I hadn't thought we'd be seein' our home again so soon," Liam O'Blythe remarked to Prince Midalis as they trotted their mounts at the lead of a long column making its way through the muggy air of the Vanguard forest. They had gone north with Bruinhelde and his clan only to be met by barbarian scouts reporting that southern Alpinador was clear of monsters, that not a sign of any goblins or powries had been seen in many, many weeks. And so, with Bruinhelde's approval and a knowing wink and a nod from Andacanavar, the men of Vanguard had turned about, heading back to their homes to erase the scars of the demon war.

Andacanavar had come back to the south, as well, though he had taken a roundabout route and they hadn't seen him in a couple of days. With Midalis' blessing, the ranger had decided to haunt the region of Vanguard for the rest of the summer, to learn what he could about his southern neighbors in the hopes that he could further bridge the chasm between the two peoples. The ranger had also elicited from Midalis the Prince's promise that, when he returned home in the autumn, Midalis would accompany him.

There remained the not so little matter of the blood-brothering.

"Pireth Vanguard!" the point scout called back.

"Well, she is still standing, then," Midalis remarked. A few moments later, rounding a bend and cresting a rise in the trail, Liam and Midalis came in sight of the fortress, its towers stark against the heavy gray sky hanging over the Gulf of Corona behind it.

Before they entered the fortress, the pair noted that a trader was in port, but it wasn't until Midalis saw Warder Presso running toward him that he realized something unusual was going on. The battle-weary Prince was relieved indeed to learn the Warder's news, to learn that nothing sinister had happened in the days since their departure.

Still, a monk visiting from Palmaris, come to take Abbot Agronguerre back to St.-Mere-Abelle, was no small matter; and though he was tired and hot and dirty, Prince Midalis decided that he should go straight to St. Belfbur to meet the man. Liam, of course, willingly followed; and the two were joined by Captain Al'u'met, who was riding Warder Presso's own fine horse. On the trails to the abbey, Al'u'met told of the happenings in Palmaris yet again; and as they nodded, hanging on every word, both the Prince and his adviser came to understand why Midalis' brother, the King, had not responded to their request for soldiers.

"I had heard rumors that the Father Abbot had died," Midalis said when Al'u'met finished. "But never would I have believed that such turmoil and treacherous circumstance surrounded that tragic event."

"The kingdom will be long in recovering from the scars of the demon dactyl," Al'u'met said grimly. "Perhaps the Church will choose its next leader wisely, to the benefit of us all."

"Ye're seein' benefit in anythin' the Abellican Church's doin'?" Liam O'Blythe asked the dark-skinned southerner bluntly.

"I am Abellican," Al'u'met explained, "and have followed that path to God for many decades."

"I only meant-"

Al'u'met stopped him with a smile and an upraised hand.

"When will they convene the College of Abbots? " Midalis asked.

"I am bid to transport Brother Dellman, Abbot Agronguerre, and any entourage the abbot chooses to bring, to St.-Mere-Abelle in the autumn," Al'u'met explained. "They will convene in Calember, as they did last time."

Midalis started to answer, but then paused and considered the words carefully. "This Brother Dellman," he asked, "who sent him? "

"Abbot Braumin of St. Precious."

"I do not know the man," Midalis replied, "nor have I ever heard Abbot Agronguerre mention him. He is young? "

"For an abbot, very much so," Al'u'met explained. "Abbot Braumin has earned his rank by deed, and not by mere age. He stood with Nightbird and Jilseponie, even under promise of torture by the Father Abbot. He would not renounce his beliefs, though his refusal seemed as if it would'surely cost him his life. Brother Dellman, too. A fine young man, by my estimation."

Al'u'met started to take the conversation that way, but Midalis would not let him, more concerned with the one thing that nagged at him, just below his consciousness, about this visit.

"Why have you come so early? " he asked plainly.

"It is a long voyage, and one unpredictable," Al'u'met explained. "The weather was not so foul, and yet we had to put in at Dancard for repair."

"You could still be in Palmaris dock," Midalis countered, and he noticed the concerned expression come over Liam's face, and realized then that he might be giving away his suspicions. "You could have waited out the rest of the month in the south and still have had more than enough time to come up here, fetch Agronguerre, and return to St.-Mere-Abelle."

"I could not chance the weather," Al'u'met answered, but Midalis saw right through that excuse. Every sailor along the gulf knew well that the late-spring weather was much more treacherous than that of late summer and early autumn. Not only had Al'u'met come up prematurely, but he had done so against the conventional wisdom of the gulf sailors.

What was it, then? Prince Midalis wondered. Why had this protege of the new abbot come running all the way to Vanguard with an invitation that could have been delivered by any one of the many traders that would venture here over the next month and a half? And certainly a man as prominent as Abbot Agronguerre would have had little trouble in finding his own passage south. Following that same line of thought, it struck Midalis that it made more sense for the abbot to use one of Midalis' ships, and not go south with Al'u'met, that he might return before the winter season set in deep.

