came out of the gemstone trance, sitting on the ground helplessly before Dainsey, who was now writhing in the very last moments of her life. 'No! It cannot have been a lie!'

'This is my covenant with you,' came a voice behind her, and Pony whirled about-to see a young monk, Romeo Mullahy, standing behind her.

But he was dead! Had died in this very place, throwing himself from the rocks rather than accept capture at the hands of Father Abbot Markwart.

Pony stammered a few incomprehensible syllables. 'Whosoever tastes the blood of my palm shall know no fear from the rosy plague,' Mullahy said.

Pony reached for the man-and her hand went right through him! It was Romeo Mullahy, his ghost at least, and he was far less than corporeal!

Pony played back his words desperately.

'But ye're dead!' came a cry from farther back, Bradwarden climbing onto the plateau.