The Demon Apostle

It hadn't snowed in several days and the air had been relatively warm, even away from Avelyn's arm, even in the higher elevations along the mountains ringing the Barbacan. Elbryan, Roger, and several of Shamus' men had gone down to the valley floor and even into the foothills on several occasions, hunting game, the ranger searching for a clear trail south. They hadn't found much, but each time they returned, the ranger's mood had been a bit brighter, for every trip had taken them deeper into the mountains and Elbryan believed that the time of departure was grow-ing near.



"This will be the day," Elbryan had said earlier that morning, as he set out to inspect the trails. But Bradwarden knew from the expression on the ranger's face as he climbed back up to the plateau that he had not yet found a clear trail out of the Barbacan. The ranger wanted to ride Symphony hard to the south, to Pony; but while he, with his elven training, could possibly get through the snowy mountain passes, the horse could not.



"Too thick on the top?" Bradwarden asked.



"I never got near the top," Elbryan replied glumly. "Every steep ascent is clogged with falling drifts."



"Well, but she's meltin' then," Bradwarden said hopefully.



"Not fast enough," the ranger replied, staring back at the southern moun-tains. "And if we see a freeze, then all will ice over and I shall be trapped in this place for another month."



"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 her-self 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 gob-lins, 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 Bar-bacan 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 pris-oners, 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 wordspirit, but still it remains a foul beast from hell."



"You do recall the spectacle of a body so inhabited, do you not?" Mark-wart 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 pre-vented 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 mo-ment 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 consid-ered 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 atop 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, desper-ately.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 moun-tain 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 every-thing 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, indeed 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 cap-tured, 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'llnot 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 re-plied. "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 ex-pected 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 dis-plays of power with amazement. That feeling of awe only heightened as the full troop thundered by, the proud Allheart Brigade leading.



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 after-noon, 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 an-other 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 Tem-pest and fought, then all of them would willingly join him, would die be-side 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 state-ment 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.