"No freeze and no more snow," Bradwarden insisted. "And if we do see one, or a snowfall, it'll be gone with the mornin' sun."
"The worst thing of all is that I am sure that the ground is clear south of the mountains," Elbryan said. "If I could just break through, the run to Palmaris would be fast."
"She's fine, boy," the centaur said. "I know ye're worrying for her, and with good cause. But ye got to trust in her. Ye can bet that Pony's got herself surrounded by allies. She'll handle that Markwart —and De'Unnero, too —or she'll be smart enough to keep her head down. Ye need to find yer trust. If the snow's rumblin' down, then ye can expect to be here for a few more days. If we do get another big storm, then ye can expect a few more than that. Symphony's a fine horse, finest I ever seen, but he's not for walkin' mountain trails hidden under snowdrifts. Nor am I—ye ain't seen Bradwarden along for any o' yer huntin' trips, now have ye? No, boy, ye find yer trust and ye find yer patience. We're here until winter decides to let us out."
Elbryan gave a nod, and his smile showed that the centaur's point was well taken.
"At least we got the food for it!" Bradwarden declared.
True enough, Elbryan had to admit. They had plenty of supplies, warmth from Avelyn's arm, and security, as well, for after the slaughter of the goblins, no other monsters had dared approach the place, or had even dared to come anywhere near Elbryan and the others when they went out hunting.
So it could have been worse, much worse; but to Elbryan's thinking, it could have been better. He could be in Pony's arms now, or holding her hand and supporting her as she birthed their child. He knew that she would be getting close to that time by now, and that if he didn't get out of the Barbacan soon, even mighty Symphony would not get him to Palmaris in time.
Markwart, Danube, and their minions found no such obstacles. The trails north of Dundalis were clear, and the procession proceeded at a tremendous pace. During the day they stopped only briefly, to rest and let their horses graze and for a bit of food of their own; they didn't untie the prisoners until they camped for the night.
By that time, Tomas and the others could hardly straighten. Poor Pony, who had just survived the trauma of battling Markwart and losing her child, could not even stand. She curled up on the ground, clutching at her belly.
Tomas begged their captors to allow them, or at least Pony, to ride her horse the next day. Markwart would have none of it, saying that she had created her own prison, and that she would be treated accordingly. But then De'Unnero pointed out to him that if her condition deteriorated, it would slow them down, and also, that a living Jilseponie would aid them greatly when at last they confronted Nightbird.
The next day, Pony rode upright, though she remained dreadfully uncomfortable, the pain in her stomach burning and sharp. She tried to hide it, refusing to give the Father Abbot and the others the pleasure of seeing her distress. She kept her focus on poor Tomas and the other prisoners, strapped over the backs of the horses like corpses or saddlebags, and kept telling herself that they were worse off by far.
Somehow she got through the day, and when they camped for the night, she managed to sit straighter and ignore the continuing pain. She could eat little, though, just enough —she hoped—to keep up her strength.
Sitting on the ground, her eyes were down when a man approached, but she recognized the stiff gait of age and knew that it was Markwart before he spoke to her.
"If you die on the road, I will summon a spirit to inhabit your body," he said. "And then your pretty voice will guide the unsuspecting Nightbird to me."
Pony summoned all her strength and straightened to look up at the old man, matching the hatred in his eyes. "A demon, you mean." She spat. "Call it the pretty word spirit, but still it remains a foul beast from hell."
"You do recall the spectacle of a body so inhabited, do you not?" Markwart remarked, unfazed by her accusation.
Pony looked away. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to fight the man again, with his fists or with a soul stone, however he chose. She would beat him, she knew, despite her pain and weakness. She would destroy him this time, and show the truth of him to all. Let King Danube see the black heart of Father Abbot Markwart, and Pony would have a powerful ally in her war against the Abellican Church!
"I went out earlier this evening, scouting the road ahead," Markwart remarked. "I found him, you know." The man spoke truthfully. But he did leave out one disturbing fact about his spiritual journey: something prevented Markwart from going up to the plateau on Mount Aida, though he had seen the ranger and the others from afar.
