The Gerardian Chapter House, Heremac. Saturday IX Midsommer, Pentian Year Nine Hundred and Nine. Nones.
Ruik, Friar Sidrach Landry, Wyk.
The Gerardian house sits on a corner lot; it is an old, ramshackle building with a sagging roof. It had been abandoned several years ago, left for the mice and the birds, before the black friars claimed it for their order. The inside is dusty, even dirty, with almost no furnishings save a few battered old chairs that had been scrounged from rubbish heaps. Friar Brut, the head of the Gerardian delegation in Heremac, is smallish, older man, thin as a reed. Yet his eyes flash with excitement, and when he speaks his voice is strong and pleasing.
“The blessed events at Abberlane are truly amazing, Sidrach,” says Friar Brut, sitting on the floor, his legs crossed. “I wot not just what this Whitsunday Miracle means; The Five work in mysterious ways, it is said. But the events at Abberlane are amazing nevertheless. I have sent Friar Ellis and Friar Dirk to the town to gather what information that they can, and to give what aid they may to the simple carles who live there. And I hope that our brothers will be able to straighten out that situation, for I fear it’s become something of a mess.
“The carles of Abberlane, of course, are quite excited about the recent miracles. And why shouldn’t they? Though there are many accounts of virgin births in the stories of the peasantry, there’s nothing in recent memory quite like what you observed at Abberlane—and nothing so strongly substantiated, either. But I fear that some of this enthusiasm may be a bit misplaced.
“Of course, the villagers of Abberlane, caught up in their zeal, have already ‘elected’ some farmer’s daughter to be the next Anchoress, and have already walled her up. And what’s more, the Gerardian Order is concerned about all this loose talk about the Anchoress being a saint. We are told that the villagers have erected a crude shrine to ‘St. Agnes Mater.’ Now she well may prove to be a saint, but really, it seems rather premature. After all, we know nothing about this woman—evidently, she had just appeared in Abberlane one day, over a dozen years ago. No name, no family, no history.
“But nevertheless, our ‘associates’ in the secular church—particularly Canglen Cathedral—are rushing willy-nilly to profit on Abberlane. The diocese is certainly supporting—even promoting—the popular veneration of the Anchoress. Already, pilgrims from all over the Frounter are flocking to Abberlane, hoping to bring back some trinket or badge from their pilgrimage. And you can be sure that the Bishop will want to corner the market on sacred gewgaws. Disgraceful, really.”
“I have no doubt that the good people of Abberlane have earnest intentions, but they are simple folk, and susceptible to… unpentian influences. And we cannot always count on our fellows in the secular church to uphold the teachings of the Five in every instance. This is where the Order of Gerard can shine! Hopefully Ellis and Dirk, through preaching and example, will show the people of Abberlane a meet way to honor the Anchoress and acknowledge the Whitsunday Miracle.”
“I have no doubt that the Anchoress was a good and holy woman,” says Friar Sidrach.
“Indeed, indeed,” answers Friar Brut. “I just can’t help but be disturbed by how swiftly men can turn the miraculous to the material. I have already seen half a dozen men in Heremac proudly bearing gaudy pilgrim’s badges from Abberlane. As Gerardians, we have much work ahead of us. Which is why the Order is very appreciative of your efforts; we do not pretend to understand the Five’s plan, but it seems certain that you have acted dutifully as Their agent in this world. Our thanks to you, Sidrach, and your friends.”
“Thank you, Friar Brut,” says Sidrach, bowing. He and Wyk and Ruik leave the chapter house, emerging into the bright, warm streets of Heremac.
“You know, I have been thinking, Friar,” says Ruik. “Perhaps we should tell Tim that Tuck is dead. It is not really a lie, and perhaps that Tom Tuck should be allowed to live his new life in peace.”
“A fine idea, my son,” answers Friar Sidrach. “A fine idea, indeed. I sometimes think that any deed that thwarts Tim serves the Five.”
The Apartment, Heremac. Monday XVIII Midsommer, Pentian Year Nine Hundred and Nine. Vespers.
Hamral, Mendelor, Mot, Renton, Ruik, Friar Sidrach Landry, St. James, Valerius, Vandoren, Wyk.
“It is high time for us to consider our next move, consortes,” says Valerius. “And whether or no we should wait for St. James and Hamral. They both shall be occupied until late Drieland month: Hamral drilling with Sir Gerald and the militia; St. James gainfully employed with Roger.”
“That’s one way to put it,” says St. James. “Roger’s still smarting from Abberlane. One twelfth of nothing is nothing, and he had really expected to turn a nice profit on that deal.”
“Well, if we have any thought to travelling,” says Mendelor, “Now’s the time of year to do it. I would rather be on the highway in the midst of summer, rather than tramping through the ice and snow in Caulding.”
