And then Roger's heart dropped, for he saw the prisoners and he could not mistake the thick golden hair of his dearest friend. He glanced around nervously, near panic. He had to get to Elbryan and let him know! He had to tell his friends, or try somehow to rescue Pony.
But the speed of this force daunted him. He could not beat them back to the Barbacan —not without being seen. And if he was seen, he knew that Markwart or some other monk would magically strike him dead on the field.
And any thought of going in to save Pony was ridiculous, he understood.
Roger Lockless could only sit and watch helplessly.
"Allheart," Shamus Kilronney groaned as the army made its way across the Barbacan's muddy floor. "We are doomed."
More than one soldier echoed that sentiment.
"Trust in Brother Avelyn," Braumin Herde reminded them all.
"And trust in yer King," Bradwarden added. "Ye said he was a good man, and a good man'll hear yer tale, and not think it the story of a criminal."
Elbryan, looking down at the approaching force, heard the words and considered every implication. If Bradwarden was correct, should they then make a stand here, firing arrows down upon soldiers and monks as they tried to make their way up to the plateau? What might King Danube say to their tale, to any tale, if some of his guards lay dead on Aida's slopes?
The ranger made his decision. Though many of the others, particularly Bradwarden, were not pleased to hear that they would not fight, they accepted the choice when the ranger explained his reasoning.
And so, like Roger Lockless, they sat and they watched. Later that afternoon, the leading edge of the powerful force neared the plateau.
"This is not Honce-the-Bear!" Brother Castinagis called down to them. "You have no authority here!"
In response came a barrage of lightning beyond anything the companions had ever seen, blasting stone into pieces flying all about them, forcing them to fall back until they were in the same helpless position they had been in when the goblins had come.
"Looks like yer King ain't much for talkin'," Bradwarden remarked grimly, stringing his bow.
"Let us see," Elbryan bade him, grabbing the bow to prevent the centaur from firing the first shot as the lead soldiers and monks clambered up the last slope. The soldiers were at the right-hand side —the only place where horses could negotiate the trail—monks at the left, where Elbryan and Bradwarden had first come up when retreating from the goblins.
And leading those monks was Marcalo De'Unnero.
"Oh, but ye got to let me at least kill that one!" Bradwarden cried.
"Thus we meet again, Nightbird," De'Unnero said, unbothered by the centaur.
"I will happily fight you one against one," the ranger replied.
The abbot found the offer tempting, but he remembered his place and his duty. "One day, perhaps," he replied, "before you are executed."
Bradwarden pulled free of the ranger and brought his bow up.
"I have been sent to warn you that if you offer resistance, Nightbird, then your friend Pony, who is now with the Father Abbot on the slopes below us, will be killed most horribly."
The ranger eyed him dangerously, not knowing whether to believe him. The words did stop Bradwarden.
"I am Targon Bree Kalas, Duke of Wester-Honce," one of the soldiers proclaimed, walking his mount forward. "Abbot De'Unnero speaks the truth, Nightbird. You have no fight here, and are fairly caught. Surrender to the Crown, and in exchange, I promise you a fair trial before the King."
The ranger looked at his friends, then slung Hawkwing over one shoulder and motioned for Kilronney's soldiers to put their weapons away. He wasn't quite thinking of surrender, though. He hoped to lure the would-be captors onto the plateau, hoped the power of Avelyn would save them once more. Then he would be quick to Markwart, he decided, and if the King got in his way, then Honce-the-Bear would need to find another king!
"You know me, Captain Kilronney," Duke Kalas went on. "Tell your friend, for I grow impatient. We have come six hundred miles to find you, and many of my soldiers desire a fight after so long and tiresome a journey."
"He is who he claims to be," Shamus said to the ranger.
Elbryan nodded. "Stand calm," he told his companions.
The ring closed about them. Closer, closer.
But no hum came from the mountain, no tingling of power from the arm of Avelyn.
"The magic must be used up," Shamus whispered.
"No," Brother Braumin realized. "These are not monsters, not minions of the demon dactyl."
