That, along with the fact that a lodestone had been among the stones stolen by Avelyn Desbris, told the Father Abbot much about his attacker. The name "Jill" came to his mind often during the meeting.
One other clue struck him. One of the soldiers, a bristling red-haired woman named Colleen Kilronney, kept insisting that the attacker must have been a rogue merchant, or an assassin hired by a merchant. As Francis and the others questioned her more deeply, they found little practical basis for the claim, but still, Colleen Kilronney held stubbornly to it.
Too stubbornly, perhaps?
That was only one of many things on Markwart's mind when he walked from the meeting to his private chambers. He had no pentagram inscribed on the floor here, of course, but he cleared a place in one corner of the room and sat down facing the corner, washing his mind to find a deep state of meditation. That now-familiar voice followed him into the emptiness.
He tried to sort through the many differing opinions he had heard, bounced the notion of a Behrenese plot against the anger of a rogue merchant, perhaps one who had managed to hide a lodestone from the searches of Bishop De'Unnero. But while the attacker might have been a merchant, or, an assassin hired by merchants, that possibility did not stand up against Markwart's suspicions that his attacker really was Jill or some other disciple of Avelyn Desbris.
Through it all, the voice kept whispering about the red-haired soldier woman. Markwart argued, thinking the voice was trying to convince him of the plausibility of the woman's theory concerning merchants; but soon he realized that it was telling him something completely different, something about the source and not the information.
"A distraction," the Father Abbot whispered, and as he considered any possible reason the warrior woman might have for putting forth such a theory, he knew the direction of his personal search.
He stormed out of his quarters, ordering Brother Francis to bring Colleen Kilronney to him at once.
And then he waited, a spider at the center of its web.
Colleen came tentatively into the room, and Markwart recognized that she was on her guard —yet another sign that the voice had steered him correctly.
"You were adamant that the attacker was a merchant, or one hired by merchants," he said, getting right to the point and motioning for Colleen to take a seat opposite his desk, and then motioning for Brother Francis to leave them.
"Seemin' the obvious direction," she said.
"Is it?" The simplicity of the question made suspicious Colleen tilt her head to better study the old man, another movement that was not lost on perceptive Markwart.
"Yer Bishop's made a few enemies among them," Colleen explained, "mostly with the friends o' Aloysius Crump. Murdered him, ye know, and in a horrible way and in a public place."
Markwart held up his hand, not the least interested in pursuing any discussion with this inconsequential woman about Palmaris policy or De'Unnero's shortcomings.
"Might it not have been a friend of Avelyn Desbris?" he asked innocently.
"I'm not knowin' the name," Colleen insisted at once, but her body language told a different story altogether.
"Ah," Markwart said, nodding. "That would explain your insistence on the merchant theory." He stopped and tapped his lips with one finger, dismissively waving Colleen out of the room with his other hand. He called out to her as she opened the door, telling her to send Brother Francis back in immediately, and the confused woman merely nodded and grunted.
"Find me those who know her movements," Markwart ordered Francis a moment later, for he knew, and the voice was in full agreement, that Colleen Kilronney not only had recognized the name of Avelyn Desbris but also had been in recent contact —and knew it!—with one of the heretic's disciples.
Before the day was out, Father Abbot Markwart had discerned another spot for his personal search: Fellowship Way. His spirit walked out of St. Precious that stormy night.
With the rain and the wind and the brilliant strokes of lightning, few soldiers were out that night, and so the company-starved folk of Palmaris dared to slip out of their homes. Fellowship Way bustled with patrons, all talking excitedly, trying to catch up on the momentous events since their last meeting, before the attack on Father Abbot Markwart. Some chatted about seeing the King; others hoped that King Danube would put the city in proper order and lessen Church influence.
More than one patron argued against that, saying that the brutal assassination attempt on Markwart had sealed his position within the city, and that the King would never go against the Father Abbot so soon after the attack.
That line of reasoning, of course, hit Pony painfully hard as she moved from table to table. She still could hardly believe that the old man had survived, but now that it was obvious that Markwart was alive, even well, she thought herself incredibly foolish. She still wished that she had found a way to kill him, but having failed to eliminate the old wretch, she had, in fact, only strengthened his position!
Many times did she sigh helplessly during that long night.
While the human folk of Palmaris who dared the night storm hustled to their destinations, eager to get to shelter, the Touel'alfar didn't mind the rain in the least. So attuned to nature, the elves accepted whatever she gave them. Blizzards were a time for quiet respite near a cozy fire, but as soon as the dangerous wind and blinding snow died down, they would be out in force, frolicking about the drifts, engaging in snowball fights or tunnel digging. And so this late-winter rainstorm brought them little discomfort and only made easier their business of moving about Palmaris' streets.
Lady Dasslerond and Belli'mar Juraviel sat on the roof of Fellowship Way under an overhang, chatting calmly about recent events and their hoped-for course. Other elves moved about the house of Crump, seeking some way —a connection with an important soldier or noble, or even a secret passage into the King's private quarters—to find an audience for their lady with the King of Honce-the-Bear.
