The Demon Apostle

by R. A. Salvatore

Chapter 22 Seeds

 

  They called it the "Progos thaw," and though it seemed to occur at the turn of each year, it always had the folk out and about, shaking their heads and mumbling about the strange weather. And this year, for the first time in many years, the folk did have something to mumble about. Spring weather came on suddenly in Palmaris, with several storms in succession starting out with threatening heavy snow but producing only cold rain before the second month had even begun.

  The winter, among the mildest that even the oldest folk could remember, was fast ending, and Pony's belly was becoming noticeable. Thus, she made it a point to keep her bar apron around her waist even when she was not working in the Way, even when she was going out at night, as she was this evening, to meet with one or another of her fellow conspirators.

  The base of resistance was solidifying, she reminded herself hopefully as she brushed past Belster and out of the inn. Between Belster's many friends, Colleen's information from inside the enemy camp, and Al'u'met's Behrenese and sailor comrades, those opposed to Bishop De'Unnero con-trolled much of the street and dock talk in the city. Not that they were open in their complaints and resistance; it had not come to that.

  Not yet. No, they were planting the seeds of rebellion, fostering a dif-ferent viewpoint concerning the manner in which the Church was ruling the city. If it came to a fight - and a large part of Pony dearly hoped that it would - the Bishop and his minions would be surprised indeed at the scope of the resistance.

  That notion of an open battle against the Church prodded Pony to step more quickly as she headed for her appointed meeting with Colleen Kil-ronney. The fires of vengeance had not cooled within Pony, and if it came to blows, she remained determined that she would use her magic, Avelyn's magic, to wreak devastation on the leaders of that accursed Church that had murdered her parents and her friends.

  She was surprised indeed when she turned into the alley and saw that Colleen was not alone, and her surprise became amazement at the sight of Colleen's companion. A monk! A monk wearing the robes of St. Precious!

  She came forward cautiously.

  He leaped at her, hands grasping for her throat. Like all Abellicans, the man had been trained in the fighting arts, and so his attack came swift and sure.

  Pony fell back under his weight. Her hands grabbed at his wrists, trying to pull his fingers from her throat. She fell quickly into the trained warrior mode, and even as a stunned Colleen rushed in from behind, Pony hooked her thumbs under the monk's, then bent her legs and fell to her knees, bringing the man down with her. Now leverage became Pony's ally, and a simple twist broke the monk's hold - and she could have twisted farther and shattered his thumb bones altogether.

  But she did not - in deference to Colleen, who had brought this monk to her. She stood up quickly, sweeping her hands under the monk's forearms, then yanking his arms out wide. Using her momentum, she turned one palm out, curled her fingers tightly in, and drove the heel of her hand under the monk's chin. The blow lifted him from his feet and shoved him several inches back.

  Up came his arms in desperate defense, but Pony was already moving like a striking serpent straight ahead. She connected again, this time with a stunning blow to the bridge of his nose, and then again as blood began pouring from both his nostrils.

  Colleen caught the monk as he fell and offered him support, but also neatly immobilized him, slipping one arm under his shoulder, then around the back of his neck, and hooking her other hand, pulling the monk's other arm back at the elbow.

  "I see you have brought your friends," Pony remarked sarcastically, straightening her clothes and eyeing the man dangerously. She had done well to control her mounting, boiling anger - anytime a man wearing the robes of that Church offered her an excuse, she meant to punish him terribly - but resolved that if he came at her again, he would not leave this alley alive.

  "She is the one," the monk tried to explain to Colleen, spitting blood with every word.

  "The one who'll be breakin' yer stupid neck?" Colleen retorted.

  "T-the companion of N-Nightbird," the monk stammered.

  "I telled ye that much," said Colleen.

  "The friend of Avelyn the heretic, the thief of the sacred stones, the ally of the demon dactyl," said the monk.

