the first pilgrims found the arm of Avelyn and tasted the blood in the fallen man's palm.
Roger was first to it, following Bradwarden's instructions, and as soon as he entered the covenant with Avelyn, he knew, beyond doubt, that the rosy plague could not touch him.
'It is a fool's journey!' Constance Pemblebury scolded.
King Danube continued to dress in his traveling clothes, strapping his sword belt about his waist.
'What if this is no answer?' Constance continued. 'To what dangers do you, in the name of compassion, expose yourself? What price to the kingdom?'
Danube had heard all the arguments before, repeatedly, since he had announced that he and a great force would go out from Ursal, to Palmaris and perhaps, he hinted, even beyond. He fixed Constance with a calm stare and managed a smile. 'If this is the answer, then I must be present at the beginning of it,' he tried to explain. 'What king am I if I hide in Castle Ursal while the potential salvation of all the world comes to fruition in the north? '
'We have hidden in Castle Ursal for all these months,' Constance reminded. 'Torrence has never been outside these walls.'
'And too long it has been!' Danube retorted. He started to leave the room, but Constance rushed around him, blocking the way.
'You are weary of it all, I know,' she said, 'as are we all. But we must hold strong for the sake of the kingdom.'
'Duke Tetrafel has turned his garrison over to Jilseponie,' Danube reminded her. 'He has emptied Palmaris on her proof that the miracle has been found.'
'He is desperate.' 'That may be true, but I know, as do you, that I cannot sit back and allow this to happen without me. Many soldiers will be needed to secure the road north; and if this is indeed the answer, then that road will become even more traveled.'
'The brothers of St. Honce are not even ready to commit to departure yet,' Constance argued, and it was true enough. Abbot Hingas had heard of the supposed miracle, even claimed that Jilseponie had visited him spiritually and bade him to join the pilgrimage to the north. Yet he and his brethren would not commit to such a journey at that time.
King Danube paused and took a deep breath, then grabbed Constance by both shoulders, holding her rock steady. 'I believe in this,' he said. 'I have to. And if it is indeed the salvation of Honce-the-Bear, then I must preside over it. For the good of the people and of the Crown.'
'You believe in this?' Constance asked somewhat sharply. 'Or in her?'
That took Danube a bit by surprise, for it was the first revelation of Constance's jealousy of Jilseponie, a somewhat stunning revelation given the enormity of the consequences beyond personal relationships.
He stared at Constance for a long while, not blinking, not letting her pull free of his somber gaze. 'I must do this,' he declared, and he firmly but gently moved the woman out of his way and walked out into the hall.
Duke Kalas, looking none too pleased, but dressed for the road, was waiting for him.
'Duke Bretherford's ships are ready to depart,' he said. 'The roads are secured all the way to the docks.'
'Then let us be off at once,' Danube replied, and he started down the hall, sweeping Kalas up in his wake.
'My King!' came the call behind them, turning them both.
Constance leaned heavily on the doorjamb. 'You walk off into peril,' she explained. 'You must name your successor.'
Danube stared at her curiously, surprised by such a request. He had gone off on many perilous journeys without ever issuing such a formal declaration. His confusion was short-lived, though, for then he understood that, before this time, there had never been any decision that needed to be made.
'I will return,' he said to Constance, not wanting to have to speak the obvious aloud, not wanting to wound the woman.
'I demand this, for the good of the kingdom,' Constance said loudly.
King Danube felt Kalas' stare boring into him, but he did not take his own gaze off Constance. 'In the event of my demise, my brother, Prince Midalis of Vanguard, will assume the throne,' Danube stated clearly. 'I will have that formally recorded before I depart Castle Ursal.'
Constance's look shifted subtly, to show the flush of anger behind her mask.
King Danube turned and walked away. Duke Kalas stood staring at Constance for a long while. 'Patience,' he said when Danube was too far away to hear. 'Merwick is not nearly ready.'
Constance glowered at him for just a moment, then retreated into the room and slammed the door.
Kalas, who was also against leaving Ursal at that time, but who more readily understood his place and acceded to the wishes of his King, couldn't contain his chuckle as he hurried off to catch Danube.
Chapter 42
The sight that loomed before Jilseponie when she and Dainsey came in view of St.-Mere-Abelle made her memory of the suffering in Palmaris pale in comparison. Scores of tents had been erected on the bleak plain before the great abbey; and it seemed to Jilseponie as if there were a score of sick people for every tent.
Hundreds of them, the walking dead, moving listlessly about the dreary landscape.
'So many,' Dainsey Aucomb whispered at her side.
Jilseponie nodded, but she knew the truth of this scene. St.-Mere-Abelle was a fairly isolated place, with no real cities anywhere near-the closest was Palmaris, some eighty miles to the northwest. And still, the grounds teemed with the sick, nocking here from all over the region, no doubt, coming to this greatest bastion of the Abellican Church, dying on the field before the walls of the Father Abbot.
How many more had died on the road? Jilseponie wondered. Likely as many as had arrived here.
The mere thought of it nearly overwhelmed her; in that moment of despair she wanted nothing more than to turn Symphony and pound back toward Dundalis and Fellowship Way, toward the hole she had once dug for herself. She had to stop herself, close her eyes, and conjure an image of Avelyn's arm.
'Too many,' she whispered back to Dainsey. She kicked her heels into Symphony's flanks and the great stallion leaped away, galloping down across the field.
Many eyes followed the two riders as they wove their way across the wretched encampment, toward the front gates of the abbey. Jilseponie felt like a sailor on a vast sea; the abbey walls seemed a distant island.
But no refuge, that place, she knew.
She meant to tear those walls down.
Brother Francis paced slowly before St.-Mere-Abelle's tussie-mussie bed, feeling his legs weaken with every step.
He wanted them to see this.
He was exhausted now, beyond belief. He had the soul stone in his pocket, and he had considered spirit- walking, having his spirit violate the sanctuary of St.-Mere-Abelle.
Yes, like a ghost, he wanted to haunt them.
He wanted them to see this.
He rolled the stone in his fingers now, knowing that he had missed his chance, for Francis couldn't possibly find the strength to enter its magic now, to separate spirit from body.
He could hardly even find the strength to call out 'Bou-raiy!' at the wall.
And his legs were tiring fast and his breath was becoming harder and harder to find.
They had to see this, had to bear witness to the end of Brother Francis, to learn that he faced that end courageously and with the conviction that he was right!
But now he was no longer walking, was, suddenly and without even realizing the movement, not even standing. He managed to roll over a bit, to see the wall, and he took some comfort in the forms he noted up there. He couldn't make them out through his failing eyes, but he sensed that they were watching him, that they were
