The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) by R.A. Salvatore
Authors: R.A. Salvatore
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Brother Thaddius Roncourt
This troubled midsummer day, God’s Year 847
P ART 1: T HE P OWER V OID
T he great hall of St.-Mere-Abelle had remained untouched in the hours since the battle. Even the bodies remained, exactly where they fell. Braumin Herde and the other masters had ordered this – they wanted every monk at the monastery to see the harsh reality of this most awful day.
Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy lay crumpled on the floor just before the throne, a hole blown through his head. The result of a hurtling lodestone, certainly, and the reality of a gem propelled so powerfully by someone considered an enemy of the Church stung Brother Thaddius profoundly, a poignant reminder to him of the madness.
Before the throne, the gigantic circular stained-glass window was no more than twisted metal and shattered shards. A dragon had flown through that window, so the story went.
A dragon! Never in his life had Brother Thaddius expected to see such a beast, never had he even believed that such beasts existed.
Most of the other brothers who were now filtering through the great hall on their way to the front doors of the monastery focused on that window, of course. It was a recent construction, a beautiful depiction of the petrified arm of Brother Avelyn, standing defiantly in the midst of the carnage of the Barbican volcanic explosion. Now it was gone, so suddenly, so violently, so…amazingly.
For one of the other brothers, however, the window seemed to hold little interest. Brother Thaddius smiled as he watched the stocky monk, a bruiser named Mars, standing before the sweeping stairway that led up to the balcony encircling the room. On those stairs lay two bodies: a woman Thaddius did not know and Marcalo De’Unnero.
Thaddius moved over to stand beside Brother Mars, measuring the intensity on the monk’s face. Thaddius knew him well, for though Mars was several years older than Thaddius, they had come into the mother abbey in the same month, Thaddius as a newly-ordained monk and Mars transferring in from St. Gwendolyn. Because of that circumstance, Mars had made more acquaintances among Thaddius’s peers than among those of his age.
It hadn’t taken Brother Thaddius long to figure out that he didn’t much like the man. For Mars was everything Thaddius was not. He was handsome and powerful, as solid as stone and as good a fighter as any brother of the class.
But he could barely light an oil-soaked rag with a ruby, and anyone needing magical healing from Brother Mars’s soul stone would surely perish. By Thaddius’s estimation, brothers like Marswere the reason the Abellican Church was in such disarray and dire straights. The man was not worthy to be a brother.
A situation that might soon be remedied, Thaddius understood as he noted the moisture gather in Brother Mars’s eyes as he stared at the face-down body of Marcalo De’Unnero.
“They know the truth of your loyalties,” Thaddius remarked quietly, and Brother Mars turned to him with a start.
“I…of what do you speak, brother?” the man replied.
“Your loyalty to De’Unnero. To the heretic. It is obvious. It has been obvious for a long while. The masters know, and so does everyone in the room who sees you now, your hero dead before you.”
“You presume much, brother,” Mars answered.
“I think not,” Thaddius was quick to reply. “There were many here at St.-Mere-Abelle, serving under Father Abbot Bou-raiy who were intrigued with the vision of Marcalo De’Unnero. I can name myself among those. It is no secret, nor does it need to be, for we brothers are expected to question and explore. But some, it would clearly seem, moved beyond simple intrigue. Some brothers here were loyal not to the Father Abbot, but to the man they thought should hold the title. This man, De’Unnero.”
Brother Mars did not reply, and stared stoically straight ahead, all signs of his grief gone.
“They know, brother,” Thaddius said. “You are my classmate,
This troubled midsummer day, God’s Year 847
P ART 1: T HE P OWER V OID
T he great hall of St.-Mere-Abelle had remained untouched in the hours since the battle. Even the bodies remained, exactly where they fell. Braumin Herde and the other masters had ordered this – they wanted every monk at the monastery to see the harsh reality of this most awful day.
Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy lay crumpled on the floor just before the throne, a hole blown through his head. The result of a hurtling lodestone, certainly, and the reality of a gem propelled so powerfully by someone considered an enemy of the Church stung Brother Thaddius profoundly, a poignant reminder to him of the madness.
Before the throne, the gigantic circular stained-glass window was no more than twisted metal and shattered shards. A dragon had flown through that window, so the story went.
A dragon! Never in his life had Brother Thaddius expected to see such a beast, never had he even believed that such beasts existed.
Most of the other brothers who were now filtering through the great hall on their way to the front doors of the monastery focused on that window, of course. It was a recent construction, a beautiful depiction of the petrified arm of Brother Avelyn, standing defiantly in the midst of the carnage of the Barbican volcanic explosion. Now it was gone, so suddenly, so violently, so…amazingly.
For one of the other brothers, however, the window seemed to hold little interest. Brother Thaddius smiled as he watched the stocky monk, a bruiser named Mars, standing before the sweeping stairway that led up to the balcony encircling the room. On those stairs lay two bodies: a woman Thaddius did not know and Marcalo De’Unnero.
Thaddius moved over to stand beside Brother Mars, measuring the intensity on the monk’s face. Thaddius knew him well, for though Mars was several years older than Thaddius, they had come into the mother abbey in the same month, Thaddius as a newly-ordained monk and Mars transferring in from St. Gwendolyn. Because of that circumstance, Mars had made more acquaintances among Thaddius’s peers than among those of his age.
It hadn’t taken Brother Thaddius long to figure out that he didn’t much like the man. For Mars was everything Thaddius was not. He was handsome and powerful, as solid as stone and as good a fighter as any brother of the class.
But he could barely light an oil-soaked rag with a ruby, and anyone needing magical healing from Brother Mars’s soul stone would surely perish. By Thaddius’s estimation, brothers like Marswere the reason the Abellican Church was in such disarray and dire straights. The man was not worthy to be a brother.
A situation that might soon be remedied, Thaddius understood as he noted the moisture gather in Brother Mars’s eyes as he stared at the face-down body of Marcalo De’Unnero.
“They know the truth of your loyalties,” Thaddius remarked quietly, and Brother Mars turned to him with a start.
“I…of what do you speak, brother?” the man replied.
“Your loyalty to De’Unnero. To the heretic. It is obvious. It has been obvious for a long while. The masters know, and so does everyone in the room who sees you now, your hero dead before you.”
“You presume much, brother,” Mars answered.
“I think not,” Thaddius was quick to reply. “There were many here at St.-Mere-Abelle, serving under Father Abbot Bou-raiy who were intrigued with the vision of Marcalo De’Unnero. I can name myself among those. It is no secret, nor does it need to be, for we brothers are expected to question and explore. But some, it would clearly seem, moved beyond simple intrigue. Some brothers here were loyal not to the Father Abbot, but to the man they thought should hold the title. This man, De’Unnero.”
Brother Mars did not reply, and stared stoically straight ahead, all signs of his grief gone.
“They know, brother,” Thaddius said. “You are my classmate,
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