DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (236 page)

The procession pulled up some twenty feet away from the Dundalis folk. The soldiers formed two rows, their horses side by side, so close together that Tomas and the others couldn't make out the forms of those in the second row.

"Allheart," the other man whispered again, obviously awed, "best in all the world."

Given the soldiers' companions this day, Tomas was not so sure.

A man of about forty years, handsome and strong and quite at ease on his spirited horse, trotted out from the group. On cue, one of the monks rushed out to accompany him, and Tomas gritted his teeth as he recognized the robed man.

"I am Duke Targon Bree Kalas," the rider said.

"And I am Abbot De'Unnero of St. Precious," the monk added. "Do you still call yourself the leader of the folk of Dundalis, Tomas Gingerwart?"

De'Unnero's familiarity with the man obviously caught the Duke off guard, the man glaring down at the monk from his saddle.

"We would have prepared a better reception had we known that such important men were on their way," Tomas replied, dipping a low bow.

"I am well acquainted with your receptions," the abbot said.

Tomas held out his hands. "A stranger approached us unannounced in the forest," he replied. "These are not tame lands, good abbot."

"Good?" De'Unnero echoed skeptically.

"Enough of this banter," the Duke said, jumping down to stand between Tomas and the monk. De'Unnero quickly moved around the Duke as Kalas removed his two-plumed helm. "We have ridden north from Palmaris in search of the one called Nightbird," Kalas explained. "Do you know him?"

"He knows the man well," De'Unnero replied before Tomas could begin to speak, "an ally of the man, and of our guest, Jilseponie, disciple of Avelyn, would-be assassin of Father Abbot Markwart."

Kalas glared at the monk, but De'Unnero did not back down. "I warn you, Tomas Gingerwart," he said in a low and threatening tone, "but only one last time."

"I know of the man called Nightbird," Tomas admitted. "A great hero."

De'Unnero sneered.

"Nightbird," Tomas went on stubbornly, "who, along with Pony —the woman you hold now, beaten and captive—saved us all before the minions of the demon dactyl were driven from the region. And now you claim that you seek him. Hunt him, you mean! And I—and the others who owe their lives to him—are to open our arms and our doors, lending aid to an enemy of our friend?"

"You are to do as you are told," De'Unnero remarked, stepping up to Tomas as if he meant to strike him.

"Good Master Gingerwart," Duke Kalas intervened, "I speak for King Danube himself. Nightbird and the woman have been declared outlaws for their crimes against the Church and the state. We will find him and bring him to Palmaris for trial, with or without the help of the folk of Dundalis."

"These are the Timberlands, not the realm of Honce-the-Bear," a man standing to the side of Tomas remarked.

"I could have your tongue for that," Duke Kalas assured him.

"This is not the domain of our King," Tomas dared to say.

"As you insist that it is not the domain of the Church," De'Unnero put in. "You should be more careful of the enemies you make, Master Gingerwart."

"I desire no enemies," Tomas replied calmly.

"Then know this," Kalas answered forcefully, cutting short De'Unnero, who had started to speak once more. "Those who do not aid us, aid Nightbird, and if he is found guilty of the crimes with which he is charged, then those who aided him will not find Danube to be a merciful King."

He let the words hang in the air for a moment, locking Tomas' eyes with his own, showing the man that there would be no compromise here, that he was of one mind with Abbot De'Unnero.

"Is he here?" Kalas asked calmly.

"No," Tomas replied. "He left many days ago. I know not where."

"You know indeed," De'Unnero remarked. "He went north to the Barbacan, but may have returned by now."

"He is not here," Tomas insisted.

"Search the town!" De'Unnero called out, spinning about and waving his monks to action.

Not to be outdone, Duke Kalas did the same. The Allheart Brigade leaped their horses forward, filtering between the buildings.

"Any who resist will be cut down," Kalas informed Tomas. The big man didn't have to hear a similar promise from the vicious De'Unnero to realize that the monks would be even less forgiving.

