DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (232 page)

With a nervous glance at King Danube, the old abbot took a seat —right beside Abbot De'Unnero.

Kalas gave a snort; the battle lines had been drawn.

"I will not shuffle about the issue," King Danube began, interrupting the Father Abbot as the older man started formal greetings. "I have come here to see that the citizens of Palmaris —my citizens—are being treated accordingly, and that the city is under proper control and proper care."

Markwart glared at the man, presenting an even more imposing image with the sun back-lighting him so. "You know Bishop De'Unnero?" he asked, moving his right hand to indicate the powerful monk.

Kalas and De'Unnero immediately locked stares, the two sensing that they shared similar position and purpose for their respective leaders, that fact making them immediate rivals.

"And this is Francis Dellacourt," Markwart went on, extending his left hand. "Until this morning, Brother Francis served as headmaster of St. Precious, but now I intend to promote him to bishop of Palmaris."

That brought curious stares from everyone at Danube's end of the table, even from Je'howith, who had not been informed of just how high Markwart meant to promote young Brother Francis.

"The Bishop sits on your right, by your own introduction," King Danube asserted.

"Former Bishop," Father Abbot Markwart explained. "Master De'Unnero served Palmaris well in his tenure —"

Another loud snort from Duke Kalas.

"For the city was in complete disarray," Markwart finished, ignoring the impertinent Duke. "Now that time has passed, and so has his reign. He will become abbot of St. Precious."

Constance Pemblebury got the King's attention, and Danube gave a slight nod, allowing her to speak for him. "Is not the Bishop of Palmaris also the abbot of St. Precious?" she asked, the question that was on the minds of all of the four from Ursal. There was more than a little concern in the woman's voice, an indication that she, and likely the others, as well, would worry about that proclamation. Did Markwart mean to keep two powerful Church leaders in Palmaris?

"I have plans for St. Precious at this time," Markwart explained. "The reopening of the northern villages and the Timberlands will require much attention from the Church. Bishop Francis will not have the time to turn his eyes to the north, with so many issues yet to be settled in Palmaris."

King Danube sat back to digest the surprising, and somewhat disturbing, information. "Perhaps, then, the time has come again for an abbot and a baron," he said, and Kalas grinned widely at the words he had so desperately wanted to hear.

"Perhaps not," Father Abbot Markwart replied immediately, not even blinking.

That brought a few uneasy shuffles from the King's end of the table. The Father Abbot had openly opposed King Danube!

"Father Abbot," the King began firmly but calmly, "I agreed to a bishop on a trial basis, one that, from the reports I have seen, has failed miserably."

"You have not witnessed enough, then," Markwart replied. "Are you to judge the arrangement based on the first few weeks, when the city was in turmoil and in dire peril?"

"You exaggerate," the King remarked.

Markwart came out of his seat, leaning forward over the table and turning his face so that his garish scar was visible. "Do I?" he yelled.

Kalas, too, jumped to his feet, looking at De'Unnero, but the former Bishop remained calmly seated.

"This alone is proof enough that the sacred gemstones do not belong in the possession of secular fools," the Father Abbot intoned.

The King sat back, holding fast to his calm demeanor. "And has not Father Abbot Markwart himself sold such stones to 'secular fools'?" he asked. "Your words match not your actions, Father Abbot, and so we are left with a difficult situation here. I cannot have the entire merchant class angry with me."

Markwart glared at him, the same imposing look the spirit of the Father Abbot had bestowed on the King when he had visited him in Ursal. And the King internally withered under that gaze. But he was the King, after all, and so he pressed on. "My good Father Abbot," he stated, working hard to keep the tremor out of his voice, "I cannot conduct proper relations with Behren, nor can I satisfy the needs of those important merchant families —the ones who supply Honce-the-Bear with so many vital goods—while you are persecuting such men in this city. I will not tolerate it, Father Abbot. I cannot tolerate it!"

"The greatest threat to the Crown comes now from some who have gemstones in their possession," De'Unnero put in, "secular men, who do not deserve such sacred gifts of God and who do not understand the power and responsibility of such stones."

Father Abbot Markwart, who was about to respond to the King, bit back his words and turned an angry glare on De'Unnero, for it was not De'Unnero's place to speak. Not at all. But not wanting to show any discord within his own ranks, he let him continue.

