"There is an Abellican friar in town?" Markwart asked. His inner voice prodded him that there might be something significant here.
"Just said there was," Janine replied. "He's all flustered, to be sure, at yer arrival. He's cleaning up and will be along presently, I'd be guessing."
Even as she spoke, Friar Pembleton bounded in, glancing about nervously and wringing his hands. He spotted the Father Abbot standing with Janine, De'Unnero not far away, and shuffled over, bowing with every step.
"I did not know ye were coming, Father Abbot," he sputtered. "Had I known ..."
Markwart raised a hand to calm the man. "You had problems with a horse, I am told," he said.
Friar Pembleton's eyes widened and he looked over at Janine, seeming horrified that the Father Abbot knew the tale. Would the great man think him crazy? "I —I was confused—am confused, I am sure," he stammered. "Surely it does not look like my horse, but I get so many—I traded many with the caravan you sent north from St.-Mere-Abelle just last year, Father Abbot."
Again Markwart patted his hand in the air to calm the man. "The horse has gone lame?"
Pembleton shrugged. "I know not how to even answer," he said. "I have no recollection. ..."
"Are you trying to cheat these people, good friar?" Markwart asked. De'Unnero walked over and stood by the man, and though Pembleton outweighed him by fifty pounds, the friar was unnerved by his powerful presence.
"No, Father Abbot, never that!" he cried. "I have been dealing with Caer Tinella for many years, and would never cheat —"
"A good man with honest prices for honest goods," Janine interjected.
"What is it, Pembleton? " Markwart asked calmly. "Is the horse the same one you left your chapel with?"
The friar seemed at a loss, and glanced around repeatedly. "Has to be," he mumbled. "Has to be. One cannot change a horse on the back of a wagon without the driver knowing it, after all! I just do not recognize ..."
"Is it the same horse?" Markwart pressed.
Pembleton glanced nervously around.
"Look at me!" Markwart demanded, locking the man's gaze with his own, "and answer honestly."
"It's not my horse," Pembleton replied.
Janine snorted and rolled her eyes.
"Truthfully, Father Abbot," the friar said frantically, "I have had every horse in my stable for months —since the caravan from St.-Mere-Abelle came through—and I know every one, and this is not one of them. I have shoed every horse in my care, yet this one wears shoes that I do not know."
Markwart looked at De'Unnero. "Take some of the St. Precious monks and go to this horse," he instructed. "See if they recognize the shoes." Then he turned back to Pembleton and took great care to calm the man, asking him to detail every part of the journey from his chapel to the town. Pembleton did just that, but stuttered at one point; again, Markwart's inner voice told him that might be significant.
He led the friar aside, and the man confessed his sin of the mind.
It was much more than that, Father Abbot Markwart realized, and that was confirmed when De'Unnero returned with news that one of the monks had recognized the shoes as the work of the former baron's own blacksmith, who marked all the shoes he made with a special brand, a combination of his initials.
The horse, who had so mysteriously replaced the one Friar Pembleton had hitched to the back of his wagon —a wagon he had not left, he insisted, all the way to Caer Tinella—had come from Palmaris, and, by De'Unnero's estimate, had been ridden hard recently.
Intrigued, Markwart said no more about it. Later, after the group camped two hours north of Caer Tinella, the Father Abbot returned to his tent and eagerly took up his soul stone. He went quickly north, scouring the region —and he found his quarry, camped beneath the drooping boughs of an ancient pine, their horses tethered nearby. Markwart recognized one of those horses—had seen it on the field outside Palmaris—and so he was not surprised when his spirit slipped through the pine boughs and found his archenemy resting with her back against the tree, with another woman, larger, and wearing the uniform of a Palmaris city guard, lying nearby.
Markwart considered moving right in. But she might be more prepared for him this time, he realized, and he did not have her unborn child this time to use against her undeniably strong will. And he could not be sure if Dasslerond was in the area.
