"You allowed him to proclaim his intension to take back every magical stone," Duke Kalas dared to press. "How powerful will the Church then be, and how crippled the Crown?"
"I let the Father Abbot have his way in the meeting out of deference to his delicate condition," the King replied, and he didn't seem the least bit angry, to Constance Pemblebury's relief. "His words at that unofficial meeting carry no legal weight. And even should he openly and publicly proclaim that all gemstones are to be returned to the Church, how will he ever enforce such a position in Ursal? Or in Entel, or in any of the other cities of the south, where the Church is not nearly as influential as up in these forbidding places."
"But here, in Palmaris, in the place where he was attacked and miraculously survived, he is a formidable foe," Constance remarked.
Even Duke Kalas, so obviously frustrated, understood that.
"True enough," King Danube replied, and more true than Constance or Kalas understood, he realized, for he alone knew of the terrifying visit Markwart's spirit had made to his private rooms in Ursal.
"Your carriage, my King," came the announcement of Danube's favored bodyguard.
"He should come to us," Kalas growled, "and we should be at Chasewind Manor, not here." Danube and Constance ignored him, gathering up their traveling cloaks and heading for the door.
They were met at the door of Chasewind Manor by Abbot Je'howith, the old man seeming at ease and welcoming the King with a wide smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Bishop De'Unnero returned to Palmaris this day," he informed the King. "He is at the table with Father Abbot Markwart and Brother —Master Francis Dellacourt, whom the Father Abbot has decided will play a large role in the continuing work to better formulate Palmaris."
"De'Unnero," Duke Kalas spat. "I should cut off his head."
Abbot Je'howith only smiled and nodded, not wishing to start that argument, and also confident that if Duke Kalas, no meager fighter to be sure, ever tried to do so, the dangerous monk would break him into pieces. The warriors of the King's army couldn't understand the truth of the matter, the old abbot mused as he led the King and his entourage to the meeting room. A man might rise to the highest level within the army, might become a leader of the Allheart Brigade, but that man would be far from attaining the skill of a brother justice and certainly could not hope to match one such as De'Unnero, who trained the brothers justice!
Markwart, De'Unnero, and Francis were seated at one end of a long oaken table when Abbot Je'howith led the procession in. The Father Abbot had organized this seating cunningly, Je'howith immediately noted. He had left one end seat vacant, of course, for King Danube, but it faced the eastern window —the King would have the misfortune of looking into the morning sun. Six empty chairs, three on either side of the King's, ran along the table, and Constance Pemblebury and Duke Kalas were quick to take those immediately to the King's right and left.
Abbot Je'howith stared at the four empty chairs, surprised that Markwart had ordered so many put about the table, since he knew that King Danube would come in with only the two advisers. But then Je'howith figured it out, and he looked at the Father Abbot with even more respect. This was a test: which seat would Je'howith choose, one next to a King's adviser or one beside Markwart's advisers?
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 n
ot 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.
CHAPTER 33
Miles Apart
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.
"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.
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