Melcher Fitz spoke before a gathering of the plague doctors in his chapter. All of them congregated in the monastery's meeting hall to hear his words.

Before him stood a sea of men in gray robes, many of them new faces who had joined the plague doctors because of the stories they'd heard about Giradin.

"We have a new threat," Melcher Fitz called out. "The young Duke of Orleans, Philip. According to servants in his home, the Duke of Orleans has shown symptoms of plague. Many of them have left his service for fear of the disease, but this causes a different sort of problem. He is constantly hiring new servants to replace those who are quitting on him. This is a potential fountain of miasma which could bubble over and spread across Chistendom if we do not stamp it out! Now, I know that an assault upon a duke is beyond our power, but if we work together we can find a way to--"

The doors to the meeting hall burst open and in rushed one of the doctors who'd been on guard duty. "Giradin's back! And there's an army of Templars with him!"

"Giradin?" came the cry from the croud. All those present rushed from their seats and clustered at the door, trying to leave the meeting hall as quickly as they could. Some shoved their fellows aside or cut each other off for a chance to be among the first who saw the saint's return.

Fitz's fingers clenched tight around the handle of his sword and his eyes narrowed to slits. "Giradin..." he muttered. If that cowardly ne'er-do-well had returned it could only mean that the Pope had failed to see through his deceptions and had declared the worthless boy a saint. Now more than ever he would be difficult to deal with.

Fitz exited the monastery at the tail-end of the crowd, using his cane to brush aside those who stood in his way.

Giradin dismounted from the horse at the front of the entourage. The Templar with red hair gave Giradin a proud smile as he made his way toward the crowd.

The doctors were abuzz with questions, especially the new recruits. They filled his ears with the stories of the horrible things Fitz had made them do while Giradin was absent, and sung his praises as their great hope to start curing people rather than burning them. Fitz was sure he'd heard a few say "that Moor's medicine was poison," which made Fitz glad he'd sent Mujahid away.

Giradin addressed the crowd, "Please! Please! Quiet down! I have a few matters I need to address. After that, I will try to meet with you each individually, if we have the time. First, I must speak with Melcher."

Calling me by my first name? Presumptuous wretch!

Giradin drew closer to Fitz, the crowd parting before him like the Red Sea for Moses. Fitz rested on his cane and kept a stern face, trying to remain as unreadable as possible.

Giradin looked up at Fitz with sad eyes. "I have had a vision most terrible, and you were in it." Fitz considered reaching for his sword if Giradin was about to accuse him of anything wrong. He hated how easily this liar could turn the crowd on him if he wanted to. All it would take would be a few words and they'd lynch him. Giradin continued, "In my vision, you died at the hands of a horde of Vermin. I have returned here with these Templars to prevent that vision from coming true."

"Very kind of you to try to keep me safe," Fitz said, flatly. The claim was ridiculous. As if Fitz was supposed to believe that this army Giradin had brought with him was to protect him and not force Giradin's will on the Crows.

"And, there is something else you must know," said Giradin, turning his head to face his entourage. "Fulk! Will you come here please?"

Fitz's blood boiled at the mere mention of the traitor's name. When he saw the criminal approach, still wearing a plague doctor uniform as if he'd never abandoned them, it took all the willpower he had not to demand the crowd slay him immediately.

When Fulk drew close enough, Giradin wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Let us always remember," Giradin called out, "that Christ calls us to repentance, not merely righteousness. As much as God smiles on those who do right, He rejoices far more in those who return to the right path. Fulk left the Crows for a time because he needed to seek out the solution to a personal problem. He returned to us with a witch in tow, showing that he had fully repented of his ways when he turned her over to the Templars. Sadly, the witch escaped when we were ambushed by Vermin, but she will be found and brought to justice."

Giradin released Fulk's shoulder and stood before him, making the gesture of a cross in front of his face. "I hereby pardon Fulk of his sins. Of breaking his oath to the Crows, of consorting with witches, and of the murder for which he has spent the past several years making pennance. Let him rejoin his brethren, the plague doctors, with honor."

"Just a moment!" Fitz bellowed. "You may have forgotten this, boy, but I am still the leader of the Crows. His oath was to me, not to you."

"All oaths are to God," said Giradin. "If an oath be not to God, then it is no oath at all."

"You cannot simply excuse his crimes without my say-so!" shouted Fitz.

The crowd murmured, and cast furious eyes on the leader of the Crows.

"Giradin is God's voice on earth," said Sir Emeric, his brow furrowed with anger. "He has the Papal blessing and the right to pardon any crimes. With all due respect, Master Fitz, if you have a problem with what Giradin has proclaimed, you may pray about it and see if God changes His mind."

Defeated, Fitz remained silent. He scanned the crowd, taking note of whose faces showed him the most vitriol. He would need to know who his enemies were from here forward. Giradin warned of a war with the Vermin, but Fitz suspected the real war would be between him and this obviously false saint.

"Let us make preparations," Giradin called out. "For the Vermin hordes are on the move, and we must be ready to face them in battle. If we have any allies, now would be the time to call upon them."