DemonWars Saga Volume 1

by R. A. Salvatore

  "Ye get yer strength, girl," Colleen said determinedly. "Ye get yer strength and I'll take ye to the north to find yer lover."

  "Colleen —" Belster started to protest, but Al'u'met cut him short.

  "I can get them north of the city by sea," he said.

  "What nonsense are we talking?" Belster demanded. "She was almost killed, and now you are planning to send her on a long journey, and with winter not even past?"

  "Ye think her safer in Palmaris?" Colleen replied. "Better that she's runnin' to her lover, I say, than stayin' here where the devil Markwart's sure to find her."

  "I can speak for myself," Pony said coldly, "and choose my own road. I will rest for another day or two, no more. And then I will go to Elbryan, whatever course you three might decide for me." And with that, she turned and left.

  "Oh, but I'll go with her," Colleen said, her anger simmering near to a boil. "I've a visit to pay me dear cousin Shamus. One he's not wantin', to be sure!"

  Belster and Al'u'met exchanged glances, both of them understanding the danger of the present situation in Palmaris, and both of them fearing that things might soon get much worse.

  It wasn't much of a shelter, just piles of stones with bundles of brush slapped over the top. But though another storm had buried the Barbacan in several feet of snow, and though the mountain passes to the south were practically impassable, the shelter on the sacred plateau near Avelyn's grave did not need to be strong or warm. Winter's hand, like the goblins', could not seem to touch this place, and all the creatures here —man and elf, centaur and horse alike—were not only comfortable, but were thriving. The men who were badly wounded during the fight with the goblins—even the soldier who had seemed so near to death and Bradwarden, so torn and battered—were fast on the mend, and Tiel'marawee had healed completely.

  Elbryan had no explanation; none of them did —other than to declare it a miracle and be glad for it.

  And though he was glad that they had survived, Elbryan spent many hours staring forlornly to the blocked southern trails, his thoughts flying to Pony and their unborn child. "Soon after the turn of spring, I would guess," he had informed Bradwarden when the centaur inquired about when the child would be born.

  "But we'll get ye there afore it happens," the centaur insisted; though if they could not get out of the Barbacan within the next two weeks —and neither believed that they could—they would hardly be able to cover the six hundred miles back to Palmaris in time.

  Elbryan could only stand and stare, hoping that his dear Pony was all right, and that the child would be born healthy.

  He could not know that the child was already gone.

  "I take my leave," Tiel'marawee announced, moving by the pair.

  "Lots of snow, deeper than a tall elf," Bradwarden replied.

  Tiel'marawee screwed up her face skeptically; never had the snow been a hindrance to the light-footed Touel'alfar!

  "Where is your course?" the ranger asked with sincere interest. "Palmaris?"

  "Lady Dasslerond must be told of Bishop De'Unnero and the threat to the Touel'alfar," the elf explained. "I will likely find her in Palmaris."

  "I will go with you," the ranger said suddenly.

  The elf scoffed at the thought. "You cannot get your horse through the passes now," she said. "You could not even get him down from this plateau to the valley."

  "I will walk."

  "But I've not the time to wait for you, ranger," Tiel'marawee replied sternly. With that, she leaped from the plateau, wings flapping to bring her to a ledge thirty feet below the pair, a spot it would take Elbryan about a half hour to get to.

  She didn't bother to look back.

  "Ye'll get back to her," Bradwarden said comfortingly as the elf skipped away, disappearing against the backdrop of the great blasted mountain.

  "Not soon enough," Elbryan replied.

  "And what o' them?" the centaur asked, nodding in the direction of the soldiers and the monks.

  "I think that Brother Braumin and the other monk have decided to live out their lives up here," the ranger replied. "Roger will accompany me, I am sure."

  "Warm enough, and safe enough from monsters," said the centaur, "though they'll be hard-pressed to find food close by."

  "I am not certain what Shamus and the soldiers think to do," the ranger admitted. "I doubt that they'll try to return to Palmaris —at least until there has been some contact with another emissary from the King or Father Abbot, that they might better understand their situation."