Despite her better judgment, Pony did look back at him.
"Nightbird, the centaur, and their friends, including the five traitorous monks," the old man continued, obviously enjoying the moment, "perched atop Mount Aida, snowbound within the Barbacan, awaiting our arrival. Three days, dear girl, and your friend Nightbird will join you. How I long to watch him on the road back to Palmaris! Strapped over the back of a horse —what a hero he will seem to the folk when we parade him through the streets."
Pony looked away.
"Oh, but they love an execution, you see," Markwart went on, bending down to come into Pony's line of vision. "The peasants. They love to see a man hanged or crushed under stones or burned —yes, especially burned. Seeing death so real before them reinforces their lives, you see, gives them a sense of immortality.
"Or perhaps they just enjoy witnessing others in agony," the withered old man finished.
"A man of God," Pony muttered sarcastically.
Markwart grabbed her roughly by the chin and jerked her head up. "Yes, a man of God," he sneered, his breath hot in her face. "A merciful God to those deserving mercy, and a vengeful God to those who do not. I have watched your games, Jilseponie. You fancy yourself some hero of the common folk, someone possessing the truth that others cannot see. But you are not a hero. You and your friend bring only misery to those you claim to lead, and your truth is naught but ridiculous pity, with no discipline and no greater designs than the alleviation of temporary suffering."
Pony pulled away from his grasp, but did not look away. For just a moment his words rang with some measure of truth, and she was afraid. But then she considered more carefully the path of her life, reminded herself of the work she and Elbryan had done on behalf of so many during the war, while the monks stayed safely in their fortress abbeys. And she considered the sword dance Elbryan had taught to her, the very pinnacle of discipline.
There was her truth. There was her strength; in light of that, she considered more carefully the words of the old man, tried to glean any helpful information she might, any insights into this dangerous enemy. Most of all, she understood that Elbryan would not be able to escape him and that time grew very short.
She spent the next day in deep meditation, focusing on her pain and on finding the best posture atop her horse to alleviate it. She felt stronger now, as if Markwart's talk had given her a sense of purpose once more. She tried hard not to reveal that, for De'Unnero had become very attentive, jogging along beside her mount most of the time.
She could use that concern, she decided, and as the towering mountains of the southern rim of the Barbacan came into sight, she began to formulate a plan.
That night she appeared very uncomfortable to all who took the moment to notice —though in truth, Pony knew that she was better off than the other prisoners who still had to ride every day strapped over their horses. Her subdued moans increased whenever De'Unnero walked by.
By mid-morning the next day, on which the monks and soldiers expected to reach the southern foothills of the Barbacan, the caravan was moving along steadily, De'Unnero running near Pony's horse. She glanced about to make sure that no other eyes were upon her, then bit hard on the inside of her cheek. When she tasted her own blood, she lurched over suddenly, so violently that she slid along the side of the horse.
De'Unnero moved up beside her, pushing hard to help her, and soon he had her back ato
p the mount. She wobbled and seemed as if she would fall over again.
"Just let me down and let me die," Pony said in a pitifully weak voice, blood brightening her lips.
The abbot of St. Precious stared up at her, noticing the blood. "Broken already?" he said. "Markwart has not yet even begun with you and already you beg for death."
"No begging," Pony replied groggily, shaking her head and nearly falling once more. "But death is coming, I know. I bleed inside, terribly so, and will not survive the day."
De'Unnero looked up at her, truly concerned. He didn't want her dead, not now, not with Nightbird and the others waiting for them up ahead. If Pony was not with them, he feared the ranger and his friends would fight them. The Allheart soldiers and the monks would slaughter them with ease. But De'Unnero did not want it resolved that way, and certainly neither did Markwart. For then the King could claim credit for bringing down Nightbird and the conspiracy that threatened the Church. More important, the treasonous behavior of Shamus and the Kingsmen would be brushed aside.
