brother had died. More than a third of his force. Francis took little comfort in the fact that the number of goblin dead was much more substantial, being consoled only because he knew that he and his brethren had saved Davon Dinnishire from any further attackshad, for the most part, put an end to this rogue band's troublemaking. He made his slow way about the impromptu encampment, checking on the wounded. Though no anger seemed to be directed specifically his way, he was perceptive enough to understand that more than a few brothers were questioning his wisdom in pursuing this goblin band-queries that, Francis suspected, would be repeated, more forcefully, once he and his companions reached St.-Mere-Abelle.
'Prepare for the road, and we take the dead with us,' Francis instructed Brother Julius.
'Straight to St.-Mere-Abelle this time? ' Julius asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.
Francis glared at him and nodded. 'Have you searched the goblins?'
Julius looked at him incredulously. 'You expect that they carry treasure?' he asked with a snort. 'Their boots were falling off their feet, so worn and decrepit were they.'
'I want to know why they were still here,' Francis clarified.
'Because they found no escape from the kingdom,' Brother Julius replied, rather loudly and sharply. 'They, like all the bands still roving this region, were trapped here when the powrie fleet that initially brought them to these shores east of Palmaris was crushed at St.-Mere-Abelle. Where were they to run? '
Francis stared hard at the man. He wasn't sure if Julius was openly second-guessing his decision to fight the monsters, or if the man was simply reeling from the losses. It didn't matter, Francis decided. Though his enemies within the Church might use this incident against him politically once he returned to St.-Mere-Abelle, he knew in his heart he had done right. As Master Jojonah had taken the all-important Barbacan caravan off its course to attack an even more substantial group of monsters for the sake of an Alpinadoran town, so Francis was bound to try to protect Davon Dinnishire.
'Prepare them all for the road,' Francis said evenly, not blinking and not backing down an inch. 'To St.-Mere- Abelle.'
Julius matched the master's stare for a long moment, but then nodded and began calling the camp to order.
Francis, meanwhile, gathered up a burning branch from the small fire the brothers had built, and headed for the pile of goblin bodies. What was he expecting to find? he asked himself repeatedly. Treasure or information that would help him to justify his actions in pursuing this band? Some reward great enough to justify seven dead Abellican brothers?
With anger wrought of guilt, Master Francis pushed among the liceridden corpses, kicking them aside. He found a few coins-a pair of gol'bears and some smaller coins-but nothing, as Julius had predicted, that seemed worth the effort of searching the creatures, let alone battling them in the first place. With a helpless sigh, Francis confirmed that the boots of those goblins who were wearing any were ragged things, likely stolen from humans but now worn to shabby pieces. He kicked at one boot, and it fell away, and Francis started to turn back toward his brothers.
But then he noticed something on the goblin's now-exposed foot, and though the coloration was surely wrong-a yellowish blotch inside a circular scar-he recognized the pattern clearly.
Francis bent down low, bringing his torch in for a closer look.
'By God's good graces,' he whispered, for he had just seen this same pattern, the pattern of the rosy plague, on the woman in the village. Only on this goblin, the scars seemed healed, as if the creature had overcome the disease. Francis checked the rest of the goblin's body-finding more such scars-then he searched others. To his astonishment, nearly half of the creatures showed remnants of what looked to him like the rosy plague. He would have to research this more closely when he returned to St.-MereAbelle, he told himself, to learn if these strange scars were similar to the marks the disease had left on the few human survivors of the plague.
But Francis already had his answer, he believed, and as he followed his assumption along a logical path, he came to understand that the demon dactyl might now be waging another war upon the humans of Honce-theBear, a more subtle and more deadly war. Had the demon's minions brought with them the plague?
Francis paused and took a deep and steadying breath, considering his next move carefully. Should he bring one of the infected goblins back to St.-Mere-Abelle? No, he decided almost immediately, fearing the consequences to his precious home if the creature was still spreading the plague. That same thought led him to an even more disturbing possibility: had he and the other brothers contracted the plague by battling the goblins?
'We can check, with hematite,' Francis muttered, needing to hear the reassuring words aloud. 'We… no, the more powerful masters will search for signs when we return.'
'What is it, Master Francis?' he heard Brother Julius ask from not so far away.
Francis turned and faced the man squarely, but decided that sharing his disturbing fears at that moment might not be so wise a thing to do. 'It is time, past time, for us to return to St.-Mere-Abelle,' he answered.
The younger brother nodded and turned away. 'We are ready for the road,' he announced.
'Brother Julius,' Francis called, and the monk turned back to look at him. 'Your plan was an excellent one. Without it, the goblins would have overwhelmed us, or, had we left them, would have overwhelmed Davon Dinnishire. The blood of our dead brethren is not on your hands. I thought you should know that.'
'I do, Master Francis,' Julius replied in a more accusatory tone. 'I do.' The monk turned and walked away, and for a moment, Francis entertained the thought of scolding him publicly for such impertinence. Just for a moment, though. Francis glanced back at the pile of diseased goblins and understood that he had more important issues to attend.
Chapter 10
Abbot Je'howith fell deeper, deeper into the gemstone, fell into the swirl of its magic and down, down, into its depths. There his spirit. found release from the confines of his aged body. To the old abbot, this was the epitome of grace, the closest state one might attain to God while still physically maintaining one's mortal coil. Now he was free of earthly bonds, spirit-walking without physical ailments and limitations, without boundaries.
He saw the woman reclining patiently before him, her hand clutching a sunstone brooch, as he had instructed. Constance Pemblebury was no master of gemstone magic, surely, but with this particular item, she did not have to be. If she felt the battle of wills begin between her and Je'howith, she was to pinch her skin with the enchanted brooch's pin, nothing more, and the antimagic wave would wash the old abbot's intruding spirit out of her,
Je'howith moved closer, fighting the urge to go into her being, to take over her body. That was the danger of spirit-walking-the instinctual desire of the spirit to find a corporeal body, even at the expense of another's spirit.
Je'howith was right beside her now. He reached out his insubstantial hand toward her naked belly-and how he wished he were still of the flesh that he might feel Constance's smooth and delicate skin.
The old abbot washed that impure thought from his mind and focused on the task at hand. He moved even closer, right up to the woman, right into the woman. Now it took all his willpower not to try to possess her immediately. He pushed ahead, searching, searching.
And then he felt it, undeniably: another life, another soul stirring within the woman's womb. Je'howith could no longer resist-his spirit went for the child, joining with the child. It would be so easy to expel this tiny, undeveloped, and unknowing soul! To take the corporeal form! To begin life anew, from the womb, but with the understanding of a previous lifetime's experience!
And then, suddenly, the old abbot was thrown out, expelled so fully that before he even comprehended the change, he was back in his own body, corporeal again, staring, blinking in disbelief as Constance sat up.
'What did you do? ' she demanded sharply.
'I–I did as you asked me,' Je'howith stammered in reply, and he closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to orient himself.
'You went further,' Constance accused, but even as she spoke the words, her expression became perplexed.
