DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (201 page)

Therefore, all events on the heels of the war were the concern of the Touel'alfar, and Juraviel was confident that he could return now to his home with news that the reclamation of the Timberlands was imminent —by men of Honce-the-Bear, including Nightbird. Juraviel knew Lady Dasslerond worried that the Alpinadorans would seize this opportunity to encroach upon the valuable forested region. Juraviel had gone far ahead of Tomas' caravan, had already been in the area of the three towns, and was satisfied that the barbarian folk under the watchful eye of Andacanavar were nowhere about.

The shortest route back home for Juraviel was almost due west, but when he left his vantage point overlooking the human encampment, the elf went south. He had heard something the night before, some distant melody carried on the wind, and he suspected it to be
tiest-tiel,
the star song of his brethren. There hadn't been an audible song, of course, but the Touel'alfar had magic of their own, magic independent of the gemstones. The elves could soothe with their melodies, could even lull unsuspecting enemies to sleep. They could speak to animals and read the signs of nature clearly, usually well enough to discern the recent history of any area.

But the greatest innate magic of the Touel'alfar was their empathetic, almost telepathic, bond. When Tuntun had died in the remote bowels of Mount Aida, the elves in Andur'Blough Inninness had felt her demise. They were a small group, highly intimate, and they could sense one another's movements. An elf coming upon a place where one of his brethren had recently passed would know it.

Juraviel felt something to the south, and so he went toward the distant star song.

"I have been told some very disturbing stories by merchants traveling from the North," King Danube Brock Ursal stated bluntly as soon as the abbot of St. Honce arrived. Uncharacteristically, this conversation between the two leaders was private; only three other men were in the room —a bodyguard and a recorder for King Danube and a single monk who stood beside Je'howith.

"No doubt, the transition will be difficult," Je'howith replied. "The Church asks for your patience."

"There are rumors that your Bishop has decreed that all gemstones are to be returned to the Church," Danube pressed, pulling no punches. The ruling family of Honce-the-Bear possessed quite a collection of such stones, gifts from abbots dating back centuries and even several "gifts of office" from the periods when the King also held the title father abbot.

"I cannot speak for the Father Abbot," Je'howith admitted, "for truly your words have caught me unprepared. I would assume the situation in Palmaris is unique, for that is the region where the followers of the thief and heretic Avelyn Desbris are said to be."

King Danube nodded and uttered a few uh-hums, obviously far from convinced.

"I intend no such decree in Ursal," Je'howith flatly stated.

"Nor would one be advised," Danube remarked, his tone showing the words to be an open threat. "And how far do you expect your Church to reach in this time of uncertainty? I do not doubt that the Abellican Order can be comforting and helpful to people, especially following the devastation to our northern reaches during the war, but I warn you now that there is only so much I shall tolerate."

"You have charged us with a most vital mission," Je'howith replied. "The calming and reordering of Palmaris is no small matter. But I beg you to have patience. Let our results be the determining factor, not the messy details of this transition period."

"Am I to ignore the pleas of some of my favored merchant families?" the King asked skeptically, "men whose fathers served my father, whose grandfathers served my grandfather?"

"Delay the answers," Je'howith suggested. "Explain that this is a critical time and that all will be put aright soon enough."

King Danube stared at the old abbot doubtfully for a long while. "You understand that even Constance Pemblebury would be hard-pressed to support your Order on this matter." He chuckled and looked around at the empty room. "And you know, of course, the likely reaction of Duke Targon Bree Kalas. I granted your Church the rulership of Palmaris but only for a trial period. I bestowed the title of bishop, and I can revoke it" —he snapped his fingers—"just like that. And further understand, and do inform your Father Abbot, that if I am forced to revoke the title and privilege, your Church's standing will be greatly diminished within my kingdom. Do we understand each other, Abbot Je'howith? It would displease me greatly to think that you left here now not recognizing the gravity of this situation. You asked for patience, and so I shall be patient, but for a short while only."

The abbot thought of several responses, but none seemed fitting or useful. The King had caught him off guard; Je'howith had no idea that ambitious De'Unnero had moved so quickly and so forcefully to solidify his base in Palmaris. Did Father Abbot Markwart even know of these developments?

