The Demon Apostle

"Be off the street!" the soldier shouted at a surprised Belster O'Comely, who had come out of the Way to dump a bucket of garbage. The soldier approached, weapon drawn, but the innkeeper faded back to his door and through it, hands up defensively, not bothering to retrieve the bucket.

"And don't ye come out again!" Belster heard the man yell as he closed his door. With a great sigh, the innkeeper moved back to the common room, where Dainsey and Mallory sat quietly sharing a drink. Just that morning, anticipating an upsurge in business with patrons coming in to gossip about the arrival of the Father Abbot and the impending arrival of the King, Belster had formally hired Mallory and Prim O'Bryen.

How ironic that seemed now, with the Way deserted save for three fel-lows who had rented rooms a day before, with none of those gossip- hungry patrons able to come to the place even if they were so inclined.

"Where'd she go?" Belster asked, and Dainsey motioned at the door to the private quarters.

He found Pony in her room, sitting quietly in the dark, staring out the lone window. Every so often there came the bark of a soldier or monk, warning people off the streets. After the attack on the Father Abbot, St. Precious had all but shut the city down.

"Oh, what have you done, girl?" Belster asked, moving to tower over Pony. "And it was you - don't you lie to me! Last man coming into the Way told me a gemstone hit the Father Abbot and that all the monks were amazed that someone had struck so hard and from so far away. They had wards in place against such attacks, so it's said - so they, and I, know the assassin was a person of great power with the stones. Only one person I know could have done that."

"Avelyn Desbris could have torn his head from his shoulders," Pony stated matter-of-factly, not taking her gaze from the scene beyond the window.

That callous attitude sent Belster into a sudden rage. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her forcefully to face him. "And Avelyn is dead," he replied. "We both know that, and we know, too, who it is that has his gemstones. And one of those stones was lodestone, was it not? And it was a lodestone that hit the Father Abbot. So where is your lodestone, girl?"

Pony's big blue eyes narrowed, boring into him, her gaze so forceful and determined that Belster backed away half a step.

"It was Pony who attacked the Father Abbot," Belster said quietly.

"I would no more apologize for slaying the Father Abbot than I would for playing a role in the defeat of Bestesbulzibar," she said firmly, though she didn't understand the irony of such a statement.

"Oh, but what have you done?" Belster lamented, throwing up his hands and spinning away, pacing nervously. "You believe that you have done a favor to our friends? To your own? Look outside, girl! Do you see anyone walking in the street, anyone coming into the Way this night?"

"They will loosen their grip after a short enough while," Pony insisted. "They are afraid now, and so the soldiers and the monks sweep the streets to prevent any larger uprising; but that, too, will pass."

"And what about your Behrense friends?" Belster asked. "Will the retri-bution from the Church that your actions bring upon the black-skins soon pass? Will those who survive the coming onslaught soon forget those who will be executed?"

"The Behrense?"

"Do you doubt that many are blamingthem for the attack?" Belster asked incredulously.

Pony scoffed at the absurd idea. "The Behrense have never been known as stone users," she reasoned. "Their religion does not even acknowledge the gemstones as the gift of God, but maintains they are a temptation from Ouwillar, their recognized incarnation of the demon dactyl. Yatol priests view the stones as a means to avoid hard and honest labor and as dangerous because they offer power to people whom they consider undeserving of that power. The thought that a Behrense executed a gemstone attack on the Father Abbot is purely - "

"Convenient," Belster interrupted. "So you had your fun. Are you feeling the better for it?"

Pony shook her head in frustration. How could he not understand? Feeling better? Hardly! She had done only what needed to be done, had done what was demanded of her out of loyalty to the Chilichunks and to Connor, and out of her hopes for a better future for the kingdom.

"You have put us all in a pretty fix, now haven't you?" Belster went on sarcastically. "It might be that they will name the dog De'Unnero as next Father Abbot, and then all the kingdom will feel the pain he has already inflicted on Palmaris."

Pony continued to shake her head. "Markwart was the force behind the rise of the Abellican Church," she said. "It was he who gained control of Palmaris for his Order and without him - "

"It was he who killed your parents," Belster said bluntly. "And that is all you understand and all you considered. And it might be that Markwart deserved what you gave him, but don't you think for a moment that you did any favors to the rest of us. Not a one, I say! We'll all be living in the hell Pony made for us now."

