"I offer the King the hand of a friend in a time of desperate need," Je'howith replied.
"Ridiculous!" roared Kalas, and then to the King, he added, "I will secure for you a proper replacement for Baron Bildeborough. A man of the Allheart Brigade, perhaps, or one of the lesser, but deserving nobles. Why, we have a contingent of soldiers in the region already, led by an able-bodied warrior."
King Danube looked from Je'howith to Kalas, seeming unsure.
"And which is more dangerous, I wonder," Je'howith asked slyly, "allowing the partner to aid in a time of great need or strengthening the position of an ambitious underling? One who, perhaps, holds designs on a higher station?"
A stunned Kalas groaned and growled for lack of a reply. His face turned bright red and he clenched his jaw tight, seemingly on the verge of an explosion. Others in the room were equally distressed, but Constance grew more amused by it all.
"I ask you to consider the benefits of a single new ruler in such a time of distress," Je'howith went on, his voice calm. "If you replace Baron Bildeborough with yet another unknown leader, then the people of Palmaris shall not know what to expect from Church or state. Let them warm to De'Unnero first. They hardly know the man, for he has presided over St. Precious for but one season, and even in that time, Church duties —the College of Abbots, in which your Allheart Brigade played no minor role—" he pointedly reminded, "forced Abbot De'Unnero out of Palmaris for the better part of a month. Yet the city has remained relatively calm, considering the tragedies the folk have suffered."
"You propose the abbot of St. Precious as only an interim leader then?" King Danube asked after a long, thoughtful pause.
"After said interim —with the turn of summer, perhaps—you could decide that Palmaris, and you, would be better served by appointing another," Je'howith explained. "But I think that Marcalo De'Unnero will amaze you with his efficiency. He will put the people of Palmaris back into order and hold firm control —strengthening your position."
"What rubbish!" cried Duke Kalas, coming forward to join Je'howith at the King's side. "Surely you do not believe a word of this, my King."
"Do not presume to tell me what I believe," King Danube sternly and coldly replied, backing Kalas off a step or two.
"And you must consider the larger position," Je'howith went on, ignoring Kalas. "The Timberlands must be reopened, perhaps claimed as the domain of Honce-the-Bear."
"Good Je'howith," Constance Pemblebury intervened, "we have a treaty with both Behren and Alpinador that the Timberlands remain open to all three kingdoms."
"And yet the region has long been settled only by folk of Honce-the-Bear," Je'howith replied. "And the war has changed the situation, I believe. The Timberlands, we could argue, now belong to the powries and goblins. Since we will be the ones to drive them from the region, it will be considered conquered land, and under the domain of King Danube Brock Ursal."
"A most clever position," the King admitted, "but a dangerous one."
"All the more reason you now need the Church strong by your side," Je'howith argued, "the same Church that holds influence over many of the barbarians of southern Alpinador. Name De'Unnero as bishop and then the matter of Palmaris no longer need be of concern to you. Let the Abellican Church take responsibility should De'Unnero fail and Palmaris fall into turmoil. And if the Bishop succeeds in restoring order and prosperity, then how wise King Danube will seem to his adoring people!"
Again Duke Kalas' face brightened with rage. How dare the abbot of St. Honce so bait the King!
But Danube, never overambitious, though always willing to seize an opportunity for expansion, had already swallowed that bait. Je'howith's offer, seemingly free of risk for Danube, might well help in any expansion of the kingdom northward, and even at worst, seemed to offer Danube insulation from blame. That, above all else, proved too attractive an offer to refuse. And Danube Brock Ursal was impetuous —something Je'howith had long ago learned to exploit. "Interim leader," the King declared. "Then so be it. Let word go forth from Ursal this day that Abbot Marcalo De'Unnero has been named bishop of Palmaris."
Je'howith smiled; Kalas growled.
"And Duke Kalas," King Danube went on, "do send word to your worthy underling in command of the soldiers in the Palmaris region that he is to report to Bishop De'Unnero and to remain with the man until the situation in Palmaris is secure.
"Now leave me!" the King said suddenly, waving his hands at the advisers as if they were troublesome pigeons. "My meal is already cold, I fear."
