"Connor's sword, ye mean."
Her perceptiveness surprised Pony, but it did not put her off her guard. " 'Twas Connor's," she admitted, "until emissaries of the Church murdered him and his uncle."
Colleen's eyes widened.
"And the abbot," Pony pressed, spitting every word. "Do you believe that a powrie did it? A wretched little dwarf walked into Palmaris, into St. Precious itself, and killed the great man?"
"Ye're knowin' this to be true?"
"As Connor told it to me, when he came north to find me, when he learned that I was next targeted by the Abellican Church."
Colleen stood very still, and it seemed to Pony that she was not even breathing.
Pony lowered her hand, dropping the gemstone into her pocket. "Not a fair fight if I use the magic that was taught to me by a true man of God," she said. "Let me get my sword then, Colleen Kilronney, and I will happily give you a lesson you shall not soon forget!"
Colleen's pride alone forced her to square her shoulders at the open, brazen challenge. She did not hold the pose for long, though, too curious about this woman's surprising words and nerve.
"Though I wish you'd stand down," Pony conceded, "for I am not convinced that we two are on opposing sides."
"Then what're we to be doin' about it?" Colleen asked.
Pony considered the words for a long while. What indeed? The outline of a plan was taking shape in her mind, a coalition involving Belster's underground network, the persecuted Behrenese, and now Colleen and whatever other soldiers —and Pony guessed that there might be more than a few—they might find who would stand, at least quietly, against the wicked Bishop. But she wasn't ready to share that plan, wasn't ready to trust in this soldier with information concerning her comrades just yet.
"You come back to the Way in three days' time," she offered. "We shall speak again."
"Where's yer Nightbird friend?" Colleen asked abruptly.
Pony eyed her curiously, suspecting a trap.
"Don't ye answer, then," Colleen offered. "If he's come to Palmaris with ye, then keep him low and safe, because De'Unnero's onto his game. And if he's in the north, still, as we've heard, then ye get a runner to him, for Shamus is back out on the northern road. And though he's sayin' that he's comin' to help, he's really going to put a watch on yer friend, to ready Nightbird for De'Unnero's takin'."
The blunt offer of such valuable information put Pony back a step, and she merely nodded dumbly as she tried to digest it all.
"I'll get me friend and be on me way," Colleen said, turning for the gutter and going over the edge of the roof without hesitation. "Three days," she confirmed, looking up only once at Pony and then moving swiftly down to the alley.
Pony held her ground and her pose for a moment longer, then turned back toward the night sky, seeking that elusive glimpse of Corona's heavenly ring.
She gave up at once, though, for she knew that she would find no peace this night.
The fires in the Way had burned to embers, the orange-glowing eyes the only watchful patrons as the hours of darkness turned toward dawn. On the street outside, three drunken men, including a satisfied Prim O'Bryen and Heathcomb Mallory, slept soundly, and a dozen more occupied the inn rooms upstairs, while Dainsey and a suitor had at last settled down in one quiet room in the proprietor's wing, Belster snoring contentedly in another. And in the third bedroom of that first-level wing, sat Pony, comfortable on her bed, wearing a soft nightshirt, a soul stone in hand.
Shamus Kilronney was on his way to find Elbryan, and her lover would not suspect that the man was an agent of Bishop De'Unnero.
Pony trusted Elbryan and reminded herself repeatedly that he had powerful allies, Bradwarden and Juraviel, by his side. Still, if he was caught unaware . . .
Pony sighed deeply and looked down at the gray stone, a darker spot on her pale hand in the moonlight shining through her window. She had chosen to come to Palmaris, had followed the course determined by her need for vengeance, and now she was not so certain that she had chosen rightly. She had known that her road would be dangerous —that Elbryan's would be, as well—but suddenly that danger seemed closer and more threatening. Suddenly Elbryan seemed to be in trouble, and she was too far away to do anything about it.
Or was she?
