The monk studied her once more, then looked back at his companions.
"She has been there," one of the soldiers admitted, and his blush showed that he had been one of the many to "interrogate" Dainsey.
"Some of the precious gemstones have been stolen?" Belster asked innocently, looking at Dainsey as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
The monk eyed him intently.
"There was a man and a woman up north said to have some magic about them," Belster admitted, for he knew that the tales of Nightbird and Pony and their exploits were common Palmaris stories by now, certainly accounts that the Bishop and his minions would have heard.
"You are from the northland, then?" the monk asked.
"Caer Tinella," Belster lied, thinking that tying himself to Dundalis might be too close for comfort. "Thought to go back there, too, until Miss Dainsey here offered me and my wife a new life here at Fellowship Way."
"And what do you know of this man and woman up north?" the monk asked.
Belster shrugged. "Not much. We were running south and heard that our escape from the monsters was helped by them, that is all. Never did actually see them —or I might have seen the man, though from a long distance, sitting splendid atop a great black horse."
"Splendid?" the monk echoed sarcastically. "He is a thief, Master O'Comely. You should take better note of your companions."
"No companion," Belster insisted. "Just someone who helped me and many others get away from the monsters." He noted the expressions of the four men as he spoke reverently of this supposed outlaw, looks ranging from disdain to intrigue. The innkeeper took more than a little pleasure in promoting the reputation of his friend Elbryan and in sowing the seeds of doubt among the Bishop's faithful pawns.
Pony came out of the back room then, boldly walking to stand beside Belster. "Did ye offer any drinks, then?" she asked the big man, hooking his arm.
"My wife, Carralee," Belster explained.
"Ah, Father," Pony said to the monk. "Have ye any o' them wonderful stones about ye? Do ye think ye might fix me eye then? Got it all torn on the end of a goblin spear, ye know."
A sour look crossed the monk's face. "Come to the abbey," he said insincerely. "Perhaps one of the elders ..." He ended by waving his hand and turning away, motioning for the soldiers to follow.
"More than a bit of a chance you just took, by my measure," Belster said quietly to Pony when they had turned to go.
"Not so much of a chance," Pony replied unemotionally, as she watched the men leave. "If they had recognized me, then I would have had to kill them."
Dainsey gasped.
"And if they had invited you to go with them to St. Precious?" Belster calmly asked.
"To heal my eye? " Pony scoffed. "Not the Church that Avelyn ran away from. Not the Church that murdered my family and tortured Bradwarden. The Abellicans help when they need to help, and aid only those who might return the favor with gold or power."
The coldness in her voice sent a chill through Belster, who tried to change the subject. "And once again, we have Dainsey to thank," he remarked, turning to the smallish woman, who curtsied rather clumsily.
"It is true, Dainsey," Pony said sincerely. "You have helped me so much since I arrived. I understand why Pettibwa and Graevis loved you."
Dainsey blushed deeply and giggled, spinning away to gather up a tray and skip to some beckoning patrons at a nearby table.
"A good girl, she is," Belster remarked.
"And that, unfortunately, will probably get her killed," said Pony.
Belster wanted to yell at the woman for her pessimism, but he could not. In the last few days, the men of the new bishop, soldiers and monks alike, seemed to be everywhere, seemed to be closing a noose about Pony, and indeed, about all of Palmaris.
The monk left Colleen and Shamus in a side room furnished only with three small chairs and a tiny hearth. No fire was lit and the cool wind moaned down the chimney.
Shamus slid into a chair, put his hands behind his head, and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. Familiar with the ways of nobles, the captain knew that this could be a long wait.
Colleen, predictably, was much more agitated, pacing back and forth, sitting down, then jumping back up. No matter how much noise she made, no matter how hard she stomped her heavy boots against the wooden floor, she could not get any reaction from her cousin, which, of course, only made her all the more angry and impatient.
Finally, after more than an hour, she settled down, pulling a chair against the wall, and sat staring intently at the door.