Abbot Je'howith, still smiling, turned to come face-to-face with Constance Pemblebury, who fell into step beside him and accompanied him out of the room. "Well done," she congratulated him when they were alone.
"You speak as if I have gained something," Je'howith protested. "I only wish to serve my King."
"You only wish to serve the Father Abbot," Constance replied with a chuckle.
"Little service if King Danube decides that Marcalo De'Unnero is not the man to rule Palmaris," Je'howith reasoned.
"A difficult decision, since a bishop, by law and tradition, can only be removed by agreement of the king and the Father Abbot," Constance said slyly.
That set Je'howith back on his heels —until he considered the fact that the woman had not mentioned that little matter of law
before
King Danube's proclamation.
"Fear not, Abbot Je'howith," the woman said. "I understand that the balance of power will inevitably shift after a war, win or lose, and I am pragmatic enough to recognize the power of the Abellican Church over people battered by war. Is there a family in all the northern reaches of Honce-the-Bear which has not lost one of its own? And grieving people, alas, are more drawn toward empty promises of eternal life than to practical material gains."
"Empty promises?" the abbot remarked, his tone one of astonishment, showing that he considered the woman on the verge of heresy.
Constance let the matter pass. "St.-Mere-Abelle will dominate Palmaris and all the northland —and that will not be a bad thing for King Danube through the difficult process of reopening the Timberlands and designing a new—if there indeed is to be a new—agreement with our neighboring kingdoms."
"And after the Timberlands are secured?"
Constance shrugged. "I choose not to go against the Church," was her simple reply.
"And in return for your assistance?"
Now the woman laughed aloud. "There are enough spoils from the backs of common laborers to secure a luxurious existence for all of us," she said. "There is an old saying about the buttering of bread; I am wise enough to understand that the Father Abbot might now have a hand on that knife."
Now Abbot Je'howith was smiling widely. He didn't have an ally here, he understood, but neither did he have a foe. That was the way it would be with many of the nobles, he believed, for they were men and women who had never engaged in any serious matters before the dactyl had awakened.
He left Constance then, needing privacy while he prepared himself for the next spiritual visit of the Father Abbot. Markwart would be pleased, but Je'howith knew that the situation remained tentative, that there remained a few, like Duke Kalas, who would never accept any gains the Church made at King Danube's expense.
It would be an interesting year.
By dawn, the rain had increased again, but the wind had died. The air was unseasonably warm, and a good thing it was, for otherwise several feet of snow would have buried the area and any plans for a journey south to Palmaris would have had to be put off by several weeks.
Pony and Bradwarden were still at the powrie cave. They had no idea how many dwarves might still be alive, but every now and then a rock shifted as a dwarf tried to dig out. At first Bradwarden took care of those attempts, clubbing hard on the stone, then laughing uproariously at the stream of heavily accented curses coming back out at him.
Now it was Pony's turn to keep watch, along with Juraviel, who had joined the companions an hour earlier. Bradwarden was scouring the nearby forest, collecting broken tree limbs for kindling and larger logs for long burning.
"Got me a good one this time," the centaur announced on one return.
Pony and Juraviel chuckled, for the tree the powerful centaur was dragging behind him must have stood twenty feet tall.
"A good one if you mean to batter down a castle door," Juraviel replied.
"And I just might, but from the inside, most likely, if them soldiers catch me standin' here arguin' with the likes of a stubborn elf!" Bradwarden remarked, reminding Juraviel that they had all agreed that the elf should go out and scout for the approaching soldiers at daybreak.
"And so I go, good half a horse," Juraviel said, bowing and then skittering into the forest.
"Half a horse," Bradwarden grumbled, and he piled kindling near the cave entrance, "but if th' other part was elf, I'd have to be half a pony!"
Pony smiled widely, appreciating the good-natured game that Juraviel and Bradwarden always played.
The centaur moved a large rock aside, then jumped back as a crossbow bolt skipped through an opening deeper in the pile, narrowly missing a foreleg. "Can ye be takin' care o' that?" he asked.
