[Mkguild] Last Tale of Yajakali - Chapter XXXIII

[C. Matthias]

Chapter XXXIII

Leaving Yesulam

         The sun was sliding towards the western 
horizon when Nemgas and Kashin returned to the 
small passage adjoining the Great Cathedral.  It 
was hidden behind a wall, and only thin arrow 
slits allowed the day’s light to penetrate the 
gloom.  The two men smiled faintly on seeing each 
other, then waited to make sure no one was nearby that might overhear them.
         Kashin leaned next to one of the slits, 
playing his fingers through the shaft of light 
slanting into the corridor. “It seems the Yeshuel 
do not know of Jothay’s disappearance.”
         “Didst thou speak with them?” Nemgas asked incredulously.
         “Nay,” Kashin replied, letting his 
fingers fall from the light. “But if they knew, 
they would have spoken of it.” He grimaced and 
rubbed his fingers into his palm. “Still, it was 
a terrible risk even listening to them.  I know 
them, trained with them.  One wrong step and they 
would have found me.  We do not need that just yet.  What did you learn?”
         Nemgas leaned against the other wall, 
running his one hand through his dark hair. “Our 
things hath been put in the armoury as Czestadt 
didst say.  ‘Twill not be difficult to steal them 
back, but ‘twill take several hands.” He let his 
arm fall to his side where his fingers began to 
drum against one leg. “The Driheli hath been 
asking the constables about Czestadt.  He wilt 
not be able to return quietly.  There shalt be questions asked.”
         Kashin grunted. “I was afraid of that. 
But there will be questions still when he sends 
the Driheli back to Stuthgansk.  And even if 
Jothay’s absence isn’t noted yet, it will be.”
         “Nay,” he smiled as a Magyar 
would.  Kashin could see a plan forming behind 
those eyes, one that he himself would not have 
considered. “There be a way.  I hath also seen to 
his things, afeared his guards might talk.  But 
his retinue be no more.  I fear we know where the 
Blood Bound didst come from now.”
         “His own men,” Kashin felt a turning in 
his stomach.  Jothay had turned his Eaven 
servants into creatures of death and 
corruption.  How twisted had that sword made his 
mind? “But he will still have Ecclesian guards.  All Bishops have them.”
         “And he didst keep them outside his 
chambers,” Nemgas replied. “I listened to them, 
but they had nothing to say.  That their master be dead art unknown to them!”
         Kashin nodded thoughtfully. “So what are 
you suggesting then?  A charade?”
         “A masquerade,” Nemgas replied, his grin 
showing all his teeth. “Jothay hath a carriage 
that he used little.  We Magyars will take the 
carriage and lead it out of the city ere 
tomorrow’s dawn.  In the night, with the right 
clothes, ‘twill appear that we art men of 
Eavey.  We shalt tell the guards that Bishop 
Jothay hast undertaken a pilgrimage and wilt 
return ere long.  Ere anyone learns different, we wilt be far to the north.”
         “Aye,” Kashin began to smile. “That 
might work.  And those who would have reason to 
suspect ill are exactly the sort of people we 
want to reveal themselves.  Once Berkon is able to be moved, do it.”
         Nemgas nodded. “And the Driheli?”
         “Czestadt will need to do what he can to 
keep word about where he really was from 
spreading.  And Sir Petriz...” Kashin let his 
hand pass into the shaft of light.  Weird shadows 
flickered across the bare clay floor and wall. 
“You aren’t planning on taking him back to the Steppe are you?”
         A bitter laugh escaped Nemgas’s throat. 
“‘Twould be a mistake.  Few be the men who 
wouldst not be good Magyars.  He be one of 
these.  There be no better place for him than 
where he be.  E’en when I didst threaten to make 
a Magyar of him I knew ‘twould be 
useless.  Unless I tricked him with a matter of 
honour, he would let himself die first.  And e’en 
then, he wouldst fight us until he died.”
         Nemgas sucked in his breath and shook 
his head. “Yet I still think fondly of him.  He 
be a good man, and wilt be counted a friend of the Magyars.”
         “Not something that can be said of 
many.” Kashin knew this clearly.  He still had 
all of Nemgas’s memories.  At least, all of them 
up to when Jothay struck them with Yajakali’s 
blade.  For so long, he’d lived as that presence 
at the back of Nemgas’s mind.  Not having the 
Magyar’s spirit so comfortingly nestled against 
his own made him feel empty, drained.  And now, his mirror was leaving.
         “I suppose this will be the last time we 
shall have alone together, perhaps ever,” Kashin 
said. “It is odd, but in a way I wish it were not so.”
         “Thou couldst come with us,” Nemgas 
suggested. “After thee hast thy vengeance.  I wouldst ne’er deny that of thee.”
         “Nay,” Kashin replied, his voice fading 
to a mere whisper. “My place is here.  Yours is 
on the Steppe.  We cannot change that.”
         “Then we hath nothing to gain from 
pondering it.  Thou art a Yeshuel.  I be a 
Magyar.  I dost not know how it came to be, 
whether thou art a reflection of me, or I be a 
reflection of thee, but it be what it be.  And 
perhaps we wilt see each other again.  Mayhap 
thou wilt join us by our fires and dance and sing 
with us for a night or two.  I fear we Magyars wilt not be seen in Yesulam.”
         Kashin chuckled lightly and shook his 
head. “I understand that.  Maybe one day it will 
come to pass.” He glanced through the narrow slit 
at the afternoon sky. “Dusk will not be long in 
coming.  We should return below and get a little more sleep before we part.”
         His companion nodded and turned to lead 
the way. “There be a custom amongst my people 
that thou dost know well, Kashin.  Before old 
friends part, there must be a feast, song and 
dance.  I fear we have but grains to eat, and 
little room to dance, but our voices all work fine.”
         Kashin followed him down the passage, 
the weariness in his heart lifting. “Aye, they 
will at that.  One last song before we say goodbye.”