Unless Abbot Braumin and his cohorts weren't expecting Agronguerre to return to Vanguard any time soon, Midalis reasoned; and it occurred to him then that this was much more than an invitation. He had a difficult time holding his smile in check all the rest of the way to St. Belfour.

They arrived late in the afternoon, and met immediately with Brother Dellman, Abbot Agronguerre, and the ever-present Brother Haney. Dellman told his tale yet again, more quickly this time, since the Prince had already heard all ofAl'u'met's contributions. What most interested the Prince, and what he made Dellman repeat several times and elaborate on, were the parts concerning his brother's actions in the city.

Brother Dellman took care to paint King Danube in a positive light, and it was not a hard task for the young monk. He explained that Danube had wisely held back to allow Elbryan and Jilseponie to settle their war with Markwart. "He understood that this fight was about the soul of the Church more than any threat to his secular kingdom," Dellman explained. "It was the proper course for him to take."

Midalis nodded, not surprised, for ever had his older brother been wise in the ways of diplomacy; and one of the primary lessons they both had learned at a young age was never to engage the kingdom in a fight that did not directly involve them.

"His wisdom after the battle was no less," Brother Dellman went on, resisting the temptation to offer the glaring exception of Danube's choice for the new baron, installing the hostile Duke Kalas instead of a more diplomatic soul. "He begged Jilseponie to take the barony."

That raised Prince Midalis' dark eyebrows and those of Liam O'Blythe, as well. "If you knew the woman, you would better appreciate the correctness of that choice," Captain Al'u'met put in.

"Then I will have to make it a point to meet this most remarkable woman," Prince Midalis sincerely replied.

"You will not be disappointed," said Warder Presso, which caught all of the Vanguardsmen by surprise. "If she is the same woman, Jill, who served with me at Pireth Tuime many years ago, then you will be duly impressed."

"A pity that she'll not be at the College of Abbots," Agronguerre remarked.

"An invitation will surely be extended," said Dellman. "And just as certainly, Jilseponie will refuse. She has gone north, back into the Timberlands, to heal her heart. Better will all the world be if that process is successful and Jilseponie returns to us soon!"

His obvious enthusiasm and sincerity had all the heads bobbing in agreement, and had all of those who had not met the woman-including Warder Presso, who had not seen her in years-anxious indeed to gaze upon this growing legend.

They talked long into the night, informally, mostly trading anecdotes of their experiences during the war. Abbot Agronguerre excused himself from vespers, and allowed Brothers Haney and Dellman to do likewise, so that they could continue this most productive and enjoyable meeting. When finally they ended, past midnight, there had been forged an honest friendship between them all, and all the secular guests were invited to remain at the abbey for as long as they desired.

Still, Brother Dellman was surprised indeed when Prince Midalis bade him to hold back a moment while all the others filed out of the abbot's audience chamber.

"I find it curious that you have come up here so early," the Prince explained.

"We simply wanted to make sure that the message of the College of Abbots was properly delivered and in a timely enough manner for Abbot Agronguerre to make his preparations," Brother Dellman replied.

"That could have been done in an easier and more convenient manner," the Prince observed.

Brother Dellman shrugged, having no practical answer and not wanting to get into the discussion at that time.

"You are a good and trusted friend of the new abbot of St. Precious," Midalis observed.

"Abbot Braumin Herde," Dellman replied. "I traveled with him across the land, running from Markwart and running toward Avelyn. I was beside him at the miracle of Aida, and again beside him when he was taken captive by Markwart, and by the King's soldiers." "And now, with Markwart dead and discredited, the new abbot of St. Precious, your friend Braumin Herde, will have a strong voice at the College, yes?"

Brother Dellman considered the strange question for a moment, then just shrugged.

"The tide flows in his favor," the Prince observed. "He who was instrumental in the fall of Father Abbot Markwart, he who leads those of the other philosophy, Avelyn's philosophy, will certainly be heard clearly at the College of Abbots."

"If the other abbots and masters are wise, they will listen to Abbot Braumin's every word with great care," Brother Dellman remarked.

"And does Abbot Braumin intend to try for the highest position in the Church?"

That set Dellman back on his heels. "Forgive me, my Prince, but it is not within my province to discuss such matters."

"Of course," said Midalis. "Yet you said that he was a young man-too young to be so nominated and elected, I would guess, given my understanding of your Church."

"You know much of us," replied Dellman, who was growing increasingly uneasy with this whole train of conversation.

"But perhaps Abbot Braumin has set his sights toward nominating another for the position of father abbot," Prince Midalis said. "Perhaps he, like many others, no doubt, is seeking a person who will lead the Church in a better direction."

"That would be his charge, my Prince," Brother Dellman said, "as it is now the charge of every abbot and every master."

