"Don't worry," said Lelanda from the couchon which she lay. "You've got it right."
Orlando nodded and turnedback to the table behind him. With his right hand, he reached tentatively forthe great battle-axe Kesmarex, but something stopped his fingers just short ofits haft. His other hand slipped to his neck and touched the silver pendantthat hung from its recently repaired chain.
His thoughts drifted back to the battle in Jolind'sgarden. He remembered the great blade falling toward his head, the hollow soundof his voice as it filled the silent garden, and the flash of light that camewhen the holy symbol was presented. Somehow, the battle-axe recognizedthe amulet and knew that the silver symbol belonged to the same warrior whosehands had once wielded it. Knowing that anyone who wore that particular crossedbattle-axe medallion must be a friend of its owner, it had fallen inert. As faras Kesmarex was concerned, its mission was completed.
He returned to the present as a delicate hand touchedhis shoulder. He turned and found the emerald eyes of Lelanda scant inches awayfrom his own. The gold band on her finger reflected a greatly distorted imageof his own countenance.
"You shouldn't be up," he said, urging hergently back to the couch.
"I'll be all right," she said, "thewound's almost healed. Hang up the axe and come to bed."
Orlando nodded and liftedthe magical weapon from its resting place. He turned and elevated it to a placeof honor above the hearth. Next to it, he hung the amulet that had saved hislife.
"Rest quietly, old friend," said thecrimson-haired witch.
Orlando said nothing, butin his heart he knew that Lelanda's wish had been granted.
THE ROSE WINDOW
Monte Cook
I hope against hope that no one ever reads this.
I suppose I learned the truth the day beforeyesterday, but it all started a few tendays before that. You see, I was therewhen the Abbey of Byfor was torn down. I had to go. Loremaster High Tessen hadbeen my mentor. It was like paying my last respects to an old friend.
The late autumn day was overcast and gray, with acold, northerly wind tearing at us with angry talons. All those attending kepttheir cloaks tightly wrapped around themselves like armor against the chill. Iwas surprised at how many had come to take part in the simony that took place.
The abbey was old, and had not actually functioned asa monastery in many years. Nevertheless, until recently, it had still servedthe surrounding community as a place of worship one day in ten and shelter intimes of inclement weather. Now, however, the western wall had begun tocollapse and the roof sagged so badly that the local masons claimed thebuilding was no longer safe. A man named Greal had taken over the abbey afterthe bishop's death a few years earlier. I never was able to determine exactlywhat station he held in church hierarchy, if any. Greal claimed that he had nocoin to instigate the necessary repairs, so he began selling the stone andfurnishings alike. He claimed to hope that with the coin he raised he couldbuild a new church, dedicated to Oghma, for the local folk.
I stood outside the decaying edifice and watched asyoung men carried pews, the lectern and even the stone-topped altar out intothe barren, leaf-covered yard. I saw people come and go, purchasing all of theold accouterments that had served the abbey and its parishioners forgenerations. Later in the day-I had not moved-I saw the young men brandishhammers and tools. Soon, I knew, the stones from the abbey would be taken awayand used to build pasture walls and farm houses.
Something-perhaps fate, but now I'm not so sure-bid meto look up to the abbey's tall roof. There, high upon the gable, was thebeautiful rose window that I remembered so well from my time as an acolytethere. The round window was fitted with light blue-green glass that formed anextremely complex rose pattern. Though it was dull in that day's gray sky, Iknew that in any brighter sunlight it scintillated like a jewel with abrilliant cascade of light.
I left my spot and approached the man called Greal,reaching into an inner pocket in my cloak. I produced a bag of gold-all that Ihad. He turned toward me with a foul expression.
"Excuse me, sir," I began, "but Iunderstand that you are selling the abbey's, ah, parts." His expressionsoftened, and I continued. "Well, you may not know this, but I once helda position here as a seeker-an acolyte-before I was given my own parish. LoremasterHigh Tessen was the priest at the time-my mentor."
Greal's dark gray eyes were flat and his mouth was drawn thin. Hefolded his arms in front of him, but did not say a word.
"Well," I said, "that old rose windowmeant a lot to me." I pointed at it, and his eyes followed my gesture."I would be willing to pay you for it, so that I could put it in my ownchurch."
"Really," he did not ask, but stated.
A light came to his eyes as he turned back toward me.His tight mouth was tense.
"Yes, it would be an excellent …" Isearched for the right word."… reminder of the Loremaster High and hissteadfast faith."
Greal smiled, and I cannot say that I liked it. It wasthe wide, tight-lipped grin of a predator.
"Yes," he said finally. "An excellentreminder. He was an inspiration to us all."
He held out his hand, and I dropped the purse in it.Emptying the coins into his wide, soft hand, he counted slowly. The sightdisturbed me, so I looked up at the window instead. Though it cost me greatly,I knew that I would enjoy the window and the remembrance of Tessen for manyyears to come.
Satisfied with the price, Greal told the young men toclimb up and carefully remove the window for me. I had come to the abbey in mysmall wagon, and there was room for the window. It all seemed like fate hadmeant for it to be, for not long after I was driving my team back across thevalley to my parish home.
Within a tenday, I had hired some men of my own tocome to the church and help me install the window high above the floor of thesanctuary. There I knew it would bring brilliant light down upon the worshipersduring each Binding and Covenant, our morning and evening rituals. The windowwould glorify Oghma as well as the faith of Loremaster High Tessen. I was gladdened.Once it was in place, I noticed that young Pheslan, my own seeker, wastransfixed by the window.
"It's so wonderful," he said, "and yetso odd."
I looked up at the window myself, and at the portlyPheslan, and asked, "Odd?"
"Forgive me, brother, I mean no disrespect. It isnot odd in an ill fashion. It's just… the pattern. Each time I look at it Isee something new. Some different facet to the way the glass has been fitted,or some new way the light plays upon the angles. Yes, that's it. It is theangles that are so fascinating."
Looking at the window again, I had to admit that hewas right. It was fascinating.
"The workmanship of those days has known no equalsince," I said, knowing that such was something that elders always said tothe young.
I smiled at the thought, and at the boy as we bothbathed in the blessing of sunlight and looked at the beauty of the rose window.
As the next few tendays passed, I became concernedwith other things. Oghma, the Lord of Knowledge and the Wise God, bids hisservants to spread information and dispense learning as well as watch over thewell-being of the worshipers as we guide them toward enlightenment. Thus, theduties of a parish priest are legion, but I suppose that this is not the time todescribe them. Let it suffice to say that I was preoccupied-so much so that Ipaid little attention to the fact that young Pheslan was still enraptured withthe rose window. One night, after Covenant, we finished our duties and sat downto our simple meal. He told me that he had seen something strange in thewindow. I listened only halfheartedly, for I was very tired.