The Demon Apostle
Chapter 31 The House of the Holy

"Ah, but ye'd be the fool to go back," Bradwarden said to Shamus some hours later, after the group had returned to the camp to find Tiel'marawee resting easily. The captain had insisted that he and his men were going to return to Palmaris and openly oppose Bishop De'Unnero in a court convened by the King. "He'll not let ye even get word to the King afore he has ye killed in the public square."
"The Church does not rule in Honce-the-Bear," Shamus Kilronney asserted with as much determination as he could muster. But even that pitiful attempt showed that the man was losing this battle, was losing the foundation upon which his entire world had been built.
"Bradwarden speaks the truth," Elbryan added. "We'll not catch De'Un-nero before he returns to Palmaris. Once he is there, he will surround him-self with too great a force. We cannot fight him - not there."
"Then how? " Shamus asked. "The King must learn of these events!"
"The same King that made the man bishop?" Bradwarden asked dryly.
"He did not know ..." Shamus started to argue, but he stopped, shook his head, and gave a frustrated growl. Shamus now had to face the obvious facts. The Bishop of Palmaris, appointed by both the King and the Father Abbot, held all the power in Palmaris, and thus, in all the northern reaches of Honce-the-Bear.
"King Danube might not understand the truth of the man," Elbryan replied calmly, trying to ease his friend's pain. "And when he learns that truth, perhaps we can return to Palmaris and throw ourselves on the mercy of an open and just court. But that day has not yet arrived - far from it!"
"Then we must tell the King," Shamus reasoned.
"Ye've got to get through De'Unnero to do that," Bradwarden reminded him.
Elbryan was shaking his head even as the centaur spoke. "We have an ally who means to do just that," he explained. "Though I am not certain King Danube would listen to her words. The easier course for him might be to go along with the Father Abbot and his lackey the Bishop."
"And then?" Shamus asked.
"And then we are outlaws forever more," Elbryan replied. "And then we shall spend our days in the northland, in the deep forests of the Timberlands, perhaps, and oppose any who come in the name of Church or state."
"Not a promising position," Brother Braumin piped in, but he was smiling, for Braumin and his monk companions had already come to the same conclusions as the ranger.
"What ally?" Shamus asked.
"Pony," the ranger replied immediately. "She is in Palmaris, working secretly with those who oppose De'Unnero. Do not underestimate her!" he added when he saw Shamus and several others frown.
"And are we to hide and wait, then?" one of the other soldiers remarked.
"We are going north, to the Barbacan," Elbryan explained. That brought gasps of astonishment.
"It was my wish," Brother Braumin explained. "For there, at the grave of Brother Avelyn, we will find our peace and our purpose. I know this from a vision, Captain Kilronney. My place is there, and glory to those who accom-pany me!"
The grand proclamation brought wide smiles, even cheers, from the four other monks. But while Elbryan, Roger, and Bradwarden all managed meager smiles, it seemed obvious to them that the soldiers did not hold hopes quite so high.
A moment later, Shamus motioned his men to mount up. "We will go and talk privately about these events," he informed the others. "This is too big a decision to be made without the consent of all involved." He climbed on his own horse then, and walked past his soldiers, leading them away.
"Suren that there's some tellin' yer captain friend to come and get us," Bradwarden reasoned after several minutes of heated debate within the group of soldiers - though they were too far away for the ranger or the cen-taur to make out more than a few words. "Now that they're knowin' the truth o' their plight, De'Unnero's offer's likely seemin' the better course."
"I trust Shamus," the ranger replied. "Some may choose to leave, but the captain will not go against us, nor will he allow any of the others to do so."
"And I'm trustin' yerself," the centaur agreed. "But be knowin', me friend, that if yer captain friend turns on us, I'll take him down afore he yells out for the charge."
Elbryan saw that Bradwarden had set another arrow to his great bow, and, given the size and tremendous poundage of that weapon, the ranger had little doubt that a single shot would be more than enough.
