No, the road ahead would not be quiet, she knew. If nothing else, it would be filled with the sounds of a baby's cry and the laughter and joy of proud parents. Again she almost told him. She gave Elbryan a long, tender kiss, whispered another promise to meet him on mid-spring's day, then climbed upon Greystone's strong back and kicked the horse into a quick trot down the road to the south.
She didn't look back.
* * *
"She is gone," Elbryan said quietly when the image of his uncle Mather appeared in the mirror at Oracle. "I miss her dearly already, though the morning is but half through!"
The ranger sat back against the cool wall of the small cave and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. He did indeed miss Pony, and he was pained by the thought that she would not be with him for several long months. Sitting there, in the dark and quiet, Elbryan could hardly believe how much he had come to depend on her. Besides the obvious benefit of Pony's skill in battle, she was Elbryan's emotional support, his best friend, the only one of his closest companions who could see the world through the eyes of a human and the only one with whom he chose to share so much of his thoughts and feelings.
Elbryan gave a great sigh, then another chuckle, thinking how empty the road north to his home would seem without Pony and Greystone trotting along beside him and Symphony.
"I understand why she had to go, Uncle Mather," he went on. "And though I still do not agree with her choice, I admit that it was hers to make. And I am not nearly as worried as I was just a few days ago. Pony has found a better and more secure attitude —I saw that clearly when Shamus Kilronney decided to capture, and not kill, the trapped powries. A week ago, Pony would never have agreed to that, or more likely, would have killed all the powries before we arrived. Perhaps she has put enough of her grief behind her now. Or if not, then perhaps this trip back to Palmaris, to see Fellowship Way—which I am confident Belster O'Comely has brought back to its previous reputation—will grant her peace of mind.
"I miss her, and it will be a long few months waiting to see her again," he admitted. "But this may be for the better. Pony should be removed from battle for now, should be in a quiet place where she can properly remember the Chilichunks, and properly grieve for them. I do not believe that the road north will be such a place. We'll find many powries and goblins, and even giants, before Dundalis and the other two towns are rebuilt, I do not doubt."
Elbryan closed his eyes and ran a hand through his thick mop of brown hair. "The soldiers have left, as well," he told the silent ghost, "soon after Pony, though they did not know that she had gone out before them. I will miss Shamus Kilronney —he is a good man—but I am glad that he and the other soldiers are not making the trip north. The folk kept the secret of Bradwarden and Juraviel, and those who knew said nothing of Pony's proficiency with the gemstone magic. I am sure of this, for Tomas Gingerwart kept a close eye on his fellows and understood the urgency of the situation. Pony and I can remain obscure to all but the most knowledgeable and prying eyes, I am sure, but Bradwarden's distinct heritage would mark him clearly to any who knew the recent histories of St. Precious or St.-Mere- Abelle. Better that Shamus turned south; Bradwarden, Juraviel, and I will clear the way to the north."
The ranger nodded as he finished, believing the logic of his words. He was glad Pony had gone to Palmaris, if that was what she needed, and he did believe that Dundalis would be easily reclaimed. He thought again of his last intimate encounter with Pony, the tenderness, the sharing, and contrasted that with their almost angry encounter in the forest. This last encounter was sincere, he knew; the truth of his love for Pony, and hers for him, and the simple fact that she had been able to put aside her anger so completely gave him hope.
And so it was with complete trust in his wife that Elbryan came out of that small cave to see the bright morning, the clouds finally giving way. He found an extra blessing awaiting him: a rainbow, stretching from horizon to horizon. That brought a smile to Elbryan's handsome face, a sparkle in his olive-green eyes, and a strange feeling that the rainbow was for him and Pony, that they would be joined, despite the miles, by its bands.
The thought settled and Elbryan put it, and all of his other feelings for Pony, into a warm place in his heart. He could not afford any distractions now. This was the life the elves had given to him: the ranger, the protector. Nightbird.
The task of reclaiming the Timberlands fell squarely upon his strong shoulders, and woe to any powrie, goblin, or giant that stood before him.