  "Seems like every time I'm hearin' it, yer reputation for troublemakin' grows," Colleen said to Pony. "I'm likin' ye all the better, girl!"

  "You do not understand," the monk cried.

  "I understand that I could be lettin' ye go now, and lettin' ye get yerself killed," Colleen shot back; as she said it, she did release the man. "Go on then, I'll be enjoyin' the sight o' me friend kickin' the life from yer robed body. "

  The man hesitated, glancing nervously from Colleen to Pony. He reached up to wipe the blood from his nose with his sleeve.

  "A friend of Avelyn, yes," Pony admitted. She reached into her apron and tossed the man a rag. "A friend of Avelyn, the same Avelyn who destroyed the demon dactyl, despite what your masters have told you. "

  The man continued to stand his ground, continued to look all about.

  "Why did you bring him?" Pony asked.

  "He's no friend to De'Unnero," said Colleen. "I was thinkin' that a common enemy might be a good place for startin' an alliance. And can ye doubt how valuable a man inside St. Precious might prove to be?

  "And I didn't know," Colleen added, giving the monk a kick as she spoke the words. "I telled him about ye and he seemed friendly enough. "

  "A ruse so he could get at me," Pony remarked.

  "We could just kill 'im," Colleen replied, and as she did, she slid a dagger from the back of her belt and put it firmly against the monk's back, forcing him to arch his shoulders.

  "I am no friend of Bishop De'Unnero," the man said.

  "Thought ye'd be seein' it that way," said Colleen, but she didn't remove the dagger.

  "Then you are no friend of Father Abbot Markwart and no friend of the Abellican Church," Pony replied. "And closer in mind to Avelyn Desbris than you believe. "

  "The college branded him heretic and murderer. "

  "To the dactyl's own home with your college!" Pony retorted. "I've not the time to teach you the truth, Brother - "

  "Brother Talumus," Colleen explained, "one I thought a friend. "

  The monk half turned and glowered at her. "That was before I knew you conspired with outlaws. "

  "One who came out here to plot against De'Unnero has a strange way of defining that term," Pony remarked.

  "Are we to convince him or kill him?" asked the brutal Colleen. Both Pony and Brother Talumus understood that she was not kidding.

  "Not kill him," Pony replied immediately.

  "Are ye ready to be convinced, then?" Colleen asked him in his ear.

  Talumus did not reply, but neither did he turn away or give any clue that he would not be receptive.

  "Did you revere your former abbot?" Pony asked.

  "Speak no ill of Abbot Dobrinion!" Talumus replied, his tone more forceful even than when he had attacked Pony.

  "Never that," said Pony, "for Dobrinion was a good man, a great man, and more akin to Avelyn Desbris than you know. That is why Father Abbot Markwart had him murdered. "

  The monk stammered a syllable, then chewed his lip.

  "Colleen brought you here, and so I assume she has judged your char-acter correctly," said Pony. "Though she has erred before on such mea-sures," she added, tossing a disarming smile at the woman soldier. "I will tell you the truth, plainly, and then let you judge my veracity. Be convinced or not, as you judge. "

  "But if ye're not. . . " Colleen said, prodding him with the dagger.

  "If you are not, then we have a place to put you until this distasteful busi-ness is complete," Pony put in. "And you shall not be mistreated, in any case. "

  "Abbot Dobrinion was slain by a powrie," Talumus said. "We found the wretched creature dead on the abbot's bedroom floor. And I know of
no powries in St. Precious. "

  "Slain by the same powrie that did not take the time to open a cut on Keleigh Leigh and dip its beret in her blood?" Pony asked. That had caught Talumus by surprise, she realized by his expression.

  The monk thought to respond that perhaps the creature had not the time, but changed his mind and asked bluntly, "How do you know this?"

  "Because Connor Bildeborough told it to me. "

  "Connor, who annulled your marriage," said the unconvinced monk.

