The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) (12 page)

“Third year? Not those of the new class? And all men? That hardly seems fair.”

“There is nothing fair about it,” Pagonel assured him with a sly look. “I have trained my beautiful sisters in the harmony of the Jhesta Tu. Pray have many soul stones about to heal the bruises of your brothers, and if you have a stone to mend their feelings…”

The mystic turned and walked away.

*****

“This is highly unusual, Bishop,” Abbot Haney said to Braumin when he met up with the man in St.-Mere-Abelle near the end of the fourth month of 848, the last of the invitees to arrive for the College of Abbots. “A serious breach of protocol.”

Beside Haney, Master Dellman shuffled nervously from foot to foot.

Braumin looked around the wide room, to see many accusing stares coming back at him. They had all been thrown off balance by what they had found at the mother abbey. So many youngsters – too young, by Church edict! And so many women! It was not without precedent that women could be brought into the Order, but not here in St.-Mere-Abelle, and surely not in such numbers! The Sovereign Sisters of St. Gwendolyn-by-the-Sea were not subject to the training of the brothers who entered the Church, and were not expected to assume the tasks and roles of the young brothers.

Until now.

Braumin matched stares with Viscenti, and could see the man squirming where he stood. Their unannounced changes had left the visiting brothers mystified and uneasy, and for many, unhappy.

Braumin continued his scan of the room. It struck him how young this gathering was! Indeed, the Church had been decapitated, with most of the older masters and abbots killed in the Heresy. How many of these men standing about him were abbots, he wondered? How many of the Abellican abbeys were without abbots? And how few masters remained? Most of the brothers here did not look old enough to have formally attained that rank. Normally, the College of Abbots was reserved for abbots and their highest ranking masters alone, but Braumin had specifically tailored the invitation to all and any who would come. And many had, and perhaps this was the largest gathering the Abellican Church had ever known.

But they were so young!

Braumin’s scan finally brought him back to his dear friend Dellman and Abbot Haney. Dellman offered him a nod of encouragement, though he could see the fear in the man’s eyes.

He focused on Haney, the young Vanguardsman who was perhaps his greatest rival for the ascent to the rank of Father Abbot. They were not enemies, though, and Braumin thought highly of the man, and he saw in Haney’s eyes more sympathy than anger; the man was clearly uncomfortable by the grim tone of the gathering.

“Welcome, brothers!” Bishop Braumin suddenly shouted, formally opening the College of Abbots. He looked across the room to the contingent representing St. Gwendolyn, and pointedly added, “And sister!”

All eyes turned to Sister Mary Ann, who stood resolute and unbending.

As she had since Master Arri had brought her in to St.-Mere-Abelle months before. The accusations against her were tremendous, and she would not deny them! In her heart, she had done nothing wrong, and Braumin found it very hard to find fault with such an attitude. She would have fit right in with his band of conspirators in the bowels of St.-Mere-Abelle in the days of Markwart, he believed.

He doubted if that would save her, though, given the frightened mood of the gathering.

They were in no humor to hear of any Samhaist.

“Tonight we feast, tomorrow we argue,” Bishop Braumin announced. He paused though, and put on a sly smile. “Though perhaps we will argue tonight, as well, yes? The age of the new brothers! And sisters, so many sisters! Too many sisters! And yes, my brothers, the whispers you have heard are true. There are many within this abbey, in the robes of an Abellican, who have no affinity with the stones.”

Many calls came back at him, none supportive, and more than a few gasps could be heard among the brothers. Braumin had expected as much, and certainly understood. Every brother in here, and Sister Mary Ann, too, had spent years proving an affinity with the sacred Ring Stones as part of the selection process for ordainment. Many had known friends through their years of training who had been denied entry into the Order because they could not feel the power of the gemstones.

And now, without consultation, Bishop Braumin had thrown that rule aside.

Braumin let the commotion die down, and tossed a wink at the nervous Viscenti.

“It is, or will be, all up to debate and argument, of course, brethren,” he said.

“But you have already brought them in,” one brother of about Braumin’s age remarked loudly.