It didn't come to that, for Shamus Kilronney trotted his mount over to them a few moments later and dismounted to stand before the ranger and the centaur. "A few do not wish to make the journey, I admit," he said, "but the rest are going. Even those doubters have decided to follow, seeing few options."
Elbryan gave a grim nod, too understanding of the road ahead to be thrilled by the captain's decision. "Tiel'marawee will be able to travel in the morning, perhaps," he replied. "Until then, let us be extra vigilant. We do not know if De'Unnero has decided to turn about, looking to strike at us once again."
The rest of the day, and that night, passed uneventfully. Tiel'marawee was feeling stronger the next day, and Brother Braumin determined that she could travel, as long as the pace was not too fast.
They set off, hoping that no late winter storms would arise before them.
"You know," the melodic voice said calmly, the slender figure moving into full view.
King Danube gasped and, clutching the candlestick he had picked up as an impromptu weapon, took a step back.
"You are of the noble line," Lady Dasslerond scolded, "from your father, to his before him, to his before him. You were told the truth of the Touel'alfar from your childhood days, unless your family has become greater fools than I believe."
"Fairy tales," King Danube said weakly.
"And you know the truth ofQuestel ni'touel, which you call boggle," Dasslerond went on, advancing calmly. "You know, King Danube, so find your heart and your composure. My time grows short in this place and there are things I must tell you."
He was the King of Honce-the-Bear, greatest kingdom in the known world, and he was descended from a long line of royalty. Now he was unnerved by this tiny winged creature, a fairy tale come to life. But Dassle-rond had spoken truly - he had indeed been told stories of the Touel'alfar many times during his childhood - and Danube managed to regain his composure.
She left him some time later, via the secret entry her scouts had created by cleaning out an unused chimney in the mansion.
Danube had learned the elves' opinion of the overwhelming events that had occurred in Palmaris, a judgment that did not favor Father Abbot Markwart and the Abellican Church. But Danube still saw clearly the specter of Markwart, the nighttime visitor, a vision that all his years of training and all his years of ruling could not overcome.
Lady Dasslerond motioned to Belli'mar Juraviel and he handed the gemstone pouch, holding every one of Pony's stones, to Belster O'Comely.
That innkeeper held them in trembling hands. "What if she does not recover?" he asked, looking at Pony, who lay, looking fragile, on a padded cot next to the side wall of the basement.
"That is for you to decide," Lady Dasslerond replied. "We have entrusted Jilseponie to your care, and the responsibility for the gemstones rests with her. It is not a matter for the Touel'alfar, nor is she."
Belli'mar Juraviel winced when he heard those words. He could not come to terms with Dasslerond's brutal decision out on the field when Pony lay near death, but he knew that he had to accept that decision.
"W-we have friends," Belster stuttered. "The Behrenese sailor - "
"I care not," Lady Dasslerond said coldly, stopping him short. "You humans have chosen this fight amongst yourselves, so fight well, I offer -  and know that my goodwill is more than any of you deserve. Do what you will with the woman. By bringing the fight at this time to Father Abbot Markwart, she chose her course - and chose wrongly, I say, though I wish her no ill."
Belster started to reply, but Dasslerond turned away and, gathering up her elven companions, left the cellar of the Fellowship Way. Belster fol-lowed them up the stairs, nodding to the frightened Dainsey and handing her the gemstones as they passed on the top landing. The woman glanced nervously at the unexpected nonhuman guests, then rushed down to be at Pony's side.
"There is nothing I can say to change your mind?" Belster tried one last time as Dasslerond and several of the elves paused - only long enough for one of them to go to the open window and look out to a companion scouting the alley, to make sure that the area was clear of soldiers.
"You should take her from this place," Dasslerond replied. "The Father Abbot found her here, and here he will look again. Take her, and be gone yourself. That is my counsel."