----------

         With only a few hours until dawn, they 
knew they could wait no longer.  When Nemgas and 
Kashin returned, they began fashioning stretchers 
from the linens and wine racks.  Sir Czestadt 
insisted on having a pair of crutches that he 
could use once they reached the surface, but 
given the age of the wood, they would serve him 
for a day at best before breaking.  After their 
work was complete, they ate and sung songs of 
parting.  Even the Questioners sang when they 
learned the words, though most of the time they hummed tunelessly.
         Then, after a few hours of sleep, the 
strange group of allies left the subterranean 
storage chamber.  With Berkon and Czestadt 
carried on the stretchers, they were able to make 
good time through the catacombs.  No longer did 
the mouldy walls and silent tombs hold any horror 
for them.  They were remnants of ages past that 
were truly gone.  They could bring only reflection; never harm.
         When Kashin brought them to a stop, 
they’d reached a narrow chamber occupied by a 
large stone bier decorated with a sword and a 
yew.  It was wide enough for both Berkon and 
Czestadt to be laid side by side.  Father 
Kehthaek stared in awe as he drank in the 
articulate engravings covering each wall.
         “This is the tomb of Sir Bearn,” he 
whispered, eyes wide like a plainsman seeing the 
mountains for the first time. “How could we have let it be forgotten?”
         “It has not been.  Every Yesbearn makes 
a pilgrimage here,” Kashin said as he helped 
lower Czestadt on top of the bier. “As do a few 
Yeshuel.  They do not talk of it, for seeing the 
tomb of the first knight who gave his life for a 
priest is part of why they are so 
dedicated.  They fear not living up to Sir 
Bearn’s example, so to speak of the pilgrimage is to admit shame.”
         Kashin regarded the runes chiselled into 
the head of the bier, pondering the knight’s 
sacrifice for a moment. He’d been ready to give 
his life for the Patriarch’s, but in the end he’d 
lived and Akabaieth had been slain by the very 
sword that hung from his hip.  His flesh grew 
cold and he shook the bitter memories from his 
mind. “But that is not why we are here.”
         Father Akaleth, who had joined Kehthaek 
in examining a wall marred by hundreds of hands, 
turned and asked, “Why are we here?”
         “We are here because it is 
convenient.  And because it is only a short ways 
to both the barracks where the Driheli are 
staying, and the courtyard where Jothay’s 
carriage is waiting.” Kashin put his hand on the 
bier and looked first to the Magyars.  They 
huddled in quiet anticipation on the other side 
of the sepulchre. “We will wait here a few 
minutes to recover our breath, then Nemgas and I 
will lead the Magyars to both places.  Kaspel, 
Chamag and I will head for the carriage; we’ll 
take Berkon with us and ready it to 
leave.  Nemgas will lead the rest to the armoury 
in the barracks where their things have been 
taken.  They will reclaim them and then join us at the carriage.
         “Once the Magyars are all safely out of 
Yesulam, I will rejoin the rest of you here.”
         “And we are to wait here?” Akaleth asked 
with only a vague hint of irritation.
         “It is necessary.  But when I return we 
will help Sir Petriz and Sir Czestadt reach the barracks.”
         “And then we will go to Jothay’s 
quarters,” Kehthaek announced. “I want to learn 
who else in Yesulam aided his treachery.”
         For a moment, no one spoke.  They stared 
at each other and the scroll work depicting Sir 
Bearn’s life and death.  The walls of stone bore 
a sombre bronze glow in the lamplight, as if they 
stood in the presence of the setting sun.  Their 
faces, unshaven and haggard, still blossomed with the relief they all felt.
         “I doubt,” Father Akaleth began, “that I 
shall ever see you again.” He turned to the 
Magyars and smiled. “Thank you for tending me and 
trusting me when I needed it most.  I will always 
say a special prayer for you, every day I still draw breath.”
         “‘Tis most gracious of thee,” Gamran 
replied, a mischievous grin splitting his face. 
“Thou art a decent sort thyself, when thou be not 
creepy.” The Magyars laughed, and strangely enough, so did Akaleth.
         “Thank you,” Sir Petriz added, “for your 
word keeping.  Forgive us for the mistake we 
made.” It was the best Galendish they had ever 
heard from the knight.  From the look of 
concentration on his face, they could all see how genuine it was.
         “I hath no more enmity for the Driheli,” 
Nemgas said, extending his hand to 
Petriz.  Without hesitation knight and Magyar 
clasped hands. “May it always be so.”
         “May it always be so,” Petriz echoed, 
smiled, and for a moment it appeared they would 
embrace.  But there was a hardness still in their 
eyes.  Forgiveness had been granted, but there 
was pain still on both sides.  Wordlessly, they 
parted, with Nemgas heading for the exit.
         “‘Tis time we went our separate 
ways.  Ja!” Without further word or gesture he 
left, followed by most of the Magyars.
         “And time for us too.  I will return 
soon,” Kashin told the knights and priests before 
helping Chamag and Kaspel lift Berkon from atop 
the bier.  In the passage outside, Nemgas’s footsteps were already receding.