No, they needed Pony, alive and well enough to lure Nightbird and the others in. And as much as he wanted to battle the ranger again, one against one, De'Unnero understood a clean and simple capture to be the desired course.
The abbot glanced back at Markwart and saw he was sitting comfortably in his carriage, eyes closed as he concentrated on the gemstones, lending strength and lightness to the other monks. Not wanting to disturb him, De'Unnero acted on instinct, confident in his own decisions, and reached up with his soul-stone ring, touching Pony's belly, then sending his thoughts into the ring to heighten its magic.
Pony felt the connection immediately, felt the inviting depths of the soul stone. Into it went her spirit, flying past De'Unnero's healing hand, out of her body, rushing over the miles to the mountains and beyond.
She saw Aida's flat top and flew to it, saw Elbryan —dear Elbryan!—and came upon him in a rush. Markwart! she imparted telepathically, desperately. Markwart and King Danube approach! Run! Run away for all your lives!
"What?" the ranger asked Bradwarden, who was standing nearby; but as soon as the centaur turned a quizzical look his way, Elbryan recognized the source of the communication, knew that it was Pony who had come to him! "Pony!" he cried, trying to hold on to something; but she was already gone, already back in her body, though lying on the ground now, Abbot De'Unnero standing over her, one of his fists covered with her blood.
Dazed, Pony looked up at him and smiled, despite the pain and the blood flowing from her nose. A small victory, she knew as the man reached down and smacked her across the face. Then he hoisted her up roughly and threw her across her saddle, instructing the other monks nearby to tie her as they had tied the other prisoners.
Pony accepted the treatment without complaint. She could only hope that Elbryan had heard her, that her lover would run free.
"What is this about?" Markwart asked De'Unnero, rushing to the man's side and glancing back nervously to see if King Danube had taken note of the commotion.
"She tried to possess me," the monk lied. "Sent her spirit into the soul stone even as I used it to heal her wounds —wounds, I discovered, not nearly as grievous as she led me to believe."
Markwart let his glare fall upon Pony. Not to possess, but to escape, the voice in his head told him, and then his eyes widened! To send her spirit to her allies.
"How long was she within the power of the stone before you noticed?" the Father Abbot asked.
De'Unnero shrugged. "A few moments, no more."
A few moments, Markwart mused; no stranger to spirit-walking, he understood how far Pony might have traveled in those few moments. "She is to have no contact with any stones, even if her life is fast fading away from her," he instructed. Then he rushed back to his carriage and took out his own soul stone. He guessed Pony's course, and now he followed that same path, soaring through the mountains, down past the valley floor and up the side of Mount Aida. They were still there, he knew —Nightbird and the other conspirators. Now he would see them, view their preparations to determine if the woman had gotten to them or not; perhaps he would even possess one of them.
But again his spirit was stopped at the edge of the plateau as surely as if his corporeal body had run into a stone wall.
Markwart tried to break through the barrier, but was blocked by a force more powerful —many times more powerful—than the strength of Dasslerond when she had sent him careening back to his corporeal form in Palmaris.
He didn't understand it, but he knew —and so did the voice within him—that he could not defeat this barrier. He figured that Braumin and the other monks must have come into possession of a very powerful sun-stone, but unless it was a stone many times more magnificent than anything the Father Abbot had seen, he could hardly believe that even the five together could so completely deny him access.
Shaken, the Father Abbot returned to his corporeal form in the carriage. Seeing that his monks were lagging behind, he went back to his malachite, lending them strength.
He thought about that mysterious power atop the blasted mountain often during the day, and he was glad he had brought powerful allies with him.
"They are camped on the other side of the pass, though they'll have trouble negotiating the snow with their heavy horses and armor," Roger Lockless dutifully reported that night, returned from a scouting expedition.
Elbryan understood: the Father Abbot and the King had come for him, and likely with De'Unnero along. "Instruct Shamus to keep a vigilant watch this night," the ranger said to Bradwarden. "The Bishop might decide to pay us a visit prematurely."
