The Fourth Messenger

7 - Azra

Loreld Valley, Kingdom of Gadolin

Flowertide, 2339

"How much further to Velemond?" Azra asked.

"Duke Brebant's estate is on the other side of this valley," Coulon said. "Another two hours, if we choose our way carefully."

The knight let his horse pick its way across the churning stream. Azra watched the water flicker as they crossed, wondering how long she would be on the run.

"I never thanked you for helping me at the cathedral," she said.

"You thanked my master the duke. That is enough."

"But it was a brave thing."

"One ax-wielding brute is nothing for a knight, Priestess."

"You don't believe I am the Fourth?"

"I don't know what to believe yet. Finding the truth is difficult. But my master's word is my work, whether I believe in you or not."

"I'm blessed with the truth, but my great difficulty is trust," she said.

"You can trust the duke, Priestess. He is headstrong and overconfident in his influence with the king, but he genuinely believes in you. He'll do what he can to protect you and help the Congregants."

"I had hoped that it would not come to conflict. I had hoped that if enough nobles sympathized with the Congregants and believed in me, they would be able to persuade the king to protect us from the archbishop."

"It's not about belief, Priestess. It's about power."

"What do you mean?"

"The king wants his war with Toninbern, and their throne, and will let nothing stand in his way. As for Duke Brebant, he . . . well, I'm not saying he doesn't believe in you. But he is positioning himself to challenge the claim of King Rynaud's inept son, the crown prince. The duke has always been a favorite of the king, while the crown prince wastes his days with games. But the nobles think Brebant is too young and inexperienced."

"You said I could trust Brebant's support."

"You can, I just want you to know why."

"Why are you telling me this, Coulon, if you do not believe in me yourself?"

"I believe you are a great woman who has done much good. I just . . . I abandoned God long ago . . ."

"What caused you to do such a thing?"

"My reasons are my own," Coulon said.

Azra was about to speak, but the knight held up his hand. They slowed their horses, and she stared at him as they listened.

"What is that?" she whispered.

"Sounds like a fight toward the south," he said.

They looked to where the Loreld River cut through the deep forested heart of the valley. Faint shouts echoed. Then Azra's eyes scanned further west.

"My God . . . is that Avilmerg?" Azra pointed toward a smear of black smoke on the horizon across the valley. Then she spurred her horse.

"Priestess, it's too dangerous!"

She ignored him until he caught up with her and took her reins.

"If you want to preach your message to the believers, you must stay alive," he said.

"Can I live while they perish?" she sobbed.

"You must."

They watched as the smoke slid across the sky. The shouting in the woods became louder.

"Priestess, I beg you. You must shelter at Velemond."

"Is it truly shelter, Sir Coulon? Can a duke more concerned with his own political ambitions take all necessary precautions for his professed religion?"

"Velemond Estate is surely safer than here. And we'll take a less direct route to avoid trouble, just in case they are watching the main roads."

"Will you not let me go to those who suffer on my behalf in the forest and Avilmerg?"

"I cannot, Priestess. But take heart, the Congregants have proven their resilience. They will endure but only if you can lead them when your time comes."

"I will do as you say while remembering today's sacrifices, and with thanks to the duke whose heart may yet be captured by God."

Copyright © 2019 by Christopher C. Fuchs