His spirit rushed back to his waiting form. He went out of his tent, calling for Marcalo De'Unnero.
The tiger set off soon after, running straight for the drooping pine.
Or so De'Unnero thought. He encountered many obstacles that Markwart's spirit had bypassed, and by the time he reached the place, dawn had broken and the women were gone. De'Unnero's frustration lasted only as long as it took him to realize he was not alone, that the spirit of the Father Abbot was with him.
"Hear me through the soul stone ring you wear," the Father Abbot instructed. "Attune your thoughts to my spirit and I will guide you."
Away rushed Markwart, faster than the north wind.
He sensed the women's position, then called back to De'Unnero; the chase, though Pony and Colleen didn't know it, was on.
By mid-morning, the tireless De'Unnero had them in sight, while Markwart, his physical form still being comfortably borne on a litter by running monks, hovered nearby. Markwart understood Pony's power, and feared that De'Unnero might be overmatched if she was ready for him, if she had her gemstones in hand.
So he went first, telepathically, screaming into her horse's mind.
Greystone reared and bucked, and Pony barely kept her seat. The horse spun, kicking at the air. Colleen yelled out, trying to make some sense of it all.
Pony flew out of the saddle, the breath blasted from her as she landed on her back. She had the presence of mind to roll out of the way of Greystone's pounding hooves.
"What'd ye do to the thing?" Colleen called, and her words ended abruptly as something large crashed into her, driving her from her saddle. It took her a long while to recover, gathering her wits and wiping the blood and mud from her eyes. Then she saw a monstrous form standing over Pony. She tried to scream but could not, for she could hardly believe the sight before her. From the waist up the creature was a strong man, its face half human, a strange blend of man and cat. It stood in a crouch over Pony, on the legs of a cat, a striped tail swishing, staring down at the woman. Pony tried to get her arms in line to block, but De'Unnero's hand punched into the center of her chest, stealing her breath. Pony jerked up, swung her arms about to try to fend him off, but she was dazed, all strength stolen from her.
Colleen forced herself to her feet and started to draw her sword.
The creature leaped away from Pony, turning to face her.
"I'll be payin' ye back for that one!" Colleen screamed, rushing ahead, her sword slashing viciously.
Up went De'Unnero, springing straight into the air above her slashing sword, and then down hard, putting his full weight behind a tremendous punch that smashed into Colleen's breastbone, driving her down, staggering backward.
She gave a weak swipe with the sword and stared helplessly as her opponent's hand evaded the blade, moving much too fast for her to adjust her swing. The hand grabbed her blade and shoved it farther away. Then De'Unnero spun, rolling toward Colleen, his hand slapping her face, knocking her back several more steps.
And still he was right in front of her, twisting her sword arm up, then bending her wrist, easily disarming her.
He leaped, rolling over her as he went, never letting go, coming down and twisting Colleen, then using his leverage to throw her under the legs of her nervous horse.
"Run!" she heard Pony call, and she saw the tiger turn to regard her friend, then saw him stagger back, blasted by a lightning bolt.
But the powerful creature growled and rushed right back at Pony, falling upon her before she could loose another bit of magic.
Colleen scrambled to her feet, coming up on the other side of her horse. She had the beast in a
run before she was fully in the saddle, for the tiger came on in fast pursuit.
Her horse crashed through the forest, branches banging into poor Colleen, nearly knocking her senseless. She heard the creature behind, and realized then the truth about the death of her beloved Baron.
Her horse took a sharp turn, and she could not hold on, falling down through some evergreen bushes, then sliding through snow and mud down the steep side of a ravine. Bouncing and tumbling, she lost consciousness long before she slammed into a tree stump far below.
She did hear the dying screams of her horse as the tiger fell upon it.
Only the angry specter of Father Abbot Markwart brought De'Unnero from his feast of horseflesh. He came fully out of his tiger state then —to call it coming from his gemstone any longer made no sense, for he wasn't even certain of where the magical tiger's paw might be. He didn't have it in hand nor in his pouch, but he didn't need it any longer, as if somehow he and the gemstone had merged.