         The armoury proved to be a well-stocked 
storehouse filled with numerous blades, both 
straight and curved, and various armours, from 
one set of decorative full plate standing by 
itself on a raise plinth to an assortment of mail 
and toughened leather vests.  Along one wall was 
an arrangement of pikes, halberds, glaives, and 
staves, followed by another collection of axes, 
maces and flails.  In the centre of the long hall 
were several unstrung bows, standing next to a 
row of crossbows.  Deposited in leather quivers 
next to each bow were the arrows; some of them 
came to wicked points while others were hooked and barbed.
         The Magyars gaped at the wealth of 
weaponry quietly waiting for them to peruse.  The 
Yeshuel passages had led them to a secret 
entrance behind a tapestry of the Holy Mother 
with the Yahshua child.  There were several empty 
cabinets in the rear of the armoury, and into two 
of them their equipment had been placed.
         Predictably, Gamran went immediately for 
the decorative suit of armour.  His eyes sparkled 
with the topaz inset in the breastplate, and he 
drew out his dagger greedily.  Nemgas put his 
hand on the little thief’s shoulder and held him firm.
         In a hushed whisper, Nemgas hissed, “We 
hath too much to carry to take anything else.”
         “Not e’en a single stone?” Gamran 
whined, eager hope and disappointment flashing across his eyes.
         “Not e’en a single stone,” Nemgas 
replied.  Actually, one stone would be fine, but 
he knew Gamran would not be able to stop there. 
“We must find the kitchens and steal a few things 
there, so restrain thyself a moment more.” When 
the little thief nodded, Nemgas turned to see 
both Pelgan and Gelel handling the curved daggers hanging near the swords.
         Though there were no guards in the 
armoury, there would be at least a pair 
outside.  Nevertheless, Nemgas growled loudly 
enough that his friends heard and quickly put the 
daggers back.  A moment later, they and the other 
Magyars were busy reclaiming all of their 
belongings from the closets.  Satisfied, Nemgas 
picked up one of the smaller curved blades and slid it into his belt.
         He didn’t plan on using it himself, but 
it would be a shame if he returned to the wagons 
without stealing something for his boy Pelurji!
         “‘Tis everything,” Amile whispered.  She 
hoisted the travel pack on her shoulders almost effortlessly.
         Nemgas opened the secret entrance, 
making sure to keep his stolen dagger out of 
view. “Ja!  We must find the kitchens.  We shalt 
need food and something to cook it in if we art to survive!”
         Gamran muttered, though he still smiled. 
“Good.  I hath missed thieving!”
         They all quietly laughed at that.  A 
moment later, they were through the doorway and 
moving down the secret passages again.  It would 
not be long now, just one more errand before they could leave.

         “‘Tis quiet,” Chamag noted as he stared 
across the wide courtyard.  They stood in a small 
alcove leading up from the sewers with Berkon’s 
stretcher carried on their shoulders.  Before 
them was a dark courtyard with various stone 
structures arrayed along the high walls.  A 
gatehouse towards the North was the only passage 
out for the carriages.  Against the southern wall 
was the line of carriages, none of which were 
attended.  Behind them were broad staircases 
leading up to St. Kephas’s Cathedral.  Guards 
stood watch at the gatehouse and the towers, but they were looking out not in.
         A waning crescent had just risen, but 
was still too low in the sky to cast any light 
into the courtyard.  Kashin gestured with his 
stump at the southern wall. “Jothay’s carriage is 
the fourth in the line.  Follow the wall.”
         Chamag first glanced at each watchtower, 
then he stepped from the alcove out onto the 
brick esplanade.  Berkon groaned atop the 
stretcher, but only briefly.  When they all stood 
beneath the expanse of stars, their nervousness 
increased.  No longer were they hidden by tons of 
rock on all sides, but stood exposed to all the 
heavens.  Any joy they felt at seeing the sky for 
the first time in two days was muted.
         The Ecclesia carriages were large enough 
for a Bishop and his retinue to travel in 
relative comfort.  Seats were placed in front and 
back for guards to ride if they passed through 
unsettled lands.  Along either side the Ecclesia 
yew was carved next to the heraldry of each 
Bishop’s land.  The symbol on Jothay’s carriage 
was of a river winding through a forest with 
strange trees.  The city of Eavey was built along 
a wide river that cut through the largest forest 
in Sonngefilde, and their heraldry reflected that.
         When they reached that carriage, the 
courtyard was as quiet as it had been 
before.  Kashin let Kaspel take the stretcher’s 
other pole while he drew open the rear 
entrance.  He climbed inside and turned to help 
them hoist Berkon in.  The interior was dark, and 
he kicked his shin against something as together 
they lifted the injured Magyar within.
         Once they’d set the stretcher down in 
the centre of the carriage, Chamag lit their 
lantern and set it inside. The carriage was a bit 
narrower than most Magyar wagons, but it was also 
longer.  On one wall of the rear was a single 
bed, with storage cabinets set above the 
mattress.  The other wall had room for a writing 
desk, though there were no quill or ink anywhere 
to be seen.  The front of the carriage had a 
table at which to eat and several more beds, these far more cramped.
         “Now what?” Kaspel asked as he scanned 
what would be their home until they could find the other Magyars again.
         Kashin stretched, loosening muscles that 
had tightened from carrying injured men for the 
last few hours. “Let’s put Berkon on the bed 
here.  There should be uniforms in one of these 
drawers.  You will both need to change.”
         Chamag appeared appalled at the suggestion. “Why must we do that?”
         “We need to collect horses from the 
stables at the other end of the courtyard.  You 
must look like Ecclesia soldiers.”
         “‘Twill take more than uniforms to do that!” Chamag grunted.
         Kashin nodded. “So let’s get to work then, shall we?”