"They are the disciples of Avelyn Desbris the heretic, and do not doubt their power or their intent to destroy both Church and state," De'Unnero went on. "It was one of them who attacked Father Abbot Markwart —and desires to make a similar attempt upon the life of King Danube, do not doubt."

"The King is well protected," Duke Kalas put in as he resumed his seat. This time, it was King Danube's turn to glare angrily at one of his subordinates. But then the King put his chin in his hands, and Markwart settled back into his chair, both of them seeming more amused than distressed.

"Pray continue, Duke Kalas," Danube said.

"And you, Abbot De'Unnero," Markwart added.

"You do not appreciate the power of these disciples of the heretic, and that may well bring about your downfall," De'Unnero stated before Kalas could cut him off.

Duke Kalas came out of his chair again, leaning threateningly across the table toward the former Bishop, but Constance grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Do tell," the King prompted.

Markwart caught De'Unnero's gaze, reminding the man to tread lightly here. He was speaking, after all, of the death of the King and the monarchy, no light subject!

"The leader of the band, a very dangerous warrior named Nightbird, is operating in the northland, and is even now in the region of the Barbacan, I believe, no doubt rousing monsters to his call this time," the new abbot of St. Precious explained. "And yet, it all could have been averted, for I had him in my grasp —him and all his fellow conspirators. They were mine to take, to kill then and there or to bring back to Palmaris for public trial, one over which both King Danube and Father Abbot Markwart might have presided, that their alliance, the glory of that joining, be revealed to the beleaguered populace of Palmaris."

"Beleaguered," Duke Kalas echoed, snorting to show how ironic he thought it that the former tyrannical Bishop should speak of the folk of Palmaris that way. "There is a fine word."

But King Danube was in no mood for Kalas' antics, for he sensed that De'Unnero would be a formidable foe. "You say that you had them within your grasp," he said to De'Unnero, "and yet you could not take them?"

"No," De'Unnero admitted. "The one called Nightbird and his fellow conspirators run free in the northland —and all because of the actions of soldiers of the Crown."

"If one of my soldiers erred —" the King began.

"Erred?" De'Unnero echoed incredulously, drawing a narrow-eyed gaze from the King, who was not accustomed to being interrupted, and another glare from Markwart, warning him once again to tread lightly. "The leader and his soldiers did not
err,
my King," De'Unnero explained. "At that most critical moment, when the rebellion might have been put down, they turned against the Crown."

That proclamation brought the King's head up, and calmed Duke Kalas considerably, for what had seemed to be the rambling boast of an unimportant man suddenly carried the potential of great weight.

"It is true," De'Unnero went on, glowering at Duke Kalas as he spoke. "In the northland, far north of the Timberlands, I had Nightbird trapped, but an officer of the Kingsmen and his foolish soldiers would not support me. Aye, they turned against me, supporting the rebel Nightbird over their rightful leader, the Bishop of Palmaris, appointed by King and Father Abbot."

"A title you no longer hold," Kalas pointedly reminded him.

"At that time, to Captain Kilronney and his soldiers, I was the Bishop," De'Unnero retorted, not backing down an inch. He knew the King was vulnerable on this point. "And yet, this captain of the Kingsmen, officer of the Crown, went against me, and thus left the most dangerous criminal in the world at large in the wild northland."

"A man whose co-conspirators thrive in Palmaris," Markwart cut in. He nodded at the former Bishop, relaying to De'Unnero his approval of his performance. De'Unnero had played his part perfectly and had turned this meeting greatly in the favor of Father Abbot Markwart.

And so it went for the rest of the morning. Father Abbot Markwart detailed the dangers within Palmaris: the real danger of the Behrenese underground; and the would-be assassin Jill, companion of Nightbird, the other disciple of Avelyn Desbris, who remained at large.

The King sat and listened, impatiently waving for Kalas to sit down and shut his mouth whenever the Duke tried to interrupt.

Afterward, during the carriage ride back to the house of Crump, the King, Kalas, and Constance were quiet. They all knew Markwart had carried the day. De'Unnero's claim that an officer of the Crown had helped an associate of the one who had tried to assassinate the Father Abbot had given the advantage to Markwart, one he had not relinquished for the remainder of the discussion.