And then they were gone, leaving Belster standing at the open window, frightened and uncertain. He had sent Mallory and Prim O'Bryen out already to secure an escape route. He could only hope that Captain Al'u'met and the other Behrenese would accept Pony - and the rest of them.
He stood at the window for a long while, staring and thinking.
"She woke up," came Dainsey's voice behind him. He started immedi-ately for the stairs, but Dainsey grabbed him by the arm to stop him.
"Just for a moment," the woman replied. "Just long enough to know that her belly was empty o' the child."
Belster winced, his heart breaking for Pony, this woman who had seen far too much tragedy in her short life.
"She said that Markwart killed him," Dainsey went on. "Says she felt the sting on the field, and knew even then that the foul creature had struck. Now she's vowin' to kill the monster."
Belster shook his head and sighed, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Poor Pony, so full of rage and hate, so torn apart.
"And then she started cryin' and shakin', but she couldn't stay awake with all the pain," Dainsey explained. "She tried using the gray stone, and using me for strength, but I'm thinkin' that her pain's too deep, and not just of the body."
"It is good that she woke up," Belster said, trying to sound hopeful.
Dainsey put a comforting hand on his arm. "She might not live," the woman said bluntly. "She's hurt, Belster, and ye should keep remindin' yer-self just how bad."
Belster gave another great sigh.
A very distressed Heathcomb Mallory entered the Way.
"Too many," Bradwarden said, the centaur obviously distressed - and it was one of the few times Elbryan had ever seen him concerned. "I'd've thought that the damned creatures would've run far from this place after the explosion killed all o' them that was in here."
"They have wandered back in desperate hopes that their leader might still be with them," the ranger reasoned.
"Wandered back and plannin' to stay," said the centaur.
Elbryan's gaze subconsciously turned back to the south.
"We came too far to surrender now," Brother Braumin said deter-minedly, and he started back for the ridge overlooking the Barbacan bowl. "Bishop De'Unnero could not stop us; his soldiers joined us!"
True enough, the ranger knew. Over the last few days, they had braved the cold winds and blowing snow to work their way through the mountains, and now they had stopped near the exit of the mountain pass, the same trail Elbryan and the others had taken on their first trip to Mount Aida. Within a couple hundred yards of their present position began the sloping descent into the blasted, bowl-shaped valley that had once housed the demon dactyl's great army. The group had already glanced at the place - and had been overwhelmed, and even saddened, by the barrenness of it. Even the white snow could not hide the desolate grayness and emptiness, could not bury the widespread signs of Aida's eruption. When they paused to con-sider the sight, though, Braumin Herde had called it a blessing, for such emptiness would likely keep the monsters away permanently. Only then could his hopes for Avelyn's grave be realized: turning the place into a shrine, a new symbol for a new Order.
But then, that first night on the mountain ridge, they had spotted distant campfires, and now Bradwarden's scouting had shown them the terrible truth.
The ranger looked to the centaur now for help in making this decision. A large part of Elbryan wanted to turn around and rush to Palmaris, for he feared De'Unnero was there and was not certain if the man had learned that Pony was there.
Pony and his unborn child.
And yet, he had come to this place for a specific purpose, one shown to him by the desperate desires of the five monks and through Oracle. The image of Avelyn's extended arm had been burned into his consciousness during that one session with his uncle Mather, and reinforced in subse-quent sessions. As much as he wanted to go to Pony, Elbryan wanted to see that grave site again, to learn what Oracle was trying to teach him.
"We might be gettin' there without a fight," the centaur offered. "Not many of the ugly goblins on this side o' the mountain."
"Just goblins?" the ranger asked.
Bradwarden nodded. "All that I seen, but hunnerds o' the damned things, all set up in caves and shelters along the northern and western walls o' the Barbacan."
The ranger scanned the ring of mountains, his gaze moving from east, around the northern ridge and then back to the west. Then he looked at flat-topped Aida again, the lone mountain in the south-central region of the natural ring, several miles away. He could tell from the outlines of the mountain's highest sections the approximate region where Avelyn was entombed, almost felt as if he might spot that arm, even from this distance, so clear was the image in his mind.
