The Demon Spirit

"Jilly," Connor repeated, as softly and gently as he could.

The look on the woman's face was caught somewhere between sheer incredulity and horror, the expression of a child faced with impossible and terrible circumstances.

Elbryan, gazing up at his love, had seen that expression on her face only once before, up on the north slope overlooking Dundalis, when their first kiss had been interrupted by the sounds of their town dying. He put a hand firmly on Pony's thigh, supporting her, holding her in place, for she was surely swaying unsteadily on Symphony's broad back.

The moment passed; Pony pushed aside the troubling emotions and found the same inner resolve that had carried her through the trials of so many years. "Jilseponie," she corrected. "My name is Jilseponie, Jilseponie Ault." She glanced down at Elbryan, gath-ering strength from his unending love. "Jilseponie Wyndon, actu-ally," she corrected.

"And once, Jilly Bildeborough," Connor said quietly.

"Never," the woman spat, more sharply than she had intended. "You erased that title, proclaiming before the law and before God that it had never been. Is it now convenient for the noble Connor to reclaim that which he disposed of?"

Again the ranger patted her firmly, trying to calm her down.

Her words stung Connor profoundly, but he accepted them as earned. "I was young and foolish," he replied. "Our wedding night... your actions hurt me, Jilly... Jilseponie," he corrected quickly, seeing her grimace. "I - "

Pony held up her hand to stop him, then glanced down at Elbryan. How painful this must be to him, she realized. Certainly he did not need to suffer through a recounting of the night she was wed to another man!

But the ranger stood calm, his bright eyes showing nothing but sympathy for the woman he so loved. He didn't even let those green orbs reflect his anger, jealous anger, toward Connor, for he knew that to do so would be unfair to Pony. "You two have much to discuss," he said. "And I have a caravan to watch over." He patted Pony's thigh one more time, this time gently, almost playfully, showing her that he was secure in their love, and then, with a playful wink, the perfect gesture to lessen the tension, he walked away.

Pony watched him go, loving him all the more. Then she glanced about, and, seeing that others were too near and might overhear, she kicked Symphony into a walk. Connor and his mount followed closely.

"It was not meant against you," Connor tried to explain when they were alone. "I did not mean to hurt you."

"I refuse to discuss that night," Pony said with finality. She knew better, knew that Connor had indeed tried to hurt her, but only be-cause her refusal to make love with him had wounded his pride.

"You can so easily dismiss it?" he asked.

"If the alternative is to dwell on that which needs no explanation and can only bring pain, then yes," she answered. "What is past is not as important as what is to come."

"Then with your dismissal, allow forgiveness," Connor begged.

Pony eyed him directly, looked deeply into his gray eyes and re-membered those times before the disastrous wedding night, when they had been friends, confidants.

"Do you remember when we first met?" Connor asked, reading her expression. "When I came out into the alley to protect you, only to find rogues raining down about me?"

Pony managed a smile; there were some good memories, many good ones, mixed in with the ultimately painful ending. "It was never love, Connor," she said honestly.

The man looked as though she had slapped him with a wet towel.

"I did not know what love was until I came back and found Elbryan," Pony went on.

"We were close," the man protested.

"We were friends," Pony replied. "And I will value the memory of that friendship before we tried to make it more than that. I promise you."

"Then we can still be friends," Connor reasoned.

"No." The answer came straight from Pony's heart before she could even spend a moment to consider it. "You were friends with a different person, with a little lost girl who did not know from where she had come, and did not know to where she was going. I am not that person anymore. Not Jilly, not even Jilseponie, in truth, but Pony, the companion, the lover, the wife, of Elbryan Wyndon. My heart is his, and his alone."

"And is there no room in that heart for Connor, your friend?" the man asked gently.

Pony smiled again, growing more comfortable. "You do not even know me," she replied.

"But I do," the nobleman argued. "Even when you were, as you proclaim, that little lost girl, the fire was there. Even when you were most vulnerable, most lost, there was, behind your beautiful eyes, a strength that most people will never know."

Truly Pony appreciated the sentiment. Her relationship with Connor had never been properly resolved, had been left on a note too sour to do justice to the enjoyable months they had spent to-gether. Now, with his simple words, she felt a sense of closure, a true sense of calm.