  "And who came north to warn me that the same men who murdered Abbot Dobrinion were after me, and after him," Pony corrected. "Connor, who was also killed by one of those men, by a brother justice, trained and loosed by the Father Abbot of St. -Mere-Abelle. "

  "Connor, whose uncle was murdered by the man ye now call bishop," Colleen added.

  Talumus' shoulders sagged under the weight of these accusations - ones he had obviously heard before.

  Pony recognized the posture. The monk did not believe the words, of course, but neither could he dismiss them. And any hint of their truth could send his entire world crashing down around him.

  "The Behrenese are being persecuted," Pony stated flatly.

  Talumus, seeming thoroughly defeated, nodded.

  "And you do not agree with this policy. "

  Again, a nod.

  "Then stand with us if you will, or at least do not stand against us," said Pony. She motioned to Colleen, who at last put away her dagger.

  "I will not stand against my Order," Brother Talumus said boldly.

  "Then stand back and watch with an open mind," Pony explained. "And bid your fellows of St. Precious to do so as well. Bishop De'Unnero is not a good man, and not truly an Abellican at heart. We will prove that to you. "

  "I been a friend o' yers for years," Colleen reminded him. "Ye don't betray me on this. "

  "I will watch," Brother Talumus agreed after a long moment. "And I will view, and review, things in light of the revelations you have offered. But when I am done, if I am convinced that you are wrong and that your claims against the Church are unfounded, I will go against you. "

  Colleen's hand slid back toward the dagger, but Pony cut her action short. "That is all that we can rightfully ask," she replied, "and generous and wise of you, by any measure. "

  Talumus backed away from the pair, eyeing Pony nervously as he moved cautiously down the alley. When he judged that he was far enough away, he turned and ran off.

  "You should not have brought him here," Pony scolded Colleen, "not yet. "

  "When then?" asked the other woman. "Are ye thinkin' we can stand long against the likes o' Bishop De'Unnero without any help from the monks? Bah!" She snorted. "They'll find ye and kill ye to death, don't ye doubt. I only bringed Talumus because he confided to me that another of his brothers sensed magic coming from the general area o' Fellowship Way the very last night, and he's knowin' that I been going there. "

  Pony's shoulders slumped at this news. She had used the hematite again last night, to visit the child that was growing within her, the child who had become such a pleasurable focus of her life of late. She could hardly com-prehend that her spiritual bonding with her unborn child might have ruined everything. Were De'Unnero and his minions that efficient?

  "Warned me to keep clear o' the place," Colleen went on.

  "Then De'Unnero is coming," Pony reasoned.

  "No," Colleen replied. "The monk that saw yer magic use told none but Talumus, who told only meself. And then I bade Talumus to tell t'other monk that it was him using the stones, and no enemies o' the Church. And so he did, and so he'll continue to say now, for I think ye handled that one well. "

  Pony paused to consider the words, to consider whether or not she and Belster and Dainsey should abandon the Fellowship Way altogether, though such a move would surely destroy much of the progress they had made in beginning an underground alliance over the last few weeks.

  "Brother Talumus is sincere," she decided. "He will not betray us. Not now. "

  "Then we got some provin' to do," Colleen remarked.

  True to his word, Brother Talumus was already mulling over recent events in light of Pony's words as he made his way back toward St. Pre-cious. One meeting was particularly significant: Baron Bildeborough and another man had come to see Talumus shortly before Bishop De'Unnero had arrived in Palmaris, and shortly before Bildeborough had gone off to the south and been killed on the road to Ursal. Both Bildeborough and his unknown companion that day had spoken to Talumus about the murder of Abbot Dobrinion and had quietly mentioned that same fact: the powrie had not cut Keleigh Leigh and dipped its beret in her blood. This now seemed meaningful indeed to the young but experienced monk.

  Not knowing too much about powries, Talumus couldn't give that the same weight as had Baron Bildeborough, his companion, and now the woman, Pony. But could it be evidence of so heinous a betrayal as the Abel-lican Church going against one of its most respected abbots? Brother Talumus wasn't yet ready to make that jump.