"Did see footprints of a giant," the centaur admitted, "but not many o' them about, to be sure - and not a damned sign that any powries remain."
"Good," the ranger added. He, like all the others who had battled the cunning and tough dwarves during the war, had little desire ever to see one again.
"We can get there," Brother Braumin echoed, his face brightening.
"But what do we dowhen we get there?" the ranger asked. "We shall need a fire if we mean to spend the night on the exposed top of Aida, and that will surely be seen by our unfriendly neighbors, no matter how hard we try to conceal it."
"The place has caves," Braumin reasoned, obviously not willing to give up this close to his goal.
"And thank ye for remindin' me," the centaur replied dryly.
"Still..." Brother Braumin pressed.
"If the place has caves, then it is possible that those caves are full of gob-lins," Elbryan interrupted, "or worse things."
Brother Braumin gave a great sigh and turned away.
"We have come too far to turn back," Brother Castinagis put in.
"I am going to Aida, to see Brother Avelyn's grave, even if I must make the journey alone," added the usually timid Brother Mullahy. "I have given my life to the principles of Master Jojonah, and of Avelyn Desbris, and I will see that special place now, even if it means that there I shall die."
The assertion caught them all off guard and pleased the other monks -  except perhaps for poor Marlboro Viscenti, who was so nervous that he had been trembling since Bradwarden's return.
"And we will go," Shamus Kilronney put in, "some of us, at least, while the rest will stay with the horses back here."
Elbryan looked to Bradwarden for counsel, knowing that his decision would be vital, but the centaur only shrugged, apparently willing to go along with whatever decision they all made.
"I do not know if we, I at least, can remain there for long," the ranger said. "But if Bradwarden says that we might be able to get there without a fight, then I am willing to take the chance. We have come too far. Brother Castinagis, and I, too, wish to visit the grave of my dear friend."
At that moment, Roger Lockless appeared on a trail immediately below them, returning from his own scouting mission. "No goblins on the lower slopes," he called up. "The way is clear to the valley."
They set out at once, Bradwarden and Elbryan, Roger and the five monks, Shamus Kilronney and a dozen soldiers - half the contingent that had continued north with Elbryan's band after the unpleasant meeting with Bishop De'Unnero. They left a still-weak Tiel'marawee in the care of the remaining soldiers, along with Symphony and all the other horses.
The journey down was easy, the windblown trails relatively clear of any snow, except on one or two icy and treacherous descents. By early after-noon, they were in the valley, making their way along the same long arm - and even longer now, since the eruption had added tremendous width to the base of the mountain - that Elbryan and the others had followed on their first trip into the dactyl's home. It was much warmer down here, even comfortably so - perhaps from the residual heat of the cooling stone, though the eruption had occurred many months before. Or, Elbryan mused with some concern, perhaps the mountain had remained alive with bub-bling, molten lava.
"We should camp on the southern side of the mountain," the ranger decided as they neared the huge mound. "There will be little trouble in finding an alcove sheltered from both the wind and any goblin eyes."
They found such a spot soon after, set a fire, and spent a peaceful, uneventful night, waking early, full of anticipation for what the new day would bring. They had barely gotten out of their alcove and were pick-ing their way along the broken and jagged mountain face, when hope turned to dread. Goblins - a horde of goblins! - poured out of a cave far below them, pointed up at them, and howled. Within moments, the whole base of the southern wall crawled with the ugly creatures, cutting off any escape.
"Too many to fight," the ranger told Kilronney, as Shamus started to put his men in defensive positions. "Keep going, all of you. Bradwarden and I will hold the trail!"
"And thanks to ye for volunteerin' me," Bradwarden remarked after Shamus and the others had climbed out of sight, and the swarms of goblins had climbed considerably nearer the two friends.