The folk had done a fine job of hiding Colleen Kilronney. So fine, in fact, that she would not have been found, except for Greystone. De'Unnero spotted the weary horse, pointed it out, and laughed. "So you have found Jilseponie's horse," he cried. "Good. And pray tell me, good Master Gingerwart, where is the rider who brought the beast in?"

"He walked in of his own accord," Tomas answered, stiffening his jaw.

"Indeed!" De'Unnero exclaimed dramatically. "All the way from Caer Tinella! What a wise creature he is!" The man's eyes narrowed dangerously and he came up suddenly, putting his face right in front of Tomas'. "She is here," he said. "I can smell her."

"Find the red-haired woman!" De'Unnero called to his monks. "A Palmaris soldier, and wounded, I am sure.

Not to be outdone, Duke Kalas similarly ordered his men. Monks and soldiers shoved into every house, beating down any who opposed them.

Tomas Gingerwart, the leader, the one the folk looked to for answers, had seen enough. He started yelling at De'Unnero, but the monk pushed him aside and started searching the town on his own. Tomas then turned his ire on Duke Kalas, but his protest was short-lived, falling away into stunned silence when another man came out from the Allheart ranks.

"Tomas Gingerwart," King Danube said sternly, moving to stand before the man. "You will interfere no more and speak not another word. I would not have come out here if this matter was not of the utmost urgency. Stand aside, and instruct the folk to do likewise."

"M-my King," Tomas stammered, bowing low.

"Even in the Timberlands," Danube remarked slyly, gazing at the man who had claimed that the Timberlands were not the King's domain. Tomas trembled before the power of the King, then fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

But then Abbot De'Unnero came back, two monks behind him dragging Colleen Kilronney.

Tomas Gingerwart closed his eyes and felt as if he was falling far away. He hardly heard the pronouncements of Abbot De'Unnero or the voice of Markwart, proclaiming him a criminal, a conspirator in a plot against Church and state.

"Not state!" another Dundalis man dared to reply —or started to reply, for his words were cut off abruptly by a smacking sound. Tomas opened his eyes to see the man facedown beside him, Abbot De'Unnero standing behind him.

Tomas looked to King Danube for leniency, but the King walked away.

By the time De'Unnero completed his inquisition, Tomas, five other men, and two women had been taken prisoner. Nine horses were confiscated by the Father Abbot, and the new prisoners and Pony were unceremoniously strapped sideways across their backs, wrists and ankles tied below the horses' bellies.

On the procession rolled through Dundalis, along the road to the north, the same trail Nightbird and his companions had taken.

Both the wounded soldier woman and the leader of Dundalis had charged Tiel'marawee with going to the Barbacan to tell Nightbird of Pony's dilemma. Had the ranger been of the Touel'alfar, the elf would have been long on her way to the north by the time the soldiers and monks had crossed through the small Timberlands town.

But he was
n'Touel'alfar,
as was Pony, and Tiel'marawee's path led to the south, her choice of direction further affirmed that same night, when she heard
tiest-tiel
drifting on the evening breeze.

By the end of the second day, the elf had found Dasslerond and the others. Predictably, her tale of Pony's woe and the impending danger to Nightbird weighed heavily on the shoulders of her kin, particularly on Belli'mar Juraviel.

"We cannot allow this," he said to the lady of Andur'Blough Inninness.

"Both the King of Honce-the-Bear and the Father Abbot of the Abellican Church lead the procession," Lady Dasslerond reminded him. "Are we to start a war with all the humans of the world?"

Juraviel recognized that she spoke the truth, and he bowed his head. "But these events are not distanced from us," he reminded her. "The disposition of Nightbird may well hold implications for the Touel'alfar."

Lady Dasslerond —so tired of it all, wanting only to go back to Andur'Blough Inninness—could not deny Juraviel's words. She looked around at her kin, all the elves moving closer to hear her every word.

"It is time for the Touel'alfar to return to their home," Dasslerond proclaimed. Every elven head, even Juraviel's, bobbed in agreement. "The situation has become too complicated and too dangerous. Thus, we go home and shut our valley and our eyes to the affairs of the humans.