Pony looked back out the window, and nearly jumped out of her chair at the sudden sound of Belster slamming the door behind him. He was wrong, she told herself repeatedly. Times would be difficult for a while, perhaps, but it would pass; by her estimation, the city would more likely revert to state control now, and the people would more likely be able to find a calm and peaceful existence.

She had to believe that, for her actions had brought her little other com-fort. She had sated her thirst for vengeance, perhaps, but that had done little - nothing at all! - to fill the hole in her heart left by the deaths of Graevis, Pettibwa, and Grady. And Connor. At the most, she now hoped that with her revenge exacted, she could get on with, and get over, the ter-rible process of grieving.

"It was the woman," Tallareyish Issinshine informed Belli'mar Juraviel and Lady Dasslerond that night of the attack on the Father Abbot. "She struck from a rooftop, some distance away."

"It would seem you have not exaggerated her power with the gemstones," Lady Dasslerond said to Juraviel, though it was painfully obvious from her tone that she was neither impressed nor pleased with Jilseponie Wyndon at that moment.

"Jilseponie has suffered greatly at the hands of Father Abbot Markwart," Juraviel tried to explain, but he, too, heard his words as hollow. Because of her position, because she carried the child of Nightbird and knowledge ofbi'nelle dasada, Pony should have acted more wisely than that; she had the responsibility to look at the overall picture of the good of the world, not act out some personal vendetta.

"She acted rashly," Dasslerond said with her typical bluntness, "and without regard for greater events about her."

"Events that she could not know of, since we have not contacted her," Juraviel pointed out.

"Events that include the child in her womb," Dasslerond was quick to retort. "That fact alone should have stayed her hand."

Juraviel wanted to reply that Pony obviously decided she could make the strike and get away with it without any greater loss than the single stone. But he held his tongue, for his excuses were a defense - precisely because Pony's actions needed defending. In truth Belli'mar Juraviel, too, was far from pleased with the woman and saw her latest action as merely another ina series of blunders that had begun when she had left Nightbird, particu-larly without telling him of the child. For Juraviel, too, was Touel'alfar, and, despite his frequent contact with humans, he could not see the world through their eyes.

"The Abellican Church will realize almost absolute control over the city now," Dasslerond went on. "And they will orchestrate every movement of King Danube, using security as an excuse. Your friend has cost us much. How am I to arrange a meeting with Danube Brock Ursal? And certainly we cannot reveal ourselves to the Church. It was a foolish choice she made, Belli'mar Juraviel, the choice of a human, ofn'Touel'alfar, which Jilseponie surely is."

In her frustrated sigh, Juraviel heard clearly Dasslerond's further dismay that this same woman was also a keeper of the secret ofbi'nelle dasada. It would take Pony a long string of good decisions to make up the lost ground in Dasslerond's eyes, and the lady's feelings toward Pony would go far in determining her patience with Nightbird.

But Juraviel could do nothing about it all - not now. Pony was a pawn in the great game being played out in Corona, and pawns were often sacrificed.

The three patrons staying at the Way joined Belster and his four helpers - for Pony had come out of the back room and Prim O'Bryen had managed to slip into the Way - but other than that, only two brave patrons dared the patrols to come into the tavern. All ten looked up with startle-ment and concern when the door to the common room burst open and a host of soldiers strode in.

Pony's hand went to her pouch of gemstones, while her other moved near Defender, lying on a shelf behind the bar. She relaxed, though, and so did Belster and Dainsey, when they took note of the woman leading the sol-diers: Colleen Kilronney.

"Master O'Comely," she said, motioning her dozen companions - some town guard, some King's soldiers - to a pair of nearby tables. "Mugs o' ale for all me friends."

"At your command, good soldier," the innkeeper replied, hustling to the bar and filling mug after mug, then handing each tray to Dainsey and Mallory.

Colleen wandered over while Belster was at his work, calling back to her companions that she would see to it that the innkeeper was properly paid -  though more than one of the other soldiers, Kingsmen, called out that he should not be compensated, that he should be thrilled at the chance to serve soldiers of the crown.

Colleen waved their words away and came up to the bar, producing a purse fat with coins. Belster started to tell her not to bother, but her look explained to the man, and to Pony standing next to him, that Colleen had used this as a pretense to speak with them away from her fellows.

