Free The Education of Brother Thaddius and other tales of DemonWars (The DemonWars Saga) by R.A. Salvatore Page B

Braumin’s dearest friends. The excitable fellow had never wavered, even in the face of certain death.
    De’Unnero had burned him in his chapel in Caer Tinella.
    “He is a good man,” Braumin at last replied. “He witnessed the miracle of Aida…”
    “He is not even as worldly as Master Dellman, who serves him!” Viscenti interrupted. “Were he to ascend, then to those outside the Church, it would seem a power play by King Midalis, forcing his hand over the Abellican Church even as he strengthens his hold on Honce. We have walked that dark road already, my friend.”
    Braumin Herde kept his gaze low, chewing his lips, and he nodded in agreement.
    “Nay,” said Viscenti, “It falls to you. Only you. St.-Mere-Abelle is yours, surely. The Order is yours to chart.”
    Braumin Herde shrugged, and it seemed more a shudder. “I want her back,” he said quietly.
    Viscenti nodded and wore a wistful expression suddenly, clearly recognizing that his friend was speaking of Jilseponie.
    “I feel as if I best serve the Church by enlisting our southern friends to fly me on their dragon to the Timberlands, that I might drag Pony back to St.-Mere-Abelle to save us all.”
    “That we will not do,” came another voice, wholly unexpected, and both monks jumped and spun about to see Pagonel standing quietly in the shadows of the room.
    “How did you get in here?” Viscenti shouted as much as asked.
    “Have I upset you, brother?” the mystic asked. “I was offered free travel through the monastery, so I was told…”
    “No, no,” Braumin put in, and he dropped his hand on Viscenti’s shoulder to calm the man. “Of course, you are welcome wherever you will go. You merely startled us, that is all.”
    The mystic bowed.
    “And heard us, no doubt,” said Viscenti.
    “I took great comfort in your advice to Bishop Braumin,” Pagonel admitted. He stepped up before Braumin Herde. “I take less comfort in your expressed fears.”
    The monk stared at him hard.
    “I will not take you to Jilseponie, nor to her should you go,” Pagonel insisted. “She has done enough. Her tale is written, for the wider world at least. Besides, I have witnessed the power of Aydrian and believe that Jilseponie would best serve the world if she can instill in her son a sense of morality and duty akin to that she and her dead Elbryan once knew. You wish to go to her, to beg her to return and assume the lead in your wounded Order. This is understandable, but not practical.”
    Clearly overwhelmed, Bishop Braumin fell back and into a chair, nearly tumbling off the sideof it as he landed hard and off-balance. “What am I to do?”
    “Summon a College of Abbots,” said Master Viscenti. “I will nominate you as Father Abbot – none will oppose!”
    “Abbots?” Braumin asked incredulously. “Myself and Abbot Haney are all that remain, I fear!”
    “Then bring them all in, all together,” said Pagonel. “Summon every brother from every chapel and every abbey.” He lifted a fist up before him, fingers clutched. “This is the strongest position for the hand,” he explained. “Bring your Church in close and move outward one piece at a time.”
    Braumin didn’t respond, but hardly seemed convinced.
    “Brynn Dharielle and the dragon will fly south in the morning, going home,” the mystic explained. “I was to go with them, but I have quite enjoyed my journey through the catacombs of this wondrous place. With your permission, I will remain longer.”
    Braumin Herde looked at the man curiously.
    “Call them in,” Pagonel bade him. “I will stand beside you, if you so desire.”
    “You have a plan,” said Viscenti, and it seemed as much an accusation as a question.
    The mystic glanced over at him and smiled. “Our Orders are not so different, my friend. This I have come to understand. Perhaps there are lessons the Jhesta Tu have learned which will now be of use to Father Abbot Braumin Herde.”
    He looked to Braumin.
    The man who would