In Chasewind Manor, Abbot Je'howith listened carefully as Markwart congratulated De'Unnero.

"You have shown your value in a manner I would not have expected," the Father Abbot remarked, nodding at the man, even patting him on the shoulder.

"Enough so that you would restore me as bishop of Palmaris?" De'Unnero asked, turning his always-dangerous gaze on Francis as he spoke.

"No," Markwart said immediately. "The importance of that position is greatly diminished now. The duty of the Bishop will be no more than to placate the masses and the impertinent merchants. A most distasteful job —and one in which the talents of Marcalo De'Unnero would be wasted."

That brought a smile to De'Unnero and made Francis wince.

"No, my friend, my champion," Markwart purred, "we have other plans to formulate and other regions to conquer."

The confidence was not without merit, Abbot Je'howith believed —and feared, since he was being surprisingly ignored in this conversation, an onlooker to the victory celebration and nothing more.

But the wise old man swallowed his anger and reminded himself that he was better off here than with the pouting Kalas and the nervous King. Je'howith understood that Markwart had won the day, that Church had prevailed over state today and the position of bishop as leader of Palmaris seemed quite secure.

They parted soon after, Je'howith going to the private room Francis had provided for him in St. Precious to reconsider his position. He wanted to be on the winning side, whichever side that might be. He had planned to sit on the fence and anger neither Father Abbot nor King. Now he leaned Markwart's way, for it seemed painfully clear to him that the Father Abbot was the more formidable.

She had come awake enough to realize that her child was gone. Though she should have gone back to sleep, for her body had been battered terribly, she could not. She sat in the quiet darkness of the
Saudi Jacintha's
hold.

Colleen Kilronney entered the small room a short while later, but Pony didn't acknowledge her, just sat, swaying, staring into the darkness.

"It's good that ye're awake," Colleen said.

No response.

"Ah, but the devil he is," the warrior woman spat. "Father Abbot? Bah! He's a devil, and I'll be payin' him back for ye, don't ye doubt!"

No response.

"And me own cousin," Colleen went on, "captain o' the King's soldiers, all bright and shiny on the outside, and with a heart that's as dark as the wretched Bishop's on the inside. Oh, but I'll be payin' that one back, too!"

No response —Pony didn't even look her way, and Colleen surrendered, moving out of the room.

"Suren that she's in a bad way," the red-haired woman said to Belster and Captain Al'u'met as she joined them in the the captain's stateroom. "He took it from her, the devil, and left a hole that'll be a long time in mendin'."

"I tried to tell her not to fight him," Belster interjected.

"Her cause was just," Al'u'met insisted.

"Indeed, and no arguing from me," the innkeeper replied. "But you cannot wage war without a chance of winning. He is too strong, is Markwart; as is the Bishop."

"That does not mean that she was wrong to try," Al'u'met argued.

"Not wrong, perhaps, but surely foolish," Belster remarked, turning away. He knew that he would not convince the Behrenese sailor, but neither did he have any intention of changing his mind.

"Perhaps you merely believe that her cause was not worth the risk," Al'u'met remarked bluntly.

Belster winced, knowing that he was vulnerable here against the likes of a black-skinned Behrenese. Indeed, he had to admit he might have been more anxious to wage war against the Church if the people it persecuted had been friends of his: Bearmen, as citizens of Honce-the-Bear were sometimes called; and with lineage to match Belster's own. He thought to simply ignore the captain, but, in thinking of Pony, he realized that the time had come to face the truth.

He looked Al'u'met in the eye. "Perhaps your reasoning is sound," he said. "I, like so many of the folk of Palmaris, have never been fond of your kind, Captain Al'u'met."

"Wouldn't it be doin' Pony's heart good to hear us fightin' each other," Colleen remarked dryly.

Neither man paid her any heed; they just continued staring at each other. It was no contest of wills, but rather the two taking an honest measure of each other.

Al'u'met broke the stare first, giving a chuckle. "Well then, Master O'Comely, we will have to show you the truth of us, that you might learn better."

Belster smiled and nodded; perhaps it was time for him to take a clearer and more honest look at the folks from the southern kingdom.