A wry smile came over the handsome young Prince's face. "And so, given that, would not this young abbot send out his most trusted friends to study those likely candidates? " he asked.

"Again you ask of me that which I cannot answer," Dellman replied, which, of course, was an answer in itself, and one that pleased Prince Midalis greatly.

"I will say this to you without any personal motives," Midalis offered. "If you and your friend the abbot are indeed thinking that Abbot Agronguerre might be a proper selection for that most important position within your Church, then know that I second that nomination with all of my heart. He is a wonderful man, a man of diplomacy-his work in quelling the trepidations of the Alpinadoran leaders in our recent truce was marvelous and generous-and, foremost, a man of God. I have never truly considered myself overreligious, good Brother Dellman, but when I hear Abbot Agronguerre speaking-and always his words come from the truth that is in his heart-I know that I am hearing the will of God."

"Strong words," Brother Dellman gasped, for they were indeed, words that would border on heresy if Midalis were speaking them with any intent of personal gain! And yet, in looking at the man, in considering the situation faced by both Church and State, Dellman understood that the Prince was speaking from his heart.

"If you are considering Abbot Agronguerre for nomination, then look as deeply as you may," Prince Midalis went on. "For surely, the more familiar you become with Abbot Agronguerre, the more firmly you will desire him as your new father abbot. This I know, Brother Dellman, for I have served beside the man for many years and have not once found error in his ways. Oh, I have not always agreed with his choices; but even for those over which we were at odds, I knew that his choice had come from a logical and consistent philosophy, one based on the highest and most noble traditions of your Church."

"I will consider your words carefully, Prince Midalis," Brother Dellman answered.

"Then you admit that you are here for more reasons than to deliver an invitation? " Midalis asked with that wry grin again.

Brother Dellman, too, couldn't help but smile. "Forgive me, my Prince," he answered yet again, "but it is not within my province to discuss such matters."

Midalis laughed aloud and clapped Dellman on the shoulder as he walked past, collecting the man in his wake.

Dellman retired to his room soon after, but was far too excited to even think about sleep. He paced his small room, digesting all that he had learned, thinking that Abbot Braumin had been wise indeed to send him to this place, and that the Abellican Church might soon elect the leader it needed to get through this dark time.

Abbot Agronguerre hustled down to the front courtyard of St. Belfour a couple of days later, when he learned that a most unexpected visitor had arrived, seeking audience with him and with Prince Midalis, who was still within the abbey. Along the way, the abbot managed to find Haney and Dellman, and bade them accompany him, though he didn't pause long enough to fill them in on the details.

As soon as they came in sight of the courtyard, the source of the abbot's nervous excitement became clear-in the nearly seven-foot frame of mighty Andacanavar.

"Greetings, friend Andacanavar," Agronguerre said, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. "Good tidings, I pray, bring you to us at this time. You remember Brother Haney, I am sure, and let me introduce to you a visitor from the south, Brother-"

"Holan Dellman," Andacanavar interrupted, and both Haney and Agronguerre looked curiously from the ranger to their southern brother. "Greetings again, Andacanavar ofAlpinador," Brother Dellman remarked, and Agronguerre detected a bit of nervousness along with the obvious familiarity.

"We have both walked a long road, it would seem, to come to the same place," the ranger said with a grin. But it seemed to Agronguerre as if Andacanavar, too, was straining to be polite. These two had a history, he realized, and one that had not been without conflict.

Indeed, Dellman and the ranger had met first spiritually, and not physically. Dellman had gone along with Master Jojonah, then Brother Francis and other brothers from St.-Mere-Abelle on their caravan journey to the Barbacan to investigate the demise of the demon dactyl. Their road had taken them through Alpinador, and after a fight with monsters outside of one Alpinadoran village, Brother Dellman, scouting out of body, had found that they were being shadowed by Andacanavar. Master Jojonah had then sent Brother Braumin out to the man spiritually with soul stone magic, to quietly suggest that he should turn around and go home. Failing that, Braumin had been instructed to possess the man and walk his body back to the southland.

But Andacanavar, stronger of will than the monks could ever have expected, had turned the tables, had walked through the spiritual connection to possess Braumin, and then had used the monk's physical body to go into the encampment and learn more about the brothers.

The two had come to terms over their misunderstanding, but still there remained some tension between them-and between the ranger and Braumin's supporters, who had seen their leader magically and spiritually overwhelmed by the man. The act of possession was among the most distasteful products of gemstone magic, a rape of the spirit; and two who had known such intimate battle as that would never, ever forget it.

"I had thought you to be back in Alpinador, with Bruinhelde," Abbot Agronguerre remarked.

"Bruinhelde is not back in Alpinador, either," the ranger explained, slowly turning his gaze away from Brother Dellman. "We found the road clear."

"We heard as much," replied Agronguerre. "My brethren returned to us several days ago, and glad we were to learn that Alpinador was spared the trials of the demon dactyl."