Je'howith smiled slightly as he mulled over that question. He remembered his frightening spiritual communication with Markwart, and did not doubt that he kept in similar regular contact with De'Unnero. No, this situation might prove to be a true crisis between Church and state, he realized, for if the Father Abbot himself had formulated the Palmaris policy, then Markwart and King Danube were surely riding right at each other on a narrow trail.

The abbot wondered then if he should begin his own campaign. Might now be the time to begin distancing himself from the Church hierarchy? If he whispered to King Danube a subtle denouncement of the Father Abbot in general and of this policy in particular, might he be laying the foundation for an even stronger position for himself should King and Father Abbot. come to open conflict?

But memory of the unpleasant spiritual contact with Markwart stood out in Je'howith's mind, the sensation of power he had felt in Markwart. He would have to be careful, he realized, for if the situation deteriorated between the King and the Father Abbot, Je'howith was far from certain which one would win. And to be on the wrong side of that conflict, he knew, would be dangerous.

"I will learn what I can and report fully to you, my King," the Abbot said with a bow.

"No doubt," Danube replied dryly.

Pony was bent over a basin, throwing up. She tried to keep the telltale sign secret, though Dainsey Aucomb had been giving her suspicious looks lately.

Pony took a sip from a cup of water, swished it around in her mouth, then bent over to spit it out.

She heard the footstep behind her, heard the creak of the opening door. "Dainsey," she began, standing and turning, but she stopped short, surprised to see Belster O'Comely in the doorway.

"You are sick every morning," the innkeeper remarked.

Pony stared at him hard. "I've not been feeling well," she lied. "Not so bad that I cannot do my work."

"As long as you loosen your apron strings to make room for the belly," Belster replied slyly.

Pony looked down automatically, a bit confused, for her stomach was just beginning to bulge.

"Well, not yet, perhaps," Belster said.

"You make many assumptions," Pony said, a hint of anger in her voice. She walked to the door and pushed past Belster. He caught her by the shoulder and turned her so that she was facing him squarely.

"Had three of my own," he said.

"You speak in riddles."

"I solve riddles," the innkeeper corrected, a wide smile on his face. "I know that you had time with your lover. I know that the demands of the war had lessened, and I know what young people in love do. And, my secretive friend, I know what morning sickness signals.

"You are with child," Belster said bluntly.

The edge of defiance faded from Pony's bright blue eyes. She gave a slight nod.

Belster's smile nearly took in his ears. "Then why are you apart from Nightbird?" he asked, and then he frowned suddenly. "He is the father, of course."

Now it was Pony's turn to smile and to laugh aloud.

"Then why are you here, girl, while Nightbird's up north?" Belster asked. "He should be beside you, taking care of your every need and desire."

"He does not even know," Pony admitted, but then she told a little lie. "For I did not know when I left him in Caer Tinella."

"Then you must go to him."

"To be caught in a blizzard?" Pony asked skeptically. "And you are assuming that Elbryan is in Caer Tinella. Since the weather has been so mild, he might already be on his way to the Timberlands." She held up her hand to calm Belster, who was growing visibly agitated. "We will meet again soon after the turn of spring, soon enough to tell him," Pony explained. "Fear not, my good friend. Our roads have separated, but not forever, not even for long."

Belster considered the words for a moment, then burst out in laughter and wrapped Pony in a great hug. "Ah, but we should be celebrating!" He roared, lifting her from the ground and spinning her around. "We'll have a great party in the Way tonight!"

For Pony, it was a bittersweet moment, and not just because she knew that a party, or any other open proclamation, was out of the question. Mostly it was Belster's reaction that stung her heart. It should have been Elbryan lifting her and spinning her, Elbryan sharing in her joy. Not for the first time, the woman regretted her decision not to tell her husband.

"No party," Pony said firmly when Belster put her down. "It would only draw unwanted questions. No one knows but you, and that is the way I prefer it."

"Not even Dainsey?" Belster asked. "But you should tell her. She is a good friend and loyal. And though she might not be so quick about some things, in others —and likely this is one of them—she is wise indeed."

"Maybe Dainsey," Pony agreed. "But in my own time and way."