"Not knowingly, perhaps," Elbryan said dryly. He looked at them all again and realized that they were waiting for his cue. If he drew Tempest and fought, then all of them would willingly join him, would die beside him.
But he could not do that. Not if Pony was the captive of Markwart.
"No!" cried a terrified and outraged Brother Mullahy, the normally quiet man pushed beyond his limits. "No! I'll not go back that my death becomes entertainment for fools who do not understand the truth of wicked Markwart."
"Calm, brother!" Braumin Herde cried out. Brother Castinagis moved to grab his friend and pull him back.
"Silence him," De'Unnero instructed a monk at his side, a monk holding a graphite.
"No!" Mullahy cried again, pulling free of Castinagis and running quickly to the one break in the enemy line, where the side of the plateau dropped away steeply.
"Stop him!" De'Unnero cried. But before the others could react, Brother Romeo Mullahy made his statement, the most profound and stirring statement he had ever made, one that touched the heart and soul of friend and foe alike.
Crying out for Avelyn Desbris, the young monk leaped over the edge, plummeting a hundred feet and more to his death on jagged rocks.
De'Unnero and many others blew a long and disappointed sigh.
Duke Kalas urged his horse and his Allheart soldiers closer; De'Unnero moved up the monks.
"What of it, Nightbird?" the Duke asked. "Have you or your friends any more surprises to offer?"
"You promised a fair trial," Nightbird replied.
Duke Kalas nodded, staring the man directly in the eyes.
The ranger drew out Tempest and threw it at the feet of the Duke's horse.
But Abbot De'Unnero got to the sword first, scooping it up and leading his monks quickly. He let Kalas and the Allheart soldiers take Shamus and the other Kingsmen as their prisoners, but he made sure Bradwarden, the renegade monks, and —most of all—Nightbird were in his care as they left the plateau.
Father Abbot Markwart watched the procession coming down Aida's sides with mixed emotions. Again he had gone up there in spirit, and again he had been prevented.
His confusion and anger increased when he came to understand that the ranger, the monks, and their friends had set up no magical barriers to block his way.
Now that the band of outlaws was taken, Markwart tried again to visit the plateau.
And again he could not.
CHAPTER 38
A Sacrifice of Conscience
He was not much of a horseman, but, riding Symphony, he did not have to be. Roger turned south as soon as he understood the truth of the disaster at the plateau: the power of Avelyn had not come forth and his friends had all been taken prisoner.
Roger had no idea what he should do.
He thought of trying to sneak into the camp and free Elbryan or Pony. He had executed such maneuvers against the powries in Caer Tinella, after all, had stolen prisoners and food right out from under their sentries. But Roger dismissed the notion. These were not powries. This was the King of Honce-the-Bear and his most elite and powerful fighting unit. Worse, this was Father Abbot Markwart and Bishop De'Unnero and a host of gemstone-armed Abellican monks. Roger might get into the encampment, but he knew without doubt that he would never, ever get away. And even if he did manage to free Elbryan, or Pony, or even both somehow, and get them to their weapons and gemstones, it would do little good. They had been arm
ed, after all, when they had first encountered this force, and it seemed to Roger as if none of the King's or Father Abbot's minions had even been injured!
So he rode, hard and fast, the great stallion easily outpacing the troop. He came into Dundalis and learned, to his continued distress, that Tomas, too, had been taken.
Still he rode, past Caer Tinella and Landsdown, down the road toward Palmaris —though what he might accomplish there, he did not know. Lost and alone, the man spent one night in a pine grove, and only then did he learn that not all his friends were caught or dead. Belli'mar Juraviel found him there, or rather, found Symphony, and came in expecting that Nightbird had somehow eluded the Father Abbot and was even then plotting his counterstrikes.
With a heart that grew heavy as soon as the initial joy and relief at seeing Juraviel faded, Roger recounted the events at the Barbacan. The elf listened with mounting, profound sadness, for it seemed to him as if all was lost.
"What are we to do?" Roger asked when he had finished, Juraviel making no comment, other than to close his golden eyes.