"We fought our share," Andacanavar informed him. "But good tidings indeed that the threat to our homeland had ended. And yet it was tidings of further war that brought us back to the south, soon after Prince Midalis and the others left us."

A shadow crossed over Abbot Agronguerre's chubby face.

"Prince Midalis is here, by the reports," the ranger remarked. "Take me to him that I have to tell my tale but once."

They found Midalis eating his breakfast on the flat top of the abbey's northwestern tower. Predictably, Liam O'Blythe was there as well; and it occurred to everyone there, Liam included, how similar the man and his relationship to Prince Midalis was to that of Brother Haney and his relationship to Abbot Agronguerre. Both had been born peasants, and through deed alone had risen to important, if little recognized, positions, for both were sounding boards for their respective leaders, confidants who first heard the policies the men would institute. Both were younger than the men they followed, proteges of sorts: one the likely successor as abbot of St. Belfour, the other already appointed an earl, and likely in line for the duchy of Vanguard.

Midalis seemed no less surprised by the ranger's appearance than Agronguerre had been. He wiped his mouth quickly and rose from the table, moving fast to greet the man away from the plates of half-eaten food, and subtly motioning for Liam to clear up the mess.

"Tidings of war, so says Andacanavar," Abbot Agronguerre said immediately. "And Bruinhelde and some of his warriors have returned, as well."

"Trouble?" Midalis asked the ranger.

"So says one of our scouts, who spoke with one of your own," the ranger informed him. "To the east of here, in a rough bay. A boat put in, a boat full ofpowries."

"Barrelboat," Midalis reasoned.

"Not so," Andacanavar replied. "A masted ship. They put in to the bay, but did not, it seems, know the waters well, for when the tide went out, their boat came down hard to the rocks and mud. So you have got powries again, my friend, and so we came down to join in the fun of being rid of the wretched bloody caps."

They rode out in force from St. Belfour soon after, Abbot Agronguerre in his coach leading the same twenty brothers who had just returned from Alpinador, plus Dellman and Haney. Beside them went Midalis, Liam, and Andacanavar. Their numbers swelled five times over when they crossed through the town of Vanguard and the fortress, where Warder Presso and Al'u'met came out to meet them, along with many of the Pireth Vanguard soldiers. After a brief meeting to try to determine the exact location of this bay, Al'u'met returned to the Saudi Jacintha and, after bringing aboard some more of Warder Presso's archers, put out, shadowing the marching army to the east.

With Bruinhelde and his warriors already in place in the east, and another two towns to cross through, where more volunteers would join, it seemed as if this would be one battle where the odds, at last, favored Midalis' side.

"Prop it, pull it, and peg it!" Dalump Keedump roared at his crew, and the powries did just that, tugging the heavy lines, bringing the boat up the ramp an inch, and then pegging the crank to hold it in its new position. They had come in for repairs and supplies, and perhaps a bit of sport, but-curse their luck-the tide had dropped too low for the heavy boat, and had damaged the hull.

"Prop it, pull it, and peg it!" the powrie boss cried again enthusiastically, for they were making progress now in getting the ship repaired and in getting themselves on the way home. Dalump had led a raid upon a nearby village, a few farmhouses clustered together, and though-to the dismay of all the fierce bloody caps-there were no humans about to slaughter, they tore down the walls of the buildings and found enough rope and other supplies to come back and complete their repairs. Now, with the front half of the boat clear of the water, the crack in her hull visible and seeming not too severe, Dalump figured they could be back out to sea with the next high tide.

"Prop it, pull it, and peg it!" he cried again and again, the boat creaking out of the water more and more. "Yach, but we'll be back to our home in short order, lads, and then we'll turn about with another army to go and pay back the dog Kalas!"

And so it went, the growling, untiring powries bending their backs and pulling hard.

Midalis was not surprised to see them, for his scouts had reported that about three families of refugees were on the road. Still, the image of his people being uprooted yet again by monsters brought a fire into the young Prince. He'd see them back to their homes and give them a few powrie heads to stake about the grounds for decorations.

"Me Prince!" cried the man trotting beside the lead wagon, a sturdy farmer of about forty winters, and he ran forward and fell to one knee before Midalis.

"Have powries so chased you from your homes? " Midalis asked.

"And would've burned us in our homes, don't ye doubt, had not some o' his kin-" he indicated Andacanavar "-come to rouse us."

Midalis gave a resigned chuckle. "It would seem that I, and my people, are in Bruinhelde's debt yet again," he remarked to Andacanavar.

"Blood-brothering erases all debt," the ranger replied with a wink.

"Come, and let us be quick," Midalis said to his men, "before Bruinhelde and his men take all the fun from us." He turned back to the farmer. "You need run no farther," he explained. "I will leave some soldiers and brothers with you for your protection. Camp here and wait-and for not too long, I would guess-before we signal you that you may return to your homes."

