The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) by R.A. Salvatore Page A
Authors: R.A. Salvatore
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perhaps a friend, and so I tell you this with confidence that you will pretend this conversation never happened. Surely you are smart enough to realize that Bishop Braumin has spent many weeks studying the remaining brothers of the Order, and that he will claim the position as Father Abbot – who else could it be? – and among his first duties will be a purge. Bishop Braumin hated Marcalo De’Unnero above all, of course, and he will surely root out any followers of the heretic.”
Brother Mars chewed his lip for a bit, trying to find some response to that reasonable claim. He turned back to Thaddius, to find that the small man had simply walked away.
*****
Bishop Braumin Herde stood as if in a daze in the blasted and bloodied courtyard of St.-Mere-Abelle. All about him, his fellow monks worked frantically with magical hematite, the soul stones, to bring healing to scores, hundreds, of injured warriors who had done battle this dark day within the abbey and on the fields beyond her shattered gates. Those brothers didn’t ask the allegiance of those they healed; the battle had been settled in no uncertain terms when Prince Midalis and his closest allies had defeated King Aydrian.
Still, so many had died, and would die, and Braumin could only shake his head at the horrors of war, and all the misery that had plagued Honce-the-Bear in the last decades.
But in that darkness, Bishop Braumin had found, too, hope.
Now Midalis would be King of Honce-the-Bear – he already was in the eyes of those huddled about St.-Mere-Abelle. Indeed, even by Aydrian, who had laid claim to the throne!
Many times in the course of that morning, had those healing brothers turned to Bishop Braumin with their gemstones, and truly it appeared as if Braumin could use more of the soul stone magic. He was a muscular man, not tall and no longer young, having passed his fortieth year. Usually he seemed as solid as any, strong of frame and with determined features, but now his jaw hung crooked, and Bishop Braumin stood crooked, favoring ribs that had been pulverized by the heavy kick of Marcalo De’Unnero. He was missing a few teeth from the right side of his mouth, too, from a punch that had knocked him nearly senseless.
De’Unnero had almost killed him with that strike; indeed, that apostate monk could hit with the force of a fomorian giant!
What a day it had been! Four armies joined in furious combat on the fields about the ancient and huge monastery.
What a day it had been! A dragon – a true dragon! – had crashed through the huge circular stained glass window of the great foyer of St.-Mere-Abelle, only to be thrown back out by the demonic power of Aydrian possessed, a bolt of searing white lightning that seemed as if it was still resonating within the deep stones of the high seaside cliff wall that held St.-Mere-Abelle.
What a day it had been! The great warrior, the ranger Nightbird, had been pulled from the grave and summoned halfway across Honce by the dark power of Aydrian, to fight by Aydrian’s side as a horrid zombie.
But love had conquered the darkness of demonic powers, and Elbryan Wyndon, the ranger the elves had named Nightbird, had been coaxed from his state of undeath by Jilseponie, the wonderful Pony, the woman who had loved him for so many years, the woman who had been his wife, and who had given birth to his child soon after his death those two decades before.
And that child, tainted by the demon dactyl, had taken the throne of Honce-the-Bear. By sheer force and unrivaled power, that child had become King Aydrian.
Bishop Braumin Herde had watched the conclusion of the titanic battle within the monastery this day. Laid low by Aydrian’s second, the apostate De’Unnero, the Bishop had managed to hold onto consciousness just enough to witness the glory, the beauty, of Elbryan and Pony expelling the demon from their son’s heart and soul.
And so the battle had ended, so abruptly. De’Unnero was dead, killed by Pony, as
Brother Mars chewed his lip for a bit, trying to find some response to that reasonable claim. He turned back to Thaddius, to find that the small man had simply walked away.
*****
Bishop Braumin Herde stood as if in a daze in the blasted and bloodied courtyard of St.-Mere-Abelle. All about him, his fellow monks worked frantically with magical hematite, the soul stones, to bring healing to scores, hundreds, of injured warriors who had done battle this dark day within the abbey and on the fields beyond her shattered gates. Those brothers didn’t ask the allegiance of those they healed; the battle had been settled in no uncertain terms when Prince Midalis and his closest allies had defeated King Aydrian.
Still, so many had died, and would die, and Braumin could only shake his head at the horrors of war, and all the misery that had plagued Honce-the-Bear in the last decades.
But in that darkness, Bishop Braumin had found, too, hope.
Now Midalis would be King of Honce-the-Bear – he already was in the eyes of those huddled about St.-Mere-Abelle. Indeed, even by Aydrian, who had laid claim to the throne!
Many times in the course of that morning, had those healing brothers turned to Bishop Braumin with their gemstones, and truly it appeared as if Braumin could use more of the soul stone magic. He was a muscular man, not tall and no longer young, having passed his fortieth year. Usually he seemed as solid as any, strong of frame and with determined features, but now his jaw hung crooked, and Bishop Braumin stood crooked, favoring ribs that had been pulverized by the heavy kick of Marcalo De’Unnero. He was missing a few teeth from the right side of his mouth, too, from a punch that had knocked him nearly senseless.
De’Unnero had almost killed him with that strike; indeed, that apostate monk could hit with the force of a fomorian giant!
What a day it had been! Four armies joined in furious combat on the fields about the ancient and huge monastery.
What a day it had been! A dragon – a true dragon! – had crashed through the huge circular stained glass window of the great foyer of St.-Mere-Abelle, only to be thrown back out by the demonic power of Aydrian possessed, a bolt of searing white lightning that seemed as if it was still resonating within the deep stones of the high seaside cliff wall that held St.-Mere-Abelle.
What a day it had been! The great warrior, the ranger Nightbird, had been pulled from the grave and summoned halfway across Honce by the dark power of Aydrian, to fight by Aydrian’s side as a horrid zombie.
But love had conquered the darkness of demonic powers, and Elbryan Wyndon, the ranger the elves had named Nightbird, had been coaxed from his state of undeath by Jilseponie, the wonderful Pony, the woman who had loved him for so many years, the woman who had been his wife, and who had given birth to his child soon after his death those two decades before.
And that child, tainted by the demon dactyl, had taken the throne of Honce-the-Bear. By sheer force and unrivaled power, that child had become King Aydrian.
Bishop Braumin Herde had watched the conclusion of the titanic battle within the monastery this day. Laid low by Aydrian’s second, the apostate De’Unnero, the Bishop had managed to hold onto consciousness just enough to witness the glory, the beauty, of Elbryan and Pony expelling the demon from their son’s heart and soul.
And so the battle had ended, so abruptly. De’Unnero was dead, killed by Pony, as
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