But he let go of his feline side completely now, understanding Markwart's ire and fearing it more than he lusted for the sensation of the kill. Nearly drunk on the life energies of the horse, he came back to Pony, reaching down to check that she was still alive, hoping he had not hit her too hard after she had struck him with the lightning bolt. Markwart's instructions had been very clear: De'Unnero was to bring Pony back alive, along with the stolen gemstones. Markwart didn't care at all about the other woman.
Pony came back to consciousness a long time later, to find herself standing, her back against a tree, her hands tied painfully around the trunk.
And there stood Marcalo De'Unnero, eyes narrowed and boring into hers.
"Do you not understand the power of your enemies?" he asked, moving up to her, his face barely an inch from hers.
Pony turned away, unable to look him in the eye. He caught her by the chin and roughly turned her back to face him. For a moment, she thought he would choke the life from her or smash her face to a pulp, but then a wry smile widened across his hard face.
Pony nearly swooned; she was helpless against him. He could do anything to her, could take her then and there.
"So beautiful," De'Unnero remarked, suddenly stroking her cheek, his demeanor changing completely. Pony would rather that he kill her!
She turned away again, but his hand had her by the chin immediately, jerking her head back.
"Beautiful and powerful," De'Unnero said, "skilled with the stones and with the blade, so I am told, and so strong of will."
Pony set her jaw and narrowed her blue eyes.
"You fear that I will take you?" De'Unnero remarked, smiling wide. He grabbed the front of her shirt. "You fear that I will tear off your clothes and leave you naked before me."
Pony eyed him stubbornly, and did not reply.
"You do not even begin to understand me," De'Unnero said, his face so close to her own. But then he backed away and let go of her shirt. "I would fight you on an open field, and willingly kill you if you opposed me —as I shall kill your lover, the one called Nightbird," he explained. "But I take no carnal pleasures with an unwilling woman. I am a man of God."
Pony snorted and looked away. She expected De'Unnero to grab her chin again and jerk her head back.
"Foolish child," she heard De'Unnero say, the man walking away. "You do not begin to understand those you have named your enemies."
Pony had no answers.
She heard horses then, an approaching cavalry, and soon they were all about her, Markwart and the monks, the soldiers in their shining mail, and the King of Honce-the-Bear!
CHAPTER 36
Unwelcome Homecoming
Greystone found her battered and bloody and too dazed even to think about trying to climb back up to her friend. Her friend! Colleen ached in heart more than body when she looked up that slope, to where Pony lay at the mercy of that strange beast. But she couldn't get to her friend, and even if she could have managed the climb, the tiger would merely beat her down again.
It was a moot point, though, and Colleen knew it. She could hardly get up on Greystone's back, and once there, she only managed to turn the horse north and urge him on. She slipped in and out of consciousness many times over the next hour, but had had the presence of mind to tie herself to the saddle.
And so she went on alone, knowing that the terrible man-tiger was not far behind.
She didn't camp that night. She couldn't even find the strength to climb down from the horse. Greystone walked on, eating as he went, pausing every now and then, sleeping as the woman slept on his back.
If Pony held any thoughts of speaking with King Danube, they were dashed immediately. On orders from Father Abbot Markwart —and with not a word of complaint from Danube or his entourage—a host of monks surrounded Pony, cut her loose from the tree, and shuffled her away. She saw Markwart showing her gems to the King and heard him remark about some "missing lodestone." King Danube looked over at her, his expression a mixture of pity and disgust.
And then he turned away, and Pony knew that she was doomed.
A few moments later, De'Unnero joined those escorting her, moving right beside her. "You are to run on," he explained. "The brothers will support you, will carry you when your legs give out." Two strong monks moved next to her as he spoke, pulling her arms across their shoulders, hoisting her so that her feet were barely touching the ground.