Another hour passed. Colleen began to complain, but Shamus opened one sleepy eye and reminded her that Bishop De'Unnero was now the ruler of both the secular and spiritual aspects of the city, and certainly the two of them were not his highest priority.
Colleen grumbled again and leaned back, arms crossed over her chest, jaw set firmly.
Another hour, and then another. Colleen went from sitting to pacing and back again several times. She stopped her grumbling out loud, though, for there seemed no point —Shamus was fast asleep.
Finally the door handle began to move, and Colleen sprang up, moving quickly to give Shamus a kick. He opened his eyes as the door swung in, and to their mutual surprise, it was no messenger come to fetch them but Bishop De'Unnero himself.
"Stay seated," he bade Shamus, and he motioned Colleen into her chair. The Bishop didn't sit but stood towering over them.
"You will detail for me your time in the northland," De'Unnero explained. "I need not know about the monsters you have battled, nor any specifics of the environment. I am more concerned with those you might have allied with up there, particularly any warriors who might aid us should the darkness befall us once again."
"Easy question," Shamus obediently replied. "Nightbird and Pony dominated the forest battles."
De'Unnero laughed suddenly, amused at how easily he had uncovered the coveted information. One simple question had shown him the whereabouts of the two most wanted by the Abellican Church. "Yes, Nightbird and Pony," he purred. Now he did claim the other chair, sliding it up close. "Do tell me of those two. All about them."
Shamus looked sidelong at Colleen, his expression curious and concerned, as was hers, for both detected something strange in the Bishop's tone. To Colleen, it seemed almost as if the man was hungry for the information, too eager to want to know about the two heroes, given his stated reason.
"Were the two in Caer Tinella when you arrived?" De'Unnero pressed Shamus. "Or did they arrive subsequent?"
"Both," the soldier answered honestly. "The two were in the northland long before us, but they were not actually in Caer Tinella when my soldiers arrived."
"Until..." the anxious Bishop pressed.
Shamus brought his hand to his chin, trying to remember his first encounter with Nightbird and his beautiful companion. He couldn't remember the exact date but knew that it was sometime around the turn of Calember.
De'Unnero pressed him repeatedly, and now it was obvious to the perceptive soldiers that the man had more interest in these two than as possible future allies.
Finally, the Bishop had heard enough of the timing of the first meeting and began pressing Shamus, and then Colleen, more pointedly about the demeanor of the pair. He even asked about a centaur —had one been seen?—and when Shamus replied that he had heard rumors of such a creature but had not seen it himself, De'Unnero was positively gleeful.
"Wait, but wasn't it a man-horse that yer monk fellows, the troublemakin' caravan from St.-Mere-Abelle, dragged through Palmaris?" Colleen asked.
"You would be wise to take care how you refer to my holy brethren," De'Unnero warned, but he brightened quickly as he turned the subject back to the fugitives. "And these two, Nightbird and Pony, are in Caer Tinella still?"
"There or just north of the place," Shamus admitted. "They were to lead a caravan to the Timberlands, though that was scheduled to go near the turn of spring."
&n
bsp; "Interesting," De'Unnero mused, stroking his chin, his eyes taking on a distant look. He got up from his chair then, holding his hand out to keep the two from doing likewise, and started for the door. "You are dismissed," he explained. "Go back to your quarters and tell no one —no one, do you hear?—of this discussion."
And then he was gone, leaving a very perplexed Shamus and Colleen sitting in the chairs.
"So yer friend an' his girl are outlaws o' the Church," Colleen remarked after a lengthy pause. "There's a kick in the gut for ye!"
Shamus didn't reply, just kept looking nervously in the direction of the door.
"And what're ye to do?" Colleen asked him, standing up and practically pulling him out of the chair.
Regaining his composure, Shamus straightened his jacket and squared his shoulders. "We do not know anything of the sort," he said firmly. "Not once did the Bishop indicate that Nightbird and Pony were outlaws."