"Why did you come out here?" she asked.

"I have been out north of the city for months," Connor replied, a bit of the swagger finding its way back into his voice. "Hunting goblins and powries - and even a few giants, I dare say!"

"Why did you come out here now?" the perceptive woman pressed. She had seen it on his face: Connor had not been nearly as surprised to see her as she to see him, and yet, given the last each knew of the other's whereabouts, the surprise to him should have been greater. "You knew, did you not?"

"I suspected," Connor admitted. "I have heard tales of magic being used against the monsters up here, and you have been linked to the enchanted gemstones."

That gave Pony pause.

"Call back your... husband," Connor said. "If you are, as you say, ready to let go of the past and pay attention to the future. I did indeed come out here for a reason, Jill... Pony. And more of a reason than to see you again, though I would have traveled the length and breadth of Honce-the- Bear for that alone."

Pony bit back her response, questioning why, then, Connor had not done just that in all the years she had been indentured to the army. There was no need for such bickering, no need to tear the scabs from old wounds.

They met shortly thereafter, Connor, Pony, and Elbryan, and with Juraviel comfortably tucked within the sheltering boughs of a nearby tree.

"You remember Abbot Dobrinion Calislas," Connor started, after pacing nervously for what seemed like an hour, trying to figure out where to begin.

The woman nodded. "The abbot of St. Precious," she said.

"No more," Connor explained. "He was murdered a few nights ago, in his own room at the abbey." The nobleman paused, study-ing their reactions, and was at first surprised that none of them seemed overly concerned. Of course, Connor realized, they did not really know Dobrinion and his good heart; their experience with the Church was less than enamoring.

"They said a powrie did it," Connor went on.

"Dark times indeed if a powrie can so easily get into what should be the most secure building in a city braced for war," Elbryan remarked.

"I think that he was killed by the Church he served," Connor said outright, watching the ranger closely. Now Elbryan did lean forward a bit, growing more than a little intrigued. "The monks from St.-Mere- Abelle were in Palmaris," Connor explained. "A great contingent, including the Father Abbot himself. Many had just returned from the far north, from the Barbacan, so it is said."

He had their attention now.

"Roger Lockless saw such a caravan flying swiftly to the south past Caer Tinella and Landsdown," Pony reminded.

"They are looking for you," Connor said bluntly, pointing to Pony. "For those gemstones, which they claim were stolen from St.-Mere-Abelle."

Pony's eyes went wide. She stuttered a few undiscernible words as she turned to her lover for support

"We feared as much," Elbryan admitted. "That is why we were insistent on bringing the folk to the safety of Palmaris," he, ex-plained to Connor. "Pony and I cannot remain with them - the risk for the folk is too great. We would see them to safety, then go our own way."

"The risk is greater than you believe," Connor put in. "The Father Abbot and most of his companions have left, heading back to their own abbey, but he left a pair - at least a pair - behind, men trained to kill, do not doubt. I believe it was those two who killed Abbot Dobrinion. They came after me, as well, for my connection to Pony is known to them, but I managed to elude them, and now they will hunt for you."

"Brothers Justice," the ranger reasoned, shuddering at the thought of dealing with another like Quintall - apparently a pair of them this time.

"But why would they murder Abbot Dobrinion?" Pony asked. "And why would they come after you in such a manner?"

"Because we opposed the Father Abbot's methods," Connor replied. "Because..." He paused and cast a truly sympathetic look Pony's way. She would not like this news, not at all, but she had to be told. "Because we did not approve of his treatment of the Chilichunks - treatment he had planned for me, as well, before my uncle the Baron intervened"

"Treatment?" Pony replied, leaping to her feet. "What treat-ment? What does that mean?"

"He took them, Pony," Connor explained. "In chains, back to St.-Mere- Abelle, along with the one called Bradwarden, the centaur."

Now the stunned Elbryan was on his feet, as well, moving be-fore Connor, too overwhelmed to even voice the question.

"Bradwarden is dead," came Juraviel's voice from the trees.

Connor spun about but saw nothing.

"He was killed in Aida," the elf went on. "Upon the defeat of the demon dactyl."

"He was not killed," Connor insisted. "Or if he was, then the monks found a way to resurrect him. I have seen him with my own eyes, a beleaguered and pitiful creature, but one very much alive."