  In the foyer of St. Precious, Talumus was met by a friend, Brother Giu-lious, the one who had detected the magic use near the Fellowship Way.

  "Brother!" Giulious exclaimed, gesturing at Talumus' bloodstained nose. "Pray, what has happened?"

  "The issue of stone use near the Fellowship Way is settled," Talumus told him.

  Giulious backed off and stared at him skeptically. "Did you not tell me that it was you with the stones? "

  "Half truth," Talumus admitted, and Giulious' eyes widened with shock.

  "I sought the services of a woman down there," Talumus lied. "Yes, brother, I was weak of the flesh, as are we all. "

  Pious Giulious nodded and lifted his hand in a customary, though little used, Church sign: raising his hand perpendicular to his chest, lifting it to his brow, then sweeping it down and to one side, back again, and down and out to the other - the sign of the living tree.

  "This woman was ill," Talumus went on, "a sickness of the loins, it seems. And so I allowed her to borrow a soul stone that she might heal - "

  "A street whore who knows how to use the sacred gemstones?" Giulious asked incredulously.

  Talumus only smiled. "Street whores know how to do many things," he replied with a mischievous grin; and simple embarrassment provided ample deflection of any suspicion. "I went back to retrieve my stone this night, but the woman had decided that it was too useful an item for her to relinquish. "

  "Brother Talumus!"

  "She hit me," the monk explained.

  "But you retrieved the stone?"

  "Of course," Talumus lied, and he hoped that Giulious would not ask to see it!

  But Giulious, whom the others at St. Precious often called "Giulious the innocent" was a trusting soul, and he only made the sign of the living tree again.

  "I trust that you will hold confidence about this matter," Talumus bade him, "and say nothing at all about the detection of magic use near the Fel-lowship Way. Bishop De'Unnero is not enamored of me, and I need no more grief from him!"

  Giulious smiled warmly at his friend. "You should repent," he scolded sincerely, "and should be more careful of the company you keep. "

  Talumus smiled at this man, whom he considered a dear friend.

  Satisfied, Brother Giulious went to the task of helping Talumus clean up his face, chattering about how the whore did indeed seem possessed of other talents - particularly in the area of striking a man.

  Talumus grunted now and then to make Giulious think he was actually listening, but in truth, his thoughts were far from that room, were back in the alley near the Fellowship Way. So very much to consider, and all of it more than a little unsettling.

  "Yo, ye boy, bring the cup over!" the drunk yelled, and he lurched so forcefully in the direction of the battered cup lying on its side in the alley that he overbalanced, even from his sitting position, and tumbled down against the base of the wall.

  Belli'mar Juraviel, looking very mu
ch a street waif, his face darkened with soot to disguise the distinctive angular elven features, his wings folded under a cloak - uncomfortably so! - glanced at the wanted item, but made no move to retrieve it.

  "Ye hearin' me, b-boy?" the drunk stuttered, pulling himself to a sitting position again, and then - with great difficulty and using the wall as sup-port every inch of the way - moving up to stand. "Ye get me the cup or I'll give ye a beatin'!"

  Juraviel shook his head in disgust. This man represented the worst example of humanity the elf had ever seen - worse even than the three trap-pers he had met during his travels with Nightbird. And he knew that his elven kindred, scattered all about in strategic locations, were equally unim-pressed, and probably growing much more impatient than he with this drunk's tiresome and troublesome rambling.

  "Ye hear me, boy?" the drunk yelled more loudly, too loudly. He took a step forward.

  Juraviel exploded into motion, spinning a kick that landed solidly against the man's loins, then jumping up - and inadvertently and instinctively trying to beat his wings for support - and how that hurt! - and landing a pair of solid punches on the man's face, sending him back hard against the building.

  "Oh, but ye're up for some sport," sputtered the drunk, and he tried to push himself off the building.