"But not our ears," Dasslerond continued after a long, pondering pause. "We go home, except for you, Belli'mar Juraviel."

Juraviel turned a surprised eye on his lady.

"You have named yourself as a friend of Nightbird and the woman," Dasslerond explained.

"We have all named Nightbird as our friend," Juraviel replied.

"But not as intimately as Belli'mar Juraviel," Dasslerond went on. "You who fought beside Nightbird and the woman for so long must bear witness to their fate now."

"I thank you, my lady," Juraviel replied.

"Bear witness," Lady Dasslerond repeated firmly. "We are not a part of this, Belli'mar Juraviel. Nightbird and Pony must see their own way, or they will fall. Bear witness and return to us."

Belli'mar Juraviel did not for a moment discount the great honor and trust Lady Dasslerond had just afforded him. She knew his heart concerning Nightbird and Pony, and knew that his love for the two would tempt him to intervene, for Belli'mar Juraviel was their friend.

But more important, Belli'mar Juraviel was Touel'alfar.

It hadn't snowed in several days and the air had been relatively warm, even away from Avelyn's arm, even in the higher elevations along the mountains ringing the Barbacan. Elbryan, Roger, and several of Shamus' men had gone down to the valley floor and even into the foothills on several occasions, hunting game, the ranger searching for a clear trail south. They hadn't found much, but each time they returned, the ranger's mood had been a bit brighter, for every trip had taken them deeper into the mountains and Elbryan believed that the time of departure was growing near.

"This will be the day," Elbryan had said earlier that morning, as he set out to inspect the trails. But Bradwarden knew from the expression on the ranger's face as he climbed back up to the plateau that he had not yet found a clear trail out of the Barbacan. The ranger wanted to ride Symphony hard to the south, to Pony; but while he, with his elven training, could possibly get through the snowy mountain passes, the horse could not.

"Too thick on the top?" Bradwarden asked.

"I never got near the top," Elbryan replied glumly. "Every steep ascent is clogged with falling drifts."

"Well, but she's meltin' then," Bradwarden said hopefully.

"Not fast enough," the ranger replied, staring back at the southern mountains. "And if we see a freeze, then all will ice over and I shall be trapped in this place for another month."

"No freeze and no more snow," Bradwarden insisted. "And if we do see one, or a snowfall, it'll be gone with the mornin' sun."

"The worst thing of all is that I am sure that the ground is clear south of the mountains," Elbryan said. "If I could just break through, the run to Palmaris would be fast."

"She's fine, boy," the centaur said. "I know ye're worrying for her, and with good cause. But ye got to trust in her. Ye can bet that Pony's got herself surrounded by allies. She'll handle that Markwart —and De'Unnero, too —or she'll be smart enough to keep her head down. Ye need to find yer trust. If the snow's rumblin' down, then ye can expect to be here for a few more days. If we do get another big storm, then ye can expect a few more than that. Symphony's a fine horse, finest I ever seen, but he's not for walkin' mountain trails hidden under snowdrifts. Nor am I—ye ain't seen Bradwarden along for any o' yer huntin' trips, now have ye? No, boy, ye find yer trust and ye find yer patience. We're here until winter decides to let us out."

Elbryan gave a nod, and his smile showed that the centaur's point was well taken.

"At least we got the food for it!" Bradwarden declared.

True enough, Elbryan had to admit. They had plenty of supplies, warmth from Avelyn's arm, and security, as well, for after the slaughter of the goblins, no other monsters had dared approach the place, or had even dared to come anywhere near Elbryan and the others when they went out hunting.

So it could have been worse, much worse; but to Elbryan's thinking, it could have been better. He could be in Pony's arms now, or holding her hand and supporting her as she birthed their child. He knew that she would be getting close to that time by now, and that if he didn't get out of the Barbacan soon, even mighty Symphony would not get him to Palmaris in time.

Markwart, Danube, and their minions found no such obstacles. The trails north of Dundalis were clear, and the procession proceeded at a tremendous pace. During the day they stopped only briefly, to rest and let their horses graze and for a bit of food of their own; they didn't untie the prisoners until they camped for the night.

