Free Gonji: A Hungering of Wolves by T. C. Rypel Page B

His Holiness the pope’s? Or just out of a sense of Japanese…philanthropy?”
    The lieutenant apprehended Gonji’s meaning. No political or military objection had been raised against the proposition of a foreigner’s leading an alliance of warriors into French territory. Territory where no one else dared to go.
    Noyes exhaled a pluming breath into the frigid morning air. “Under the banner of the Knights of Wonder, of course. A noble band, operating beyond the pale of any sinister political intent.” He stretched erect in the saddle, as if to project some illusion of conviction.
    Gonji bowed to him slightly. “And yet you’ve heard…rumors of the reason for my commitment to this journey?”
    “Every man among us has heard tales of your shadow-companion. The Beast. The Deathwind. Tales of your road together liven many a campfire on maneuvers. Most of them cast you—and him—in a valiant light, ultimately. Whatever horrors have been laid upon your legacy. I’ll not set myself up as judge over any…being God has seen fit to mark as pariah. He has His reasons. I only know that you propose to spread the selfsame spirit of tolerance commanded in the king’s own edict. That is law. You seek to engender the spirit of obedience by your own means. I see no conflict therein with the king’s wishes. Burgundy refuses to heel. The king is too busy with more pressing affairs to chastise stubborn outland territories. And it is with undying shame that we recall the failure of the French army to effect such chastisement once before. God alone knows what powers will oppose you there…” His voice was driven off by the whipping wind.
    Before they departed for the square, the young man who had made the attempt on Gonji’s life was brought before him, bound hand and foot. The samurai dismounted and faced him squarely, searching the man’s steady, intelligent gaze for any hint of malevolent power, any intuition of supernatural menace. To his mild surprise, Gonji sensed only self-righteous passion and misbegotten conviction in the man, as he listened to impassioned demands for justice, witnesses to character, and pleas for mercy.
    “What is your name?” Gonji asked him, when the hasty military court had finished, though he had heard it several times already.
    “Ravaillac,” the would-be assassin fairly spat. “Francois Ravaillac.”
    “Well, Monsieur Ravaillac, would you care to tell me why you shot at me?”
    Ravaillac swallowed. “You’re a danger to the faith. Your teaching is a twisted abomination that—that dilutes the pure faith of Catholicism.” There was the merest trace of trembling in his jaw as he turned to the pressing ring of soldiers and added defiantly: “Even as the king himself has compromised it to suit his political needs.”
    Outcries of “treason” broke from the crowd. Gonji found himself admiring, if nothing else, the man’s courage of conviction.
    “I am not a teacher,” Gonji said by way of reply to the man’s implication. “Others have…so sorry— s’approprier —that is correct?— adapted certain of my beliefs for a cause that is reasonable at its heart. Even you must agree that the spilling of blood among brothers is an evil thing.” He strolled with his hands clasped behind him as he spoke his thoughts. “I was brought up to take the life any man who would attempt to kill me as you did. Your act was a grave dishonor. These soldiers would at the very least see you brought to justice under the law of this land. But did not Iasu say that the most honorable act was to forgive one who has injured you?”
    Gonji peered over his shoulder into the young man’s incredulously flickering eyes.
    “Your friends say that you are only a student, driven to do the…inadvisable by overwork and fervor of belief. If I agree to allow you to return to your studies without preferring charges against you, will you promise to find a more useful channel for your considerable energies? For that is my