"If I decide to charge down through the creatures, I will need something to ride," Elbryan replied lightheartedly. They had made their choice to come to the mountain, knowing the risks; and now, it seemed, they had lost, or soon would lose, everything. But Elbryan had lived on the edge of disaster since the day he had walked out of Andur'Blough Inninness. Such was the life of a ranger, an existence he had accepted fully. He lamented then that he would never see Pony again, or their child, but he deliberately pushed those thoughts from his mind. He was a warrior, trained in body and mind. Elbryan - no, Nightbird - determined that he would go down with such a fight that the goblins of all the world would not soon forget!
The closest creatures were barely fifty yards away then, coming on strong. Nightbird lifted Hawkwing and blew one wretch from its place on the mountainside. That slowed the others down - but only somewhat. Nightbird knew, and Bradwarden knew - and the goblins surely knew - that this time the ranger and his friends, however gallant, could not hope to win.
More arrows flew from Nightbird's and Bradwarden's bows; and many goblins died. But many more continued to move in, and soon the ranger and the centaur had to find a narrow spot on the trail, one where they could not be flanked; and they had to change from bows to sword and club.
And many goblin bodies soon piled at their feet.
For a short time, the pair almost thought that they might hold the pass and save the day, thought that they might kill enough of the creatures so that the rest would give up and run away. But then a rock crashed down beside the pair, narrowly missing Nightbird's head.
Some goblin had found a tunnel that exited higher up on the side of the mountain. The day, and the pass, were lost.
"Get ye runnin'!" Bradwarden cried, and he broke in to a sudden, devas-tating charge that chased back the closest creatures.
Nightbird turned and rushed up the path, leaping over stones and scram-bling over rocky outcroppings - always with Hawkwing ready. Whenever he caught sight of those goblins dropping rocks from up above, he sent an arrow flying at them. One creature plummeted from the ledge down to crash where he and Bradwarden had made their stand, rebounded off that ledge with a sickening crack of bone, and fell the rest of the way to the valley floor.
Then the ranger ran around a sharp bend in the trail - to find a handful of goblins waiting for him.
Braumin Herde, appropriately, was the first to gaze upon the grave site of Avelyn Desbris. And though he knew that the monsters were closing in and that he would not likely live out the day, he was thrilled, overwhelmed even, by the spectacle of that upraised arm.
All nineteen men gathered silently about that upraised mummified arm, and even Roger and the soldiers offered not a word of complaint. All seemed at ease though they could hear the sounds of fighting below and knew that soon, all too soon, the monsters would find them.
Bradwarden realized that though his sudden, brutal charge had certainly taken a toll on the goblin mob - a couple were dead, several more injured, and many more running away - the moment was over, the goblins were coming at him hard, and he couldn't possibly hold them back.
In desperation, he leaped and kicked with his hind legs, hitting nothing and taking a vicious cut from a rusty goblin sword on one of his hind legs. Still, he ran on - and was struck by a spear in the rump and another grazed his back. Even worse, a stone from above clipped the side of his head and his shoulder. With one eye closed and covered in blood and screaming gob-lins right behind, the centaur ran, thinking it ironic that he would die in this forlorn place, where he thought he had died before.
They believed that they had him by surprise, and so the closest two gob-lins came at Nightbird with wild, hungry abandon.
But Nightbird was a ranger, and rangers were rarely, if ever, caught by surprise. With a flick of his wrist, he unstrung Hawkwing, and quickly brought the tip of the weapon, now a sturdy staff, straight before him.
The goblins came in, one on either side. Both thought - it seemed the most obvious move - the ranger would try to sweep the one on his right, the one nearest the sheer drop, over the edge. Expecting that, the goblin ducked.
Nightbird would not settle for just one. Faster than the goblins could contemplate the move, the ranger swung Hawkwing around, accepting a hit from the club of the creature on his left in exchange for getting the staff flat across its side. The goblin grabbed him, but the ranger, with the strength of a giant, roared and heaved the goblin back, tearing its hands from him. It hit its stooping companion and somersaulted over the edge, flying free down the side of the mountain.