  But then he jerked weirdly - and Juraviel did, too - as a brick bounced off the side of the man's head and fell to the gutter. The drunk went down, out cold.

  The elf looked up to see one of his kin standing on the edge of the roof.

  "You may have killed him," Juraviel whispered harshly.

  "And if not, and if he awakens and begins that unwelcome noise again, then surely I shall!" said the other elf. Juraviel recognized the voice to be that of Lady Dasslerond herself, and knew from her tone that she was hardly speaking idly.

  With agility beyond that of the most dexterous human, the elven lady spun over the edge and slipped down the building's side, coming lightly to her feet beside Juraviel, who was bent over, checking the man to make sure he was still breathing.

  "Has she returned?" Lady Dasslerond asked.

  "She is inside, tending tables," Juraviel replied, "as Belster's wife. "

  "Belster's pregnant wife," Dasslerond remarked, "for any who would care to look closely enough. "

  Belli'mar Juraviel didn't disagree; Pony's condition was becoming more evident with each passing day.

  "She dispatched that monk with ease and grace," Lady Dasslerond said cheerfully. Juraviel knew that she was offering this only for his benefit, only to make him understand that she was not truly angry with Jilseponie.

  "Yet you fear the consequences of her having met with a man of the Abellican Church at this unsettled time," Juraviel replied.

  "It was a dangerous ploy for the soldier woman to bring him," Lady Dasslerond explained.

  "Do you fear the Abellican Church that much?" Juraviel asked.

  "Not I, but your friend certainly should. "

  "Lady Dasslerond, too, by my guess," the observant Juraviel dared to reply.

  To his relief, the lady of Andur'Blough Inninness did not argue. "I fear any humans who believe that their god sanctions their actions," she admitted. "And this Church has shown a propensity for making enemies of those who are different. Witness the plight of the Behrenese at the docks. Could the Touel'alfar expect any better treatment?"

  "Would the Touel'alfar care?" Juraviel asked.

  "We are more tied to the humans than we like to admit," Lady Dasslerond replied grimly.

  Juraviel didn't understand; the only ties that he knew of, other than those with the rangers, were dealings with a few selected merchants, trading boggle for those goods the elves could not get in their valley. And all that was done in secrecy: anonymous drops of goods, without even most of the merchants understanding the true source of the wine.

  "The war is ended," Lady Dasslerond explained. "And after every war, the humans inevitably expand their borders. They'll not go south, for the folk of Honce-the-Bear have no stomach for a war with the kingdom of Behren, despite the Bishop's actions against the dark-skinned humans here. Nor will they go north, where they would inevitably face the undesired prospect of angering the fierce Alpinado-rans. And east lies the great sea. "

  "And west lies Andur'Blough Inninness," Juraviel reasoned.

  "They are already too close, by my estimation, especially if their leader-ship becomes entrenched in the fanaticism and self-righteousness of the Abellican Church," Lady Dasslerond explained.

  "But how to stop them, short of war?" asked Juraviel. "And we could not hope to win such a struggle against the human masses. "

  "It may be time to speak openly with the King of Honce-the-Bear," Lady Dasslerond said simply, the stunning declaration making Juraviel's knees go weak, "as it was in centuries past. "

  "Would the present human king even remember the Touel'alfar? " Jura-viel asked. "Are we not merely fireside tales to him or songs for children?"

  "If he does not remember, then he will learn the truth," Lady Dasslerond replied. "Or perhaps it will not come to that. Palmaris may prove to be the keystone to the Church's aspirations. "

  "And the King is on his way here, or soon will be, by all reports," Juraviel put in.

  "And so is the Father Abbot," Lady Dasslerond reminded.

  Juraviel knew that already, of course, but he winced anyway at hearing the words spoken.

  "We came here to gather information," the lady said firmly. "The oppor-tunity to do such will be greater when the powers of the kingdom gather before us. So fear not, Belli'mar Juraviel. These events are to the benefit of the Touel'alfar.

