much too common a visitor these last years-certainly our own Order has buried far too many brothers.'
The way he finished that sentence reminded Francis none too gently that, because of Francis' choice, they were about to bury seven more.
'We will wait, and we will watch, and we will hope for the best,' Bouraiy went on. 'Because that is all we can do, and because we have other pressing business, duties to the Order and to the people, that we can perform.'
'Behind closed gates,' Francis remarked with sarcasm.
'Yes,' Bou-raiy answered simply, and to Francis, that matter-of-fact, callous attitude hit hard right in the heart, a poignant echo of another prominent brother he had recently buried.
Chapter 14
Tony rode her wonderful Greystone along beside the wagon, chatting with Belster as he rolled and bounced along. The back of the rig was full of supplies-food and drinks, some extra clothing, and the kegs and other implements they'd need to rebuild Belster's tavern in Dundalis, which they had just agreed would be named Fellowship Way.
The pair were in a fine mood this sunny day, approaching Caer Tinella after a leisurely two-week journey from Palmaris, one marked by long visits with one grateful farming family after another or quiet nights beside a fire under the starry sky.
For Pony, the weight on her shoulders had lessened as soon as she had left the turmoil of Palmaris behind her. Now she didn't have to worry about politics and secret alliances, didn't have to consider the implications of her every move. Up here, she was not Jilseponie, hero of the demon war, slayer of evil Markwart. Up here, she was Pony, just Pony, the same little girl who had grown strong and happy in Dundalis with Elbryan before the coming of the goblins; the same warrior who had stood beside the ranger to protect the folk and the lands from the demon hordes.
Here, she was not moving her horse carefully through the throngs of people crowding the markets, but rather was riding him freely, feeling his muscles beneath her as he thundered along. Often, she would take him out across a field beside the road, for no better reason than to let him gallop, to feel the freedom and the wind. She had brought a saddle with her, but more often than not, she rode Greystone bareback.
She went off on yet another such jaunt, heading across a long, narrow field. She spotted a downed tree lying in a tangle of brush, its trunk sus pended more than half a man's height from the ground.
'Ho, what are ye thinking?' Belster called, seeing her smile spreading wide, even from twenty feet away.
Pony didn't answer other than to urge Greystone into a canter and put him in line.
She heard Bolster's complaints that she was a 'crazy child,' but they seemed to come from far away as the wind roared past her ears. And then she heard nothing as she took the horse in, so intense became her focus, picking her spot.
Up Greystone went, rounding his muscled neck and shoulders, and Pony rose to a half seat, her hands resting on his neck, her legs clamped tight about Greystone's flanks, her body in perfect balance. As soon as they landed, she turned her horse back toward the road, where she spotted Belster, the portly innkeeper shaking his head and giving one great resigned sigh after another.
'Ye're to get yerself killed, girl,' he said as she trotted past.
Pony just laughed and asked Greystone for a canter, aiming at the fallen tree again.
And then a third time and a fourth, while Belster simply kept the wagon rolling.
Pony caught up to him a few minutes later where the road wound around a small hillock.
'Caer Tinella,' the innkeeper announced, pointing north to where a feather of smoke drifted into the air.
Pony slowed Greystone to a walk, cooling him down. Soon after, she dismounted, tying Greystone to the back of the wagon and taking a seat beside Belster.
'Done yer fun, then? ' the innkeeper asked.
'Just beginning,' Pony replied, 'especially if my guess about that town is right.'
'Ah, the woman Kilronney,' Belster replied, referring to a dear friend of Pony's, a soldier from the Palmaris garrison who had helped her when she had been separated from Elbryan.
Pony had seen the woman only once since the last battle. Imprisoned in Chasewind Manor, under the kinder hand of King Danube, Colleen Kilronney had been well on her way to recovering from the wounds she had received during her battles beside Pony. But still, when Pony had at last found her after the deaths of Elbryan and Markwart, Colleen was scarred, physically and within her heart. She had resigned her position with the Palmaris garrison, despite a plea from her cousin Shamus-another friend of Pony's-and from Duke Kalas himself.
In that brief meeting, all that Pony had gleaned from Colleen was that she was tired and heading north to Caer Tinella.
It didn't take Pony and Belster long to find Colleen; the first villagers they encountered directed them to a small cottage on the northeastern side of town. Pony left Belster behind, riding Greystone quickly to the place, then jumping down and running to the door.
Her eagerness and excitement diminished considerably when Colleen Kilronney answered, for she seemed now a mere shell of her former self. Once she had been square-shouldered and strong, but now her shoulders sagged. Once her eyes had flashed with eagerness for battle, but now they seemed almost glazed. Even Colleen's red hair seemed duller, as if the whole woman had faded.
Pony held her hand out, and Colleen, a wide smile growing on her face, reached for it, with her left hand, holding her right arm noticeably tight to her side.
'What have you done?' Pony asked, hugging her friend, but taking care not to pain her obviously injured right arm.
'Bad place for catching a sword,' Colleen replied, still managing to smile. She led Pony into her modest cottage, offering her a seat at a small round table, then sitting beside her friend. 'Ye're looking well,' she said. 'Are ye gettin' past the pain? '
Pony sighed. 'Will I ever?' she asked. Colleen put a hand on Pony's shoulder-again, her left hand-and rubbed her.
'Let me see that wound,' Pony said, reaching into her pouch and bringing forth the soul stone.
'Oh, but they're lettin' ye keep one now? ' Colleen asked. 'Or did ye just take the thing? '
Pony helped her to slip her tunic off, and she winced in sympathetic pain when she saw Colleen's wound, scabbed now but a vicious slash across the top of her biceps.
'Two weeks old,' Colleen explained. 'Thought I was to lose the arm.'
Pony put a finger over the woman's lips, then dropped her hand down onto the cut, rubbing the tender flesh. At the same time, she peered into the soul stone, deeper and deeper into the swirling gray of the hematite, letting herself fall into its magic. She made a connection to Colleen's wound, sent her consciousness into the woman's torn muscles.
And then Pony took the injury back to herself, absorbed it with her being. She felt a moment of excruciating pain, but held to her purpose, enveloping, absorbing the wound, and then using her own strength and the soul stone to heal the tears and make the scars into healthy flesh once more.
Then Pony withdrew her spirit, but not before lingering a bit to try to get a sense of the woman's general health. She wasn't thrilled with what she sensed there, for it seemed to her as if Colleen's physical being was somehow depleted, worn out.
A moment later, Pony opened her eyes to see Colleen already flexing her arm, working it in small circles, apparently without pain.
'I was thinkin' o' comin' to ye for just that medicine,' the woman remarked, flashing her smile, 'but I expected that ye'd be too busy for helpin' the likes o' meself.'
'Never that!' Pony assured her. She wrapped the woman in a hug again, and this time, Colleen returned it with both arms. 'You have not been feeling well,' Pony remarked when they sat back again.