"Ah, but there's the little matter of the centaur," Colleen remarked, obviously enjoying her smug cousin's distress. "The centaur labeled as outlaw by the Church, taken by the Church, and then taken back from the Church. Seems yer friends might be a part o' all that. So what's Captain Shamus o' the Kingsmen to do?"
"I will serve my King," he answered coolly, starting for the door, "and you shall do the same."
"Yer King —or the Bishop?" Colleen asked, falling in step beside him.
"The Bishop speaks for the King," was his curt reply.
Colleen slowed down and let him move away from her, studying him carefully. She recognized the clear distress in his every move and thought that Shamus, with his blind devotion, deserved a bit of discomfort. He had developed an honest liking and deep respect for both Nightbird and Pony, she knew, and was now having a hard time swallowing the notion that the two were not all that they had seemed —or, perhaps, that the two were much more than they had seemed.
For Colleen, the feelings came more from the gut. It did not bother her at all that Nightbird was an outlaw in the eyes of Bishop De'Unnero. In fact, her respect for the man and for Pony as well was increased. She was a soldier of the Baron, not the King, and since her beloved Baron had been at odds with the Church right before his death, the startling changes in Palmaris were not at all to her liking.
Any trouble that Nightbird and his friend might cause would please her greatly, she thought with a smirk.
For Shamus, the meeting with De'Unnero had left thoughts much more troubling. In the stories the folk of Caer Tinella had told him about the ranger, and in the time he had spent beside Nightbird, he had seen only good in the man, a true hero to the beleaguered folk of the northland. Surely there was some mistake here; surely the man could be no outlaw!
CHAPTER 9
Trailblazing
Nightbird had not named his horse. The name had come to him magically, an extension, a gift, the only mantle that would fit the magnificent black stallion. And now Symphony lived up to that name fully, navigating the fog-shrouded forest as easily as most horses could run through an open field. The horse cut fast and thundered ahead, leaping trees downed by the heavy snow of the early winter and swerving safely wide of low-hanging branches. Nightbird did not guide him; rather, he let his wishes be known to Symphony, then put his complete faith in the horse.
And they were gaining on the goblin ahead.
They cut around a small line of thick spruces, Symphony's hooves digging hard against the turf.
Ahead in the fog, Nightbird saw a movement: the goblin on the small horse, galloping flat out.
Symphony leaped in pursuit, closing still more ground, and soon the goblin was in range and the ranger lifted Hawkwing.
Frantic, the goblin kicked harder at the small horse's flanks, and the horse put its head down and sprinted ahead. But the goblin, knowing that it was being chased, knowing that its enemy was closing fast, was looking back and only glanced ahead in time to see the thick limb close the last few inches to its face.
The riderless horse continued on, but slowed with each stride.
Nightbird and Symphony trotted up to the squirming, squealing goblin, the creature rolling about on the ground, clutching its broken face. The ranger had Tempest out and struck down hard and true, and the wretched creature lay still.
Nightbird wiped the sword on the goblin's cloak, then slipped it back into its sheath on the side of Symphony's saddle. He glanced about the misty forest, then clamped his legs tight about the horse, and Symphony turned and thundered off the other way. Within seconds, the pair had spotted another fleeing goblin, and Symphony pursued.
This one was running, ducking from tree to tree, but it made the mistake of crossing the ranger's path only a dozen yards ahead of the running horse. Nightbird recognized the small, hunched silhouette; and Hawkwing hummed, the arrow catching the wretched creature in the side, boring through both lungs and throwing it, dying, to the ground.
A noise from behind had the ranger glancing back, to spot another goblin bursting from the brush and running wildly the other way. Nightbird didn't even think to turn Symphony, but rather turned himself by throwing one leg over the saddle, facing backward, and loosing an arrow.
For the third time in a matter of half a minute, a goblin fell dead.
Perched in a tree not far away, Belli'mar Juraviel considered the ranger's shot with something more than respect, something bordering on awe. The elves had trained Nightbird, but to say that they had taught him everything he knew, Juraviel realized, would have been a tremendous falsehood. What the elves had taught Nightbird was quick thinking and how to bring his body in line with his plans, but the human's creative use of that knowledge was stunning.