"Hope he does," the centaur replied. "Might be the only chance we get to hit at that one afore the whole damned army rolls over us."
"Are we to stay up here?" Roger asked in disbelief.
"Where would you have us go?" Elbryan replied. "Goblins still control the ring about the Barbacan other than the southern passes. Markwart, with his gemstones, will find us wherever we run. Up here, with the power of Avelyn backing us, is our best chance."
"Ye should send the monks away, at least," Bradwarden reasoned. "They're not needin' to die up here. If Markwart's just lookin' for Nightbird and Bradwarden, then let them get away."
"I already offered as much," the ranger replied. "Brother Braumin would hear none of it. The man is eager to return to Palmaris as the Father Abbot's prisoner, is eager to speak of the miracle at Mount Aida."
"He'll have a hard time talkin' with his tongue cut from his mouth," the centaur said dryly.
Elbryan didn't doubt it; Markwart would never let Braumin, or any of them, speak the truth. The ranger knew that they would win or lose everything here on Aida, beside the upraised arm of Avelyn. He understood the power of the gemstones, the scouting power of the soul stone, and knew that there was no way they could hope to escape now that Markwart was on their trail.
No, they would win here, with the help from Avelyn, or they would lose everything.
No, the ranger realized as he considered the situation. Not everything.
"You go," he said to Roger. "Now, this very night, on Symphony. Go south to the passes and find a hole to hide in. When Markwart's forces have passed you, then ride south with all speed. Find Pony and tell her the truth —tell her of the miracle and of our final stand. This must not die with us."
"They do not want you dead," Roger reasoned, obviously not happy with the alteration to the plans. "They want you as a prisoner."
"Then all the more important that you escape," the ranger replied. "Take this," he added, almost as an afterthought. He reached up and removed the circlet from around his head, the only gemstone, other than the one set in Tempest's pommel and the turquoise in Symphony's chest, that Pony had left with him when she had departed.
Roger shook his head, looking at the circlet with horror, as if accepting it would mean the end of his relationship with Nightbird, would mean that he might get away while the ranger died. "I came north with you, inde
ed I urged you north, and so I shall stand beside you. If we are to die, then we are to die together."
"Well spoken," said Elbryan, "but foolish. I am not telling you to run and hide because I fear for you, Roger Lockless. Indeed, your course may prove more perilous than my own! Once Markwart has me, dead or captured, and Bradwarden and the monks —and once the King, if he really is with the Father Abbot, has taken Shamus Kilronney—they will search no further. You alone have the wiles and relative anonymity to get through. I'll not argue the point. When we came north, we agreed that I would lead. Take Symphony and go. Get behind Markwart's forces and get to Pony's side in Palmaris."
Roger looked to Bradwarden for support, but found that the centaur was completely in agreement with the ranger's decision.
"You believe that Avelyn's power will defeat the Father Abbot?" Roger asked, his voice trembling. As he spoke, he reached out and accepted the circlet.
The ranger shrugged. "I had thought us dead up here already," he replied. "Who knows what miracles the spirit of Avelyn has left to bestow?"
Roger and Symphony went out soon after, the man wearing the cat's-eye circlet that enabled him to see in the dark. The trails remained treacherous for a horse, but Symphony managed them, and long before the dawn arrived, Roger was far into the mountains, on a trail near Markwart's expected course, lying low and, like those perched atop Mount Aida, waiting.
They should not have been able to get through the mountains, for the trails at the higher elevations remained thick with snow. But Markwart sent out monks with rubies and lent them some of his own strength. The stones released blasts of fire that disintegrated great drifts into puddles and steam.
Soon after noon, they saw Mount Aida. They would arrive before the sunset.
Ever curious, Roger left Symphony and crept closer, watching the displays of power with amazement. That feeling of awe only heightened as the full troop thundered by, the proud Allheart Brigade leading.
DemonWars Saga Volume 1 Page 186