         The uniforms they found were all too 
small for the burly Chamag.  The closest in size 
could not be laced around his shoulders or neck, 
and so he sat at the front of the carriage while 
Kaspel went by himself to the stables to procure 
a quartet of horses.  Fortunately, the ostlers 
were not inquisitive and only a few minutes later 
the archer returned with four sable mares.
         Together, Kaspel and Chamag hitched the 
horses to the carriage, and stored the bag of 
feed the ostler had helpfully provided in the 
carriage for later.  Kashin, who felt it wiser 
that he not be seen, stayed with Berkon while the 
other two Magyars worked.  He’d fallen asleep 
again, so Kashin took a moment to examine his wounds.
         The scars on his chest had scabbed over 
completely, and looked well on their way to 
healing.  His thigh wound had stopped bleeding at 
least, though he could still smell the acrid 
scent of the poultice.  Kehthaek had redone the 
bindings one last time before they’d left, and 
the priest had sounded hopeful about the Magyar’s condition.
         There was nothing that Kashin could see 
different, so he draped a linen blanket over 
Berkon and let him sleep.  He turned to see 
Kaspel and Chamag climbing back into the 
carriage. “We hath the horses ready,” Kaspel said, his body tense. “How be he?”
         “Berkon is as well as can be 
expected.  Now where are the others?  They should have been here by now.”
         Chamag grunted and turned back around. 
“I shalt wait for them outside.”
         It was another fifteen minutes before 
Chamag came back inside.  Nemgas was behind him, 
a sullen grin marring his features. “I dost 
apologize for the delay.  But we didst need some 
fresh supplies for the journey.”
         Kashin waved him and the other Magyars 
in. “Then get them inside and let’s get 
going.  We’ve barely two hours til dawn.”  Nemgas 
stood out of the way while the rest brought in a 
small set of cooking pots as well as sacks of 
potatoes, grains, a few jars of honey, flour, and 
a few other tidbits that certainly had not been 
with their things in the armoury.
         “I see you finally got to do a 
thieving,” Kashin remarked sourly to Gamran who was grinning from ear to ear.
         “Aye! And had that maid come a minute 
later, I would have stolen her heart too!”
         Amile swatted the back of his head. “And 
I shalt tell Thelia of that, rogue!”
         Gamran pressed his hands to his chest 
and smiled winsomely. “Wouldst thee?  I so adore her when she be cross!”
         The other Magyars began to laugh at this 
little show.  Even Kashin’s lips broke into a 
grin.  Nemgas saw it and patted him on the 
shoulder. “Art thee certain that thee wishes to stay here?”
         The question was only in jest, but it 
brought Kashin’s mind back to the present. “Aye, 
and we have little time to waste.  Kaspel, 
Chamag, start us out the gatehouse.  I’ll guide 
you to the city gate from there.  Everyone else, 
stay quiet and stay out of sight.” He no sooner 
spoke than the Magyars became as hushed as the tombs from which they came.

         As the crescent moon rose in the sky, 
the city of Yesulam slowly began to wake 
up.  Lamps were lit in homes, and the chanting of 
priests as they sung early mass could be heard 
drifting along the cool desert air.  Already 
lamplight wagons were moving street by street to 
clean up refuse left in the gutters.  Somewhere 
in the distance was the sound of a hammer striking an anvil.
         Of those few who were moving about the 
city streets at that early hour, none took notice 
of the Ecclesia carriage as it rolled 
past.  Kashin sat just out of sight behind the 
two drivers, Chamag and Kaspel.  The guards at 
the gatehouse had not even looked at them, and so 
far their luck was holding.  They had passed from 
the heart of the city and now made their way 
towards the northern gate through the labourer districts.
         This part of the city was on a lower 
plateau overlooking the Yurdon River, and also 
was on the lower end of the sewage.  There was a 
noticeable odour that clung to their skin as they 
passed.  The residents were not as poor as 
workers in other cities would be, but they still 
could not afford the fragrances that the 
merchants and the clergy used to mask the stink of civilization.
         Kashin watched with a heavy heart as he 
recalled not just the ramshackle homes, but also 
the people who lived in them.  Part of a 
Yeshuel’s training was to be an example for the 
Ecclesia, and that meant showing charity to the 
poor.  He had many months to catch up on, and he 
wondered with whom he should start.  The family 
in that one home with the blue door had a lame 
child; how was he doing?  And their neighbour’s 
roof appeared to be sagging dangerously.  Could it be fixed?
         “Where now?” Kaspel asked 
quietly.  Kashin peered past him and saw that the 