"As I saw him," put in Roger Lockless, coming out of the trees to join the group. He moved to Elbryan's side and dropped a hand on the man's strong shoulder. "The caravan, at the back of the caravan. I told you as much."

Elbryan nodded, remembering well Roger's description, re-membering his own emotions when Roger had told of the monks' passage by the two towns. He turned to Pony then, who was eye-ing him directly, those telling fires burning brightly behind her blue orbs.

"We must go to them," she said, and the ranger nodded, their path suddenly clear.

"The monks?" Roger asked, not understanding.

"In time," Connor interrupted. "And I will go with you."

"This is not your affair," the ranger said suddenly, wanting to re-tract the words, words prompted by his desire to get this man far from Pony as soon as possible, even as he spoke them.

"Abbot Dobrinion was my friend," the nobleman argued. "As are the Chilichunks, all three. You know this," he said, looking to Pony for support, and the woman nodded. "But first, we, you, must deal with the killers. They are not to be taken lightly. They got to Dobrinion and made it look enough like a powrie assassination to deflect all attention. They are cunning and they are deadly."

"And they will be dead, soon enough," the ranger said with such determination that none would dare offer a doubt.

"We will meet again," Elbryan assured Belster O'Comely early the next morning, taking the man's hand firmly. Belster was holding back tears, Elbryan knew, for he suspected, and Elbryan could not disagree, that this was the last time they would see each other. "When the war is settled and you open your tavern again in the Timberlands, then know that Nightbird will be there, drinking your water and scaring away your other patrons."

Belster smiled warmly, but he didn't expect that he would be making the journey back to Dundalis even if the monsters were driven away very soon. He was not a young man, and the pain of the memories would be great indeed. Belster had fled Palmaris be-cause of debt, and only because of debt, but that time seemed many centuries ago, given all that had happened, and he was quite sure he could open an establishment right in the city without fear of his past coming back to haunt him. There was no reason to tell all of that to the ranger, though. Not now, and so he only held fast his as-suring smile.

"Lead them well, Tomas," the ranger said to the man standing beside Belster. "The road should be clear, but if you find trouble before you find Palmaris, then I trust you will see them through."

Tomas Gingerwart nodded gravely, and stamped his new weapon, the pitchfork, on the ground. "We owe you much, Night-bird," he said. "As we owe Pony, and your little unseen friend, as well."

"Do not forget Roger," the ranger was quick to reply. "To him the folk of Caer Tinella and Landsdown owe perhaps the most of all."

"Roger would never let us forget Roger!" Belster said suddenly, jovially, in a voice that reminded Elbryan so much of Avelyn.

That gave them all a laugh, a proper note to end the discussion. They shook hands and parted as friends, Tomas running to the front of the caravan and calling for them to move along.

Pony, Connor, and Juraviel joined Elbryan soon after, watching the train depart, but not so far down the road Tomas stopped the group momentarily and a lone figure moved away, running back toward the ranger and his friends.

"Roger Lockless," Pony said, not surprised. Behind him the caravan started away once more, drifting to the south.

"You were to serve as Tomas' principal guide," Elbryan said when Roger moved to join him.

"He has others who can serve in that role," the young man replied.

The ranger's look was stern and uncompromising.

"Why is he to stay?" Roger protested, pointing to Connor. "Why are you, with Palmaris only three days' march? Would not Elbryan and Pony prove of great value to the city's garrison in these dark times?"

"There are other matters which you do not understand," Elbryan said calmly.

"Matters that concern him?" Roger asked, pointing again at Con-nor, who resisted the urge to walk over and punch the young man.

Elbryan nodded gravely. "You should go with them, Roger," he said, speaking in the tone of a friend. "We cannot, for there is a matter that must be settled before any of us show our faces in the city. But trust me when I say that the danger here is greater for you by far than any danger you might find in Palmaris. Be quick now, and catch Tomas and Belster."

Roger shook his head resolutely. "No," he answered. "If you are to stay up here, fighting on, then so am I."

"There is nothing left for you to prove," Pony put in. "Your name and reputation are secured and well-earned."