“Agreed,” says Valerius. “And I further submit that we should consider our pecuniary situation: I for one am in sore need of additional funds, and I am certain most, if not all, of you are in similar straits. I have been pondering this possibility: We could attempt to locate Godwin’s hideout and determine if anything of value was left there. I cannot forget Mendelor’s enchanted shield that Godwin stole from us…
“We could revisit the place where Tuck escaped from Godwin; perhaps we could glean some clue there. We could then continue on in the general direction that Godwin and his rucks were heading. Friar, you have previously demonstrated an ability to locate lost objects. Would you be able to find this missing shield?”
“It is possible,” answers Friar Sidrach. “Though it would not be easy, my son. First, I never saw the shield myself—I would require a detailed description of the shield. Second, I could only sense the shield if it were nearby—say, within a bow-shot’s distance.”
Valerius mumbles something unintelligible.
“I think we should mess up some rucks,” says Hamral with a sudden intensity. The rest of the consortes turn to the serjeant. “A small band could range pretty easily through the occupied lands to our north. We’d be more than a match for the average Black-blade patrol. We could scout out a ruckish supply train or two, set up an ambush, and take their loot. That could be a really decent haul. In good times, bandits make a good living that way. Why couldn’t we?”
“I find your proposal most appealing,” says Valerius. “And since you have suggested supply trains, I would very much like to follow any wagons or people that Tim is sending out of the Heremac. We can see if they meet with rucks—and if they do, we can destroy them and seize their goods. It would be our civic duty!”
St. James frowns. “Sounds dangerous. Those Black-blades are no push-overs!”
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” says Mendelor.
“We might also consider the war-horses at Wyndermere,” says Valerius, “If our other avenues are blocked.”
“Yeah!” says Renton. “We should be taking the fight to Tereus!”
“Hell, I’m ready right now!” cries Wyk. “Let’s get those damn bastards—sorry, Friar!”
“Half a moment, Wyk,” says Ruik. “I’m interested in hearing what Friar Sidrach thinks.”
“I have no interest in raiding ruckish coffers,” answers the Gerardian. “Perhaps we should reflect on our recent experience in Abberlane?”
“Speaking of which,” says Vandoren, “I just received a letter today from my father. I thought that maybe the rest of you might like to hear this.”
The minstrel draws from a belt pouch a small sheet of parchment, and begins reading.
“Dear Son, May the Five find you well as you read these words, and may my scribe record my words aright. Canglen Cathedral is still very much occupied by the recent, wonderful events at Abberlane. The entire episode came as quite a surprise to our office and we are even at this moment still trying to sort the entire affair out. His Grace, Bishop Martin, greatly appreciated the service you rendered the Diocese, and he also commends your candor in detailing the events in the Wood Wondrous. You were obviously witness to some very special sights; perhaps the reason behind these events will someday be made clear. In the interim, we must resign ourselves to the Five’s will.
“You may be gratified to know that His Grace has been in close contact with Reims over the miraculous events in Abberlane. We are very carefully examining the possible canonization of the Anchoress; it is entirely possible that you and your Gerardian friend may be called upon to testify in some sort of ecclesiastical hearing. This is a very, very exciting time for the Cathedral: not every Diocese is so fortunate as to have a new saint right in its midst!
“As to the babe Agnes, know that she has so far proved a healthy, altogether normal infant. You may put your mind to rest, and dispel any concerns your friends might express over her well being. We have ensured that she will receive the very best of care here in Canglen. I cannot tell you exactly where she is, as His Grace feels this information should be kept strictly confidential. We do not want the girl to be the subject to needless and invasive distractions. I can assure you, dear son, that it is far, far better that little Agnes is under our care. The Seekers make fine warriors, but would prove but rude and inept parents, I am sure.
“Well, Vandoren, I shall say a prayer for you before I retire tonight. And do not forget to mention an old knight should you happen to wander into a parish church by some accident. I hope to have you visit me here in Canglen someday; I saw your old friend Clement just last Tuesday. You will find the accommodations here at the Bishop’s court most satisfactory. I swear that I eat and drink better here than I did at Antace Castle! May the saints protect you, Your Father, Dunstan.”
“Intriguing,” says Valerius, folding his hands together.
The Bristling Boar Inn, Heremac. The Feast of St. Daniel the Convert, Wednesday XXVII Midsommer, Pentian Year Nine Hundred and Nine. Before Compline.
Mendelor, Mot, Renton, Ruik, Friar Sidrach Landry, Valerius, Vandoren, Wyk.
“Look, you Five-damned half-wit! If you don’t make way for me I’ll break your frigging neck!”