Sitting astride Greystone in a copse of trees off the side of the road just south of Landsdown, Pony, too, saw the rainbow. She hardly stopped to appreciate the beauty, though, nor did she hold any romantic notions of a rainbow bridge connecting her to Elbryan.
Her focus was pragmatic, and her gaze now had settled on a rising cloud of dust coming from the north, the telltale approach of Captain Kilronney and his soldiers.
Pony eased Greystone a bit farther back into the wooded cover when the group came into sight.
A point rider led the way, trotting his mount swiftly some fifty yards ahead of the main group. He went past Pony's position, head turning as he scanned for potential enemies, but she was well concealed.
Shamus Kilronney and his strong-willed cousin led the main host, arguing as they rode. They always seemed to be arguing, Pony noted. She realized that she would miss Shamus Kilronney, and her gaze lingered on him as he moved past her. She respected this man, and liked him and thought that if they had met under different, less trying circumstances, they might be great friends. Her feelings toward Colleen were more ambiguous; she certainly wasn't enamored of Colleen's condescending attitude. But Pony would not allow herself to be too judgmental. Above all else, Colleen Kilronney possessed an aura of competence. The warrior woman had likely been through many trying experiences during the war, Pony realized, and if she wasn't trusting, it was understandable.
Four ranks of five soldiers each, including most of Colleen Kilronney's warriors, came next, all alert and looking for signs of danger. It struck Pony that none of them, not even the two leaders, seemed splendid in the morning light. They didn't resemble the knights of the famed Allheart Brigade, whom Pony had seen thundering about in their shining armor during her time in the King's army; rather, they were capable, battle-hardened warriors, a bit weary but ready for any foe.
Behind them, tied together waist to waist and each laden with a huge pack of supplies or a tied stack of firewood, came the score and seven powrie prisoners. Despite the load, the powries, prodded by soldiers, rolled along at a tremendous pace. Powries were legendary for their endurance —the dangerous powrie barrelboats had no sail and were propelled by pedaling dwarves, yet these ships traveled the rough waters of the open Mirianic and had been known to overtake sailing ships in a stiff wind! And now the powries lived up to that reputation, stepping to keep pace with the trotting horses without a grumble or complaint.
The whole group moved down the road, around a bend, and out of sight, save the telltale cloud rising up above the trees. Familiar with Captain Kilronney's tactics, Pony knew to wait a bit longer, and sure enough, the trailing pair of scouts came by.
The woman jiggled Greystone's reins and the horse started out of the copse.
"And still you did not tell him," came a familiar voice.
Pony turned the horse to the side and scanned the trees, finally picking out Juraviel sitting calmly on a branch some ten feet from the ground.
"Are we to have this fight again?" she asked indignantly.
"I only fear —"
"I know what you fear," Pony interrupted. "And I fear it as well. If Elbryan is killed up north, then he will die without ever knowing that he has fathered a child."
Juraviel, obviously agitated, hopped down to a lower branch. "How cold are your words," he remarked.
"How true are my words," she corrected. "Both Elbryan and I have been living with the shadow of death looming over us since before we journeyed to Aida."
"Thus I would think that you would wish to tell him."
Pony shrugged. "I do wish to tell him," she said, "but I know that to be the wrong course. If he knew, then he would not go north —or not without me, at least. And I am not going to Dundalis."
"Never?"
"Of course I will return to my home, and Dundalis is my home," she was quick to reply. "But not now. And Elbryan would not go without me if he knew that I was with child."
She paused. "And that would be to the detriment of us all," Pony went on. "The Timberlands must be reclaimed, and none will do that better than Nightbird."
Juraviel nodded.
"So, no, Belli'mar Juraviel, I did not tell Elbryan," she said bluntly. "But I will promise you this: I plan to raise my child in Dundalis, and will rejoin Elbryan before the babe is born."
"If we get into a situation from which I can see no escape," Juraviel said quietly, "or if Elbryan is grievously wounded and near death, I will tell him the truth."
Pony smiled and nodded. "I would expect nothing less from you, my friend," she said.