She continued to stare at the soul stone, wondering what help it might offer. She didn't need to remind herself of the danger of using the stone, any stone, in this city, with De'Unnero's magic-sniffing hounds patrolling the streets. But still, after her conversation with Colleen, after learning the truth, could she possibly sit quietly and hope that Elbryan would survive?
But there was something else, some fear buried deep in Pony's mind.
What other wonders might a journey to the realm of the spirit show her? What other truths to shatter denial? She couldn't think about that now, not with danger closing in on her friends in the north.
She fell into the stone, heart and soul, her spirit sinking deep into its inviting depths. She felt a strange energy in that spiritual state, separate, yet joined. Pony understood, but abruptly turned away from it, and focused outward. In a moment, she was walking free of her corporeal form, sliding quickly through the outer wall of the inn and off into the night along the quiet streets of Palmaris, through the city's northern gate, where the guards gamed with bones, keeping only a halfhearted watch to the empty north road. Then past the darkened farmhouses she went, and along the road. With a thought, she outpaced the swiftest bird, the strongest wind. She passed through Caer Tinella at a dizzying pace, slowing only to seek any signs of Elbryan or Shamus. But no, they were not there —too many were missing, including the wagons that had been procured for the Timberlands caravan. They had already set off, heading farther north. North, too, went Pony, soaring down the road, hardly registering the blurred landscape until she came into regions more familiar, into the land of her birth.
Then her spirit was walking more slowly once more, for though she understood the importance of finding Elbryan quickly and ceasing to use the telltale gems, she could not resist the images of her home: the north slope leading out of Dundalis, the pine and caribou-moss valley beyond.
Shamus Kilronney and his soldiers were in town, she observed at once, noting the military-style encampment at the western edge of the main group. Pony went to the soldiers and through their barracks, and was relieved to find that Elbryan was not in their midst. Relief quickly turned to desperation as she searched the rest of the town and found no sign of her lover, leaving her spirit standing alone, pondering the enormity of her task, in the middle of the village square. He could be anywhere, she understood, and though she could move with the speed of a moonbeam, Elbryan —Nightbird—in the forest would not be easy to find.
Pony forced herself to remain calm, cleared her thoughts of all distractions, and turned her senses to the quiet night.
And there, drifting on the breeze, came her answer, a familiar piping melody, the song of Bradwarden.
She found the centaur moments later, standing solitary on a round-topped bluff, piping his mournful song. She thought to go to him, to try somehow to communicate with him, that he might guide her to Elbryan, but then she spotted Symphony at the bottom of that hillock, standing quietly as if mesmerized by the centaur's song. On a low branch near the magnificent horse rested a familiar saddle.
She heard the great horse nicker softly as she glided past, but her senses caught something else, something even more familiar, something warm and wonderful.
She felt her lover keenly, as if she and Elbryan were somehow spiritually joined. She knew exactly where he was as surely as if he were standing and calling her.
Secure, no doubt, in the knowledge that Symphony and Bradwarden were nearby, the ranger lay deep in peaceful sleep on a raised bed of hay and blankets, heated stones underneath him. He had both of his weapons, Tempest and Hawkwing, lying beside him, ready to grab.
Despite her urgency, Pony paused to soak in that sight and again doubted her choices. How could she have kept the child secret from this man? And how could she have left him?
Because her outrage had gotten the better of her, she had to admit; and truly, she felt as if she had failed at that moment. A desire to rush back to Palmaris, to run to the stables and retrieve Greystone, then ride as fast and hard to the north as possible, nearly overwhelmed her, nearly launched her spirit on its way. But she could not do that, not now. She had chosen, perhaps badly, but that choice had led to new circumstances and responsibilities. She could not abandon Palmaris now any more than Elbryan could go there.
But what of the child? Oh, but she wanted to tell him then! And oh, how she wanted to feel his gentle fingers massaging her swelling belly!
Pony spent a long moment composing herself, finding her center of reason and duty. She stared long and hard at Elbryan for a moment longer, not quite understanding what she should do —or even what she could do. But then the magic of the soul stone came clearer to her; and with a thought, she soared down at her lover,
into
her lover, joining him in his dreams.