"If there's anything left o' them," the man remarked.

"And if not, then we will help you to rebuild them!" Prince Midalis replied with enthusiasm.

They picked up their pace after that, quick-marching all the way out to the east, to the bay. The Prince, who knew well the region, decided to take a northerly route and approach the bay heading south, where they would come in sight of the place high on a wooded cliff, overlooking the water.

"I will find you there," Andacanavar promised; and the ranger ran off, seeking Bruinhelde and his kin so that the attack might be coordinated.

"There are the beasts, and what's left of the houses," Liam O'Blythe remarked when they got to the spot, to see the powries hard at work at their impromptu, but wonderfully constructed, dry dock.

"They are cunning fellows," Prince Midalis replied, and he looked up and noted that Brother Dellman, in particular, wore a surprised expression.

"You know of them? " he asked the young monk.

"It may be that we chased this same boat across the gulf," the brother explained.

"They are trying to get home," Abbot Agronguerre remarked.

"A pity for them," Midalis said grimly. There was no argument from the soldiers and the monks or from the Van^uardsmen who had suffered so terribly at the hands of the vicious bloody caps. "Set your archers all along the cliff," he instructed Warder Presso. "Tell them to pick their shots carefully and to wait for the signal." Midalis turned to Abbot Agronguerre. "I pray you do the same with your crossbowmen and any gemstone magic you wish to throw at our enemies. I doubt that you will be needing much energy with the soul stone when this battle is finished."

Abbot Agronguerre nodded his agreement with the tactic and the assessment. As far as they could see, the powries numbered less than a score, and Agronguerre doubted that any would even survive the first volley.

Andacanavar returned to them a few minutes later, explaining that Bruinhelde and his force were in position just to the southwest of the dry dock, in the trees at the western edge of the little bay's mouth, ready to strike.

Midalis looked to Liam, who ran off at once, assembling a force to complement the barbarians'.

"Bruinhelde has more than enough men to finish this task," Andacanavar assured the Prince. "When they break from the forest edge, rain your death upon the powries, and it will be finished."

"This is Vanguard," the Prince replied. "My men should be among the attacking force."

"We've not the time," the ranger explained, pointing down to the dry dock. "It seems that we've come upon our enemies at the last moment. They are preparing to leave, and Bruinhelde will not allow that!"

"Nor will Captain Al'u'met," Brother Dellman added, and all eyes turned his way, to see him smiling widely and looking out past the bay, to the open gulf. And there, around the western lip of the bay, they all saw the sails of the Saudi]acintha, as the boat glided to intercept the powries' craft.

Apparently, Bruinhelde and his kin spotted those sails as well, and, not knowing their intent, decided to make sure that those powries already landed found no reinforcements. Or, Midalis mused, perhaps the barbarian leader was just trying to make sure that he and his brethren did indeed find all the fun!

Whatever the case, the barbarian horde came crashing out of the brush, howling wildly, launching their chained hammers.

Prince Midalis leaped up and cried out, and down went the devastating volley, arrows and crossbow bolts and streaks of lightning.

Dalump Keedump recognized his doom clearly enough when the barbarian horde, a hundred strong at least, came roaring out of the forest, and that fear was only multiplied when death rained down upon his companions from above.

Fortunately for the powrie leader and a couple of his associates, they were tucked in close to the boat at that moment, with the bulky craft between them and the archers, and thus escaped the volley.

Dalump ordered his minions-those few still standing!-to meet the charge, but he held back the two beside him and motioned for one to go up on the ship with him and for the other to run forward and cut the line.

The powrie could only hope that his foolish soldiers would keep the barbarians busy long enough for him to get out into the bay.

"They're running!" Midalis cried as the powrie boat slid down the dry dock to splash into the water. The powrie who had cut the line ran wildly along the beach, trying to keep up, and when he found that he could not, he dove down in the sand and grabbed up the rope, getting pulled along.

Midalis' archers focused their next shots on that sliding dwarf, and when he hit the water, all around him turned crimson.

Bruinhelde, too, cried out against the escape, and he rushed around those few charging powries, letting his able companions cleave the dwarves down, while he ran full out down the beach.

Already the boat's square mainsail was filling with wind, but Bruinhelde's long stride got him close enough. He dove into the water and snatched the trailing rope, pulling himself along its length.

From up above, the archers and the monks focused their missiles and their magic at the deck of the boat, but no clear targets could they see. The craft, groaning and creaking, began its turn for the bay mouth.

"Al'u'met will get them," Midalis remarked. "Keep putting arrows across the deck," he instructed Liam.

"Hold them!" Agronguerre overruled the Prince. The abbot pointed down to the water, indicating Bruinhelde, working hard to get to the boat.