"Name?" Roger balked. "In Palmaris, soon enough, I will be Roger Billingsbury again. Just Roger Billingsbury. An orphan, a waif, a cast- aside."

"My uncle the Baron would value one of your talents," Connor offered.

"Then when you are able to return to your uncle to tell him about me, I will join you," the young man quickly replied with a smirk. That flippant look disappeared at once, though, and he cast a very serious stare at Elbryan. "Do not make me return," he begged. "I cannot go back to being Roger Billingsbury again. Not yet. Out here, fighting monsters, I was able to find a side of myself that I never knew existed. I like that side of me, and fear to lose it in the mundane life of a secure city."

"Not so secure," Connor quipped under his breath.

"You'll not lose your new mantle," the ranger said in all serious-ness. "You will never go back to being that person you were before the invasion of your home. I know this, better than you can imagine, and I tell you honestly that, here or in Palmaris, you are, and will remain, Roger Lockless, hero of the north." He looked over to Pony and considered the weight of such a responsibility, thought of the vow of celibacy that he and his lover had been forced by circumstance to accept, and added, "That may not be as grand a thing as you believe, Roger."

The young man straightened a bit and managed a nod, but his overall expression, begging for acceptance, did not change, leaving the issue squarely on the shoulders of the ranger.

Elbryan looked to Pony, who nodded.

"There are two men hunting for Pony and for me," the ranger began. "And for Connor; they tried to kill him in Palmaris, which sent him on the road in search of us."

"He knows you two?" Roger asked. "And knew you were up here?"

"He knows me," Pony put in.

"He came in search of the one wielding magic, though he knew not who that might be," the ranger explained. "We are outlaws, Roger, both Pony and me. You heard us express as much that time we spoke with Juraviel soon after the caravan passed the northern towns. The Church wants the magic stones back, yet on the grave of our friend Avelyn, we'll not return them. Thus have they sent as-sassins in search of us, and they are not far away, I fear." Despite the grim words, the ranger flashed a comforting smile to Roger. "But easier will our task be if Roger Lockless desires to join in our cause."

Roger's grin nearly took in his big ears.

"Understand that you, too, will then be considered an outlaw in the eyes of the Church," Pony remarked.

"Though my uncle will remedy that situation when this is fin-ished," Connor was quick to add.

"Do you plan to run from them, or fight them on your own terms?" Roger asked determinedly.

"I'll not spend my days glancing over my shoulder for assas-sins," the ranger replied in a tone so grim that it sent a shudder coursing along Connor's spine. "Let them look back for me."

Her spirit walked through the shadowed forest. She saw Bel-li'mar Juraviel working his way along the mid-level boughs of a grove and brushed right past him. The perceptive elf perked up his ears, for though Pony's spirit was invisible and silent, Juraviel's keen senses felt something.

Then down to the ground the woman went, flying as if on the wind. She found Connor, pacing his golden horse in a defensive perimeter about the small encampment. She even saw her own body, sitting cross-legged, far behind the man. And even farther back, behind her corporeal form, she saw the large elm, and the dark hole at its base. Elbryan was in that hole, at Oracle, and Pony did not dare enter and disturb that deepest of concentrations.

Instead her thoughts lingered on Connor, trying to gain some perspective on all that had happened between them. She found his protectiveness of her as he paced his horse somewhat comforting, and indeed the nobleman had touched her simply by coming out here to find her and warn her. He had known all along that it was she with the gemstones, or at least had suspected as much, and knowing, too, that those stones were the Church's main focus, he could have gone south, to more populated regions, in his flight from the assassins. Or had he betrayed her openly, he might have remained in the comforts of Palmaris, for the Church would not even consider him an enemy. But he had not; he had come north, to warn her. And had stood behind his friends, the Chilichunks.

Pony had never hated Connor, not even on the morning after their tragic wedding night. He had been wrong, she believed with all her heart, but his actions were based on very real frustrations that she had inspired. And in the final analysis of that night, Connor had not been able to follow through with forcing himself upon her, had cared for her too much to take her in that way.

So Pony had forgiven him, long ago, within the first days of her service in the King's army.

But what did she feel now, in looking on this man who had been her husband?