"Glad I will be when our business here is finished and we can return to the quiet meadows of Andur'Blough Inninness," Lady Dasslerond said.
Juraviel didn't disagree. "I left Nightbird so that I could again walk those meadows," he explained. "I had hoped to spend the entirety of the spring in our valley."
"Just the spring?"
"And all the seasons after that," Juraviel clarified. "I have seen enough of human problems. Too much, I fear."
To Dasslerond, Juraviel's words came as a welcome admission. She feared for him and his deep love for Nightbird and Pony. She considered Nightbird, as she did all the rangers, as almost her child; and from all she had heard, she believed that she could come to love the woman, Pony, too. But she was Touel'alfar, and they were not —no small matter to the clannish elves. And she was the leader of Andur'Blough Inninness, with responsibilities to no human, but only to her elvish people.
"I do look forward to my future meetings with Nightbird and Pony," Juraviel admitted. "And with their child, who may be heir to a greatness not seen, and sorely needed, among the humans."
"Perhaps I will accompany you on that future date," Dasslerond said, and Juraviel did not miss the honor she had just bestowed upon him, and upon his friends, with those kind words. "As the years pass and the human world calms, we might do well to venture out again, if for no other reason than personal enjoyment. Or perhaps we will lift the blocking veil over Andur'Blough Inninness and invite Nightbird and his wife and child to come and visit us."
Juraviel stared at her long and hard, thrilled by her softening tone and words. He knew that Dasslerond remained disappointed in Nightbird for showing Pony bi'nelle dasada, and outraged at Pony for acting so rashly against Father Abbot Markwart, but the lady was trying to look past that, was hoping for a better future relationship with the ranger and his loved ones. So while the night seemed dark and stormy, Belli'mar Juraviel had reason to hope that the dawn would yet come.
But then he felt the presence, an absolute darkness and coldness, as he had one night in the fore
st with a band of human refugees.
Dasslerond felt it, too, and was up in an instant, one hand to her sword hilt, the other to a pouch at her side, a pouch that held her single gemstone, a mighty green emerald, a gift from Terranen Dinoniel to the elves centuries before, during the previous war with the dactyl Bestesbulzibar —easily the most powerful stone possessed by the Touel'alfar.
"Jilseponie," Lady Dasslerond breathed, and she and Juraviel rushed to the edge of the building, signaling another nearby elf to rally the forces.
Pony moved back to the bar to collect a tray of mugs from Belster. She stopped, though, feeling suddenly strange, and glanced all about, wondering who might be calling her.
"You will have to move faster than that if you mean to keep them all happy," Belster said with a laugh.
Pony took a step closer, but stopped and glanced nervously about again, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling as her warrior instincts put her on her guard.
"Caralee?" Belster asked, taking care not to use her real name publicly.
Pony turned to him and gave a slight shrug, thoroughly confused. She came by swiftly then, pulling her apron from about her waist and setting it on the bar. "I will return soon," she promised, scurrying past Belster and through the door to the private rooms.
Before she even reached her room, she stopped again. She was not alone; she knew that beyond doubt. And then the truth of it, at least a small part of that truth, hit her hard: she was being monitored by a spirit-walking monk!
Pony rushed to her room, not knowing where to turn next. Should she find a stone to counter the spiritual intrusion? Should she go about her business calmly, as though nothing was amiss, playing the part of Belster's wife?
Jill, came a call in her head. The woman stopped and concentrated, trying to identify the source.
You are Jill, came the voice, and she realized by that question that this was no friend! She spun about, thinking to rush back in the common room and blend into the crowd, but then she froze in place.
The specter of Father Abbot Markwart stared at her, hovering visibly in the doorway.
"Jill, friend of Nightbird, friend of Avelyn Desbris," came the Father Abbot's voice —aloud!
Pony didn't know how to respond. She had never witnessed this type of magical communication before, had no idea that spirit-walking could be taken to such a level!
"Jill the assassin," said the Father Abbot. "You hit me hard, my dear."
He gave a laugh as he finished, an awful, wicked laugh that sent a shudder through her.
"I believe you have something that belongs to me, Jill, friend of Avelyn," he went on, "something that Avelyn took from me."
"Be gone from this place," the woman replied in as strong a tone as she could muster. "You are not welcome here."
The spirit laughed at her more loudly. "I will have my gemstones back," Markwart said, "this very night. I know you, Jilseponie Chilichunk."
That name hurt —and moved a wall of anger against Pony's very real fears. This was the man who had killed her parents, the man she wanted to destroy; and yet she could not ignore the power of his presence, a strength she had never felt. ...
No, not never, she realized to her horror.
"Do you see what you have done to me?" the spirit asked, and it changed form then, its lower jaw all but disappearing, flaps of torn tongue hanging low from its blasted mouth. "You, I say! And only by the power of the gemstones am I able to paint an image of my face as it was, and only by the telepathic power of the soul stone am I able to communicate so that those around me think that I am speaking to them."