"One more promise and I shall be satisfied," Juraviel said after another pause. "I will have your word that you will always remember the life that is within your womb," he said firmly. "Promise me that you will keep safe, and that you will not go in search of a fight and will avoid any which find you."
Pony eyed him sternly, indignantly.
"The child within you is the child of Nightbird," the elf said, not backing down. "Thus, the safety of the babe is of great interest to the Touel'alfar."
"Of course my concern is for my child," Pony retorted. "Need you ask —"
"Need I remind you of the powries in the cave? " Juraviel interrupted just as forcefully. Then he did back down, though, offering a disarming, sincere smile. "The child within you is more than the child of Nightbird," he explained. "It is the child of Elbryan and Jilseponie. Thus, the safety of the babe is of great interest to Belli'mar Juraviel."
Pony could take no more. The elf had her trapped by the honest concern of friendship. "I surrender," she said with a laugh. "And I promise."
"Farewell then," Juraviel said somberly. "And hold to that promise. You cannot begin to understand the importance of the life that grows within you."
"What do you know?" Pony asked with concern, for Juraviel's words and tone hinted at something larger.
"I know the beauty of a child," the elf replied.
It seemed to Pony that he was being evasive, but she knew the ways of the Touel'alfar well enough to understand that she could not coerce anything from one of them.
"I am to meet Elbryan and mid-spring's day in Caer Tinella," she explained. "I expect that Belli'mar Juraviel will see him there safely."
Juraviel did a silent count of the months. He knew from Pony's words that the child had been conceived on the road to St.-Mere-Abelle in late summer. Juraviel thought to comment that Pony would meet Elbryan only if she was still fit to travel then, but he kept quiet. She knew the timing better than he, he assured himself.
Pony paused and reached into her pouch, producing a smooth gray stone, the soul stone. "Perhaps you should take this," she offered. "It is the stone of healing and you may well find use for it."
Juraviel shook his head. "We have the magical armband Bradwarden wears," he said. "You keep the gemstone." His gaze drifted down to her belly and she understood that he feared she might need it even more.
Pony pocketed the gem. "Mid-spring's day," she said.
"Fare you well, Jilseponie Wyndon," Juraviel replied.
The elf nodded. Pony offered a last smile, kicked Greystone into a brisk walk out of the copse, then trotted off down the south road.
Juraviel watched her ride out of sight, honestly wondering if he would ever see her again. He hoped that she would hold to that last, all-important promise to keep out of harm's way, but he recognized the pain and rage within her and understood her need for action. The powrie fight had sated that need, had brought a measure of calm, but only temporarily, Juraviel knew.
Like the smiles Pony had shown him in this meeting. They were not lasting things, not signals of true contentment. Pony's mood had shifted dramatically in the course of seconds, at the prompting of only a few words. Watching her go, Juraviel could only hope that no trouble found her among the dangerous streets of Palmaris.
And even if Pony did get to Caer Tinella for mid-spring's day, Juraviel doubted that he would be there to greet her. It was nearing time for him to go home, back to Andur'Blough Inninness. Lady Dasslerond needed to know about the babe, the child of Nightbird, who was, in effect, the child of Caer'alfar.
Pony soon had the trailing riders in sight. She took care to stay back, but the group was focused on the road ahead so she had little trouble shadowing them all day.
They set camp among a group of deserted farmhouses, one of many such settlements that had not yet been reclaimed.
Pony set her small camp in sight of the soldiers, taking comfort in the warm lights that shone through the windows and in the silhouetted forms of men walking about the blazing fire set on the common ground between the houses. They were confident, obviously so, that there were no sizable groups of monsters in the area —none that would challenge them, at least— and Pony knew that their confidence was well placed. Still, she thought it foolish for Captain Kilronney to advertise his position, especially with more than a score of dangerous powrie prisoners in tow.
So Pony did more than rest that night; she went out with her soul stone, keeping a silent and vigilant watch over the troop.
As much a ranger as her husband.
At the same time, Elbryan, Juraviel, and Bradwarden reclined comfortably on a bare hillock some distance north of Caer Tinella. The ranger lay on his back, hands folded behind his head, eyes staring up at the starry sky. Bradwarden was similarly at ease, plopped on the ground, his front horse legs crossed before him. Even in his reclining posture, his human torso remained upright. "Hard on the breathin' if I lay on me side," he explained to his friends.
