Story Post
Only a week past where it should be, too!
Thank you all for your patience. Enjoy!
*******
Sir Kenton Martens lay on his back twitching as he tasted his own blood in the back of his throat.
He saw the light go from the sky, felt the warmth go from his skin, and heard his final death rattle echo in his ears as he fell into the darkness of the grave.
There came a shout in his ear.
"Be thou healed!"
Where there was darkness, there came a blaze of light.
Where there was cold, there came a wave of heat.
Kenton Marten's eyes spasmed open and he looked up, wild-eyed and unseeing.
"Just lay still a moment, Sir Kenton. Breathe a little."
His chest heaved as he fought to speak.
"I was dead! I died!"
"Not quite. Close enough to shave with, mind you, but not quite. You'll live to see your wife again, I think. Don't try to talk for a moment, though. Consider spending the next minute making a silent prayer to Pelor. If you are honored in his sight, he'll restore you the rest of the way to health. If you aren't, you'll need the minute to get your legs under you."
Murmurs surged around him
"A miracle!" "See the holy father heal!" "...fiend, right here in our marketplace..." "Gods above and below, what is that foul stench?"
His eyes were starting to clear now. Father Hearn was leaning over him, examining his wounds.
"I'm afraid the church will be owing you a new breastplate, Sir Kenton. I would say the stomacher on this one is ruined beyond repair."
Father Hearn turned to the raven-haired woman next to him. "Sister Mirine, would you and Squire Merres disperse this crowd, please? There's no need to make this a public spectacle. The man lives because of Pelor's will, nothing more nor less, just as they've been told at morning services for a hundred years and more."
The woman turned, gesturing to a man out of Sir Kenton's view, and moved into the crowd, speaking in tones too low to be heard.
"Now then, Sir Kenton, let's get you sat up and make sure Pelor's mercy plugged up both holes in your hide."
The stick and peel of blood-soaked gambeson to stomach muscle made Sir Kenton wince, but there was no actual pain. He felt a finger poke him in the small of the back and grunted.
"That may have stung a little, but it didn't break open, which is the important thing. Yes, I'd say you may well be borrowing some spare armor from someone tomorrow: there's holes in the breast and back of yours both as big as the first joint of my thumb. You can talk now if you like, but don't shout."
Kenton closed his eyes and rasped through a dry throat "Thank you, Father Hearn. I am in your debt."
"Piffle! Pelor healed you. I am the bottle, not the wine. You should have learned that in your studies of theology, young man."
"I never really --" ,a cough, "studied theology, Father. I slipped away from my tutors to hunt and fish and learn woodslore."
Father Hearn glared down at him sternly.
"That may well be why Pelor seems to have slated you for a period of convalescence, then. While I confine you to bed for the good of your body, you can read theology for the good of your soul. That's divine efficiency for you."
Kenton looked up at Father Hearn.
"Father, is this really the time for reading theology?"
"Especially now, Sir Kenton, it is vitally important that all of us know how to distinguish right from wrong. I have the first three volumes of the Sathescine illuminations in my cabin. You may expect an examination the day after tomorrow."
Sir Kenton Martens considered this uneasily as Sister Mirine helped him back to the ship, Father Hearn and Squire Merres leading the way. Two days confined to bed with nothing to do but read theology.
Perhaps he had sinned badly after all and was now in the Abyss.
**
The ship Bringer of Dawn lay at anchor in the harbor. Neatly dressed sailor-marines moved quickly about their duties at the bow and midships. The stern they left strictly alone, for that was where Father Hearn had convened his inquisition.
He began with the after-action report Kenton delivered from his pallet.
“So you charged him?”
“Yes.” Kenton replied.
Father Hearn sighed. “And then what happened?”
“He used the weapon on me.”
“With consequences I am perfectly aware of. And the rest of you?”
“Getting you was our first priority, Father.” Merres responded. “Sir Kenton’s wounds were beyond our power to heal. We did not follow because you bid us not seek this man alone.”
“Very well, Squire Merres. Sister Mirrine, have you anything to add?”
“The report is correct and complete, Father. As we surmised, his power and danger lies in the weapon. He himself is a good man – but he’s very much afraid. I don’t think he was an acolyte of the Wallbreaker.”
Father Hearn nodded. “This is his greatest evil: not merely that he worked woe himself, but that we must turn from our tasks to harry an innocent caught up in his evils.”
He pondered for a moment.
“Very well. If he himself is not evil, we will encourage him to come to us himself – no more disguises. Merres, Mirine, change into formal vestments. We go ashore in three hours to make an address to the people of the town.”
Father Hearn gestured for the officer of the day.
“Mr. Tristard, send my compliments ashore to the priest of the temple of Pelor. I will be formally entering the town in three hours with my entourage and immediately address such members of the town as care to be present at his temple. We’ll otherwise remain aboard the Bringer of Dawn: he need not provide us quarters. Have any reply brought to me directly.”
Tristard saluted and returned amidships.
“That concludes the meeting, then. Merres and Mirine are with me, ready to step off the boat three hours. Sir Kenton, you will remain aboard and study Sathescine: Chapters one and three on the signs of evil seem particularly apropos, then skip to chapter twelve, his meditations on patience and restraint. Read chapter twelve at least twice.”
**
Three hours later, Lorh and Corh grumbled in their empty bar. Out on the porch, their former customers gaped at the procession wending it’s way from the Bringer of Dawn.
Two white-clad marines bearing trumpets, which they sounded every fifty yards,
A column of three more white-clad marines, the first bearing the Solar standard of the Pelorian church, the second bearing the gold-on-black Sun Banner of the Church Militant, and the third bearing a banner azure, a Pegasus argent, with a Pelorian sun.
Behind them came an old man in full plate, leaning on a white staff, wearing the black war-cloak of a Pelorian paladin and the golden stole of a Pelorian priest. Next to him was a serious-looking young woman dressed in a white tunic and trousers with a golden yellow sash and armbands. Behind these two came yet another man in banded mail, carefully carrying a great double-handed flail on a velvet cushion, sword by his side, white shield on his back.
By the time this spectacle reached the temple of Pelor, only the dead were unaware something exciting was happening. Most of the living were either coming to see what was happening or getting ready to run away.
Father Hearn addressed the crowd in measured tones.
He knew already there was no evil in the town: he and his companions had not come to seek out any sort of evil or heresy. No one in the town needed have any fear.
But it was vitally important that he speak with a young man named Rusty Wilon regarding his association with the wizard who called himself Koreas of the Nine Wands. No harm would come to this young man; he would be allowed to depart whenever he desired. A reception was prepared with all courtesy aboard the ship Bringer of Dawn at whatever hour of the day or night he desired to come aboard.
Any assistance the people of the town could provide would be greatly appreciated.
His assistant Mirine, an abbess of the Sun Dancer monastery, would remain at the temple until dark to provide spiritual counseling and guidance to any who desired it.
With that, Father Hearn left the temple more or less as he had come. Sister Mirine remained at the temple, talking to the priests in low tones and keeping one eye out for a man in a long brown cloak.