The man is a tall, beefy peasant, likely a farmer from the size of his arms and the coarseness of his manners. He has a round, chubby face flushed with ale; he wipes his greasy hair away from his small, dark eyes and glowers at Mot, who looks rather confused and holds up his hand in protest.
“No fighting!” says Mot, agitated. “No fighting!”
“Did you hear me, you ruck-son bastard?” says the man, edging closer to Mot. The man suddenly takes several steps back as Wyk appears and moves in front of Mot. The man stands easily head and shoulders above Wyk.
“That’s okay, Mot, lemme handle this,” say Wyk. “If e’s got a problem wi’ you, e’s got a problem wi’ me too, though I’m sure a good knock to the head can fix that! Hey look, I don’t appreciate the way you’re lookin’ at my friend Mot, here. He may be a simple man, but so am I, so if you’re gonna look at ‘im, yer also lookin’ at me, ya hear?”
The man only sneers at Wyk.
“Are you laughing?” asks Wyk, pressing closer and closer to the man. “Was that a laugh? We can take this outside if you like…”
“Suits me just fine, you ugly little runt,” says the man.
“Hey, Coll, Coll, let this go,” says a second man, appearing out of the crowd. “Let’s just drink our ale and have a good time.”
“To hell with that!” says Coll. “I’m gonna have a good time learning this runt some manners!”
Coll and his friend head for the door, with Wyk close behind, his face red and his hands trembling. Many patrons in the Boar, sensing some sport, quickly follow out into the street, laughing and talking merrily. Ruik, desperately trying to get to Wyk, is unable to cut through the press of people. By the time Ruik gets outside, a ring of onlookers has formed around Wyk and Coll; the two men circle each other warily. Coll puts his fists up.
“You’re gonna wish yer whore of a mother never met yer ruck of a father, runt!” says Coll.
With a wild, feral growl, Wyk suddenly hurtles himself headlong at Coll, taking the big man completely by surprise. Wyk leaps in the air and tackles Coll, throwing him to the ground. And before the farmer can react, Wyk springs up and smashes him again and again in the face with his fists. Four, five, six more times Wyk hammers Coll. There is a snapping sound and blood pours out of Coll’s nose. The big man begins to thrash and cry out, but Wyk does not relent. Seven, eight, nine, ten more times Wyk batters Coll. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Mendelor, laughing, and Ruik, pale and grim, each grab Wyk by an arm and pull him off, but Wyk ignores them and continues to kick viciously at Coll.
Many in the crowd laugh and shake their heads at the fracas, but most, still spoiling for a good brawl, grumble about how quickly the fight ended.
Inside the Boar, Ellen Golding grabs Wyk by an ear. “None of that foolishness in my house!” she cries, pulling him about. The crowd in the common room roars with laughter at this. “I shan’t brook such lawlessness!”
“Sorry, mum,” mutters Wyk.
“Very, very sorry, Dame Golding,” says Ruik. “I promise you, nothing like this will come again. Wyk is just a bit out of sorts right now… we are very sorry. Aren’t we, Wyk.”
“Well, just make sure it doesn’t happen again!” says Ellen. “Or I shall flatten you both myself!”
Ruik and Wyk, chastened, return to the table.
“Hey, good work!” says Mendelor, clapping Wyk on the back. “I had complete confidence in you.”
“Aye, lad,” says Garnfellow. “That was well fought. I remember once when I was in Canglen, staying at the Maiden and Rose. I was traveling with a couple other doughty knights. This was many years ago, mind you, when we were all much younger. Anyway, we were lusty lads, ready to take all comers. And then there was this Werdrecean knight, I forget his name…”
“Speaking of Canglen,” says Vandoren. “I have been thinking about travelling there. Now, I am all for taking part in raiding against the Rucks—providing we consult with the Seekers first. As it is, surely the brother-knights were not pleased with our decision at Abberlane, allowing Agnes to go with the Bishop. I am in need of coin as much as anyone. But, if possible, I would like to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak, by helping the Seekers in tandem with our raids. There may be specific areas where our raids would especially benefit the Seekers. In addition, the brother-knights may need information on ruckish movement and troop strength that we could obtain while ‘raiding.’
“While the rest of you carry out raids, perhaps Friar Sidrach and I could journey to Canglen—we could always catch up with the rest of you later. I am very moved by my father’s letter and feel an overwhelming need pay a visit to him and Agnes. Our trip through the Wood Wondrous was enlightening, and we have recently seen some… interesting tensions between the nobility, the secular church, and military-religious orders. I would like to learn more of the Bishop’s plans for Agnes and if Friar Sidrach and I are to speak to the Church anyway about the events at Abberlane…”
“I am not sanguine about splitting the company up,” says Valerius. “This suggestion should be weighed very carefully.”