It wasn't love, was never that, she understood, for she knew how she felt when she looked upon Elbryan and that was something very different, very much more special indeed. But she did care for Connor. He had been a friend when she had needed one; because of his gentleness in those months of courting, she had begun the road to recovery of her memory and her emotional health. If things had been better on her wedding night, she would have stayed married to him, would have borne him children, would have -  

Pony's line of thought ended abruptly as she realized she no longer regretted the events of that wedding night. For the first time, she came to understand the benefits of what she had deemed a hor-rible experience. That night had set her on a course to become who she now was, had put her in the army, where she received superb training and discipline for her natural fighting talents. That experi-ence had subsequently brought her to Avelyn's side, where she learned of deeper truths, where she gained her spirituality, and that turn of events in Palmaris had, ultimately, brought her back to Elbryan. Only now, measuring her feelings for the ranger against the feelings she had held for another man in another time, did Pony realize just how special was their love.

They had battled for months against the invading monsters, had lost dear friends, and now her adoptive family and another friend were apparently in danger, and still Pony would not trade who she was, this very moment, this very place, for any feasible alternative. The lessons in life were often bitter, but they were necessary building blocks.

So Pony was warmed by the sight of Connor Bildeborough pacing a stoic guard about her - and about Elbryan. At that mo-ment she put her past to rest.

But she knew she could not linger and savor the scene, and so her spirit went out again, into the forest. She found Roger, and then Juraviel above him, and she went out ahead, searching the shadows, looking for some sign.

I do fear the weight of the Church, Uncle Mather,Elbryan ad-mitted, sitting back against a stone in the cramped cave, staring into the depths of the barely visible mirror.How many of these as-sassins will come after us?

The ranger leaned back and sighed. The Church would not give up, that much was obvious to him, and eventually, some day in some remote place, he and Pony would lose. Or they would lose in St.-Mere-Abelle, where Elbryan knew they must go for the sake of Bradwarden and the Chilichunks, who had been Pony's family.

But I have to fight on,he said to the ghost of his uncle.We have to fight on, for the sake of Avelyn's memory, for the truth that he found within the twisted ways of his Order. And soon we will take that fight right to the spider's web.

But first... ah, Uncle Mather, one Brother Justice nearly de-feated me and Pony and Avelyn before. How might we handle the likes of two such expert killers?

Elbryan rubbed his eyes and stared into the mirror. Images came back to him of the first fight with the Church, when Avelyn's old classmate Quintall, carrying the title of Brother Justice, had battled him in a cave. First the assassin had sealed that cave from magic using a sunstone, the same gem that was on the pommel of El-bryan's sword.

And he had used a garnet to locate Avelyn, for that stone de-tected magic.

A garnet...

A smile found its way onto Elbryan's face, the answer coming clear before him. He leaped up and squirmed out the narrow cave opening, rushing to Pony and shaking her vigorously, trying to break her trance.

Her spirit, sensing the disturbance at her corporeal body, soared back, and in but a few moments she blinked open her physical eyes.

Elbryan stood over her; behind him, Connor was slipping down from his horse, coming to see what the commotion was about.

"No more use of the soul stone," the ranger explained.

"With my spirit freed, I can scout out far more than the others," the woman argued.

"But if our enemies are using garnet, they will feel the vibra-tions of your magic," Elbryan reasoned.

Pony nodded; they had already talked about that potential problem.

"We have garnet," Elbryan explained. "The one taken from Quintall. How much more effective will your search be with the broader sight of that stone?"

"If they are using magic," Pony reasoned.

"How could they hope to find us in this vast land without such aid?" the ranger countered.

Pony paused and studied him for a long moment, and Elbryan noted the look of curiosity that came over her face.

"You seem very sure of yourself suddenly," she noted.

Elbryan's smile widened.

"Quintall was a deadly enemy," Pony reminded. "Alone he nearly defeated me, you, and Avelyn."

"Only because he shaped the battlefield to his liking," the ranger replied. "He held the element of surprise, and in a place of his choosing and his preparation. These two killers will prove formi-dable in battle, but if we hold the element of surprise, in a place of our choosing, then the battle will be decided quickly, I do not doubt."

Pony did not seem convinced.

"One fault in Quintall's plan was arrogance," the ranger ex-plained. "He played his hand early, in the Howling Sheila, because he felt that he was supreme, that his training had elevated him above all others in matters of battle."