“Temporarily, perhaps, though I hope that is not the case,” Braumin replied. “You have seen the scars of the battle that was waged here at St.-Mere-Abelle – on your way into our repaired gates, you passed a grave holding scores of bodies. In this very hall, there is wood holding back the wind where once there was a grand window of colored glass. The window of the Covenant of Avelyn, shattered by the entrance of a true dragon! I say none of this to diminish the losses that many of you have suffered at your own abbeys and chapels. Witness Master Arri here, and Sister Mary Ann, perhaps all that remain of the brothers and sisters of St. Gwendolyn-by-the-Sea.

“But know that new King Midalis required of St.-Mere-Abelle a measure of strength that we simply no longer possessed,” Braumin went on. “I could have recalled many of you to my side – such an edict would have been well within my power as the steward of the position with the death of Father Abbot Bou-raiy! I could have emptied many of your chapels, abbeys even, to solidify this, the Mother Church of Saint Abelle.”

He paused and let that sink in, and was glad to see the nods of agreement from many of the monks, even some he recognized as masters, and one or two he assumed were now serving as abbots.

“But a man from Behren, a hero of the battle, has shown me a different way,” Braumin explained. “If you have heard the tales of the battle of St.-Mere-Abelle, then you have heard the name of Pagonel, a mystic of the Jhesta Tu. A hero of the day, I say! There are hundreds now alive who would have perished had not Pagonel flown about them on the dragon Agradeleous, calling for them to stand down as the fate of the lands, state and church, were determined in this very hall.

“This very hall where Marcalo De’Unnero was defeated. This very hall where the shadow of the demon dactyl was cleansed from the soul of Aydrian Wyndon! At my bidding, Pagonel of the Jhesta Tu remains at St.-Mere-Abelle to this day, and his generosity cannot be overstated. He has revealed to us secrets of his Order.”

Unsure of how much he should tell rather than show, Braumin paused there and measured the gathering. Every eye was intently upon him, many doubting, some horrified, others intrigued.

“Come, brothers and Sister Mary Ann. Before we feast, let us go and witness the work of our guest, who has offered me this path back to the security of the Church we all cherish.”

He waved his arm to the side, where a pair of his monk attendants threw wide double doors, leading to a long and wide corridor and a flight of stairs that would take them down to where the exhibition waited, where three strong brothers, among the finest fighters of their class, waited to engage the trio of young new sisters tutored by Pagonel.

Braumin tried to show confidence as he was swept in by others on their way to the viewing, but in truth, his guts churned and twisted. Pagonel had assured him that the trio of Diamanda, Elysant and Victoria would acquit themselves wonderfully, but everything the Bishop knew
about fighting, about strength, about size, and about the simple advantage a man might hold over a woman in combat told him that the mystic’s optimism might well be sadly misplaced.

Failure here would hold great consequence in the discourse of the next day, and likely in the election of the next Father Abbot.

*****

Because of the dearth of masters and abbots, even tenth-year immaculate brothers were allowed a vote the next day when the Father Abbot was to be chosen.

The process moved along smoothly, but Braumin Herde watched it with a strangely detached feeling, his thoughts continually returning to the events of the previous night. He could see again the doubts, even the mocking expressions, on the faces of the gathered when Pagonel’s team of three young sisters stepped into the arena. Most pointedly, many chuckled at the sight of small Elysant, carrying a quarterstaff taller than she.

And when the brothers opposing the trio had come out, those expressions had grown more sour, and more than one, Haney and Dellman included, had spoken to Braumin in whispers of great concern that the women would be injured, and badly so!

The voting went on around him, but Bishop Braumin wasn’t watching. In his mind’s eye, he was viewing again the beauty of the battle, the movements of graceful Victoria weaving about the opposing lines, the agility and balance of Elysant as she used her staff left and right to block nearly as many attacks aimed at her sisters-in-arms as they themselves blocked, at the sheer speed and power of Diamanda’s strikes.

He closed his eyes and winced, recalling the first opponent felled, a large young man who had to weigh near to three hundred pounds. Elysant had deftly turned his bull rush, and Victoria swept past him, turning him, bending him into her wake in inevitable pursuit.

And leaning right into the driving fist of Diamanda.