The elf looked at him and shook his head. "Bear witness," he replied, echoing Lady Dasslerond's instructions.
"Witness?" Roger said incredulously. "Witness to what? A mass execution?"
"Perhaps," Juraviel admitted. "Have they come through Caer Tinella?"
"I know not," Roger admitted. "They came through Dundalis only a day behind me, for I spotted them moving along a lower trail. Yet that was nearly a week ago. Their course was south, to Palmaris, I expect. But they cannot pace Symphony, so I know not how far behind they might be."
"Are Nightbird and Pony still alive?" Juraviel asked. Roger winced, for he, too, had pondered that question often over the last few days.
"It is likely that the King will want them brought to Palmaris for trial," the elf went on.
"So there, we must go," Roger reasoned.
"Outside the gates," Juraviel replied. "I wish to witness their entrance to the city, that we might determine if our friends are still with them, and still alive, and, if we are quick and clever, where they mean to imprison them."
In response, Roger Lockless looked forlornly to the north. The nightmare was in full swing, and the man felt helpless to try and change its course.
Spring was in bloom by the time the grand procession, prisoners in tow, marched through the northern gate of Palmaris. The only concession Danube had won from Markwart on the entire journey south was to allow the prisoners to ride upright, with some measure of dignity until the trial could commence and they were formally condemned.
The upright posture brought little comfort to Elbryan, though. Markwart was careful to keep the dangerous ranger and his equally dangerous wife far apart, both during the day's marches and within the encampment during the nights, affording them no opportunity to speak. They did make eye contact occasionally, and the ranger used the meager opportunity to stare lovingly at Pony, to mouth the words "I love you," to smile —anything at all to make her understand that he was not angry with her, not only that he had forgiven her, but that he understood that there was nothing to forgive.
One thing did perplex him, though, and brought him more than a little worry: Pony was obviously not with child. A multitude of questions assaulted the ranger, all the more frustrating because he knew that he would not soon get the answers. Had the child been born? Had she lost the baby? And if it was alive, then with whom? And if not, then who had killed it?
He could not know, and no one would speak with him. He had been placed in the care of the Allheart line, moved far away from Pony, and Markwart and Danube had been very specific to the soldiers guarding him. They were not to speak with him, not to acknowledge him at all unless an emergency arose. To the ranger's dismay, no emergencies at all confronted them all the way to Palmaris.
He took some comfort, at least, in the fact that Markwart won the argument that ensued once they were inside the city. He, Pony, the five monks, and Bradwarden were to be jailed at St. Precious. Colleen and Shamus Kilronney and the other treasonous Kingsmen, along with Tomas and the folk of Dundalis, fell under the care of Duke Kalas at the house of Aloysius Crump.
During the descent to the dungeons of the abbey, he saw Pony briefly, passing her more closely than at any time.
"I love you," he said quickly, before the nearest monk could force him to be quiet. "We will be together."
And then two monks leaped onto him, forcing him to the floor; one wrapped a gag around his mouth and pulled it tight.
He did hear Pony say, "I love you," and heard, too, her charge that Markwart had murdered their child.
And then he was dragged to his cell and thrown inside, the heavy door slammed in his face.
After a while, the ranger collected himself enough to crawl through the filth to his door and call out for Pony.
To his surprise, a voice answered.
"Pony?" he asked desperately.
"Brother Braumin," came the distant response. "Pony is far down the corridor, the furthest cell from your own. Except for Bradwarden; he is in another corridor, for none of these cells would hold him."
Elbryan sighed and rested his face against the door, thoroughly defeated.
"My brothers and I are all in line between you, my friend," came Braumin's voice. "We will relay your words to her, and hers to you, if you do not mind us hearing them."
Elbryan chuckled at the absurdity of it all, but he did take Braumin up on the offer. He told Pony of all his adventures since she had left him in Caer Tinella, and heard through Braumin Pony's response, most pointedly the tale of the disaster on the field outside Palmaris, when she had lost her —their—baby.