"Go for the sail, then!" Midalis commanded. "And keep your shots high!" * * *

Dalump Keedump kept his head low, cursing and spitting as yet another thunderous lightning bolt flashed overhead, ripping a line in one sail. But then the ship lurched as it came about, its sail filling with a strong breeze, rushing in diagonally from behind.

"Yach, catch us if ye can!" the powrie shouted, but his words died in his mouth when he looked forward and saw the SaudiJadntha closing fast, her deck crowded with archers.

"We got to quit," the other powrie said.

"And go back to a human jail? " Dalump answered, and he slapped his companion on the back of the head. "Yach, I'll go to the bottom o' the bay afore I'll sit in a smelly dungeon again!" With that, he tied off the wheel to keep her sailing straight and rushed forward, dragging his reluctant companion beside him, howling curses at the approaching ship.

"Come on then, ye dogs! I'll give ye a hit or ten!"

Bruinhelde tugged furiously, pulling his body closer and closer alongside the speeding craft. The rope was tied off in front, but the thought of following that course daunted the barbarian, for he'd surely drown in the prow waves before he ever dragged himself out of the water. Besides, the deck was low.

Bruinhelde wrapped one arm tightly about the rope, then pulled in the slack behind him. He coiled the loose end and tossed it up, looping it on a spur along the railing, then caught it as it came back down. He nearly lost his grip altogether when he let go of the towing end and jerked to the end of the slack on the other piece of rope, but again, with sheer determination and strength, the powerful barbarian drove on. Soon he was back to the spot where he had thrown the rope, and then, with a great tug, he came out of the water, scrambling up the side of the boat.

He peeked over to see only two powries, and both of them up front, with their backs to him.

Bruinhelde drew a long dagger from his belt and pulled himself up higher.

"Hold your shots," Al'u'met instructed his many archers as the boats continued to close.

The powrie curses came at him, along with a flying club, as Dalump launched the missile. "I'll ram ye to the bottom with me!" the powrie promised.

"Take them out," Captain Al'u'met said grimly, and the bows bent back and the arrows flew.

Unfortunately, at that same moment, Bruinhelde appeared, charging hard at the powrie pair. The barrage dropped Dalump Keedump and his powrie companion. Behind them, Bruinhelde went down.

The mood in the two distinct camps on the beach that night was somber indeed. Abbot Agronguerre, along with Brothers Dellman and Haney, went to the Alpinadoran encampment, offering their bandages and services.

Captain Al'u'met, all apologies, accompanied Prince Midalis, Liam, and Andacanavar, to join the Alpinadoran council.

"We did not see Bruinhelde," the captain explained, and Andacanavar translated, with equal sincerity, for his excited kinsmen. "Else we would have held the shot and let him finish the powries."

One Alpinadoran answered gruffly, using words that none of the Vanguardsmen understood, and then another agreed. When Andacanavar turned back to the Vanguardsmen, he offered a comforting wink.

"Bruinhelde was injured in battle," the ranger explained. "There is no shame in that. As for your error, they do not doubt your honesty, though I will admit that they are surprised, as am I, to see a man with skin so dark."

Captain Al'u'met bowed low.

"We all pray that Bruinhelde will survive his wounds," Prince Midalis offered.

"He is made of tougher stuff than you understand, if you fear that he will not," Andacanavar determinedly replied.

"He's unconscious," Brother Haney remarked. "He'll not even know."

Abbot Agronguerre stared hard at the younger brother. "And what think you, Brother Dellman?" he asked. "Should I use the soul stone upon our friend Bruinhelde, though he has forbidden me to do so with any of his warriors? "

"I do not know enough of the situation or the history to make such a judgment," Dellman deferred.

"Without the magic, he might well die," Haney argued. "And if Bruinhelde's to die, then all of our gains with Alpinador these last months might be for naught. Andacanavar takes little of the praise for the friendship, giving it to Bruinhelde."

"True enough," Abbot Agronguerre conceded.

"So you will go to him with the soul stone? " Brother Dellman asked.

Abbot Agronguerre paused for a long moment and stroked his hand against his chin. "No," he decided. "No, whatever the cost, then so be it. I'll not take the man's soul for the sake of his body; and to use the hematite, in Bruinhelde's thinking, I would be doing just that. Let us continue our conventional work upon him and let us pray."

Brother Dellman stared long and hard at Abbot Agronguerre at that moment, and the old monk, obviously feeling that gaze upon him, turned a questioning stare the brother's way. "If we are to hold any friendship with Alpinador, then it must be a bond forged in truth and in respect," Agronguerre explained. "It will bring me great sorrow if Bruinhelde, so wise for one of his heritage, passes from our world this night, but greater would my regret be if I dishonored the bond of friendship."

In that moment, Brother Dellman knew. Beyond any doubt, he knew this man would become the next father abbot of the Abellican Church, a nomination Dellman would wholeheartedly embrace.