Juraviel was the most agitated of the three, looking as much at Elbryan as at the skies above, though any elf would surely enjoy the quiet splendor of the sky this clear, crisp evening. Juraviel's concern was for Elbryan, for the ranger was obviously sad, and his posture spoke more of resignation than of serenity.
Bradwarden saw it, too. "She'll be back," the centaur offered. "Ye know she's not to leave ye for long, and know, too, that there's no other man for her heart."
"Of course," Elbryan replied with a chuckle that turned into a sigh.
"Ah, but for the ladies," Bradwarden lamented dramatically. "Oft times I'm glad indeed that I've seen none o' me own kind o' the fair sex."
"Sounds a bit lonely," said Elbryan. He managed a wry smile and looked at Juraviel. "And frustrating."
"Ah, but there's the beauty in being a centaur," Bradwarden interjected with a mischievous wink. "I'll be takin' a ride on a dumb horse, with no questions to be answered and no explanations to be given!"
Elbryan pulled his hands out from behind his head and covered his face, groaning, left speechless by the crude centaur and not wanting to conjure such a picture in his mind.
"Just be glad that Symphony is a stallion," Juraviel put in, and the ranger groaned again.
Bradwarden only laughed harder.
Then it went quiet on the hillock, the three friends each alone and yet sharing the splendor of night sky. Some time later, Bradwarden took up his bagpipes and started playing a haunting melody that drifted through the trees like an evening mist, unobtrusive and adding to the mystical qualities of the night.
CHAPTER 6
Sitting on the Fence
Roger Lockless thought himself foolish. He scolded himself that his judgment was distorted by desperation and loneliness. But stubbornly he kept moving along the corridor outside Father Abbot Markwart's quarters, broom in hand, trying very hard —too hard?—to look as if he was on some cleaning duty.
He paused o
utside the Father Abbot's door, looking both ways along the quiet corridor, even sweeping a bit.
"An hour," he whispered to himself to bolster his confidence. The monks were gathering for vespers, and none would likely come this way for at least an hour. Roger had studied the routine carefully, night after night, for he knew that one mistake now would get him tortured to death. He thought of Elbryan and Pony and the heroic centaur he had never met, and found his resolve. With a final glance each way, he went right to the door, falling to one knee.
True to his surname, Roger had the simple lock opened in a matter of seconds. Surprised by how easy it had been to break into the quarters of the highest-ranking Abellican monk in the world, he paused, fearing suddenly that there might be some magical or mechanical trap set about the door. He gave a thorough inspection of the seams on the jamb, but found nothing; then he hesitated again, looked both ways, and took a deep breath, reminding himself that a magical trap would likely offer no physical signs.
Except for the ashes —his ashes—left behind after it was sprung.
With a growl, the stubborn young man pushed open the door.
Nothing happened, and then he was inside, falling to one knee again to relock the door. Leaning against it, catching his breath and his resolve, Roger scanned the suite. Markwart's quarters consisted of four rooms. This office, the largest, was the hub, with a door —closed—to the left, another across the room behind the great desk partly open to reveal a corner of the Father Abbot's bed. A third door, to the right, was open wide, revealing a group of four comfortable chairs set on a rug before a smoldering hearth.
Roger went through that open door first, into the study, but returned to the office in a short while, having found nothing of any importance, not a single clue concerning his missing friends. He moved into the bedroom next, and found Markwart's journal on a night table. Roger wasn't much of a reader, though a kindly woman in Caer Tinella, Mrs. Kelso, had taken him in and taught him. Markwart's writing was stylish and quite legible; Roger could understand quite a bit of the script —an amazing feat for one who had lived the life of a common peasant in Honce-the-Bear. The monks could read and write, as could the majority of the nobility, the elven-trained Nightbird, Pony, and other exceptional individuals. But less than two in thirty of those who called themselves subjects of King Danube Brock Ursal could understand simple letters.
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