  "Not much to understand," said the centaur. "They go back, they get hung. Or burned. Seems them monks are partial to burnin'."

  "Shamus will have to decide his own course," the ranger said with a shrug. "My road leads to Pony."

  "And she'll be glad to see ye," said Bradwarden.

  "Will she?"

  The question caught the centaur off guard —until he considered all that Tiel'marawee had told him of Elbryan's feelings about Pony's departure, his fears that she had left him knowing that she was with his child, had chosen not to tell him.

  "She's the bravest woman ever me eyes've seen," the centaur remarked. "And braver still if yer fears about her leavin' ye knowingly with child be true."

  That brought a perplexed look from Elbryan.

  "She knew that ye had a different road ahead of ye, boy," Bradwarden explained. "Knew ye had to go, and knew she could not."

  "You act as if she told you as well," the ranger accused.

  "And are ye thinkin' so little o' her to believe that?" the centaur answered. "Ye know her better, and know that, whatever she's done, she's done it with yer own best interest in mind and heart."

  Elbryan had no argument; and indeed, much of his anger went away at that moment, as he reminded himself of all that Pony had gone through over the last few months. He remained eager, desperate almost, to be out of the Barbacan and on the road south, but now it was an emotional tumult wrought of fear for Pony.

  * * *

  True to his word, Captain Al'u'met put the Saudi Jacintha out of Palmaris the next day, despite strong winds and rough waters.

  Pony and Colleen Kilronney came up on the deck soon after the ship had left port, soon enough to make out the solitary figure of Belster O'Comely standing on the wharf, staring out at the departing vessel.

  "I think ye broke his heart," Colleen remarked to Pony. "Might it be that he took yer impersonation of his wife a bit too far."

  Her attempt at levity did little to comfort the beleaguered Pony. She didn't reply, just stood at the rail, looking back at Palmaris, unsure if she would ever return —or if she would ever want to return. She still wanted revenge on Markwart, more so than ever, but felt powerless. He had beaten her, and now all she wanted was to be in Elbryan's arms again, and far, far away from wretched Palmaris.

  "Master O'Comely only fears for you," Captain Al'u'met remarked, moving to join the two. "He does not disagree with your decision to leave Palmaris, but fears that you are not yet fit to travel, especially since the possibility remains of more wintry weather."

  "He fears too much," Pony replied somewhat coldly. "I have lived on the very borderlands of civilization for many years. Am I to fear winter more than I fear the Abellican Church?"

  "A healthy respect for both would suit you well," the captain remarked. "But place no blame on the shoulders of Belster O'Comely. A fine friend, by my estimation."

  "Indeed he is," Pony admitted. "And do not doubt my concern for him. He remains in Palmaris, and that place, I fear, is many times more dangerous than the wildest reaches of the Wilderlands."

  No one argued that point.

  Captain Al'u'met put Pony, Colleen, and their horses down on the coast north of the city, wishing them well and pledging that he would look after Belster and the others.

  "What he really prays for is peace," Pony remarked as the two started away along a muddy trail.

  "A fine prayer, by me own guess," Colleen replied.

  "A peace that wil
l leave De'Unnero and Markwart in power," Pony said.

  Colleen let it go at that, knowing that they would only make themselves angrier than ever with such talk. The warrior woman hated the Church leaders, the men responsible for the death of her beloved Baron, every bit as much as did Pony. And how she wished that Pony's attack on the wretch Markwart had been successful!

  But that was not the reality, she knew, and hoped that Pony would come to understand. If it came to a fight, then Colleen would fight hard and would hope for the chance to take down her pompous cousin before she, along with all her allies, inevitably lost. But unlike Pony, the warrior woman wasn't so sure that she wanted that fight —not now, not after seeing the power of Markwart, who, by all reports of those soldiers close to Chasewind Manor and the house of Aloysius Crump, held the upper hand in the dealings with King Danube. No, Colleen recognized—if Pony did not—that no peasant revolt in Palmaris now had any chance of success.