That would be a lesson for another day, though, as they were both reminded when the door unexpectedly swung open, and a haggard-looking Pony stood in the doorway. "I need to go to Elbryan," she whispered.

"He is far to the north," Belster replied, moving to her side and putting an arm about her to support her —and she looked as if she needed the support.

Pony shook her head. "I need to go to Elbryan," she repeated matter-of-factly, as if no amount of distance mattered, "now."

Belster looked from her to Colleen and Al'u'met.

"Ye get yer strength, girl," Colleen said determinedly. "Ye get yer strength and I'll take ye to the north to find yer lover."

"Colleen —" Belster started to protest, but Al'u'met cut him short.

"I can get them north of the city by sea," he said.

"What nonsense are we talking?" Belster demanded. "She was almost killed, and now you are planning to send her on a long journey, and with winter not even past?"

"Ye think her safer in Palmaris?" Colleen replied. "Better that she's runnin' to her lover, I say, than stayin' here where the devil Markwart's sure to find her."

"I can speak for myself," Pony said coldly, "and choose my own road. I will rest for another day or two, no more. And then I will go to Elbryan, whatever course you three might decide for me." And with that, she turned and left.

"Oh, but I'll go with her," Colleen said, her anger simmering near to a boil. "I've a visit to pay me dear cousin Shamus. One he's not wantin', to be sure!"

Belster and Al'u'met exchanged glances, both of them understanding the danger of the present situation in Palmaris, and both of them fearing that things might soon get much worse.

It wasn't much of a shelter, just piles of stones with bundles of brush slapped over the top. But though another storm had buried the Barbacan in several feet of snow, and though the mountain passes to the south were practically impassable, the shelter on the sacred plateau near Avelyn's grave did not need to be strong or warm. Winter's hand, like the goblins', could not seem to touch this place, and all the creatures here —man and elf, centaur and horse alike—were not only comfortable, but were thriving. The men who were badly wounded during the fight with the goblins—even the soldier who had seemed so near to death and Bradwarden, so torn and battered—were fast on the mend, and Tiel'marawee had healed completely.

Elbryan had no explanation; none of them did —other than to declare it a miracle and be glad for it.

And though he was glad that they had survived, Elbryan spent many hours staring forlornly to the blocked southern trails, his thoughts flying to Pony and their unborn child. "Soon after the turn of spring, I would guess," he had informed Bradwarden when the centaur inquired about when the child would be born.

"But we'll get ye there afore it happens," the centaur insisted; though if they could not get out of the Barbacan within the next two weeks —and neither believed that they could—they would hardly be able to cover the six hundred miles back to Palmaris in time.

Elbryan could only stand and stare, hoping that his dear Pony was all right, and that the child would be born healthy.

He could not know that the child was already gone.

"I take my leave," Tiel'marawee announced, moving by the pair.

"Lots of snow, deeper than a tall elf," Bradwarden replied.

Tiel'marawee screwed up her face skeptically; never had the snow been a hindrance to the light-footed Touel'alfar!

"Where is your course?" the ranger asked with sincere interest. "Palmaris?"

"Lady Dasslerond must be told of Bishop De'Unnero and the threat to the Touel'alfar," the elf explained. "I will likely find her in Palmaris."

"I will go with you," the ranger said suddenly.

The elf scoffed at the thought. "You cannot get your horse through the passes now," she said. "You could not even get him down from this plateau to the valley."

"I will walk."

"But I've not the time to wait for you, ranger," Tiel'marawee replied sternly. With that, she leaped from the plateau, wings flapping to bring her to a ledge thirty feet below the pair, a spot it would take Elbryan about a half hour to get to.

She didn't bother to look back.

"Ye'll get back to her," Bradwarden said comfortingly as the elf skipped away, disappearing against the backdrop of the great blasted mountain.

"Not soon enough," Elbryan replied.

"And what o' them?" the centaur asked, nodding in the direction of the soldiers and the monks.

"I think that Brother Braumin and the other monk have decided to live out their lives up here," the ranger replied. "Roger will accompany me, I am sure."

"Warm enough, and safe enough from monsters," said the centaur, "though they'll be hard-pressed to find food close by."

"I am not certain what Shamus and the soldiers think to do," the ranger admitted. "I doubt that they'll try to return to Palmaris —at least until there has been some contact with another emissary from the King or Father Abbot, that they might better understand their situation."