Belster smiled and nodded, satisfied. Then suddenly, he burst out in laughter and wrapped Pony up again, twirling her about.

"Time for going!" came a call from back in the main room.

"Ah, yes," Belster remarked, lowering Pony gently and putting on a serious expression. "In all the excitement of your throwing up, I almost forgot. A crier, a monk from St. Precious, just walked down the street, calling all good Abellicans to gather at the town square before the doors of St. Precious. It seems that our new Bishop has a speech to make."

"I'm not certain that I would be considered a good Abellican," Pony said, "but I would not miss this gathering."

"A chance to learn more about your enemies?" Belster asked sarcastically.

Pony nodded, taking the question seriously. "And to learn more about the disturbing events in Palmaris," she said.

"Leave your gemstones," Belster advised.

Pony agreed wholeheartedly; after all she had witnessed these last few days, a person-to-person search in the town square would not surprise her in the least. The new leader of Palmaris did not seem interested in the rights of his citizens.

"Dainsey will see to your face," Belster remarked, "unless you dare to walk undisguised among the crowds."

Pony considered it for a moment. "A bit of a disguise, perhaps," she decided, for she did not want to go through the ordeal of the full transformation into Belster's older wife, nor did she believe that she would have trouble blending in with the masses.

Pony, Belster, and Dainsey left the Way soon after, joining the hundreds of people moving down the streets toward the great square. As Belster had suggested, Pony carried no gemstones with her —a decision that gave her quite a bit of comfort as she moved into the crowded square and saw the whole place was surrounded by armed soldiers, with monks mixed among them, all studying the crowd intently.

The new bishop stood on a platform erected before the abbey's great doors. Pony had seen the man once before, within a ring of defensively circled merchant caravans that had been assaulted by raiding goblins. Pony and Elbryan had helped the merchants survive. This man and his fellow monks, who had been not that far back down the road when the goblins attacked, showed up only after the battle had ended. Even then, the only monk who had helped tend the wounds of the injured was the kindly Jojonah, and it had been obvious to Elbryan and Pony that Bishop De'Unnero was no friend to Jojonah.

As she worked her way to the front of the crowd in the square, Pony realized that her first impressions of De'Unnero agreed with what she saw now. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, surveying the crowd like some god-empowered conqueror. Pony was a perceptive woman; she could read De'Unnero now, quite easily. His arrogance surrounded him like a shroud; his stern gaze was all the more dangerous because this prideful man held himself above all others and could therefore justify practically anything.

The closer she got to the platform, the more keenly Pony believed her initial perceptions. De'Unnero's physical posture —his taut muscles, crossed arms with robe sleeves pulled back enough to show his powerful forearms, his predatory eyes and closely cropped black hair—screamed at her to beware. As his gaze scanned the area where she was standing, she was certain that he was looking directly at her, only at her.

The moment of panic passed, for Pony soon realized that everyone in the area, indeed everyone who fell for only a brief instant under that penetrating gaze, shared her reaction.

The crowd continued to grow, whispering this or that rumor. "I'm hearin' that he's payin' back the filthy merchants for all the years they robbed us," one old woman said. "And the yatol priests," said another. "Dirty scum from Behren. Put 'em all on a boat and send 'em south, I say!"

Listening, Pony grew concerned. De'Unnero was furthering his ambitions and hunting for Avelyn's followers, and he was creating scapegoats for any dissatisfaction in the general populace. He had treated the merchants horrendously, and the Behrenese even worse, but if he could portray them as enemies of the common people, then might not those people rally behind him? Pony shuddered.

The Bishop stepped forward and held his arms out wide. Then, in a powerful, resonating voice, he called for prayer.

Thousands of heads bowed —Pony's included.

"Praise God that the war is ended," De'Unnero began. "Praise God that Palmaris has survived and has found its way back into the arms of the Church."

He went on from there with the standard speech of all Abellican ministers at large gatherings: calling for good crops and no diseases, for prosperity and fertility. He cued the crowd to chant at appropriate places, timed perfectly to hold and heighten their attention. Then De'Unnero began improvising. He made no mention of Baron Bildeborough, Pony noted, nor of King Danube, though he reverently invoked Father Abbot Markwart's name repeatedly.