"They said it was magic that felled the Father Abbot," she whispered, "magic more powerful than any o' them ever seen."

Belster glanced at Pony, a look Colleen did not miss.

"So itwas ye," she said with a grin. "Well, a fine shot, by me thinkin'."

"And one that made the world a better place," Pony replied deter-minedly. "Better are all the folk of Honce-the-Bear, of all Corona, without Father Abbot Markwart."

"Without?"Colleen asked skeptically.

That took the smile from Pony's face.

"He's living? " Belster asked.

"Fine and well," Colleen replied. "The monks with him when he got hit thought he'd die, thought hehad died; but the stubborn old dog held on, somehow, and when them monks at St. Precious got at him with their healing stones, they took fine care o' him. Still, they're callin' it a miracle, ye know, and some're even sayin' that God would not let the Father Abbot die at this critical time."

Belster groaned and slumped. Though he was angry with Pony, he, too, had hoped that her rash action had at least rid the world of Markwart.

Pony was devastated. "I hit him too hard," she said, her voice barely a whisper, as if she could not draw breath. "I saw his head explode, and no soul stone could put that back together. I killed him. The power of that gemstone would have killed a king of giants."

"Ye didn't kill him, though I wish ye had," Colleen replied. She gave Pony a bright smile then, and an affirming nod. "Ye got the belly for it, girl," she said with obvious respect.

"Belly of stone," Belster complained, "and a head to match."

Colleen's smile disappeared as another soldier, a Kingsman, walked over to join her. "Haggling the price?" he asked.

"The good Belster's givin' it to us for free," Colleen replied. "And he's askin' when folks'll be able to walk on the streets again, when they might wander into his tavern."

"That will be for Father Abbot Markwart to determine," the Kings-man replied, "or for King Danube, if the ban has not been lifted before his arrival." The man offered a stern look at Belster and Pony; Pony held her breath, for she knew this one from the campaign at Caer Tinella and could only hope that he wouldn't recognize her through her disguise. She wondered if her eyepatch was on the appropriate eye, if her hair was well powdered.

He started away - but he kept glancing back suspiciously.

"He's always like that," Colleen explained.

"You are certain that the Father Abbot is alive?" Pony asked quietly.

Colleen nodded. "Seen him meself, orderin' monks around at St. Pre-cious," she said. "His talkin's a bit crooked, if ye get me understandin', but he's up and about, and brimmin' mad, don't ye doubt!"

"Damn him," Pony muttered, and she looked down at the floor, full of rage, full of frustration. How could it be? How could any man, any giant even, have survived the strike of that lodestone with the amount of energy she had put into it? Pony knew then that this man was an even more formi-dable enemy than she had believed. But still, she meant to kill him.

Indeed she did.

"The gemstone was found deep into the metal side of the carriage," Tal-lareyish explained when he returned again to Dasslerond. The lady was alone this time, for Juraviel was out among the shadows of the streets, watching the soldiers and monks on their rounds, taking a measure of the security curtain that had been dropped over Palmaris. He also meant to speak with Pony, if he found the chance, and with Dasslerond's blessings, though the lady had limited what Juraviel might tell his human friend.

"In the carriage after blasting through his hard head," the lady said. "And yet he lives?"

"He does," Tallareyish confirmed. "And those monks who attended him are now pacing the corridors of St. Precious, loudly praying to their God, speaking of miracles and of the glory revealed in their Father Abbot."

"His wounds were grievous then?"

"Our scouts insist that none of the monks thought he had a chance of living, even when they began their work with the soul stones," Tallareyish explained. "Some even called for funeral preparations. The lower half of his face was torn away and smashed apart. But now, mere hours later, the man is up and about, seeming strong and angry, with no more than a lisp and a swollen bottom jaw to show for the attack."

Lady Dasslerond kept those words, that description of the recovered Markwart, in her thoughts as she finished with Tallareyish, dismissing him to his scouting duties, asking him to keep watch over Juraviel. Then she went alone to a quiet corner of the roof that was serving as her tempo-rary base.

Though her people did not use many gemstones, Lady Dasslerond, above all others of the Touel'alfar, understood the power of the gems and she could hardly believe that Markwart - that any man, let alone an old one - could have survived that attack. And yet he had, and had thrived!

Dasslerond, knowledgeable in the ways of the world, in the legends of all the races and all the dactyl demons, feared the implications.