  They rode on through the rest of the day, accepting an invitation from a farmer for an evening meal and a warm and dry place to sleep.

  They did not know that another party was even then formulating plans for leaving Palmaris, that Father Abbot Markwart was working with his underlings to organize the journey north that would bring the infamous Nightbird to the Church's version of justice.

  CHAPTER 34

  One-upmanship

  King Danube stared out the window of his temporary residence in Palmaris, the fact that this house was so much less spectacular than Chasewind Manor serving as a reminder that his rule here was in jeopardy. Indeed, for the King —who had ruled Honce-the-Bear for more than a quarter of a century, for more than half his life—the conflict with Markwart seemed the most threatening yet, even more than the war against the minions of the demon dactyl.

  Only now, after having faced Markwart and his advisers, did Danube begin to appreciate the depth of this threat. The Abellican Church had always been a strong influence in the kingdom, oftentimes stronger than the Crown. During the beginning of his reign, when he was but a teenager, the Church had held great power; in fact, Abbot Je'howith of St. Honce had played a greater role in ruling Ursal than had Danube. That had been only temporary, Danube and his advisers had understood, a necessary aid given to the man who had been thrust into the role of monarch before he had been properly prepared. And when Danube had grown after he had learned the subtleties of gently bribing the populace into grateful submission, or working with the ambassador from Behren, privately granting the man personal gains in exchange for policies that would favor Honce-the-Bear, the Church had backed away, Abbot Je'howith seeming satisfied with his comfortable role behind the scenes.

  Now Danube understood that the situation had dramatically changed. This was no temporary power play by Father Abbot Markwart —and by his old friend Je'howith, he constantly reminded himself—for it had been Je'howith who had persuaded him to install a bishop instead of a baron to rule Palmaris. He had given the Church a firm foothold, and dislodging it would prove no easy task.

  He should revoke the title immediately, he knew, should privately warn Markwart to remember his place and remain there, or else risk a war that would bring the power of the kingdom against the Abellican Church.

  Danube would win such a war, he believed. He might not be able to conquer St.-Mere-Abelle, that vast and mighty fortress, but his armies —twenty thousand strong, including the powerful Allheart Brigade—could certainly pen the monks in their monasteries and keep them there.

  It would never come to that, Danube could tell himself, for the Father Abbot, no fool, would certainly see the folly of his ways and back down.

  But there was another factor, the King knew. Markwart had come into his private bedchamber in Ursal, walking by all the guards, unhindered by all the locks and stone walls. The kingdom could win, or at least force a favorable stalemate, against the Abellican Church, King Danube did not doubt; but that war might become a personal battle between him and Markwart, and that, he admitted to himself now, he could not win.

  And so he stared out the window, more afraid than he had ever been, feeling helpless for the first time in his adult life.

  "You summoned me, my King," came the gentle voice of Constance Pemblebury behind him.

  Danube turned to regard the woman. Constance was still quite attractive, he realized. Some of the color had faded from her strawberry blond hair, but thirty-five winters had not taken the luster from her sparkling blue eyes or the softness from her dimpled cheeks. She had been Danube's lover many years ago —that was no secret to the Ursulan court—and many assumed that the liaison was the sole reason Constance had been catapulted to a high position as personal adviser, in line, perhaps, for a duchy of her own. But their personal relationship had played no role in her rise. The King respected her for her intelligence and insights. Constance was the best judge of character King Danube had ever met—better than Kalas, certainly.

  "I am to go to the north with Duke Kalas," Danube explained.

  Constance narrowed her eyes at her obvious exclusion.

  "Father Abbot Markwart knows where this man Nightbird is hiding, and so he has decided to go out after the man personally with a contingent of a hundred Abellican monks, the former Bishop among them," Danube explained.

  "And of course, you cannot remain behind," Constance agreed. "If the Father Abbot returned to Palmaris with the fugitive in tow, then his popularity would dramatically rise, to the detriment of King Danube."

  "So it would seem," the King admitted.