street forked with both roads heading towards the 
walls.  Soon they would pass beneath another gate 
and the last section of the city before the city 
wall.  It was empty, but designed to repel an 
invading army, if ever things should grow so 
dire.  The city guard routinely had to rustle squatters from the barren ground.
         “Left.” Kashin shifted a bit closer. 
“The guards at the gatehouse will wave us 
through.  But I will need to disembark before we 
reach there.  The road will lead to the curtain 
wall.  They shouldn’t ask you any questions, but 
if they do, you are taking Bishop Jothay north to 
Marilyth.  If they pry further, emphasize that it 
is the Bishop’s business.  They should not pry any further.”
         “And if they ask why we art not of Yesulam?” Chamag asked, uncertain.
         “You would not be the first Flatlanders 
to find employment in Yesulam.  They will not 
ask.” Kashin patted them on the shoulder as they 
followed the left fork.  Very quickly the final 
gatehouse came into view around a corner.  It 
stood with portcullis raised, waiting like the 
yawning mouth of some nightmare beast to swallow 
them whole.  Kashin stepped back from the door 
and smiled at the Magyars waiting in the lamplight interior.
         “Well, it’s time.  I will keep watch to 
make sure you escape safely.  But I need to go now.”
         Both Pelgan and Gamran stood and patted 
him on the back and side like old friends.  Amile 
hugged him around the middle and gave him a quick 
kiss on the nose. “Thou be safe, Kashin of the Yeshuel!”
         Kashin smiled and hugged her back. “And 
thee, Amile of the Magyars.  And all of 
you.  Gelel, you too.” The youth smiled and they 
traded a quick hug too.  Even Berkon, who was 
drifting in and out of sleep, managed to wave and smile.
         Standing at the back door of the 
carriage was Nemgas.  The one-armed Magyar 
regarded the one-armed Yeshuel with brotherly 
admiration.  Gone was any hint of sadness or loss 
at their parting.  He could only smile. “Fare 
thee well, Kashin,” he extended his hand.
         With Nemgas only having a left hand, and 
he a right, they could not shake normally.  But 
they managed as best they could, before drawing 
each other into a tight embrace. “And fare thee 
well, Nemgas!  My Brother. T’samut.”
         Nemgas nodded. “T’samut.  Now ja!  Thou hast no time left.”
         “Ja,” Kashin agreed.  He opened wide the 
rear door and jumped down to the street.  He 
turned and saw Nemgas pull the door shut.  The 
carriage continued to roll towards the city 
wall.  Kashin darted into a dark alley and made 
his way past the carriage to the wall.  There was 
a staircase for the guards that he climbed. Once 
atop the wall, he crouched against one of the 
crenellations and watched his friends.
         As he’d predicted, the guards at the 
gatehouse waved them through without asking any 
questions.  The four mares drew the carriage into 
the wide barren killing field.  The road was 
paved with brick and wound down towards the 
northern gate.  The brick continued beyond the 
gate until it reached the well travelled road to 
Abaef along the bluff overlooking the 
river.  With luck, in perhaps a quarter of an 
hour, the Magyars would be upon it.
         Along the battlements there were a few 
guards, but none of them were near the 
stairs.  He could hear two of them standing by 
the gatehouse talking, but he couldn’t make out 
what they were saying.  Kashin pondered moving 
closer, but it didn’t seem worth the risk of 
being seen.  He needed to make sure the Magyars 
were away safely.  Not only to protect them, but 
to make Jothay’s disappearance seem 
plausible.  Anything to buy the Questioners time.
         It took the Magyars a few minutes to 
cross the killing fields of Yesulam.  When they 
reached the curtain wall, they were stopped by 
the guards.  The city gates were shut for the 
night, but the word of a Bishop could open 
them.  Kashin said a quick prayer that they would 
open now too.  Though in the pale light of the 
crescent moon he could not see much, he knew that 
the guards were asking the Magyars 
questions.  His fingers tightened against the 
stone wall, the tips going white.  The seconds 
began to pass, more and more, and still the carriage sat there unmoving.
         Kashin started to rise, pondering what 
he could do now.  It was taking too long.  Maybe 
he could... no wait... the gate was opening!  He 
breathed a sigh of relief and slumped against the 
stone crenellation.  Already the carriage was 
moving out.  He stayed and watched until he’d 
lost sight of the Magyars beyond the curtain 
wall.  The clanging of the heavy doors as they 
shut after the carriage seemed like the closing of a book.
         Kashin took a deep breath, said a prayer 
of thanks, and then rushed back down the 
stairs.  He had to get back to the 
Questioners.  Now it was time for miracle two – reuniting the Driheli!