"There was some truth in that belief," said Pony.

"But his training, and that of our present foes, does not equal that which I received at the hands of the Touel'alfar, that which you have received by me and by Avelyn, and that which we have both learned through months of fighting. And we have three powerful allies. No, my fear for this situation has lessened considerably. If you can use the garnet to track our adversaries, we will bring them in to a place we have prepared and to a battle for which they cannot be prepared."

It made perfect sense to Pony, and she believed she could indeed track the assassins in the manner Elbryan had described. The monks would be using magic to detect magic, and thus she could use magic to detect their magic.

"And once we have located them, we will know that they have likewise seen us," the ranger went on. "We will know their destina-tion, but they will have little understanding of ours."

"The time and the place will be ours to choose," Pony said. She went to work immediately, and soon sensed the use of magic, the monks probably employing garnet. It was short-lived, though, and Pony figured that the pair had sensed her magic use and altered their general direction accordingly.

"They put up a sunstone shield, I would guess," the woman ex-plained to Belli'mar Juraviel, opening her eyes to see that the elf had come to join her.

"But is this not also magic use?" the elf inquired. "Can you not detect it as well?"

Pony's face crinkled at the simple but somehow errant logic. "Not the same," she tried to explain. "Sunstone is antimagic. I could enact such a shield using the stone in the pommel of Tem-pest, and our enemy's use of garnet would be for naught."

Juraviel shook his delicate head, not believing a word of it. "All the world is magic, so say the elves," he explained. "Every plant, every animal, is possessed of magical energy."

Pony shrugged, seeing no sense in arguing the point.

"If sunstone defeats all magic, there will be a hole in the con-tinuum," Juraviel explained. "An empty spot, a hole in the blanket of magic that fills all the world."

"I cannot - " Pony began.

"Because you have not learned to see the world through the eyes of the Touel'alfar," the elf interrupted. "Join with me in spirit, as you and Avelyn used to join, that we might search together, that we might find the hole, and thus our enemies."

Pony thought it over for just a minute. Her joining through hematite with Avelyn had been personal, intimate, and left her in-credibly vulnerable, but when she considered her elven friend, she felt no threat whatsoever. She didn't believe that Juraviel was right about this matter, thought that his perspective was just that - a dif-ferent way of looking at the same things - but she did produce the soul stone, and then together the pair went out through the garnet.

Pony was quickly amazed at how vibrant all the world seemed, a glow of magic about every plant and every animal. Soon, very soon, they found the hole Juraviel had described, tracking the monks as easily as if the pair were using garnet instead of sunstone.

Guide me,Juraviel imparted to her, and then she sensed that he was physically gone from the spot, following the trail out to meet their foes.

When he returned to the encampment, barely three hours later, his report of the monks exceeded anything Elbryan could have hoped for. The elf had found them and studied them from the hidden boughs of the trees. Of particular note were their weapons, with nothing of range, except one or two small daggers and any magical stones they might possess. Juraviel had even overheard some of their conversation, a discussion about capturing Pony, that she might be brought to Father Abbot Markwart alive.

The ranger smiled. With their bows and Pony's gemstones, they could more than counter any such distance attacks, and their dis-cussion of taking a captive proved to him that these two did not comprehend the power that would come against them. "Lead them in to us," he bade Pony. "Let us prepare the battleground."

The small plateau seemed an obvious choice for an encamp-ment, set on a ledge on a rocky hillside with but one approach, and that being steep and dangerously exposed. There was one open area, a small campfire burning, surrounded on three sides by more rocks and on the fourth by a small copse of trees.

Brother Youseff smiled wickedly; the garnet indicated that magic was in use up there. He put the stone away in a pouch on the rope belt of his brown robes, which he and Dandelion had donned again when they left the city, and took out the sunstone, bidding Dandelion to take his hand, that they might combine their powers to make the antimagic shield that much stronger.

"They will try to use magic against us," Youseff explained. "That is their primary weapon, no doubt, but if we are strong enough to defeat that use, then their conventional weapons will prove worthless against our training."

Dandelion, so physically strong and skilled, grinned at the prospect of some solid hand-to-hand fighting.