They waited a long time beside Bruinhelde's bed, bandaging him. Brother Haney finally managed to cut through the shaft of the last arrow, its tip embedded deeply in the barbarian's hip. They could not dare to try to extract it, not without gemstone magic assistance, but at least now the whole of it was contained within the man.

Another hour passed, and Bruinhelde seemed to be resting more comfortably. He even opened one eye, to find Agronguerre close to him.

"It hurts," the abbot remarked, and Bruinhelde gave a slight nod.

"Good Bruinhelde, I offer this only in the truest sense of friendship," Agronguerre said, and he held the soul stone up before the barbarian's blue eyes.

And those eyes widened-in horror, it seemed to Dellman. Bruinhelde's breath came in rasps and he shook his head violently, though every movement seemed to pain him greatly.

"Then we'll not!" Abbot Agronguerre assured him, grabbing him to hold him steady. "Only on your word would we ever presume such a thing. Fear not!" He knew that Bruinhelde was only partially understanding him, but the man seemed to relax somewhat.

Soon, Bruinhelde was asleep.

At Agronguerre's bidding, Brother Dellman went to the barbarian council tent to inform them of the progress. When he arrived, he found an embarrassed Midalis holding a flag, the pennant of Bretherford, Duke of the Mirianic, his brother's naval commander.

"It was indeed the same ship we chased across the gulf," Captain Al'u'met explained. "An Ursal ship, no doubt, likely fresh out ofPalmaris."

"How can this be, Brother Dellman? " Midalis asked, and the monk swallowed hard. On his way over, he had passed the lines of powrie bodies stretched on the beach, and he was fairly certain that he recognized at least one of the dwarves, an orange-bearded creature he had seen on a misty morning, taken prisoner in the last Palmaris battle, from the western fields.

"Duke Kalas," he remarked, and all eyes turned his way. He started to tell the tale of the fight that long-ago morning, and of the Duke and his brilliant Allheart knights marching the powries in from the field.

"An escape from the Palmaris dungeons?" Prince Midalis asked incredulously.

That notion seemed like the only possible answer; and yet, it, too, seemed impossible. How could a small band of powries break out of the fortress known as Chasewind Manor and somehow commandeer a sailing ship out of Palmaris' busy and well-guarded port?

Then it hit Dellman, like a slap in the face. Why hadn't he and Al'u'met heard of any such escape, or theft of a ship, before they left, since the powries had obviously sailed out just ahead of them? And even beyond that, why hadn't the powries been summarily executed after the battle on the western fields, as had been announced and would certainly have been proper?

And why, Dellman wondered-and he wondered, too, why he hadn't thought of this those many weeks before-hadn't any of the AUheart knights been even slightly injured in that fight? They were great warriors, to be sure, perhaps the best in Honce-the-Bear, but the powrie numbers had been much greater that day-so proclaimed the victorious Duke-and that battlefield hadn't even been prepared properly.

"No escape," Dellman blurted, shaking his head incredulously, for the alternative stuck in his throat. He started to go on, to admit his suspicions that these particular powries had been in league with Duke Kalas, but he looked at the Prince standing before him, and then at the barbarians hanging on his every word, and wisely changed-his mind.

"No escape from the dungeons," he said with clear conviction. "Likely these dwarves were being transported-back to Ursal, I would presumefor proper execution or interrogation, when they overwhelmed the crew of the ship and turned her back for the open waters."

Andacanavar promptly translated, and the other Alpinadorans nodded their agreement. When the young brother looked back to his own countrymen, though-particularly at Midalis and Al'u'met, he saw the obvious doubts shadowing their expressions.

Al'u'met spoke those concerns clearly on the return journey to the Vanguardsmen encampment. "We would have heard of any transport of prisoners," he reasoned. "Duke Kalas would have made a grand spectacle of it, an occasion for furthering his own glory."

"You do not speak as one enamored of the Duke of Wester-Honce," Prince Midalis said with a chuckle.

"I heard many recountings of his return to the city with his prisoners," Al'u'met argued. "If these were indeed the same dwarves, and they were being taken out of Palmaris, then Duke Kalas would have done so with fanfare."

"Fair enough," the Prince replied. "Then they did escape from the dungeons of Palmaris."

"Or they were released," Brother Dellman remarked. "An agreement between the Duke and the powrie leader? "

"You have reason to believe this? " Midalis asked sharply.

"Duke Kalas has been a friend to King Danube, the Prince's own brother, for all their lives," Liam O'Blythe said to Dellman, a clear warning to the man to take care with his words.

"A prisoner exchange, perhaps," Dellman remarked. "Whatever the case, I cannot dismiss my suspicions that if these powries sailed out of Palmaris, they did so under the guidance of the Duke or one of his highranking associates."

Midalis mulled that blunt statement over for a moment, then nodded. " I know not if I agree with your assessment, Brother Dellman, but I am glad that you did not speak of such possibilities in the presence of our barbarian friends. Andacanavar, and particularly Bruinhelde, have a much simpler understanding of how to deal with these monsters. One does not parlay with powries or goblins or giants. One kills them and moves on to the next."