Elbryan awoke in a cold sweat, sitting bolt upright, alert that something might be lurking nearby.
The moon, Sheila, was low in the western sky. Bradwarden had stopped his piping, but Symphony stood nearby, calm; that alone told the ranger that no enemies were near.
But something, someone, had been there, he knew, though it was all a mix of dream and consciousness. Several deep breaths steadied him, and he put his head down in his hands and thought hard.
And then he knew. Somehow, through some magic, Pony had come to him.
Pony! The mere thought of her sent shivers along his spine and pangs of emptiness through his heart. But it had been Pony, of that he was suddenly sure; and she was all right. She was safe in Palmaris.
But there she had to stay, and there, he could not go; that, too, came clear and unmistakable. Their planned early spring meeting was no more, for Palmaris was in turmoil and Pony could not abandon the folk in need. Nor could he go there, nor should he go there, for ...
Something else tugged at the ranger's consciousness, some warning that he felt he should heed. But he could not, not then, for the thought of Pony, the image of Pony, the regret at being away from Pony, was too consuming, too engulfing. So he sat in the quiet, dark forest as the minutes turned to an hour, thinking of her, remembering her embrace and her kiss, the taste of her neck, the depth of her eyes.
He could only hope that their paths would soon cross, that duty, painful duty, would not keep them apart for long.
Those same regrets followed Pony as her spirit swept back into Palmaris, as she moved down the still-quiet streets and back into the dark common room of the Fellowship Way. She went straight for her door, thinking that it was long past time she reentered her corporeal form and dismissed the magical energies, but as she glided along the hallway, she paused, hearing, sensing, some tumult beyond another door. Hardly thinking, Pony slipped through that wall into Dainsey's room.
The woman and her companion twined and groaned, caught in the passion of lovemaking.
An embarrassed Pony retreated at once, but stopped, mesmerized, because the energy, the heat, of Dainsey and the man, brought back to her memories of Elbryan's embrace, when they broke their vow of celibacy when they thought the world was safe once more.
To the conception of their child.
It had been such a beautiful thing, a moment of purest ecstasy, of completeness and security.
But maybe it had been no more than this. Maybe it had been the fulfillment of something more base, a physical need. And succumbing to that need had led to ...
To what? Pony had to ask herself honestly; and the answer that screamed back at her caught her completely off guard.
It had led to a complication. A dangerous complication.
Pony's spirit soared from the room and back toward her waiting form. She approached with all speed, thinking to fall into the material world and out of the gemstone magic abruptly, without time to think or to see.
But she sensed that other presence, that spirit within her physical being.
She tried to hurry, but she could not avoid a brush with that life!
Barely a second passed before her body shuddered back to consciousness, but it was a second too long for Pony. She knew now, beyond all doubt. She had a child within her, a living creature, forming, growing, and growing strong. Of course she had known for some time that she was pregnant, but the word had meant little to her. When she had told Juraviel that perhaps she would not be able to see the child through to term, she had been serious. Somewhere deep in her mind, she had figured that the child would be stillborn or miscarried, for the notion that this was real, that she was to be a mother, seemed unlikely, even seemed impossible.
But now she knew. This was real; the child —her child, Elbryan's child— was alive.
Tears soaked her cheeks and streamed from her eyes. She felt all alone and out of control. Her hand went to her belly, but found no comfort there, found only vulnerability.
"Damn you," Pony growled into the darkness, cursing herself. Without even consciously registering the move, she got up and started pacing the floor. "Damn you!" she said again, fists clenched at her sides.
Why hadn't she waited? Why had she seduced Elbryan, practically forcing him to make love to her, with such potential for disaster?
Pony growled and slapped a plate from her night table, hardly noticing that it crashed to the floor.
"What fool am I to have done this?" she asked aloud. Again her hand was on her belly, but it wasn't massaging gently, but rather clenching the skin. "All the world is in peril, and in the name and memory of Avelyn, I am charged with the fight. And yet, how can I? What warrior am I with this in my belly? "