----------

         While they waited for Kashin’s return, 
Sir Petriz listened as the two Questioner priests 
discussed the various details of the crypt.  The 
name of Sir Bearn was one that he as a knight was 
familiar with, but he did not know many of the 
details of his life.  Over the course of two 
hours he learned how Sir Bearn had begun life as 
a peasant but who through effort and good fortune 
became a soldier and then a knight serving in the 
northern villages of the Holy Land.
         That is until a procurator of the 
Suielman Empire decided to put down the fledging 
Ecclesia community.  The Suielman soldiers had 
first sought to make an example of the 
priest.  Sir Bearn found him first and over the 
course of a full day single-handedly kept the 
Suielman troops out of the home in which the priest had sought refuge.
         In the end, Sir Bearn died, but not 
before making the Suielman soldiers so thoroughly 
hate their mindless slaughter of the men of Eli 
that the priest was spared and the procurator was 
chastised by his own government.  Sir Bearn’s 
body was brought and interred in Yesulam at the 
priest’s request, and from out of his sacrifice 
the order of the Yesbearn was created.
         Along the far wall was the name of every 
Yesbearn soldier who had been able to make the 
pilgrimage.  A chisel and hammer were nestled in 
a small recess at the base of the wall, waiting 
for the next knight in service to the Ecclesia to 
mark their name, hoping that they too would be 
counted worthy of Sir Bearn’s martyrdom.
         In fact, when Kashin did return, Sir 
Petriz was disappointed that he would not learn 
more about this extraordinary man.  He had not 
lived to see his thirtieth birthday, but his 
example of noble sacrifice in defence of his 
faith renewed in Petriz all of the reasons he had 
sought to be a knight.  It was not for his own 
glory, nor for that of his family.  It was to be 
able to serve the Ecclesia, Eli’s Holy Church here in this world.
         And now he would serve her in a way he 
had never thought possible; he was going to help 
these priests expunge an evil taint that may have 
spread throughout the Bishop’s Council.  The very 
notion that such a thing could come to pass was 
frightening.  If it were possible, how could they 
ever trust in the Council again?  Would they 
always have to wonder whether the order’s they 
were given were holy?  It had been so easy to 
simply accept, and to know they did Eli’s will when they drew their swords.
         Now, he wondered how he could ever have that level of assurance again.
         “Are you ready?” Kashin asked in the 
southern tongue, looking both to Petriz and to 
Czestadt who lay unmoving on the stretcher 
resting atop Sir Bearn’s bier. “It is nearly 
dawn.  If we are quick, we can bring you to the 
Barracks without anyone seeing us.”
         “I am ready.  It will be good to see 
them again.” Even as he spoke, Sir Petriz thought 
on his squire Karol.  The young man brought him such pride.
         Sir Czestadt lifted one hand and waved 
Kashin on. “I will be ready when we 
arrive.  Carry me there, and take the stretcher with you when you leave us.”
         Father Kehthaek and Father Akaleth 
glided to one side of the bier.  The elder priest 
favoured them with a blank expression. “I am not 
physically strong enough to assist with carrying 
the knight.  Father Akaleth can.  He will help 
you carry the front, Kashin, while Sir Petriz takes the rear.”
         “That will be fine,” Kashin replied, and 
then gripped one pole in his hand. “Ready?  Lift!”
         Together, the three of them carried Sir 
Czestadt from Sir Bearn’s tomb and began the trek 
back towards the surface.  The walls were far 
cleaner than they had seen below, but the acrid 
odour of the sewers began to permeate the 
air.  Soon, they had climbed to a basement lined 
with old boxes and casks, some of which had once 
held ale.  The sound of rats scampering away came 
to their ears, but nothing else.
         The cellar led to a staircase and a 
hatch.  Father Kehthaek stepped ahead and undid 
the clasp, and with a heave managed to swing the 
door open.  It landed with a heavy crash, making 
all of them wince.  But there was no sound of 
rushing boots or raised voices, so after a few seconds they breathed easier.
         The hatch led out to the grounds behind 
the barracks.  The stonework on either side was 
so tall that they could only see a sliver of sky 
above.  It was deep blue, though no stars could 
be seen.  Dawn was almost upon them.
         “This is where we leave you,” Kashin 
announced in a quiet voice. “Go to the left and 
around the front and you’ll be standing near the 
gate to the rest of the city.  The barracks where 
the Driheli are staying will be across the 
courtyard from you.  When the rest of the Driheli 
have set sail for Stuthgansk, we will contact you 
again to make the rest of our plans.”
         “And until then?” Sir Petriz asked as he 
lowered his end of the stretcher to the 
ground.  He knelt next to Czestadt to help the knight climb to his feet.
         “You will not be able to find us.” 
Kashin’s face was blank as he spoke, but it was 
hard not to miss the implication that he did not yet fully trust them.
         Given that their mission had been to 
kill Kashin, Sir Petriz could hardly blame him. Nevertheless, it still stung.
         Czestadt pulled the crutches under his 
armpits and pushed them against the ground to 
steady himself.  Sir Petriz stayed at his side to 
keep him from overbalancing. “Contact us when you 
are ready,” Czestadt said, his voice hard as it 
so often was. “Now leave us to do what we must.”
         Kashin and the two priests collected the 
stretcher and climbed back down to the 
cellar.  Akaleth pulled the hatch shut, much more 
quietly than it had been opened.  They could hear 
the clasp lock into place, and then nothing.  Sir 
Petriz sucked in his breath and said, “Are you ready, Sir Templar?”
         “Aye, let us not waste any time.”
         Together, the two knights walked around 
the tall stone building.  To their right was a 
large stone wall, behind which was another 
portion of the city.  The building on their left 
was likely one of the barracks, but they did not 
recognize it from the rear.  It stretched in 
front of them a good thirty paces, yet it took 
Czestadt several seconds to manage every 
step.  He would move one crutch forward, and then 
shift his legs between them to keep the weight 
off of them, and then pull the second in line 
with the first.  And then the process would start all over again.
         By the time they had made it around the 
building and out into the courtyard, the sky had 
brightened considerably, and the sparkling sliver 
of moon had paled into a soft luminescence.  Soon 
the sun would shine across Yesulam, and the 
dazzling radiance of the golden domes of the 
Cathderal would shine like lighthouse beacons.
         The courtyard was empty but for a few 
younger soldiers running errands.  Sir Petriz 
felt his heart leap into his throat when he 
recognized one of them as his own squire.  Karol 
was just coming out of the stables when their 
eyes met.  Surprise crossed his ruddy features, 
and then he laughed and ran towards them in 
joy.  Sir Petriz waved, but stayed at Czestadt’s 
side even as the young man reached them.
         “Sir Petriz!!” he cried, his voice tight 
with relief. “I never thought I’d see you 
again!  And master Templar!  How did this 
happen?  Where have you been?  What...”
         Sir Petriz held up his hand. “Patience, 
Karol.  It is a long story, but you will hear of 
it.  I am greatly relieved to be back.  The 
Magyars did not harm me, but more on that 
later.  The Knight Templar has been wounded and will need a place to lay down.”
         “And I want to meet with the other 
knights.  Wake them up and let them know we’ve 
returned.  I want them all back in the barracks 
by noon.  There is much to discuss.”
         Karol nodded, his body tense with 
excitement.  Petriz patted him on the shoulder 
and smiled broadly. “Go and get help, Karol.  We’re back now.”
         “Of course, Knight Commander,” Karol 
beamed and then rushed off to alert the 
others.  Petriz felt his heart swell with pride.