By that time, Tomas and the others could hardly straighten. Poor Pony, who had just survived the trauma of battling Markwart and losing her child, could not even stand. She curled up on the ground, clutching at her belly.

Tomas begged their captors to allow them, or at least Pony, to ride her horse the next day. Markwart would have none of it, saying that she had created her own prison, and that she would be treated accordingly. But then De'Unnero pointed out to him that if her condition deteriorated, it would slow them down, and also, that a living Jilseponie would aid them greatly when at last they confronted Nightbird.

The next day, Pony rode upright, though she remained dreadfully uncomfortable, the pain in her stomach burning and sharp. She tried to hide it, refusing to give the Father Abbot and the others the pleasure of seeing her distress. She kept her focus on poor Tomas and the other prisoners, strapped over the backs of the horses like corpses or saddlebags, and kept telling herself that they were worse off by far.

Somehow she got through the day, and when they camped for the night, she managed to sit straighter and ignore the continuing pain. She could eat little, though, just enough —she hoped—to keep up her strength.

Sitting on the ground, her eyes were down when a man approached, but she recognized the stiff gait of age and knew that it was Markwart before he spoke to her.

"If you die on the road, I will summon a spirit to inhabit your body," he said. "And then your pretty voice will guide the unsuspecting Nightbird to me."

Pony summoned all her strength and straightened to look up at the old man, matching the hatred in his eyes. "A demon, you mean." She spat. "Call it the pretty word
spirit,
but still it remains a foul beast from hell."

"You do recall the spectacle of a body so inhabited, do you not?" Markwart remarked, unfazed by her accusation.

Pony looked away. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to fight the man again, with his fists or with a soul stone, however he chose. She would beat him, she knew, despite her pain and weakness. She would destroy him this time, and show the truth of him to all. Let King Danube see the black heart of Father Abbot Markwart, and Pony would have a powerful ally in her war against the Abellican Church!

"I went out earlier this evening, scouting the road ahead," Markwart remarked. "I found him, you know." The man spoke truthfully. But he did leave out one disturbing fact about his spiritual journey: something prevented Markwart from going up to the plateau on Mount Aida, though he had seen the ranger and the others from afar.

Despite her better judgment, Pony did look back at him.

"Nightbird, the centaur, and their friends, including the five traitorous monks," the old man continued, obviously enjoying the moment, "perched atop Mount Aida, snowbound within the Barbacan, awaiting our arrival. Three days, dear girl, and your friend Nightbird will join you. How I long to watch him on the road back to Palmaris! Strapped over the back of a horse —what a hero he will seem to the folk when we parade him through the streets."

Pony looked away.

"Oh, but they love an execution, you see," Markwart went on, bending down to come into Pony's line of vision. "The peasants. They love to see a man hanged or crushed under stones or burned —yes, especially burned. Seeing death so real before them reinforces their lives, you see, gives them a sense of immortality.

"Or perhaps they just enjoy witnessing others in agony," the withered old man finished.

"A man of God," Pony muttered sarcastically.

Markwart grabbed her roughly by the chin and jerked her head up. "Yes, a man of God," he sneered, his breath hot in her face. "A merciful God to those deserving mercy, and a vengeful God to those who do not. I have watched your games, Jilseponie. You fancy yourself some hero of the common folk, someone possessing the truth that others cannot see. But you are not a hero. You and your friend bring only misery to those you claim to lead, and your truth is naught but ridiculous pity, with no discipline and no greater designs than the alleviation of temporary suffering."

Pony pulled away from his grasp, but did not look away. For just a moment his words rang with some measure of truth, and she was afraid. But then she considered more carefully the path of her life, reminded herself of the work she and Elbryan had done on behalf of so many during the war, while the monks stayed safely in their fortress abbeys. And she considered the sword dance Elbryan had taught to her, the very pinnacle of discipline.

There was her truth. There was her strength; in light of that, she considered more carefully the words of the old man, tried to glean any helpful information she might, any insights into this dangerous enemy. Most of all, she understood that Elbryan would not be able to escape him and that time grew very short.