"Not much to understand," said the centaur. "They go back, they get hung. Or burned. Seems them monks are partial to burnin'."

"Shamus will have to decide his own course," the ranger said with a shrug. "My road leads to Pony."

"And she'll be glad to see ye," said Bradwarden.

"Will she?"

The question caught the centaur off guard —until he considered all that Tiel'marawee had told him of Elbryan's feelings about Pony's departure, his fears that she had left him knowing that she was with his child, had chosen not to tell him.

"She's the bravest woman ever me eyes've seen," the centaur remarked. "And braver still if yer fears about her leavin' ye knowingly with child be true."

That brought a perplexed look from Elbryan.

"She knew that ye had a different road ahead of ye, boy," Bradwarden explained. "Knew ye had to go, and knew she could not."

"You act as if she told you as well," the ranger accused.

"And are ye thinkin' so little o' her to believe that?" the centaur answered. "Ye know her better, and know that, whatever she's done, she's done it with yer own best interest in mind and heart."

Elbryan had no argument; and indeed, much of his anger went away at that moment, as he reminded himself of all that Pony had gone through over the last few months. He remained eager, desperate almost, to be out of the Barbacan and on the road south, but now it was an emotional tumult wrought of fear for Pony.

True to his word, Captain Al'u'met put the
Saudi Jacintha
out of Palmaris the next day, despite strong winds and rough waters.

Pony and Colleen Kilronney came up on the deck soon after the ship had left port, soon enough to make out the solitary figure of Belster O'Comely standing on the wharf, staring out at the departing vessel.

"I think ye broke his heart," Colleen remarked to Pony. "Might it be that he took yer impersonation of his wife a bit too far."

Her attempt at levity did little to comfort the beleaguered Pony. She didn't reply, just stood at the rail, looking back at Palmaris, unsure if she would ever return —or if she would ever want to return. She still wanted revenge on Markwart, more so than ever, but felt powerless. He had beaten her, and now all she wanted was to be in Elbryan's arms again, and far, far away from wretched Palmaris.

"Master O'Comely only fears for you," Captain Al'u'met remarked, moving to join the two. "He does not disagree with your decision to leave Palmaris, but fears that you are not yet fit to travel, especially since the possibility remains of more wintry weather."

"He fears too much," Pony replied somewhat coldly. "I have lived on the very borderlands of civilization for many years. Am I to fear winter more than I fear the Abellican Church?"

"A healthy respect for both would suit you well," the captain remarked. "But place no blame on the shoulders of Belster O'Comely. A fine friend, by my estimation."

"Indeed he is," Pony admitted. "And do not doubt my concern for him. He remains in Palmaris, and that place, I fear, is many times more dangerous than the wildest reaches of the Wilderlands."

No one argued that point.

Captain Al'u'met put Pony, Colleen, and their horses down on the coast north of the city, wishing them well and pledging that he would look after Belster and the others.

"What he really prays for is peace," Pony remarked as the two started away along a muddy trail.

"A fine prayer, by me own guess," Colleen replied.

"A peace that will leave De'Unnero and Markwart in power," Pony said.

Colleen let it go at that, knowing that they would only make themselves angrier than ever with such talk. The warrior woman hated the Church leaders, the men responsible for the death of her beloved Baron, every bit as much as did Pony. And how she wished that Pony's attack on the wretch Markwart had been successful!

But that was not the reality, she knew, and hoped that Pony would come to understand. If it came to a fight, then Colleen would fight hard and would hope for the chance to take down her pompous cousin before she, along with all her allies, inevitably lost. But unlike Pony, the warrior woman wasn't so sure that she wanted that fight —not now, not after seeing the power of Markwart, who, by all reports of those soldiers close to Chasewind Manor and the house of Aloysius Crump, held the upper hand in the dealings with King Danube. No, Colleen recognized—if Pony did not—that no peasant revolt in Palmaris now had any chance of success.

They rode on through the rest of the day, accepting an invitation from a farmer for an evening meal and a warm and dry place to sleep.

They did not know that another party was even then formulating plans for leaving Palmaris, that Father Abbot Markwart was working with his underlings to organize the journey north that would bring the infamous Nightbird to the Church's version of justice.