As was the ranger's technique, Juraviel thought, looking at the goblin shot through the head, a perfect hit by the ranger while his horse was in full gallop the other way!
Juraviel's keen eyes continued to scan through the fog as he shook his head. There, he saw suddenly, in the same brush from which the last goblin had bolted, hid yet another creature, curled and cowering. Up came the elf's bow. He wanted a clean kill, but could hardly make out any critical points on the diminutive creature through the branches and the fog. He shot at center mass instead, his small arrow disappearing into the black figure.
With a scream of pain, the goblin leaped out, and Juraviel promptly shot it again, then a third time before it got fully onto the path, and then a fourth time as it took its first running steps. He raised his bow for the fifth shot, but saw the creature staggering, and knew that his task was done.
Callously, Juraviel turned his attention away, scanning the rest of the area and lamenting that it had cost him nearly a fifth of his arrows to kill a single goblin. Still, there were other ways, Juraviel knew, and so he started back on his original course, fluttering from branch to branch until he found a perch on a low, thick limb that crossed the path just above the height of a rider's head. Laying his bow to the side, arrow ready across bowstring, the elf took out his slender, strong silverel cord.
The centaur, too, was running through the forest, screaming taunt after taunt at the terrified goblins. When he discovered that several of the goblins were riding horses —something very unusual—Bradwarden took up his bagpipes and played a different tune, one of quiet, calming music and not screaming insults. Bradwarden had to work hard to concentrate on the melody; for decades, he had run the forests of the Timberlands as protector of the wild horses, and now the mere thought of a smelly goblin atop so graceful and beautiful a creature outraged him.
Hardly caring for the goblins scrambling about on foot, the centaur picked out his next target and took up the chase. He knew how to talk to a horse, any horse, with his pipes; and instead of arrows, he sent music in pursuit. A grin turned up the corners of Bradwarden's mouth —he had to resist the urge to burst out in laughter so that he might keep filling his pipes with air—when he ducked under a branch and plowed through some brush, breaking out onto a small dirt clearing. There, some ten feet ahead of him, sat the
frantic goblin, kicking desperately at the horse's flanks and wildly jostling the impromptu rope bridle.
But the horse had heard the call of the centaur and would not move.
It took some fancy finger work, but Bradwarden held the tune, playing with one hand while he took up his heavy cudgel in the other and quietly and methodically advanced. The goblin looked back at him briefly, but then only kicked and pulled more desperately, hopping up and down in its stationary seat.
The horse nickered softly, but did not move.
Now the centaur did laugh aloud, tucking his pipes away under his arm. "Ye about done there?" he asked matter-of-factly.
The goblin stopped its jostling and slowly turned its ugly head to regard the powerful centaur, who was standing right beside. It started to scream then, but the cry was cut short by the cudgel crushing skull and shattering neck bone. The goblin bounced from its perch and dropped heavily to the ground, twitching in the last moments of its life.
Bradwarden paid it no heed. "Now ye go and hide yerself in the woods," he said to the horse, pulling off its bridle, then sending it away with a solid slap on the rump. "I'll be callin' for ye when it's time for leavin'."
Now Bradwarden did look down at the goblin, still twitching, and he shook his head in disbelief. This was the second goblin he had caught as it tried to ride away, but at least the first had found the sense to get down off the damned stopped horse!
This one was a strong rider, for a goblin, Nightbird realized as Symphony worked hard to close ground. The goblin knew the area fairly well, the ranger also surmised, for it moved off the trails only at brief intervals and then only to get onto yet another narrow path. And even running its horse full out, the goblin knew when to duck and when to swerve.
Symphony was more than prepared to meet the challenge, and the great stallion pounded on gracefully, closing.
Now the goblin was a ghostly gray form in the fog ahead. Nightbird tightened his legs about Symphony and raised Hawkwing. He pulled back and fired, but the goblin's horse turned, and the arrow flew harmlessly past.
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 147