The man had fallen like a cut tree, just straight down, face down, to the hard floor. He was awake this morning, at least.

After that, Pagonel’s three tigresses had cleverly and neatly caged, worn down, and clobbered the remaining two brothers.

Had any of the sisters even been hit?

The one sour note of the evening, though, had come when Braumin had torn his gaze from the spectacle in the arena to note the expression of Brother Thaddius. The man’s sour look spoke volumes, and again Braumin had to wonder if the mystic hadn’t erred in choosing this man as the fourth in his
legionem in primo
.

Master Viscenti’s call brought him from his private thoughts and concerns. As the highest ranking member of St.-Mere-Abelle whose name was not on the ballot, it was Viscenti’s place to
count the votes.

He called in the stragglers now, offering any a count of ten to come forward and place their colored chip into the box.

None did. The ballots were all in.

Viscenti produced a key and unlocked the metal box, carefully lifting back its hood. The thin man licked his lips and glanced over at Braumin, offering a slight nod.

So began the count.

Abbot Haney received a few votes, but the yellow chips assigned to his cause were dwarf by the two piles beside them, one for Master Dusibol of St. Bondabruce of Entel, who had spoken passionately against the changes Braumin had made in St.-Mere-Abelle even after the display of Pagonel’s team. Dusibol was a traditionalist, and judging from the pile of red chips on the table, he was far from alone in his ways!

But the largest pile was blue, blue for Bishop Braumin, and by enough of a margin, with his pile larger than those of Dusibol and Haney, the only other to receive any votes, combined. There would be no second ballot. The victory was Braumin’s, and on the first ballot.

The cheers came forth, some excited, some polite, when Master Viscenti counted it out and declared Braumin Herde as Father Abbot, and spoke, too, of the rarity that their leader would be chosen in a single ballot!

Yes, it was quite an accomplishment, so Braumin heard from his friend and the supporters in the crowd, but he could not really believe it.

Dusibol was not even an abbot, and still had challenged him reputably. In normal times, Master Dusibol would not even have been on the ballot!

Braumin Herde had been an Abbot, and was a Bishop even, and had led to the great victory that had saved the Church at St.-Mere-Abelle.

And yet, his victory was not overwhelming.

He looked around at the gathering as he moved to stand beside Viscenti. He understood their hesitance, their fear. Perhaps it would have been better if they had gone through several ballots, with speeches and debates between each!

“I move that Master Dusibol be elevated to the rank of Abbot of St. Bondabruce immediately,” Braumin opened, and now the cheers grew louder. The new Father Abbot looked over at the contingent from St. Honce in Ursal as he spoke, and noted some disconcerting expressions coming back his way. They had wanted Master Ohwan on the ballot, but Dusibol had beaten him out for the third spot, in no small part because of the whispers of Viscenti and Dellman, both noted followers of Braumin Herde.

St. Honce was being punished, they believed, and not without reason. For that abbey had supported King Aydrian and Marcalo De’Unnero – it was rumored that Aydrian had meant to elevate Ohwan to the rank of Abbot of St. Honce, some whispered that the King had actually done so.

Dusibol was a traditionalist, and clearly not enamored of Braumin’s changes, clearly, but
Ohwan…

Ohwan could be real trouble, Braumin Herde feared. Particularly now, where Master Dusibol had garnered far more votes than Abbot Haney, who supported Braumin (and probably voted for Braumin, the new Father Abbot understood) and the emergency measures he had taken to secure St.-Mere-Abelle.

Braumin looked at the pile of red chips again, and understood that the early years of his reign would not be without great challenges.

And honest ones, he had to admit.

He was asking a lot of an Order that prided itself on rituals and ways nearly a millennium old.

“So be it,” he thought, and he said, loudly, and he slammed his fist down on the table.

“I am a devout follower of Avelyn,” he decreed. “I make no secret of that. Do not believe that his canonization will be slowed by the tragic events of the last year. The Chapel of Avelyn will be rebuilt in Caer Tinella in short order, and fully staffed, and I will see Avelyn Desbris declared as a Saint of our Order.”

He saw a lot of nods. He noted no overt looks of discontent.

“You have seen the changes I have made in bringing in new brothers – and sisters.”