Then the ranger brought Hawkwing around and landed a terrific blow to the remaining goblin, knocking it, dazed, to the ground.
Nightbird strode past, pausing only long enough to swap Hawkwing for Tempest and to kick the stunned goblin over the edge.
The four remaining goblins came on, stupidly, one goblin far ahead of its companions.
Tempest flashed; then there were three.
They pressed the attack - a club, a spear, and a sword thrusting and jab-bing, swishing in from every conceivable angle. But Nightbird was now fully immersed inbi'nelle dasada. He dodged a spear thrust from the goblin standing right before him, then ducked a swishing sword from the one on the left, then accepted another stinging, wicked hit from the club wielder.
Tempest dove ahead, and the goblin with the spear shrieked and fell back. The ranger tricked them; he pulled the blade up, twisting his wrist so that Tempest's tip shot out suddenly ahead and to the right just as the sword-wielding goblin moved for what it thought was an opening. Tempest bore into its chest just below the shoulder.
Nightbird now leaped out to the right, slamming his shoulder into the chest of the goblin with the club. The creature went flying back, teetered on the edge, and finally caught its desperate and precarious balance. When it managed to look back, it saw Nightbird standing before it. The goblin brought its club across, frantically trying to block the ranger's deadly sword. To its credit, it would have parried, but instead the ranger struck with his free hand, a mighty punch to the face that launched the flailing goblin away.
Then Nightbird, standing with his back to the remaining goblins, instinc-tively stepped to the side with his right foot. Bending his right knee, he leaned sideways but his left leg blocked the path.
The goblin he had stabbed went over that leg, pitching headlong into the open air.
The ranger spun, Tempest deflecting the spear the last goblin threw at him. The creature turned and ran for the nearly sheer wall, scrambling to get a handhold.
Nightbird rushed after him, leaping up and catching the fleeing goblin by one foot, pulling it down. He grabbed its other foot and with one pull sent the creature smashing down to the stone. It didn't stay down, for the ranger, still holding its ankles, took it up and hurled it out over the edge.
"Good technique," Bradwarden congratulated, coming around the bend just as Nightbird launched the creature. Their smiles were fleeting in the face of the many wounds on the centaur and the sound of the goblin horde closing in.
On the man and centaur ran, coming at last to the final ascent. That climb of ten feet was sheer, and without enough distance to get a running start, the centaur saw no way of getting up there. "Just as well that I do me stand right here," he said, but the ranger would hear none of it.
"Get your hands up on that ledge and pull with all your might," he instructed, "and I will push from behind."
Doubting, Bradwarden did as instructed, lifting his forelegs high, gaining a tentative hold with his human hands, and struggling.
He heard a growl behind him, felt Nightbird grabbing hard at his flanks.
And then all thousand pounds of him was in the air, up, up, but against the wall and unable to get high enough to scramble over.
Then Roger and Shamus Kilronney were there above him, grabbing his arms; then the others joined and together, all together, they managed somehow to get the great equine body over the edge and onto the plateau where rested Avelyn's body.
Nightbird came up behind, and he, too, glanced upon the beauty of Avelyn's would-be shrine, and he, too, was at ease.
Then goblin hands appeared on the ledge, and the fighting began anew, all twenty-one defenders fanning out and fighting for all their lives. Many goblins died, many were beaten back, but more and more the defenders had to turn their attention from the next climbing creature to battle one that had slipped up from another position - and that, of course, only allowed more to scramble up on the plateau. One soldier went down, screaming in pain, a spear in his belly. Brother Dellman soon followed, knocked out by a blow to his head.
Dragging their fallen, the defenders were driven inexorably back, until they were clustered about the protruding arm of Avelyn Desbris.
The battle paused there as the goblins regrouped around the perimeter of the circular bowl, more and more climbing up to join their kin, a hun-dred, then two hundred.