"They will try the monks first," Constance Pemblebury reported to her King the next morning. All Palmaris was alive with gossip; no two people in the city passed by on the street without an exchange of news.
"Those four remaining will be handled quietly and efficiently," King Danube reasoned. "Markwart will surely condemn them, though he will not likely execute them until he secures the sentence of death upon Nightbird and the woman."
"It is all a disgusting and evil affair," Constance dared to say.
King Danube didn't disagree.
"Is there nothing we can do?" she asked.
The King only chuckled helplessly. "We are to hold our own trials," he explained. "And our sentencing will probably be no less harsh than the Father Abbot's. Both the woman Kilronney, soldier of the former Baron, and Shamus of the Kingsmen are surely doomed, rightfully so by their own actions."
"Yet they acted out of conscience, against what they perceived as injustice," Constance remarked.
Again came the chuckle. "Whenever were they granted such permission?" he asked.
"Are we to try them first?" Constance continued. "At the same time as the monks, perhaps, or immediately following?"
King Danube sat back in his chair and spent a long time pondering that question. "Last," he decided, though he was not sure that he would stick with the decision. "Perhaps by that time, the peasants' taste for blood will be sated and some of Shamus Kilronney's soldiers, at least, might be spared."
Constance turned away. She wanted to yell at him, remind him that he was the King, that he could dismiss the charges against all of them, even Nightbird and Pony. Or could he? she suddenly wondered. What would be the price of such an action, in addition to the obvious enmity of the Abellican Church?
"The monk who leaped from Aida," King Danube remarked, shaking his head, "he fell right before me, you know. I saw his face, all the way down, right before he struck the stone."
"I am, sorry, my King," she replied.
"Sorry?" Danube scoffed. "The man was not afraid. He was smiling. Smiling, though he knew that he was but an instant from death. I will never understand these Abellican monks, Constance, so fanatical that they do not even fear death."
"But you must understand them," Constance replied grimly, and that thought settled heavily on both their shoulders.
There was little doubt that Markwart now held the upper hand. Markwart, risen from the grave. Markwart, the valiant Father Abbot, so old and yet strong enough to travel all the way to the Barbacan to capture the most dangerous criminals in all the world. Markwart! They were all talking about Markwart, the hero of the common folk. Though Danube had a stronger force within Palmaris, his position seemed weak when compared to that of the Father Abbot.
Duke Kalas entered the room then, obviously outraged.
"The centaur is no criminal," he declared immediately.
"You have interviewed the creature?" Danube asked, eyes wide.
"Bradwarden is his name," Kalas explained. "But, no, the monks would not let me speak with any of the prisoners held in St. Precious."
King Danube banged his fist on the arm of his chair. He had sent Kalas to the abbey to demand an interview with any whose words would be relevant to the trial of Shamus and the other soldiers. He had given the man a personal writ, with the seal of the Crown, demanding an interview.
And Markwart had denied him.
"I did find Abbot Je'howith, making his way from St. Precious to Chasewind Manor," Kalas explained.
"Je'howith," King Danube echoed in a wicked tone, for the King was not pleased with the old abbot.
"He deigned not to speak with me!" the Duke cried. "He would have denied me altogether."
The King looked at him curiously.
"Except that I informed him that he would give me his tongue willingly or I would cut it from his mouth," the volatile Kalas explained. "I had ten Allheart soldiers with me, while Je'howith was accompanied by merely a pair of monks."
"You threatened the abbot of St. Honce?" Constance asked incredulously, though she too, frustrated, didn't seem too upset by the action.
"I would have killed him," Duke Kalas declared flatly, "right there, on the open street, and let Father Abbot Markwart declare me an outlaw and try to bring me to his overused gallows!"
"But you did not," the King prompted.
"He spoke with me," Kalas replied, "as did the other monks. One of them had gone on the first journey to Mount Aida, the one during which Markwart first captured the centaur Bradwarden, and brought him back in chains through Palmaris, taking him all the way to the dungeons of St.-Mere-Abelle."
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 187