  "You bring Kalas as a counterweight to De'Unnero," the perceptive Constance went on. "Your champion against Markwart's?"

  The King winced.

  "Take care that such a competition does not arise," Constance warned. "I respect Duke Kalas and all that he has accomplished, as a warrior and a nobleman, but De'Unnero is far his superior, I believe, and Kalas' pride will never allow him to admit that. If Kalas is to fight against De'Unnero, then the Crown shall lose."

  Good advice, King Danube understood, and that only reaffirmed his decisions concerning her. He crossed the floor then, moving to stand right before her, and he raised his hand to gently stroke her cheek. "I need you now," he explained, "perhaps more than ever before."

  Unexpectedly, she kissed him, but it wasn't a kiss filled with passion. Then she backed off, nodding. "You do," she explained. "Abbot Je'howith is no friend of the Crown. He will stand beside you only if he believes you have the upper hand against Markwart. You saw where he chose to sit at the table."

  "What am I to do?" Danube asked.

  "Dissolve the office of bishop," she advised, "evict Markwart from Chasewind Manor, and appoint Duke Kalas as interim Baron until a suitable replacement for Bildeborough can be found."

  Fine words, Danube knew, but impractical given his private meeting with Markwart's specter.

  "Father Abbot Markwart has already determined that St. Precious will have a formal abbot again," Constance went on. "That is enough power for the Abellican Church in Palmaris."

  "I do not disagree, but it is not as easy as that," Danube replied, turning away. He almost told her the truth then, but he found that he could not admit his fear.

  "How so?" Constance pressed.

  Danube turned back to her suddenly and waved his hand to dismiss the subject. "We will discuss the disposition of Palmaris' ruling structure upon my return from the north," he explained. "For now, I need you in the city as my eyes and my ears. My strength in this northern crusade must be no less than that of the Father Abbot, I understand. Kalas and the Allheart Brigade will accompany me, a splendid display of power. You will be left with a strong contingent of King's soldiers and sailors to serve as your base of power from which to build an even stronger hold. Publicly you are to be my eyes and my ears, seeing and listening to the edicts of Bishop Francis, who, as I understand, will be left behind at St. Precious."

  "Not Chasewind Manor?" Constance asked, wondering if there might be any significance to that.<
br />
  "St. Precious, from what I have been told," the King replied. "Perhaps Markwart is not ready to entrust Bishop Francis with as much responsibility as he outwardly proclaims."

  "Then it is likely that the new Bishop will do little in the Father Abbot's absence," Constance reasoned.

  "That is my hope," the King replied. "And in the absence of Markwart and De'Unnero, of King Danube and Duke Kalas, the strongest voice in Palmaris may be that of Constance Pemblebury."

  "And yet you have not declared me your mouth," the woman reasoned.

  "Not publicly," the King explained. "Our profile shall remain low. I ask you to keep a check on Bishop Francis, to ensure that he makes no overt moves to enlarge Church power. I give you great discretion in this matter. Turn your garrison against St. Precious if you decide you must."

  Constance stepped back, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. "You ask me to start a war with the Abellican Church?"

  "No, I do not ask any such thing," the King replied. "But I trust your judgment. If the Church makes a grab for power in my absence, then Constance Pemblebury must stop them."

  The woman nodded.

  "I need you, Constance," Danube said sincerely, moving closer and taking her by the shoulders. "If you fail me in this, then know that the Crown will suffer greatly —know that we may live out the rest of our lives in the shadow of the Abellican Church."

  The weight of his words stole her breath. Then King Danube moved in even closer, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. He moved to take it further, but Constance stopped him, moving back.

  "When I return from the northlands, you and I will have much to discuss," King Danube said quietly.

  "I am too old to be a mistress," the woman insisted.

  The King nodded, letting her understand that he had much more in mind.

  He left her, then, with only a small peck on the cheek and a promise to return before the turn of summer.

  Constance stood quietly in the empty chamber for a long while. She remembered the first time that she and Danube had made love, when he was just over twenty years old and she a girl of seventeen. The same age as Vivian, whom Danube had married the next morning.