"We kill the woman's companions, first," Youseff explained. "Then we go after her. If we must kill her, then so be it. Otherwise we will take her and the gemstones and be on our way."

"To Palmaris first?" Dandelion asked, for he wanted another chance at Connor Bildeborough.

Youseff, understanding the supreme importance of this part of their mission, shook his head. "Straight through the city and back to St.-Mere- Abelle," he explained. He closed his other hand over Dandelion's. "Concentrate," he instructed.

A few moments later, the antimagic shield strong and in place, the pair began easily scaling the rocky cliff, moving silently and confidently.

Near the top they peeked over the ridge, and both smiled even wi-der, for there, sitting beside the woman, was Connor Bildeborough -  all the eggs in one basket, it seemed.

With a look to each other to coordinate the movement, the two monks hauled themselves over the lip, landing gracefully and in a defensive posture.

"Welcome!" Connor cried, his tone light - and to the monks, confusing. "Remember me?"

Youseff glanced at Dandelion, then took a sudden stride for-ward, covering a third of the distance to the still-sitting man. Then he lurched, a small arrow boring into the back of his calf, cutting right into the tendon.

"Oh, but my friends will not allow you to approach," Connor said happily.

"You do not understand how hopeless your situation is," added Roger Lockless, stepping out from behind some rocks directly be-hind Pony and Connor. "Have you, by chance, met the one called Nightbird?"

On cue, the ranger, looking splendid atop Symphony and with Hawkwing in hand, stepped out of the copse of trees.

"What are we to do?" Brother Dandelion whispered.

Youseff snapped his angry glare over Connor. "You have dis-credited and disgraced your uncle and all your family," he growled. "You are an outlaw now, as surely as are these ragged fools you call friends."

"Brave words for one in your position," Connor replied casually.

"Think you that?" Youseff remarked, suddenly calm. With the hand that was clenching his wounded leg, he gave a subtle signal to Dandelion.

Suddenly, brutally, Dandelion charged past his companion, springing upon Connor as the man rose and drew out his sword, moving too quickly for anyone to react. He slapped aside Connor's sword, then laid the man low with a wicked forearm smash to the throat. Then he ran right over the falling Connor, forcing Roger back against the stones.

Youseff sprang forward from his good leg right behind Dande-lion, thinking to get to the woman, to put her in a deadly hold that he might bargain his way out. But as in the initial assault, the confi-dent monk underestimated his opponent, did not appreciate just how powerful Pony was with the gemstones. The antimagic shield was still strong, though not as much so with both its creators other-wise engaged, but even if Youseff and Dandelion were doing nothing but concentrating on the sunstone, they would not have de-feated Pony's power.

Youseff felt his feet slip out from under him, not to fall, but rather to rise, harmlessly, into the air. His momentum continued to carry him forward, toward Pony, but when he reached for her in this unfamiliar weightless state, he tumbled headlong, turning a half somersault. Then he felt the sudden sting in his back as Pony rolled over and kicked out, both feet landing squarely, propelling Youseff back the way he had come, back out over the cliff to dangle helplessly in midair.

Overwhelmed by the charge, Roger was in no position to counter as Dandelion swung back the other way, again smashing Connor as the man tried to rise, then falling down atop him, pin-ning him to the ground. Up came the big man's arm, fingers stiff and straight, poised for the killing slash into defenseless Connor's exposed neck.

Connor growled and tried to cry out, tried to wriggle free. He closed his eyes for just an instant.

The blow did not fall. Connor opened his eyes to see Dandelion still poised above him, struggling to drop the punch, a look of ab-solute incredulity on his face that anything could so hold back his powerful arm.

Nightbird held him fast by the wrist.

Dandelion spun with amazing agility for one so large, turning and putting his feet under him, at the same time dipping his shoul-der to bowl the ranger over. But Elbryan, too, was moving, spin-ning right under Dandelion's arm, turning about with a vicious jerk that popped the man's elbow out of joint.

Howling with pain, Dandelion spun about and launched a heavy punch - which never came near to hitting Nightbird, the ranger sidestepping, then wading right back in with a powerful combina-tion of blows on Dandelion's face and chest.

On came the big monk, growling past the pain in his arm, ac-cepting more punches, that he could get close enough to wrap Elbryan in a tight hug.