  "And that," she added pointedly, staring hard at him, "is all that should matter to you. "

  Belli'mar Juraviel gave a low whistle and stared hard at the wall of the Fellowship Way. The road was about to get darker for his human friend Jilseponie, he knew, and it seemed as if there was little that he could do about it.

  As soon as she donned her disguise and entered the common room of the Fellowship Way, Pony knew there had been some trouble. One of Bel-ster's primary informants glanced her way, offered a slight nod, and then headed for the door, leaving a sour-looking Belster leaning on the bar. The place was not so crowded at this late hour, and so Pony went to her du-ties efficiently, thinking she would be able to speak privately with her co-conspirator soon enough.

  It didn't happen that way, as more and more people filtered into the Fellowship Way, many of them part of the underground network, seeking information, Pony realized. That only confirmed for her that something troubling had indeed occurred.

  Finally, at halfway between midnight and dawn, the last of the patrons staggered out of the tavern, leaving Pony alone with Belster and Dainsey.

  "A fight at the docks," Belster offered before the obviously curious

  Pony even had the chance to ask. "A band of soldiers, drunk by all reports, wandered down to the docks in search of some fun at the expense of the Behrenese. "

  "Beatin' a child!" an outraged Dainsey interjected. "Ye're callin' that fun?"

  "I'm calling it nothing but trouble," Belster corrected angrily. "And they weren't beating the lad - a young man more than a child - but just pushing him about. "

  "And askin' for what they got, by me own measure," said an obstinate Dainsey.

  "The other Behrenese came to the boy's aid? " Pony asked.

  "A dozen o' them," Belster confirmed, "matching the soldier's fists with clubs. "

  "Beat 'em good," Dainsey muttered. "And left 'em on the docks, one near to dyin', though we've heard that the monks saved him. Pity. "

  "Blessing, ye mean," Belster shot back. "As it's standing, there's a thou-sand soldiers moving near to the docks, or meaning to with the morning light. "

  "They'll not likely find a single Behrenese waiting for them," Pony reasoned.

  "That'd be a wise choice," Belster grimly replied.

  "Ah, but it'll blow past like
a summer storm, and no damage done," Dainsey said hopefully, slapping a rag against a tabletop, wiping it briskly. "Short memories, and shorter still when men been takin' o' the bottle. "

  "More likely, the Bishop will find a scapegoat or two and hang them in the public square," Belster reasoned. "How is your Captain Al'u'met to like that? If the man is still about, I mean. "

  That caught Pony as more than a little curious. "Still about?" she echoed.

  "Al'u'met's boat put out to the water and put up sail," Belster explained, "heading south down the river, so it's said. "

  Pony mulled that over for a moment. It seemed strange to her that Al'u'met would leave without informing her, so what had sent him on his way? To beg audience in the court at Ursal, perhaps, or to find allies along the towns south of Palmaris? There were rumors floating about town that the King planned to visit. Did Al'u'met plan to intercept him?

  "Al'u'met will return soon enough," she decided, for she knew that the man would never desert his kin. "And as to this supposed hanging, he'll not stand for it. The Behrenese would likely choose an open battle before allowing one of theirs to be unjustly hanged. "

  "Then the Behrenese are stupid," Belster replied, his blunt and some-what callous attitude catching Pony off guard. "If they give the Bishop the excuse he needs, they will be killed to the man, woman, and child. "

  "And how are we to like that?" Pony asked suspiciously. "Where do we stand?"

  "In the gallery," Belster replied firmly, "watching. "

  "Acting?"

  "Watching," the innkeeper said again. "We are not ready for any war," he added with a snort. "And likely, we'll never be ready for such a war. If you are thinking that you shall find many who will join you as you try to help the black-skins, then understand that you are wrong. "

  Pony forced several steadying breaths into her lungs to calm herself and give her a moment before responding. "And where does Belster stand?" she asked, though the answer was becoming painfully obvious.

