got no hope. A hunnerd, hunnerd will live better, or live at all, because of her workin's, and how can Pony ignore that callin'? '
'Jilseponie,' Roger corrected.
They came toward him, toward him, smelling of peat, their lifeless eyes staring at him, envious of his warmth. He tried to run-always before he had been able to escape-but this time, the walking dead had come to him in greater numbers and seemingly in coordinated fashion. Whichever way he turned, they were there, reaching for his throat with stiff arms.
He kicked out at one, spun and punched the face of another zombiethough the horrid creature showed no sign that it had felt the blow.
He dropped and scrambled desperately, pushing through.
But they crowded around him, a wall of rotting, dirty flesh, and he had nowhere to run.
He called out for his companions, but then realized that he had no companions, that he was on his own.
And so he tried to fight, briefly, but then he was down on his back, the walking dead looming over him, coming down at him… down at him.
Duke Tetrafel woke up with a shriek, clawing at his bedsheets so wildly that he wound up on the floor in a tumble of blankets. He continued to scream and thrash for some time, until the haze of dreams flitted away, revealing the dawn, the secure dawn in Chasewind Manor.
He sat there on the floor for some time. The dream was not new to him, had followed him all the way across Honce-the-Bear every night since his expedition had been savaged by the little folk and their host of zombies.
But this time, for the first time in his dreams, he had found no escape. This time, for the first time, the walking dead had caught him. Duke Tetrafel pondered that disturbing notion for some time, until the door of his room banged open and one of his attendants came rushing in.
'My Duke!' the man cried. 'Are you murdered? '
Tetrafel chuckled and held up an arm to keep the concerned fool at bay. To his surprise, though, his signal, while stopping the attendant, onh seemed to make the man grow even more concerned. He stood a few strides away, gawking openly, and then, to Tetrafel's further astonishment, he began shaking his head and backing away.
'What is it?' the Duke asked, but the man did not-seemed as if he could not-respond. He continued backing, almost to the door.
'Speak up, fool,' Tetrafel demanded. 'What is-'
The man turned and bolted from the room.
Still on the floor amid the tumble of blankets, Tetrafel stared at the open door for a long time, wondering.
And then it hit him, and then the variation of his too-common dream made perfect sense. Slowly, slowly, he brought his arm back in and turned it over.
Rosy spots.
His screams came even more loudly than before.
Abbot Braumin rubbed his hands together nervously as he walked along the quiet corridors of St. Precious. The day had not been good, not at all, with devastating rumors rolling along the unruly streets of Palmaris. And now this news, of a secret visitor that Viscenti had considered important enough to be admitted to the abbey-quietly and after a thorough gemstone inspection.
The abbot came to the door and paused, taking a deep and steadying breath, trying to find his heart. He pushed through, to find Shamus Kilronney waiting for him.
'Brother Viscenti claims that you are packed for the road,' the abbot said, trying to keep his tone lighthearted.
'As long a road as I can find, my friend,' Shamus said, coming forward and offering a handshake to the abbot. 'I have seen too much of all this. I have no heart left for it.'
'Palmaris will be a lesser place without you,' Braumin remarked.
'Palmaris will be a place of catastrophe whether I remain or not,' Shamus corrected. 'You have heard the rumors? '
'I hear many rumors every day,' said Braumin. 'I cannot begin to sort fact from fancy.'
Shamus nodded and chuckled, and Braumin knew that the man understood his evasiveness for what it was. He had indeed heard the specific rumor to which Shamus Kilronney must be referring, and his obvious dodge made that truth quite clear.
'It is more than rumor,' Shamus said gravely. 'Duke Tetrafel has the plague and is even now in a fit of panic at Chasewind Manor.'
'As he should be,' Braumin said with sincere sympathy.
'He will turn his eyes outward from his insecure sanctuary, will look to St. Precious for aid,' said Shamus. 'He and I have already discussed-'
'None of that will matter,' Shamus interrupted firmly. 'His desperation will lead him to your gates, do not doubt.' He held his hand up to stop Braumin's forthcoming, expected response. 'And you will turn him away. I am leaving, my friend. I cannot suffer this catastrophe any longer.'
That last statement, linked with Shamus' insistence that Tetrafel would come for help, explained it all to Braumin. The catastrophe to which Shamus was referring was not the plague itself but the coming storm when Duke Tetrafel realized that St. Precious would not help him. Shamus was foreseeing-and quite logically, it seemed to Braumin-the chaos that would ensue within the city, the all-out riot, even warfare, between Tetrafel and the abbey. To Braumin's thinking, the brothers of St. Precious had already lost the city, a situation made even more dangerous by the arrival of De'Unnero and the Brothers Repentant. If Duke Tetrafel, instead of merely remaining neutral, actually put his muscle behind De'Unnero and the roused populace, then St. Precious would be hard pressed indeed!
'Where will you go? ' Braumin asked his friend.
'North, perhaps,' Shamus answered, 'to Caer Tinella, and maybe farther-maybe all the way to the Timberlands.'
'Is there nothing you can do to help us?' Braumin asked somberly.
'Is there nothing you can do to help Duke Tetrafel?' Shamus replied.
Abbot Braumin looked around, then rolled his eyes and shook his head helplessly. 'Then pray for us, my friend,' he said.
Shamus Kilronney nodded, patted Braumin on the shoulder, and turned to go.
Abbot Braumin could not bring himself to judge the man, for in truth, he wished that he might run away with Shamus.
Chapter 38
Francis slapped futilely at the green swamp of plague that bubbled up all around his arms. He knew that this woman, too, was near death, but he could hardly bear the thought of watching yet another one die, the third in three days.
And so he fought, if not to buy some time for the poor infected woman, then to buy some time for his own shattered sensibilities.
Francis didn't notice that the plague within this woman did not attack his spiritual presence with any vigor, and so he didn't pause to wonder about this change and its implications.
He came out of his battle soon after, having done little good. He stared down at the poor woman, so close to death; and then, as he turned to leave, he found all the world suddenly spinning. Francis hit the ground facedown.
Huffing and puffing with every running stride, Father Abbot Agronguerre hurried to the front gate tower, where Bou-raiy, Machuso, Glendenhook, and many others had gathered. He pushed through the crowd of brothers
