Abbot Braumin smiled and let the point go to his excitable friend, though in truth he doubted that anyone in Vanguard had heard of the events in Palmaris in any more detail other than the unexpected death of Father Abbot Markwart. The Abellican Church would have been the only real messenger to that distant place; and even if St.- Mere-Abelle had sent a courier, no one there truly fathomed the implications of the events, and certainly no one there would have been so bold as to take sides in the budding philosophical war. But that was just what Braumin had instructed the wise and trustworthy Brother Holan Dellman to do: to take the side of the victors, to show that the good had won out over the cancerous evil.
'Treat Markwart's memory gently,' Braumin urged Dellman yet again, 'but foster no doubts concerning the fall of the Father Abbot-the fall from grace before the fall from life.'
Dellman nodded, then turned as Brother Talumus entered the room.
'Go and accept the passage from Al'u'met,' Braumin instructed Dellman. 'Extend to him our profound thanks, and then prepare your thoughts and your belongings. Go with the blessings of Avelyn.'
That last line, spoken so casually, raised Talumus' eyebrow.
As soon as Dellman had exited, Braumin motioned to Viscenti, and the man quickly closed the door.
Talumus glanced around, seeming suspicious.
'St. Precious is not nearly as strong as it will have to be, if we are to withstand the continuing assault by Duke Kalas,' Braumin remarked to Talumus. Indeed, many times over the course of the winter, Kalas and Braumin had argued over policy, over minor issues, mostly, but ones that perceptive Braumin understood might well grow in importance now that winter had relinquished its grasp and the folk were out and about the city.
'Jilseponie is leaving,' the younger monk reasoned.
'Very good, Talumus,' Braumin congratulated, and he raised a finger into the air. 'Keep vigilant, and pay attention to every clue.'
'She said she would leave when the roads were clear,' Talumus explained. 'Many times has she met with Belster O'Comely these last days, and I have heard that it is his intent, with prodding from Jilseponie, to return to the northland.'
'She will indeed take her leave of us, though truly it pains my heart to let her go,' Braumin confirmed. 'What an ally she has been to the Church, a force to counter any potential intrusions on our sovereignty by the aggressive Kalas. But she has her own path to follow, a road darkened by grief and anger, and I cannot turn her from that path, whatever our needs.
'To that end,' he continued, 'we must bolster the strength of St. Precious.' As he spoke, the abbot turned his gaze over Brother Viscenti.
'A promotion,' Brother Talumus reasoned.
'From this day forth, Marlboro Viscenti will be known as a master of St. Precious,' said Braumin, and the nervous little Viscenti puffed out his chest. 'Master Francis, who departs this very day for St.-Mere-Abelle, will see that the promotion is approved at every level; and even if some wish to argue the point, which I cannot fathom, I am certainly within my rights as abbot of St. Precious to make the promotion unilaterally.'
Talumus nodded and offered a smile, somewhat strained but more genuine than not, to Viscenti. Then he looked to Braumin, his expression turning curious. 'Why tell me now, and why behind a closed door?' he asked.
Braumin chuckled and walked around his desk, sitting on its edge right before the other monk, removing the physical barrier between them as he hoped to remove any possibility of insincere posturing. 'The risks you took and your actions in the last days of Markwart speak highly of you,' he began. 'Had you more experience, there is no doubt that Talumus, and not Braumin, would have become the abbot of St. Precious, a nomination that I would have strongly supported. In the absence of that possibility, it has occurred to me that Talumus, too, should soon find his way to the rank of master. Yet, in that, too, you've not enough years in the Order for such a promotion to be approved without strong opposition-and, in all honesty, it is not a battle I choose to fight now.'
'I have never asked-' Talumus began to protest, but Abbot Braumin stopped him with an upraised hand.
'Indeed, I will support your nomination to the rank of master as soon as it is feasible,' he explained. 'As soon as you have enough time-and I do not mean the typical ten years as the minimum. But that is a matter for another day: a day, I fear, that will be long in coming if St. Precious is to withstand the intrusions of Baron Kalas. We need more power and more security, supporters of my-of our-cause, in line to take the helm in the event of unforeseen tragedy.'