"I am not sure that I disagree with that philosophy," Dellman remarked.

"But we do know that the world is a much more complicated place than that," Midalis went on. But though he spoke the words firmly, it seemed obvious to Dellman that he wasn't thrilled at the possibility that one of his brother's closest advisers and friends, the commander of the most elite force in the Honce-the-Bear military, was somehow in league with bloody caps. "If your suspicions have grounds, then I am certain that Duke Kalas had his reasons, and that those reasons were to the benefit of the kingdom," Prince Midalis finished.

To the benefit of the kingdom over the benefit of the Church? Brother Dellman wondered, for he remembered well how much Duke Kalas had gained in popularity after that saving battle on Palmaris' western fields and how well Kalas had then used his popularity against Abbot Braumin in their constant squabbles.

Midalis and his soldiers, Al'u'met and his crew, Agronguerre and the brothers of St. Belfour, and Andacanavar and the Alpinadorans kept a solemn vigil over Bruinhelde for the next few days.

And then, one quiet afternoon, the barbarian leader came out of the tent, limping badly but with the same determined expression that had earned him the position of respect among his clansmen.

Once again, Brother Dellman was reminded of how wisely Abbot Agronguerre had chosen, for Bruinhelde made a point of going to the old monk and warmly clasping his hand. Agronguerre had been spoken of as a potential healer for the wounded Church, and it seemed to Dellman as if they could not have found a better candidate.

The Alpinadorans hosted a great mead hall celebration that night-it never ceased to amaze the Vanguardsmen just how much of the drink these men could carry around with them!

All were in attendance, a night without tension, as Bruinhelde made a point of dismissing any thoughts of blame against Al'u'met or his men. Brother Dellman, like everyone else in attendance, drank heartily, and it seemed to him as if his mug was more quickly filled-by both Brother Haney and Liam O'Blythe-than any of the others. He thought little of it, though, just enjoyed the drink; and by the time Liam and Haney came to him and took him by the arms, explaining that he looked as if he needed a walk in the nighttime air, the young brother was in no condition to argue.

They brought him out and walked him along the beach, down to the shore, and there they remained for a long time, as the moon Sheila made her slow pass overhead and the roars of laughter and cheers from the mead hall gradually diminished.

Leaning on the powrie boat, Dellman started to nod off, but then awakened, harshly, as Liam O'Blythe splashed a mug full of cold seawater in his face.

"What?" the monk sputtered.

"We know that ye came out to tell us o' the College," Brother Haney began, and only then did Dellman begin to understand how in league these two truly were. "And to take us there, so ye say."

"But what else're ye for, Brother Dellman? " Liam O'Blythe insisted.

Dellman, still groggy from the drink, looked at them both incredulously.

"Oh, tell us, ye fool, and be done with it," Brother Haney prompted. "Ye came to spy on Abbot Agronguerre, didn't ye? "

"Spy?"

"What're ye about, Brother Dellman?" Haney went on. "Ye tell us or we'll put ye in the water."

Dellman straightened and blinked the grogginess out of his bloodshot eyes. "Indeed," he said indignantly, eyeing the young Haney directly.

"Not to be hurtin' ye, just to cool ye off a bit," the other monk replied.

"Ye came to see what he was about," Liam O'Blythe reasoned. "That's me thinkin', and me Prince's, too. So what're ye about, mysterious Brother Dellman? Why'd yer abbot send ye halfway around the kingdom? "

Dellman merely shrugged, and his lack of denial spoke volumes.

"And what will ye tell yer abbot?" Brother Haney demanded, coming forward, but he hesitated, for now Brother Dellman was grinning.

"I will tell Abbot Braumin that Abbot Agronguerre is as fine a man as his reputation makes him out to be," Dellman explained. "I will tell Abbot Braumin that his nomination of Abbot Agronguerre for the position of father abbot would be a great service to the Abellican Church." There, he had said it, and he almost wondered if the dumstruck Brother Haney would simply fall over in the sand.

"Vanguard's loss'll be yer Church's gain, then," an equally stunned Liam O'Blythe remarked.

"Does he know? " Brother Haney asked.

"No, and you are not to tell him!" Dellman instructed. "I believe that Abbot Agronguerre should be informed of the entirety of the plan to nominate him by one more worthy and knowledgeable than either you or me. Abbot Braumin, or oldJe'howith of St. Honce, perhaps."

"Suren he's got his suspicions, as we had ours," Liam reasoned. Dellman nodded. "And he will know the truth of it, soon enough," he said. "Now promise me that you will say nothing to him."

Both men nodded, Haney wearing a silly grin, and that led to a toast, and to another, and when they ran out of mead, Liam O'Blythe ran back to the tent to fetch more, that their private celebration could continue long into the night.