  "I told you a long time ago that I am no friend to the black-skin Behren-ese," Belster admitted. "I have never pretended otherwise. I do not like the way they smell and do not like the god they pray to. "

  Pony looked to Dainsey for support, but the woman just kept wiping the same table, harder and harder.

  "The god they worship is their own to choose," Pony said to Belster. "And for their smell - well, I'd guess that few would care for the smell of Belster O'Comely, with beer spilled all over him. "

  "Their choice, and mine, too. "

  "And what if I stand with them," Pony asked. "Will Belster then stand in the gallery of the curious cowards?"

  "I am not going to fight you on this, girl," Belster replied so calmly that Pony understood her appeals would have little effect. "You knew how I felt about the black-skins all along. I never made it a secret. And I am not the only one feeling such. If the Behrenese mean to stand with us against the Bishop, then so be it, but - "

  "But we are not to stand with them," Pony finished for him, her hands clenched at her side, her voice trembling with mounting rage. "Which group, then, shows the stronger character, Belster O'Comely? Which shows itself worthy of alliance and friendship, and which shows cowardice?"

  "Not going to fight you on this, girl," Belster said again. "I feel as I feel, and you are not about to change that. Do not for a moment think that you can. "

  Pony winced and grimaced repeatedly, chewed her bottom lip, and finally just headed for some privacy in her room. Anger burned in her - indeed it did - but more profoundly came the feeling of disappointment. With more the weakness of resignation than the fiery posture of rage, she fell to the edge of her bed, sitting, her shoulders slumped.

  It was a side of Belster that she had suspected since her first mention of the Behrenese and Captain Al'u'met, but one that she had chosen not to probe more deeply. For she liked this man honestly, and he had treated her as a daughter - and indeed, he did remind her of her adoptive parents,though his temperament leaned more toward Pettibwa's than toward Graevis'. Yes, she liked him, indeed she loved him, but how could she see past this obvious flaw?

  Pony looked up to find Dainsey standing in her doorway. Dainsey always seemed to be standing in her doorway!

  "Don't ye judge him too harsh," the woman said quietly. "Belster's a good man - just a bit blind on the black-skins. He's not knowin' many, and none well. "

  "And that excuses his attitude?" Pony shot back, throwing up a wall of anger in self-defense.

  "Not meanin' to," Dainsey replied. "But it's just words, and words from a scared man. He's not thinkin' that we can win, with the black-skins or not. Don't ye judge him till the fightin' starts, if it starts. Belster O'Comely's not to stand and watch while an innocent man gets his neck stretched, whatever the color o' that man's skin. "

  Pony's wall of anger tumbled down. She believed Dainsey; she had to believe that about a man she so loved. Though she still feared that Belster's warning about the others would prove true, Dainsey's words had at least brought a temporary comfort.

  "Would ye really fight with the black-skins?" Dainsey asked. "I mean, if ye knew ye'd be standin' alone?"

  Pony nodded, and started to explain that she'd get her fight with De'Un-nero, at least, and then, even if the rest of the Palmaris army and clergy fell over her, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that she took the evil Bishop down with her. She wanted to say all that, wanted to proclaim that principle would guide her more than any odds or hopes of ultimate victory, but she stopped short, a puzzled expression on her face, her hand going to her belly.

  Dainsey was beside her in an instant. "What is it, Miss Pony?" she asked in alarm, but that faded as Pony turned to her, a smile, a contented glow, spreading across her face.

  "He moved," Pony explained.

  Dainsey clapped her hands together, then slipped one to Pony's belly. Sure enough, there came another kick of a little foot - or a brush of a little hand.

  Pony didn't even try to hold back the tears, though she knew that their source was much more than the simple joy at the first obvious movement of her unborn child.

  How could she, in good conscience, go to war with a life growing in her belly?