She spent the next day in deep meditation, focusing on her pain and on finding the best posture atop her horse to alleviate it. She felt stronger now, as if Markwart's talk had given her a sense of purpose once more. She tried hard not to reveal that, for De'Unnero had become very attentive, jogging along beside her mount most of the time.

She could use that concern, she decided, and as the towering mountains of the southern rim of the Barbacan came into sight, she began to formulate a plan.

That night she appeared very uncomfortable to all who took the moment to notice —though in truth, Pony knew that she was better off than the other prisoners who still had to ride every day strapped over their horses. Her subdued moans increased whenever De'Unnero walked by.

By mid-morning the next day, on which the monks and soldiers expected to reach the southern foothills of the Barbacan, the caravan was moving along steadily, De'Unnero running near Pony's horse. She glanced about to make sure that no other eyes were upon her, then bit hard on the inside of her cheek. When she tasted her own blood, she lurched over suddenly, so violently that she slid along the side of the horse.

De'Unnero moved up beside her, pushing hard to help her, and soon he had her back atop the mount. She wobbled and seemed as if she would fall over again.

"Just let me down and let me die," Pony said in a pitifully weak voice, blood brightening her lips.

The abbot of St. Precious stared up at her, noticing the blood. "Broken already?" he said. "Markwart has not yet even begun with you and already you beg for death."

"No begging," Pony replied groggily, shaking her head and nearly falling once more. "But death is coming, I know. I bleed inside, terribly so, and will not survive the day."

De'Unnero looked up at her, truly concerned. He didn't want her dead, not now, not with Nightbird and the others waiting for them up ahead. If Pony was not with them, he feared the ranger and his friends would fight them. The Allheart soldiers and the monks would slaughter them with ease. But De'Unnero did not want it resolved that way, and certainly neither did Markwart. For then the King could claim credit for bringing down Nightbird and the conspiracy that threatened the Church. More important, the treasonous behavior of Shamus and the Kingsmen would be brushed aside.

No, they needed Pony, alive and well enough to lure Nightbird and the others in. And as much as he wanted to battle the ranger again, one against one, De'Unnero understood a clean and simple capture to be the desired course.

The abbot glanced back at Markwart and saw he was sitting comfortably in his carriage, eyes closed as he concentrated on the gemstones, lending strength and lightness to the other monks. Not wanting to disturb him, De'Unnero acted on instinct, confident in his own decisions, and reached up with his soul-stone ring, touching Pony's belly, then sending his thoughts into the ring to heighten its magic.

Pony felt the connection immediately, felt the inviting depths of the soul stone. Into it went her spirit, flying past De'Unnero's healing hand, out of her body, rushing over the miles to the mountains and beyond.

She saw Aida's flat top and flew to it, saw Elbryan —dear Elbryan!—and came upon him in a rush.
Markwart!
she imparted telepathically, desperately.
Markwart and King Danube approach! Run! Run away for all your lives!

"What?" the ranger asked Bradwarden, who was standing nearby; but as soon as the centaur turned a quizzical look his way, Elbryan recognized the source of the communication, knew that it was Pony who had come to him! "Pony!" he cried, trying to hold on to something; but she was already gone, already back in her body, though lying on the ground now, Abbot De'Unnero standing over her, one of his fists covered with her blood.

Dazed, Pony looked up at him and smiled, despite the pain and the blood flowing from her nose. A small victory, she knew as the man reached down and smacked her across the face. Then he hoisted her up roughly and threw her across her saddle, instructing the other monks nearby to tie her as they had tied the other prisoners.

Pony accepted the treatment without complaint. She could only hope that Elbryan had heard her, that her lover would run free.

"What is this about?" Markwart asked De'Unnero, rushing to the man's side and glancing back nervously to see if King Danube had taken note of the commotion.

"She tried to possess me," the monk lied. "Sent her spirit into the soul stone even as I used it to heal her wounds —wounds, I discovered, not nearly as grievous as she led me to believe."