The ranger cupped Dandelion's chin with one hand, grabbed the back of the man's hair with the other, meaning to turn him aside. He stopped, though, feeling a curious prodding in his chest. At first he thought Dandelion had somehow deceived him and brought a dagger to bear, but when he looked past the man, to Connor Bilde-borough standing behind him, the ranger understood.

Dandelion, Connor's sword right through his back and chest, slumped in the ranger's arms.

"Bastard," Connor muttered grimly, shifting to keep his hold on the sword as dead Dandelion rolled to the ground.

Nightbird let the man fall free, then went to Symphony and took up Hawkwing, fitting an arrow and turning his attention to Youseff. He leveled and drew back.

But the threat was ended, the monks obviously defeated, and Elbryan could not simply kill this man.

"Do not," Pony said, in full agreement as the ranger eased his bowstring back to rest.

"I will kill him," Connor said grimly, finally extracting his sword from the heavy corpse.

"As he hangs there helpless?" Pony asked skeptically.

Connor kicked at the ground. "Drop him to the rocks, then," he said, but he wasn't serious; he could no more kill this helpless man than could Elbryan.

Pony was glad for that.

"We are going to find our friends," the ranger said to Youseff, "whom your Father Abbot has unjustly imprisoned."

Youseff scoffed at the sheer folly of such a claim.

"And you will lead us, every step," the ranger finished.

"To St.-Mere-Abelle?" the monk replied incredulously. "Fool. You cannot begin to comprehend the power of such a fortress."

"As you could not comprehend the force prepared against you in this place," Elbryan calmly replied.

That hit Youseff hard. He narrowed his eyes dangerously and glared at Elbryan. "How long can you hold me here?" he asked, his voice even and deathly calm. "Kill me now, fools, else I promise to avenge - "

His bluster was lost suddenly as a small form rushed past him, spinning him over in the air. He flailed and tried to respond, and realized that he had lost his grip on the sunstone. When he finally straightened out again, Youseff saw the winged elf land easily on the ledge beside the others.

"Sunstone, as you guessed, Nightbird," Juraviel said, display-ing the pilfered stone. "I suspect the garnet is in his belt pouch, if not on the dead man."

Elbryan watched Youseff closely as Juraviel spoke, and saw that the elf's words, too, were unnerving the man.

"He may have a soul stone, as well," Pony interjected. "Some way to keep in contact with his leaders."

"Of course, we'll not let him use that," Connor said with a chuckle. "But I must disagree with your decision," he said to the ranger. "He'll not lead us to St.-Mere-Abelle, but will be returned to St. Precious, where he can answer for the murder of Abbot Dobrinion. I will take him myself, with Roger Lockless beside me, and let the Church learn the truth of its Father Abbot!"

Elbryan looked long and hard at Connor, considering for just a moment the implications of his actions, which had saved the man's life. If he had hesitated for just an instant, then Connor Bildebor-ough, this man who had so wronged Pony, would also be dead.

The ranger would tolerate no such weakness within himself, and so he dismissed those dark thoughts out of hand, and knew in his heart that he would have thrown himself in the way of the deadly monk's strike if that was the only way to save Connor, or any of his companions.

He looked back to Youseff then, and considered the truth of Connor's words. He remembered the fervor of the first Brother Justice, and understood that Youseff would be no willing guide, no matter the threats. But if they did as Connor suggested, then per-haps they would not be alone in their quest to free their friends.

Would not the Church have to admit its complicity, thus discred-iting the Father Abbot?

It seemed plausible. "Bring him in," the ranger instructed.

Belli'mar Juraviel flew out from the ledge, moving behind the dangling Youseff. Using his bow as a pole, the elf prodded the man toward the ledge. At first Youseff offered no resistance, but then, as he neared the lip, as the drop beneath him became not so far, he spun suddenly, grabbed at the elf and caught hold of the bow as Juraviel wisely let it go. The monk had no way to stop his mo-mentum, though, and so he continued to rotate right around.

To see Elbryan at the edge of the lip, fist cocked.

The blow sent Brother Youseff spinning head over heels away from the ledge, and sent the man's mind flying into unconsciousness.

Juraviel, laughing at the outrageous sight, retrieved his bow and prodded the now limp monk to the ledge.