         It was a few hours later that matters 
with the Driheli finally settled to the point 
that Czestadt could have a rational discussion 
with his lieutenants.  The whole barracks was 
alive with cheering and Sir Petriz greeted all 
his fellow knights with assurances that all was 
well for him and that what vengeance was required 
had already been meted out.  He would not tell 
them of the Magyars, but promised them that one 
day he would do so, when he felt comfortable 
talking about all he experienced.  This was good 
enough for them, as they were simply delighted to 
have their fellow knight returned.
         Sir Czestadt was returned to his chamber 
sin the barracks, which while not posh, were 
reasonably comfortable.  He lay on his bed while 
chairs were brought for his men.  His squire 
Hevsky brought him wine and fruit, but otherwise 
remained quiet.  Around the table before Czestadt 
sat knights Petriz, Guthven, Poblocka and 
Wodnicki.  In addition to hugging him out of joy 
at seeing him again, Wodnicki had complimented 
Petriz on the beard he was developing and told him he should keep it.
         “When you disappeared two days ago, we 
were all worried,” Guthven reported, running one 
hand through his thick red beard. “But to see you 
and Commander Petriz returned is a great 
relief.  You have not said what happened, but I 
assume that you brought the three of us here 
because you wish to tell us.  Is this not so?”
         Czestadt was propped up with numerous 
pillows, but he still looked tired. “I will tell 
you some.  There are several shocking things I 
have learned in the last two days, but I cannot 
speak of all of them now.  What I can say is that 
I am going to be sending you back to Stuthgansk.”
         “Back to Stuthgansk?” Poblocka said in 
surprise. “Why?  Is the traitor dead?”
         “Yes,” Czestadt replied. “Only he wasn’t 
who we suspected.  This is something that you 
must keep secret.  Swear that you will never 
again reveal what I am about to tell you.”
         Guthven immediately got down on his 
knees and held aloft a yew. “I swear upon this 
symbol of my faith that I will never again speak 
of what you tell me this day.” Poblocka and 
Wodnicki did the same a moment later.
         It was then that Guthven turned to 
Petriz and asked, “Will you not swear as well?”
         “I already know what the Knight Templar 
refers to.  I was there and have already taken my vows.”
         Czestadt nodded. “Indeed.  The truth of 
the matter is this: I was injured by the same man 
who slew Patriarch Akabaieth.”
         Guthven stammered for a moment, while 
both Poblocka and Wodnicki blanched in 
horror.  The red-bearded Guthven leaned forward 
and managed to ask, “He was here in Yesulam?  How is that possible?”
         “Because he was allied with Bishop 
Jothay of Eavey, the very man that sent us to kill Kashin.”
         Poblocka jumped to his feet. “Nay!  That 
cannot be possible!  You are telling us that 
Jothay was part of his Holiness’s murder?”
         Czestadt nodded. “I am.  And it is 
true.  Jothay had become entangled with an old 
and evil magic.  It corrupted him, and it even 
now attempts to corrupt the Ecclesia from 
within.  That is why Akabaieth was killed, so 
that it could continue to corrupt.  We have 
struck a blow against it in killing Jothay.  But 
there is more work here that I have to do.” He 
paused a moment, while the three knights stared 
in befuddlement. “Do you doubt my word?”
         Guthven sucked in his breath and shook 
his head. “Nay. I would never doubt your word, 
master Templar.  It is hard to understand.  But 
if magic is involved, then I can believe it.”
         “Good.  Now I need you to take the rest 
of the Driheli back to Stuthgansk.”
         “Wait,” Wodnicki said, his hands 
shaking. “We can help you here to destroy those 
who use magic to corrupt our good priests.”
         “You could,” Czestadt admitted, “but I 
fear that with you still here, it will complicate 
matters.  Bishop Jothay was our patron.  He is 
now dead.  We have no more reason to 
stay.  Further, if our enemies think we have done 
what they wanted us to do, it will free Sir 
Petriz and I from observation.  He and I stay 
because we owe a debt.  But that is all.”
         Guthven frowned and gripped his beard 
tightly between his fingers. “Why not simply tell 
us that we had done what we came to do?  Why tell us these horrible things?”
         “Because you of all the Driheli can 
understand them, and still serve faithfully.  I 
need men like you in the months and years to 
come.  In fact, I need you, Guthven, for 
something very important now.  Sir Poznan was 
killed, and his office remains vacant.  I am 
appointing you to be the new Knight Commander of Bydbrüszin.”
         Guthven’s face flushed with surprise, 
and then delight and pride. “Thank you, master 
Templar.  I will serve you with honour.  I shall not let you down.”
         “I know.  Tonight we shall celebrate Sir 
Petriz’s return, and your elevation.  Tomorrow I 
am tasking you with securing transport for our 
men, horses, and all of our supplies.  I want the 
Driheli out of Yesulam within a week’s time.  Can you do this?”
         Guthven knelt again, lowering his 
head.  Sir Petriz smiled as he saw the devotion 
there, so like his own. “I will do as you say, 
master Templar.  But what of Skowicz, Sir Poznan’s squire?”
         “You will finish his training.  In a 
year’s time I have no doubt he will join the 
ranks of knight bachelors.  Now get up, and see to it.  I need to rest.”
         Sir Petriz rose with his fellow 
knights.  Their faces were a mix of relief and 
agony.  It would be so for many days yet, but 
perhaps they would all come to a greater 
understanding of their duty as knights.  He hoped 
and prayed for that very thing.  But now it was 
time for good cheer and stories.  He wanted to 
hear of their journeys, and perhaps he could tell a tale or two himself.
         Petriz smiled warmly as he and the other 
three knights left the Templar to rest.  No 
matter how glad he was that he’d been able to 
know and assist the Magyars in defeating the evil 
Jothay, it still felt wonderful to be home with the Driheli.