His words obviously hit a strong chord within Brother Talumus, who had recently witnessed the murder of his beloved Abbot Dobrinion Calislas. The man stiffened and straightened, his eyes unblinking.
'Thus, there must be others, like Master Viscenti, who will ascend above you within the Order at St. Precious,' Braumin explained. 'I will need voices to support me at the College of Abbots, as well as against Duke Kalas. I wanted to tell you this personally, and privately, out of respect for your service and loyalty.'
He stopped, tilting his head and waiting for a reply, and Brother Talumus spent a long while digesting the information. 'You honor me,' he said at length, and he seemed genuinely content. 'More so than I deserve, I fear. I was not enamored ofJilseponie and Elbryan. I feared …'
'As we all feared, and yet you certainly took the right course of action,' Braumin interjected, and Viscenti seconded the remark.
'Very well,' Talumus replied. 'I understand now the implications of the battle within Chasewind Manor. My path is obvious to me, a shining road paved with all the glories of the true Abellican Church. My voice will not ring out with the commands of a master at this time, but it will be no less loud in support of Abbot Braumin Herde of St. Precious and of Master Viscenti.'
The three men exchanged sincere smiles of mutual appreciation, all of them relieved that their team was forging strong bonds now for the fights-against Kalas and against those within the Abellican Church who feared any change despite the momentous events-they believed they would soon find. Francis had thought that the road ahead would be an easy one. He started with his stride long and full of conviction. But as he considered the reality he now faced, Francis began to recognize that this journey might prove as troublesome and dangerous, to the Church at least, as the one that had brought him to Palmaris in the first place. For he was walking a delicate line, he came to understand, stepping between the future Church he envisioned and the past one he had served. He believed in Braumin's cause, in the cause of Master Jojonah, burned at the stake for his convictions, and in the cause of Avelyn Desbris, who had flown in the face of Markwart's Abellican Church and had, subsequently, destroyed the physical form of the awakened demon.
Yes, Master Francis had come to accept the truth of many of the explanations that Braumin and the others were according the actions of Jojonah and of Avelyn, and he had come to recognize that Jilseponie and Elbryan were indeed heroes to both Church and Crown. But Markwart's last words haunted the man: Beware that in your quest for humanism you do not steal the mystery of spiritualism.
There was a threat to all mankind in sharing the mysteries of the gemstone magic with the common folk-not of war or of uncontrolled power, but a threat of secularizing the spiritual, of stealing the mysteries of life and the glory of God. What good would the Church do the world, Francis wondered, if, in its quest to become more compassionate, it took from the populace the one true inspiration of faith, the promise of eternal life? Soul stones or not, everybody would one day die, and how much darker that moment would be, to the one whose life had come to its end and to those loved ones left behind, if there was no faith in life eternal. Men who entered the Abellican Order trained for years before entering St.-Mere-Abelle or any of the other abbeys, and then they trained for many more years before learning the secrets of the gemstones. The Abellican monks understood the reality of the gemstones, the orbiting rings and the stone showers, but they could place that reality within the cocoon of their greater faith as inspired by the years of study. But what of the common man, the man not privy to the days, weeks, months, years of meditation? Might that man come to see the soul stones, the very fabric of the Abellican religion, as a natural occurrence, no more mysterious than the fires he kindled for warmth or the catapults the King's army used to batter the castles of enemies?
Francis didn't know, and he feared that it would take a wiser man than he to comprehend the implications of Markwart's final warning.
What he did know, however, was the reality of the situation in St.-MereAbelle; and even beyond his private doubts about how far Braumin and his friends should be allowed to open the Church, the young master understood that they would find more enemies than allies at the prime abbey. Thus was Francis, so close an ally to the demon that Markwart had become, walking a delicate line. If he strayed too far against Markwart, he would, in effect, be implicating himself, thus diminishing his own voice. And yet, he could hardly support the dead Father Abbot. He
