C2 Demon Wars 05 - Ascendance by R.A. Salvatore

Author:R.A. Salvatore [Salvatore, R.A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-08-31T17:41:18+00:00

CHAPTER 19

Francis’ Mark

JILSEPONIE STOOD ONthe brown field under the gray sky, staring at the

towering walls, the gray stones chipped and weathered, speaking of the

ages this bastion had stood, a tradition as deep and solemn as that of

the kingdom itself. Not a man or woman of Honce-the-Bear, or even of the

neighboring kingdoms, could look upon this great place, St.-Mere-Abelle,

without some stirring deep within. Its walls stretched for nearly a mile

along the rocky cliff face overlooking the dark and cold waters of All

Saints Bay. Decorated and sometimes capped with statues of the saints and

of all the father abbots, and with many other carvings, the great walls

served as a testament to the Abellican Order, a symbol of lasting

strength, for some comforting, for others . . .

Jilseponie could not dismiss the feelings of dread and anger that welled

within her as she looked upon the abbey. Its dungeons had held Graevis

and Pettibwa Chillichunk. Likewise had Bradwarden been imprisoned here,

surely to be murdered or to die neglected in the cellars as had Graevis

and Pettibwa, had not Jilseponie and Elbryan rescued him. Here started

the macabre parade that had ended with good Master Jojonah burned at the

stake in the village a couple of miles to the west. This place, these

walls, had spawned the power that was Markwart, the man who had torn the

child from Jilseponie’s womb.

How she had once wanted to tear down this abbey!

She could suppress those emotions now, though, could put that which was

past behind her. For St.-Mere-Abelle meant more than those deeds that had

so enraged her, Jilseponie knew. The ideals that built these walls, the

sense that there was something greater than self, greater than this

meager life, had spawned the goodness that was Avelyn, that was Braumin

Herde, and offered hope to all those shaded in gray between Markwart and

Avelyn.

That point was made crystalline clear to Queen Jilseponie as she

approached the gate and came to a familiar place, to see a marker set

into the ground, proclaiming:

Here on the eve of God’s Year 830

Brother Francis found his soul.

And here in the summer of 831

Died Brother Francis Dellacourt

Who shamed us and showed us the

Evil that is

PRIDE.

When we refused to admit that perhaps we were

Wrong.

Bishop Braumin had told her of the plaque and had smiled knowingly when

he had explained that Master Fio Bou-raiy had eagerly endorsed the

inscription.

“What men will do for the hope of gain,” Jilseponie whispered,

considering the plaque and the fiery one-armed master. She knew well that

Fio Bou-raiy had denounced Francis when he had gone out to help the poor

plague victims outside St.-Mere-Abelle. She knew well that Fio Bou-raiy—

who refused to be shamed into going anywhere near the plague ridden—had

been relieved, even glad, when Francis had fallen ill, seeing it as proof

that his more cowardly course of hiding within St.-Mere-Abelle was the

correct one for the Abellican brothers.

Jilseponie had witnessed Brother Francis’ death, and she knew that he

had died satisfied, fulfilled, and in the true hope that he had found

redemption. A wistful smile found its way onto her fair face as she stood

there staring at the plaque. Yes, Fio-Bou-raiy had battled Francis when

Francis had turned against Markwart’s ways.

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