Mortalis

'Do you know if Brother Braumin remains as abbot of St. Precious?' Pony asked.

'Aye, and he's all the stronger because Duke Kalas ran off last winter, back to Ursal,' Colleen replied. 'Me cousin Shamus sent word to me. He's back in the city, workin' with the man who's holding court as baron. They're lovin' Abbot Braumin in Palmaris.'

'It will be good to see him again,' Roger remarked.

'Ye're passin' through, then?' Colleen asked.

'Roger is, but I came to see you,' Pony replied.

'Good timin' for ye,' Colleen said to Roger. 'There's a caravan goin' out for Palmaris tomorrow.'

'I had hoped to visit longer than that,' said Roger.

'But they're sayin' a storm's comin' fast,' Colleen answered. 'Ye might want to get on with that caravan ifye're lookin' for a safe road to Palmaris.'

Roger looked to Pony, and she shrugged. They had known from the beginning that this moment would soon be upon them, where they parted ways, and perhaps, by Roger's own words, for a long, long time.

'Ye go and see Janine o' the Lake,' Colleen instructed. 'She'll get ye fixed up with the drivers.'

They chatted a while longer, and Colleen set out some biscuits and some steaming stew. Then Roger hustled away, following Colleen's directions to the house of Janine of the Lake.

'Why are you still ill? ' Pony asked bluntly, as soon as Colleen closed the door behind Roger.

Colleen looked at her as if she had just been slapped. 'Well, ain't that a fine way to be saying hello,' she replied.

'An honest way,' Pony retorted. 'When I left you here before, you were ill, but it seemed easily explained, with the recent fight against Seano Bellick and with all that you have endured these last years. But now… Colleen, it has been a year. Have you been sick all this time? '

Colleen's frown withered under the genuine concern. 'I had a fine summer,' she assured Pony. 'I don't know what's come over me of late, but it's nothing to fret about.'

'I would be a liar, and no friend, if I told you that you looked strong and healthy,' Pony said.

'And I'd be a liar if I telled ye I felt that way,' Colleen agreed. 'But it'll pass,' she insisted.

Pony nodded, trying to seem confident, but she rolled her hematite Through her fingers as she did, thinking that she might find need of the soul stone before she left Caer Tinella.

Roger left with the caravan the next day, for it was the last scheduled caravan of the season and many of the farmers were predicting early snows. The young man tried again to convince Pony to go with him, to no avail, and then he fretted about her getting caught here in Caer Tinella by early winter weather.

But Pony told him that she wasn't overconcerned, that she and Greystone could get home whenever they decided it was time to go. And then, remembering well Bradwarden's words to her about why Roger had needed to leave, she bade the young man to be on his way and made him promise to give her fond greetings to all of her friends back in Palmaris.

Truly, Pony had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Her original plan was to accompany Roger here and spend a couple of days, and then return to Dundalis; but with Colleen looking so fragile-even worse, Pony believed, than the previous year-she simply could not walk away.

As predicted, winter did come early to the fields and forests north of Palmaris, but by that time, Roger and the caravan were safely within the walls of the port city on the Masur Delaval.

He went straight to St. Precious when he arrived in the city, though the hour was late; and it was good indeed to be back beside Abbot Braumin and Brothers Viscenti and Castinagis. They laughed and told exaggerated tales of old times. They caught each other up-to-date on the present, and spoke in quiet tones their hopes for the future.

'Pony should have come with me,' Roger decided. 'It would do her heart good to witness the turn in the Abellican Church, to learn that Avelyn's name will no longer be blasphemed.'

'We do not know that,' Master Viscenti warned.

'The brothers inquisitor will arrive soon to question us concerning the disposition of Avelyn and the miracle at Mount Aida,' Abbot Braumin explained. 'Their investigation will determine the fate of Avelyn's legacy within the Church.'

'Can there be any doubt? ' Roger asked. 'I was there at Aida beside you. As pure a miracle as the world has ever known!'

'Hold fast that thought,' Brother Castinagis piped in. 'I am sure that the brothers inquisitor will find your voice in time.'

They talked easily all that first night until they drifted off, one by one, to sleep. And then they spent the better part of the next day together, reminiscing, planning, and again long into the night, until Abbot Braumin was called to a meeting with Brother Talumus and some others.

Roger went out alone into Palmaris' night.

He made his way to a familiar area and found, to his delight, that a new tavern had been erected on the site of the old Fellowship Way, the inn of Graevis and Pettibwa Chilichunk, Pony's deceased adoptive parents.

The place had been renamed The Giant's Bones, and when he entered, Roger understood why, for lining the walls as macabre support beams were the whitened bones of several giants. Huge skulls adorned the walls, including the biggest of all set on a shelf right behind the bar. The lighting, too, reflected the name: a chandelier constructed of a giant's rib cage.

Roger wandered through, studying the creative decorations and the unfamiliar faces wearing all too familiar expressions. The tavern, this place, The Giant's Bones, was very different from Fellowship Way, he thought, and yet very much the same. Roger listened in on a few conversations as he made his way to the bar, words he had heard before, in a different time.

They seemed happy enough, these folk, though Roger heard a few of the typical, predictable complaints about taxes and tithes, and he heard low and ominous murmurs at one table about some plague.

But, in truth, the more he listened and the more he looked, the more Roger felt comfortable in the tavern, the more it felt like home.

'What're ye drinking, friend?' came a gravelly voice behind him.

'Honey mead,' Roger replied, without turning.

He heard the clank of a bottle and glass, then came the same voice. 'Well, what're ye looking at, girl, and why ain't ye working? '

Roger glanced back then, to see the grizzly-bearded innkeeper pouring his drink and to see, more pointedly, a familiar face indeed, staring back at him from behind the bar.

'Roger Lockless,' Dainsey Aucomb said happily. 'But I wondered if I'd ever see ye in here again.'

'Dainsey!' Roger replied, reaching forward to share a little hug and kiss over the bar.

'Ye spill it, ye pay for it,' the gruff innkeeper said, and Roger leaned back.

'Oh, ye're such a brute, ye are, Bigelow Brown!' Dainsey said with a laugh, and she swatted the man with her dishrag. 'Ye'd be showin' more manners, ye would, if ye knew who ye was shoutin' at!'

That made Bigelow Brown look at Roger more carefully, but before he could begin to ask, Dainsey hustled about the bar and took the slender man by the arm, escorting him across the room. She shooed a couple of men from a table and gave it to Roger, then went back and retrieved his honey mead.

'I'll come by whenever I can find the time,' Dainsey said. 'I'm wantin' to hear all about Pony and Belster and Dundalis.'

Roger smiled at her and nodded, and he was glad indeed that he had come back to Palmaris.

True to her word, Dainsey Aucomb visited Roger often, and often with refills of his honey mead, drinks that she insisted were gifts from Bigelow Brown, though Roger doubted that the tavern keeper even knew he was being so generous. They chatted and they laughed, catching each other up on the last year's events; and before he realized the hour, Roger found that he was among the tavern's last patrons.

'I'll be done me work soon,' Dainsey explained, delivering one last glass of honey mead.

'A walk?' Roger asked, pointing to her and to himself.

'I'd like that, Roger Lockless,' Dainsey answered with a little smile, and she went back to the bar to finish her work.

It was a fine night for a late walk. A bit cold, perhaps, but the storm that had hit farther north had barely clipped Palmaris, and now the stars were out bright and crisp.