Pony was already moving, graphite in hand. She loosed another streak of lightning into the opening. Cries and curses erupted within the cave, sounding more distant as Bradwarden stuffed the hole with wood. Then the centaur shifted to the side and removed some more rubble, building the cairn.
"Ye're sure ye can light the stuff?" he asked Pony for perhaps the tenth time.
Her look sent a shiver coursing through Bradwarden, and so he went back to his work.
"Nightbird approaches," came Juraviel's voice a few minutes later. "He has found two of the slain powries. The soldiers are behind him, but at a distance."
Bradwarden looked at Pony and nodded, and she came forward to the pile with serpentine and ruby in hand. She waved the centaur away, then fell into the power of the serpentine, erecting a blue-white, glowing protective shield that completely engulfed her. A subtle command to the magic moved the ruby outside that shield, to sit atop the glow, atop her open palm. Now Pony linked her thoughts, her magical center, to the swirling powers of the ruby. She took her time, sent all her remaining energy into that stone, letting the power mount until wisps of flame flickered about her.
Bradwarden and Juraviel wisely backed away even farther.
Pony looked around, chose the hollowed end of a log set low in the pile, then thrust her hand inside and loosed the magic. The sudden burst of flame engulfed her and the barricade, the concussive power shaking the stones, the fiery burst consuming every scrap of kindling Bradwarden had placed, shooting out in streaks from every crack in the pile.
Wet wood hissed in protest, but because of the intensity of the blast, most of it caught and burned. The rain joined in that hissing song, settling on the heated stones and vaporizing to rise into the heavy air.
Pony loosed another fireball, and when she stepped back, plumes of gray smoke billowed into the air. And into the cave, she knew. She dropped the serpentine shield and put the two gems away, taking out the graphite once more, for she expected that powries might be pounding at the barricade at any moment.
"The ranger approaches," Juraviel called down to them.
"I suppose that all the remaining powries are caught in that hole?" came his familiar voice from the tree line behind the friends.
"Ye think we'd sit all the night and wait for yerself and yer lazy soldier friends?" Bradwarden replied with a wink as the ranger came into view.
Nightbird looked at the smoking rubble pile, at the lightning-blasted stones, then turned to stare at Pony, who was soaking wet, her blond hair dripping. His first reaction was one of anger. How could his friends have come out here without telling him? How could Pony have put herself in danger without letting him know? But Elbryan forced himself to see this situation through Pony's eyes. She was full of rage, more so than he, and yet she could not vent that fury even in the few fights they had found over the last weeks. Since Elbryan and Pony were outlaws, she dared not use the gemstones openly in battle. Moreover, her proficiency with the healing stones, particularly hematite, demanded that she remain well away from the heart of any battle, ready to secretly heal those in need.
And when the ranger considered the situation from Bradwarden's view, he was no less sympathetic. The centaur had been treated brutally —imprisoned and tortured—since he was rescued from the bowels of destroyed Mount Aida by the Abellican monks. Yet he had been even less involved in the battles, for he was too easily identified, and Shamus Kilronney, though the man had become something of a friend, was a soldier of the King.
Elbryan focused again on Pony and recognized that, despite the drenching rain and the long, sleepless night she had obviously endured, she seemed more at peace than at any time since they had left St.-Mere-Abelle. Any anger Elbryan felt over this private war Pony and Bradwarden had waged could not measure up against that reality.
"Well, it seems that you have had all the fun," he said cheerily, "this time."
"Ah, yell get yer chance to stick a few afore the day's done, by me thinkin'," Bradwarden piped up. "And be sure that ye'll find more when we go to the northland."
"Soldiers approaching," Juraviel, now perched in a different nearby tree, warned. He motioned to Bradwarden, and as the centaur trotted beneath the tree, the elf dropped down atop his broad back.
"We found a bit o' the fun, though, didn't we?" Bradwarden said with a wink at Pony, and he moved off into the forest.
Pony mounted Greystone even as Elbryan slid off Symphony, the ranger drawing his elven bow, Hawkwing, and fitting an arrow as he moved to keep watch for any possible escapes through rock pile. The smoke was thicker now, billowing gray, and a fair amount of it was going into the cave.