Pony's own jaw went slack as she considered the implications of the man's words —for she did not disbelieve him. The man's face was destroyed—she had destroyed it—and yet, using gemstones, he was maintaining an illusion of wholeness: using gemstones, he was creating an illusion of speaking audibly! Pony could hardly conceive of the power implied by such an illusion, the maintenance of gemstone magic for so long!
"I know you, and I am coming for you," the spirit promised.
The woman exploded into motion, pulling her disguise off and collecting Defender and the gemstones. "I deny you!" she growled at the hovering specter, and she ran right through the image —a most unsettled experience! She thought to go to Belster, but realized that the best course she could take for her friends was to simply run away from them.
Dainsey Aucomb found her before she reached the back door.
"Ah, Miss Pony, are ye all right then?" the woman asked. "Belster said ye'd run out without —"
"Hear me well, Dainsey," Pony said, after a nervous glance around told her that the specter had not followed. "I am leaving now, and likely forever."
"But yer child —"
Pony cut that thought short, terrified that Markwart might hear. "You do not know the truth of me," Pony said, rather loudly, hoping to take some of the blame from her vulnerable friends. "Take Belster and run and hide. Better that you two are not involved."
"M-miss Pony," Dainsey stuttered.
"That is all I have time to explain," Pony insisted, grabbing the woman by the shoulders and giving her a good shake to focus her. "Good-bye, Dainsey. Know that you have been a dear friend." She kissed the woman on the cheek. "Kiss Belster for me, and run and be safe."
Dainsey just stood there, stunned.
"Promise me!" Pony insisted. "Go now. Right now! Promise me!"
The dumbfounded woman nodded, and then Pony ran out into the stormy night, her thoughts whirling. She had been discovered, and more of her loved ones might pay dearly for her errors, but she knew then that the best thing she could do for Belster and for Dainsey and all the others was to get as far away from them as possible. Understanding just how far she might have to run, recognizing the only real destination open to her, she went not for the alleys of the city but for the northern gate and the stable near it, where she boarded Greystone.
Belli'mar Juraviel and Lady Dasslerond watched her run out into the storm.
"It was him," Juraviel breathed. "He knows."
Another elf rushed to join them. "Gather all," Lady Dasslerond explained quickly. "To the north gate and beyond."
"We must help her," Juraviel declared, and he looked up at his lady, at the elven queen who had, just moments ago, talked of future meetings with Pony and Nightbird and the child, and he recognized the uncertainty on her fair face.
At least they were moving in the right direction, shadowing Pony to the north.
She was relieved to find Greystone's stable quiet and with no soldiers about. All the way to the place, Pony had feared that Markwart had found out all her secrets and that all escape routes would be cut off. But the stable boy helped her ready the horse, even offered her some old saddlebags and some supplies to put in them.
And then she went out onto the streets again, wincing at every loud clip-clop of freshly shod hooves. She tried to formulate some plan that might get her quietly through the northern gate —in the guise of a farmer's wife, perhaps—but she dismissed that. She might be recognized by soldiers put on the alert, and few folk would dare this storm except in an emergency.
She took a different route instead, moving far to the side of the guarded gate, to a quiet and dark place along the city wall. She brought Greystone into a short run, then, well before the base of the wall, fell into the malachite gemstone, extending its magic not only to herself but to her horse as well. The two lifted weightlessly from the ground, their momentum carrying them toward the wall.
Greystone kicked and whinnied in terror, but Pony held him steady and sent more energy into the stone, lifting them higher, lifting them right over the wall, to touch down on the grassy fields beyond. She heard the commotion back at the wall, as guards rushed around, trying to find out what, if anything, had just happened. She hardly cared, urging Greystone into a swift canter across the darkened fields.
By the time the physical Markwart and his entourage arrived at the Fellowship Way, she would
be far to the north, she hoped; and she could only pray that Dainsey would not fail her, that she and Belster would also be long gone —perhaps with Captain Al'u'met, perhaps into the secret caves of the Behrenese.
She couldn't bear the thought of yet another loved one being killed for her crimes, and thought for a moment that she should go back and surrender herself to Markwart so that all her friends in Palmaris would not be persecuted, tortured for information about her.
But then she thought of her unborn child, of Elbryan's child, and she knew that she had to trust Belster and Dainsey and all the others. Oh, what a fool she thought herself for attacking Markwart! For putting them all in danger!
Tears mingled with the driving rain on her cheeks.
But she would run on, she determined, all the way to Caer Tinella, all the way to Dundalis and into Elbryan's loving arms. Together they would face Markwart.
Together.
Greystone shuddered and skidded suddenly, neighing wildly and rearing up; and Pony was thrown to the muddy field.
She rolled and groaned, and started to move her hands instinctively to her belly, fearing for her child. The shooting pain in one shoulder stopped her, though, and then so did something else, a feeling of dread beyond anything she had ever known. Growling away the stinging pain, she rolled over, looking for her horse. Greystone stood very still, head down.
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 177
