Read Online The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) by R.A. Salvatore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R.A. Salvatore
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straightened his shoulders and steeled his broken jaw.
He knew what must first be done.
*****
Brother Mars hunched low and tried to remain inconspicuous as he went about his work in tending the wounded soldiers, and traveled the battlefield perimeter as far as possible from St.-Mere-Abelle’s wall. Normally, he was an imposing man, solid as a monastery wall, so it was said, and never one to shy from confrontation. But now, at this time, after the whispers of Brother Thaddius in the great hall of the monastery, after this disastrous battle, the man believed that a low profile alone could save him.
They knew.
It all made sense now. The masters of St.-Mere-Abelle had placed him in the background of the great battle, out of the way manning one of the high catapults. By all rights, Mars should have been on the front lines, for despite his young age and short training, few at the monastery, few in all the Church, could outfight him.
But no, they knew the truth of his loyalties, as Brother Thaddius had warned.
And it was the truth, the man admitted to himself out there on the bloodstained field. Mars had thrown his loyalty to Marcalo De’Unnero. He had remained under the command of Father AbbotFio Bou-raiy as a spy, mostly, for his heart lay with the vision of De’Unnero, even if some of the man’s tactics seemed a bit extreme.
De’Unnero did not believe that the sacred gemstones should be out of Church control, or that their blessing should be offered so liberally to the common folk of Honce-the-Bear.
De’Unnero did not believe that the peasants should be coddled. No, loyalty to God was a difficult and demanding task, one requiring vigilance and sacrifice.
To Brother Mars, Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy and those others, Bishop Braumin and his allies, were weak and soft.
But they had won the day, and so, Brother Mars lamented, the Abellican Church might never recover.
More immediate concerns weighed on Brother Mars this day, however, concerns for his own future, or lack thereof. The masters suspected his turn from their way and toward De’Unnero. They surely would not tolerate him now with De’Unnero dead and the cause so badly disrupted.
He thought of his coming fate – and he was certain things would fall this way – with him in the dungeons of St.-Mere-Abelle, chained to the wall and fed food not fit for the rats. Even though he was outside of the monastery at that time, hoisting another wounded soldier over his shoulder to carry to the brothers with the soul stones, Mars felt as if the walls were closing in around him, suffocating him, damning him.
He knew what he must do. He kept at his work until the call for Vespers, the sunlight fast fading. Off in a far corner of the battlefield, he stripped off his bloody robes and threw on the shirt of a man killed in the battle. He crawled to the farthest point where he could remain undercover and as soon as darkness fell, he put his feet under him and ran off into the night.
He didn’t stop running until he came upon the town of St.-Mere-Abelle, some three miles inland.
The place was overfilled with soldiers, men from every corner of Honce, and more than a few from Alpinador, even. Mars understood the nature of war, and knew enough to realize that many of these people would remain in St.-Mere-Abelle, would make of it their home.
So would he.
Doors of the common rooms, taverns, and inns of the town were thrown wide by order of Prince Midalis, who was surely soon to be crowned King of Honce-the-Bear.
From one of those rooms, where songs of lament, of loss, of victory and of hope all blended together in the many toasts and laments offered by the men, Brother Mars stared up the long hill toward the silhouette of the dark monastery beneath the starry skies.
Not so long ago, his heart had leaped with joy at the whispers that Marcalo De’Unnero approached St.-Mere-Abelle and would claim the Church as his own. How thrilled was Mars to believe that he could throw off
He knew what must first be done.
*****
Brother Mars hunched low and tried to remain inconspicuous as he went about his work in tending the wounded soldiers, and traveled the battlefield perimeter as far as possible from St.-Mere-Abelle’s wall. Normally, he was an imposing man, solid as a monastery wall, so it was said, and never one to shy from confrontation. But now, at this time, after the whispers of Brother Thaddius in the great hall of the monastery, after this disastrous battle, the man believed that a low profile alone could save him.
They knew.
It all made sense now. The masters of St.-Mere-Abelle had placed him in the background of the great battle, out of the way manning one of the high catapults. By all rights, Mars should have been on the front lines, for despite his young age and short training, few at the monastery, few in all the Church, could outfight him.
But no, they knew the truth of his loyalties, as Brother Thaddius had warned.
And it was the truth, the man admitted to himself out there on the bloodstained field. Mars had thrown his loyalty to Marcalo De’Unnero. He had remained under the command of Father AbbotFio Bou-raiy as a spy, mostly, for his heart lay with the vision of De’Unnero, even if some of the man’s tactics seemed a bit extreme.
De’Unnero did not believe that the sacred gemstones should be out of Church control, or that their blessing should be offered so liberally to the common folk of Honce-the-Bear.
De’Unnero did not believe that the peasants should be coddled. No, loyalty to God was a difficult and demanding task, one requiring vigilance and sacrifice.
To Brother Mars, Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy and those others, Bishop Braumin and his allies, were weak and soft.
But they had won the day, and so, Brother Mars lamented, the Abellican Church might never recover.
More immediate concerns weighed on Brother Mars this day, however, concerns for his own future, or lack thereof. The masters suspected his turn from their way and toward De’Unnero. They surely would not tolerate him now with De’Unnero dead and the cause so badly disrupted.
He thought of his coming fate – and he was certain things would fall this way – with him in the dungeons of St.-Mere-Abelle, chained to the wall and fed food not fit for the rats. Even though he was outside of the monastery at that time, hoisting another wounded soldier over his shoulder to carry to the brothers with the soul stones, Mars felt as if the walls were closing in around him, suffocating him, damning him.
He knew what he must do. He kept at his work until the call for Vespers, the sunlight fast fading. Off in a far corner of the battlefield, he stripped off his bloody robes and threw on the shirt of a man killed in the battle. He crawled to the farthest point where he could remain undercover and as soon as darkness fell, he put his feet under him and ran off into the night.
He didn’t stop running until he came upon the town of St.-Mere-Abelle, some three miles inland.
The place was overfilled with soldiers, men from every corner of Honce, and more than a few from Alpinador, even. Mars understood the nature of war, and knew enough to realize that many of these people would remain in St.-Mere-Abelle, would make of it their home.
So would he.
Doors of the common rooms, taverns, and inns of the town were thrown wide by order of Prince Midalis, who was surely soon to be crowned King of Honce-the-Bear.
From one of those rooms, where songs of lament, of loss, of victory and of hope all blended together in the many toasts and laments offered by the men, Brother Mars stared up the long hill toward the silhouette of the dark monastery beneath the starry skies.
Not so long ago, his heart had leaped with joy at the whispers that Marcalo De’Unnero approached St.-Mere-Abelle and would claim the Church as his own. How thrilled was Mars to believe that he could throw off
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