"You should reconsider your position before we return to Palmaris," De'Unnero said to her. "What a pity that one as strong of mind and body as you will be so horribly and publicly executed." He spun away as he finished, his step light and fast.
Pony didn't know how to interpret his words. Was he showing sincere concern? Or was he playing with her, taunting her within the guise of concern? Or was it, perhaps, something more sinister? Was De'Unnero pretending to be her friend, playing off against the Father Abbot, to keep her off guard?
Whatever it might be, Pony determined that she would not play along. They had beaten her, so it seemed, had taken everything from her, but she would face death with one thing intact: her convictions.
And she was glad to see De'Unnero, she decided. If the dangerous man was here, then he was not out hunting Colleen; though Pony couldn't even be certain whether her friend was alive, or if De'Unnero had killed her before he had come back.
"I will hold my convictions and my hope," she whispered, needing to hear the words, although as soon as she said them, she feared that she might elicit some taunting response from the monks holding her. Neither replied, though one did turn to regard her, eyeing her with some respect.
Pony met that gaze, drawing strength from it. Even if dying bravely was no great accomplishment, it was all she had left.
The pain wasn't so bad the next day, replaced by a grim determination in Colleen that she would get to Nightbird, whatever it took, and tell him of the fate of his lover. She knew that her wounds were serious. One arm was broken and one ankle so swollen that she had to remove her boot. And she had lost blood, and was so very cold.
But Colleen focused only on the road ahead and urged Greystone, wonderful Greystone, ahead, step after step.
Day and night blended together, one long, rolling agony. A rain fell the third day after De'Unnero's attack, but Colleen, delirious, didn't even notice. The soldiers and monks gained on her daily, though she rode long into the night, but again, she didn't, couldn't, notice.
All she knew was the road ahead, the road to Dundalis, the road to the place where she would at last allow herself some rest.
She collapsed on the side of the trail the afternoon of the fourth day, sliding from Greystone, hanging down at the end of the tether, her shoulders and head brushing the ground. The horse knew enough to stop, but there was little else that Greystone, or Colleen, could do. The woman made one attempt to right herself, but only fell back, scraping the side of her face against some crusted snow.
The sun rode low in the western sky. The darkness took her.
* * *
Tiel'marawee moved with the grace and speed that no race other than Touel'alfar could match, skipping over mounds of drifted snow immediately south of the Barbacan, and then running lightly, half flying, over stretches of open ground in the south. She took no meandering course this time, despite her elven love of song and dance, for her heart remained heavy with the loss of Ni'estiel.
Lady Dasslerond had to know: about the dead elf, about the murderous Bishop, and most of all, about the strange magic that had saved Nightbird —and Tiel'marawee—on the plateau of Mount Aida.
With hardly a thought, the elf rushed past Dundalis, passing under the tower on the north slope without disturbing the two sentries. She knew that she should turn west soon, if her destination was Andur'Blough Inninness, but she suspected that her lady might still be in Palmaris, or that Dasslerond would come north first before turning for home.
She listened intently for tiest-tiel, the star song.
What she heard instead was the soft nicker of a horse and the groans of a woman.
Tiel'marawee didn't know Colleen Kilronney, nor did she recognize the horse that had served as mount for Jilseponie. But though her business was urgent, the elf couldn't leave the woman like this, hanging upside down under the belly of a horse. With her fine elvish blade, she cut Colleen down, doing her best to pad the woman's fall to the ground. At the very least, she decided to unsaddle the poor horse, for festering sores were showing around the edges of the leather, and perhaps wrap the woman in the blanket, that she might die comfortably.
Colleen managed to open one eye, though the other remained closed, caked with dried blood. "Nightbird," she whispered through parched, cracked lips. "Pony caught."
Tiel'marawee's eyes widened as the meaning of the words came clear to her. "Pony?" she asked, lightly slapping the sides of the woman's face. "Jilseponie? Caught by whom? By the Abellican Church?"
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 184