----------

         One of the things that Kimberly Matthias 
had always loved about the Autumn was the colours 
on all the trees.  She was used to seeing the 
leaves turn yellow, red, and every shade of 
peach.  Many times she had enjoyed taking long 
walks through the gardens while the wind carried 
those many-hued leaves around her face as if some 
secret dancer were courting her.
         While the trees in the gardens of 
Metamor had changed colours in a brilliant 
autumnal display, only a few of those in Glen 
Avery did so.  Most of the trees were coniferous, 
so instead of a broad avenue of fallen leaves to 
crunch beneath her paws, she was now careful to 
wear sandals to keep the many needles that 
littered the ground from piercing her toes.
         Still, there were a few reddish leaves 
that drifted down from the high treetops.  Each 
morning she swept them from the small path 
between the roots of the great redwood that she, 
her five children, and Baerle her friend and 
wet-nurse lived in.  As much as she enjoyed being 
inside that wonderful abode, she knew that the 
weather would soon turn cold, and so every chance 
she had she wanted to enjoy outdoors with her children.
         Charles spent most of his life 
outdoors.  It was one way in which she could be closer to her absent husband.
         It had been over three months since she 
had last seen him.  But not a day went by that 
she wasn’t thinking of him; praying for 
him.  Their five children were growing, and 
already they had begun to learn words.  Jo, the 
village healer, had declared them to be the 
mental equivalent of a normal two-year 
old.  Kimberly did not have much experience with 
young children, but it couldn’t be worse than 
five energetic little rats who adored her, and 
spent much of their time scampering over everything they could find.
         So getting them out of the house to work 
out their energy was a blessing.
         Especially when there was news to hear!
         Earlier in the day, Kimberly and Baerle 
had strung up the clothes on a wire between their 
tree and a post.  When Caroline the otter had 
come to the Glen brimming with news, they had 
taken one of the blankets and laid it out on the 
ground to sit in comfort.  Baerle brought out 
little tea cakes Mrs. Levins had baked a few days 
ago, as well as some tea for them to 
enjoy.  Caroline had not been able to wait that long to tell her news.
         “Duke Thomas is going to be married!!” 
she had squealed, her whole body bouncing with delight.
         “Oh that’s wonderful!!” Kimberly 
exclaimed.  Baerle cooed in delight between 
running back and forth.  Nearby the five rat 
children played with a pinecone nearly as large 
as them.  They were pushing it around and 
watching it roll.  One of them would get in front 
and try to jump out of the way before it clipped 
them.  With luck, the worst of it would be a few scratches to tend later.
         “Who is his grace to wed?” Baerle asked 
after she brought out the tea.  She settled down, 
pouring a cup for each of them.
         Caroline nibbled on the tea cake and 
grinned. “Dame Alberta Artelanoth!  Yes, the 
knight who became a woman who became a 
donkey.  Thomas and she had been seeing quite a 
bit of each other since she changed the second time.”
         Kimberly dipped her tea cake in her tea 
and nibbled, one eye ever on the 
children.  Bernadette was squeaking as the 
pinecone rolled across her tail.  Not from pain, 
just from surprise.  The boys chased the pinecone 
with more energy than she thought she’d ever had.
         “When did he ask her?” It was so 
wonderful to hear this good news for the 
Duke.  She didn’t know the female knight well, 
but that she was also equine seemed to make a 
good match.  It was strange, but it just seemed 
right that Keepers of nearly the same ‘species’ should fall in love and wed.
         “During the Autumn Festival.  I don’t 
know much more about that,” Caroline 
replied.  She sipped the tea, her lutrine nose 
wrinkling at the warmth. “But he did announce his 
new bride at the end of the festival.  He was at 
his balcony, speaking to all the assembled 
Keepers.  We didn’t know what it was about, not 
even Misha knew!  And then, he presented her to 
us.  She was standing in the Ivy Causeway, 
dressed in this beautiful gown of lavender and 
blue silk.  She had a diadem on her brow, and the 
most lovely necklace which sparkled in the 
light.  I think she was blushing at the attention 
and the cheers when he said she was to be his wife.”
         Caroline leaned back, her face waxing 
nostalgic for some cherished memory. “She didn’t 
look a thing like a knight.  She looked like a 
princess.  Strange, but even though she’s a donkey, she looked right for him.”
         “It seems fair that in Metamor, one who 
began life as a man, could become a Duchess,” 
Baerle remarked with an amused grin. “And it’s 
good that she’s a knight.  His grace needs 
somebody who knows how to ride a stallion.”
         They giggled at the joke, leaning in 
closer.  A few Glenners cleaning the central 
square of the village gave them odd looks.  They’d hear the news soon enough.
         “So what happened next?” Kimberly 
asked.  She stuck the cake between her teeth and 
chewed.  Still as savoury as the day the hedgehog Mrs. Levins had made them.
         “Well,” Caroline continued, “after the 
cheers had finally died down, Alberta went back 
inside and Thomas told us all of the good fortune 
we have had this year.  He reminded us of our 
sacrifices to protect Metamor, of how relations 
amongst the houses of the Northern Midlands have 
never been stronger, and of how we are making 
friends in the free lands in the 
Giantdowns.  It’s a glorious time to be 
alive.  For the first time since the Battle of 
Three Gates, it seems like everything is looking up.”
         Caroline looked at Kimberly, and her 
smile faded.  She leaned over and set a webbed 
paw on Kimberly’s knee. “And we’ll soon have good news about Charles too.”
         “I know.  I pray for it every day.  Have 
you heard anything?” Her eyes could not stay on 
the otter, but went to her children.  The 
youngest, Ladero, had stopped chasing the others 
and was coughing, tongue sticking out past his 
incisors for a moment.  In that one second, 
Kimberly felt ready to spring up and rush to his 
side, but then her son caught his breath and 
hurried to catch up with his litter-mates.
         Caroline shook her head. “I’m sorry, we 
haven’t.  You know we’d tell you if we had.”
         “I know.” Baerle came closer and put one 
paw on Kimberly’s shoulder. “Thank you for coming 
by today.  Will you be staying long?”
         “A few days,” she said, “Misha wanted me 
to go over a few reports with Lord Avery and the Glen scouts.”
         “And to talk with us?” Baerle asked.
         The otter smiled. “Of course.  You 
realize Misha was moping for weeks because he 
couldn’t go?  I had to take him swimming a few times to help him get over it.”
         “Charles will come back,” Baerle said, 
her voice firm.  She hugged Kimberly close. “He loves you too much not to.”
         Kimberly looked to the two women, but 
especially the opossum.  In some ways it was a 
relief that Charles wasn’t here.  As long as he 
was away, she didn’t have to worry about coming 
home one day to find her husband and wet-nurse 
kissing or worse.  It was true she had given 
Baerle permission to pursue him, and it was true 
that they loved each other, just as it was true 
that Charles deeply loved his wife and would 
never do anything to deliberately hurt her.
         But it was also the case that she hoped 
deep down that she wouldn’t have to share.  The 
women of her home had often shared a 
husband.  Some of the women were miserable, while 
others seemed even closer to their sister wives.
         Kimberly didn’t want to have to find out which she would be.
         “He’ll come home,” Kimberly said, 
feeling strength return to her voice. “I am sure 
he misses us just as much as we miss him.  And 
the children...” she glanced at them, and smiled 
as she saw them pushing the pinecone back up a 
small hill.  Their dark eyes were bright with 
mischief and fun.  Their tails flicked 
energetically back and forth, and their darling 
ears turned at every sound.  She loved them so.
         “He hated having to leave them too.”
         Caroline leaned back and finished off 
her tea cake. “Well, I suppose I should go make 
arrangements for where I’ll stay the next few 
days.  I promise I’ll be back soon.”
         Kimberly was about to tell her nonsense 
when her head turned.  Ladero was coughing 
again.  She turned her ears, but the spell lasted 
only a moment.  Relieved, she looked at the Long 
Scout and smiled. “Don’t be silly, Caroline.  You 
are more than welcome to stay with us while you’re here.”
         “Are you sure?”
         “Of course!  It’ll be nice having another set of paws for a few days!”
         Baerle smiled too. “I can go get a room 
ready for you now if you’d like.”
         Caroline churred in delight. “Ah, you 
both are so sweet.  Thank you.” She hugged them 
both tight and then sat back down on the blanket. 
“Well, since I don’t have to go anywhere just 
yet, let me tell you what I heard happened after 
his grace finished his announcement.”
         “Oh, this I have to hear too!” Baerle said with a wide grin.
         The women all huddled closer and giggled 
at the sordid details rumour had conjured 
forth.  All the while the children played beneath 
the needle-laden boughs of the Glen.

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias