Colleen was her friend, who had stood with her against the darkness of the demon dactyl.
She could not let that happen.
Colleen's descent to this point had begun when she was fighting beside Pony, in a battle that Colleen made her own for the sake of friendship and nothing more.
She could not let that happen.
With renewed resolve, as determined as she had ever been, the spirit of Pony dove into Colleen to meet the sickness head-on. She found it immediately, general in Colleen's battered body, like some green pus bubbling up all through her. Pony's spiritual hands glowed with healing fire, and she thrust them down upon the sickly broth of the rosy plague.
And indeed, that green pus melted beneath her touch, steamed away into sickly vapors! Pony pressed on determinedly, pushed down, down. She had beaten back the spirit of the demon; she could defeat this.
So she thought.
Her spiritual hands pressed into the greenish plague as if she were pushing them into a pot of pea soup-a deep pot. Soon the plague all about those two areas where she focused her healing closed in around her arms, grabbing at her, a thousand, thousand tiny enemies seeking to invade her spiritual arms, to find a link to her physical form. Pony pressed and slapped, but the soupy disease slipped down before her and rolled over her glowing, healing hands, attacking relentlessly. Pony had battled perhaps the greatest single foe in all the world, but this was different. This time, her enemies, the little creatures of the rosy plague that had invaded Colleen's body, were too many to fight, were too hungry and vicious.
They would not wait their turn to war with Pony but came at her all at once, attacked the spiritual hematite link without regard. She knew she was killing them with her healing hands-by the score, by the hundred, by the thousand-but only then, to her horror, did she realize the truth: they were multiplying as fast as she was destroying them! She moved frantically, desperately, intently focused, for she had to be. To let up for one moment was to allow the rosy plague into her own body. If even one of these tiny plague creatures got into her, it would begin the frantic reproduction process within its new host.
She knew that, and gave everything she could possibly offer into the gemstone. Her hands glowed even brighter, a burning, healing light.
But the plague was too thick and too hungry, and soon Pony realized that she was slapping at her own arms, desperate to keep the vicious little creatures out of her. Before she could even register the change, the connection with Colleen was severed; and a moment later, Pony found herself sitting on the floor beside the bed, instinctively slapping at her arms.
A few moments later, she slumped back against the wall, exhausted and overwhelmed and unsure of whether or not any of the vicious little creatures had found their way into her body.
She crawled back to Colleen and pulled herself up by the woman's side.
Her efforts had done nothing at all to alleviate the woman's suffering.
'She's flagging us, but not coming any closer,' the watchman explained to Warder Presso. The two stood on the rampart of Pireth Vanguard, overlooking the wide Gulf of Corona, observing a curious ship that had sailed in just a few minutes before. The ship had come close to Vanguard's long wharf, but then, when a group of soldiers had gone down to help her tie in, she had put back out fifty yards.
The distant crew had then called something about delivering a message to the new abbot of St. Belfour, but when the soldiers had inquired of the message, the sailors had insisted on seeing the warder of the fort.
'She's not carrying any standard of Honce-the-Bear,' Presso remarked, studying the vessel, obviously a trader. 'But she's got the evergreen flying,' he added, pointing to the lower pennant on the aft line of the mizzen mast, the white flag with the evergreen symbol of the Abellican Church. 'Agronguerre, likely, sending word to Abbot Haney.'
'But why aren't they just saying it, then?' the nervous soldier asked. 'And why won't they come in? We've asked them over and over.' Presso, more skilled in ways politic, merely smiled at the ignorant remark. Knowledge was power, to the Church and the Crown, and so messages were often secret. Still, this visit to Vanguard seemed especially strange this late in the season, with the cold winter wind already blowing down from Alpinador. And for the crew of this ship to be apparently intent on turning about seemed preposterous. Even if they meant to cross the gulf only halfway and dock at Dancard, the journey could take several days, and one of the gulf's many winter storms could easily put them under the waves.
Strange as it seemed, Presso could not deny the sight before him, and so he hurried down the long winding stairway outside the fortress, making his way to the low docks and his men.
'They want to send it in on an arrow,' one explained.
Presso looked around, spotting an earthen embankment not so far away. 'Go and tell them who I am,' he bade the soldier. 'Have them put their message there, and on my word as a warder in the Coastpoint Guards, assure them that it will be delivered, unread, to Abbot Haney at St. Belfour posthaste.'
'They should just come in and deliver it themselves,' the soldier grumbled, but he saluted his warder and ran down the length of the long dock, calling to the ship.
A moment later, an arrow soared off the boat, thudding into the earthen embankment, and the soldiers retrieved it as the ship bade them farewell and turned fast for the south.
Constantine Presso then surprised his men by announcing that he would deliver the message personally. An hour later, he arrived at St. Belfour and was announced in the audience chamber of the new abbot, who sat comfortably behind his modest desk, with Brother Dellman sitting off to the side.
'From Father Abbot Agronguerre, I would assume,' the warder explained after the informal greetings. 'I believe that is his seal.' He tossed the rolled parchment on the desk before Haney.
'Unopened? ' Haney remarked.
'As we were bid by the ship that delivered it,' Presso explained. 'By arrow, I must add, for they would not dock.'
That made Haney turn a curious, somewhat nervous glance over Brother Dellman.
'I thank you for delivering it, Warder Presso,' he then said, 'and for holding the confidence, as you were requested.'
'But I ask that you open it now, in my presence,' the warder surprised the abbot by saying.
Haney glanced at Dellman again, and both turned curious gazes over Presso.
'The manner of delivery brings me as much worry as it does you, my friends,' Presso said, trying not to be mysterious. 'Open it, I pray. I'll stand back, on my word, but if the news is grave, and if it concerns Pireth Vanguard or Prince Midalis, then you must inform me immediately.'
That seemed fair enough, and so Abbot Haney, with Brother Dellman coming up right beside him, broke the seal. 'Promotion to master for you? ' Haney wondered aloud, smiling at his friend and close adviser.
Dellman smiled, too, but both of the men turned their lips down quickly into most profound frowns when Haney unrolled the parchment.
'Grave news,' Warder Presso said, seeing it clearly from their expressions.
Abbot Haney was trembling as he handed the parchment to Presso, who took it, thinking that perhaps their dear friend Agronguerre had died.
When he read the words, a warning about the rosy plague, the warderwho was a friend of Agronguerre's and admired the man greatly-wished that his initial fears had been correct.
'I trust that you will be discreet with this information,' Brother Dellman remarked. It struck Presso from the look that Dellman gave Haney that he wasn't pleased that his abbot had so readily turned over the letter. 'If we are too quick to spread this grave news, it could cause panic.'
'And of course, only King's men and Church members should be so privileged,' Warder Presso said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
'That is not what I said.'
'But is it not what you meant? '
'Enough,' Haney demanded of them both. 'Deliver that at once to Prince Midalis, I pray you, Warder Presso,' he instructed. 'If he wishes to meet with us that we can coordinate our efforts to spread such dire news, then, of course, I-we,' he added, glancing up at Dellman, 'will be available.'
Presso nodded, gave a slight bow, then started to turn, but paused and looked back at Dellman. 'Forgive me, brother,' he said sincerely. 'Blame my surly words on my surprise at reading such unexpected and tragic