Lady Dasslerond and her elves were out of Palmaris long before the night had passed its midpoint, moving north, back toward Caer Tinella, where they would try to learn news of Nightbird before turning west for their homeland.
Their role in this human war, by Dasslerond's estimation, was at its end. The lady meant to speak with Nightbird one last time, to inform him of Jilseponie's condition and to scold him for ever teaching the womanbi'nelle dasada. The lady of Caer'alfar would not back down, nor would she relin-quish her anger. Nightbird had chosen the wrong person, for Jilseponie's actions against Markwart had been foolhardy, and anyone who would choose such a foolish course was not deserving to know the elven dance.
Belli'mar Juraviel, despondent, lingered behind the group, turning his eyes back toward Palmaris often. "Farewell, my friends," he said to the eve-ning wind.
But they would not fare well, he knew in his heart.
"You are my brother, Nightbird, and I do not judge you harshly," he said. "For Jilseponie is my sister now, and to her, I can only make one silent promise. And to you, Nightbird, I only pray our paths will cross once more, that we will find a time of mirth again, of friendship on a hillock with Jilse-ponie and Bradwarden, in a place far removed from the foolishness of human political struggles."
How Juraviel wanted that to come true! Tears rolled from his golden eyes, the first time the elf had ever cried for any human. Sadness nearly overwhelmed him when he considered poor Pony, should she survive, would awaken to yet another brutal loss.
And so he could only hope that someday far in the future, he would meet his friends. But Juraviel, who with his kin had learned so much of the true nature of this enemy, understood that his hopes were a distant possibility.
Juraviel knew what Nightbird and Pony would face, and did not believe that they would win, not now that Lady Dasslerond had decided to abandon the humans.
He lingered for a long while behind his kinfolk, staring forlornly back at Palmaris, at the place that had become so dangerous for Pony, and, soon enough, he suspected, for Nightbird, as well.
Up ahead, Lady Dasslerond led the others intiest-tiel, the star song, the highest pleasure that any elf might know.
But Belli'mar Juraviel did not feel like joining in tonight, for there was no song in his heavy heart.
"Perhaps it is fitting that we die here," the ranger grimly remarked.
"Just wishin' it was a hunnerd years hence," Bradwarden replied.
Marlboro Viscenti started crying; Roger Lockless tried to comfort him, but his shoulders, too, shook with sobs.
"To the legacy of Avelyn Desbris," Brother Braumin began, holding the last syllable melodically, using the half-singing, half-chanting tones of a monk ministering to the flock. "And so we have failed, but have not," he went on. "We were the first, but shall not be the last, to follow our hearts to this place. And so we have found him, our inspiration, our path to God, and so we die blessed."
He bent low as he continued his prayer so that the wounded man, obvi-ously near death, could hear him clearly and take comfort. And the man did stop his thrashing and crying, and Viscenti and Roger stopped crying, too, all listening to the prayer, the last earthly hope, of Brother Braumin Herde.
It went on for a few moments, then was halted by Shamus Kilronney's declaration. "Here they come," he said.
"Pray," cried Brother Braumin.
"Fight," Nightbird grimly corrected, but when he looked at the kneeling monk, he could not hold his edge. "Fight and pray," he conceded with a smile.
And so they prayed, and so they sang, and the goblins, hundreds of gob-lins, slowly closed. And then their song faded, for they each in turn noticed a humming, a deep resonating sound.
"She's pickin' a fine time to blow up again," Bradwarden remarked, staring down at the dangerous mountain.
All thoughts of anything but the goblins faded at once, for the creatures suddenly howled and charged, barely two running strides away.
Then a low moan, a loud, rolling pulse, emanated from Avelyn's hand, and all - men, centaur and goblins - froze as a purplish ring of energy rolled out through the defenders.
Through the defenders and into the goblins, permeating their bodies. Another pulse came forth, then another, each striking the now-stationary ring of monsters like the waves of an incoming tide.
Goblins opened their mouths as if to scream, but no sound came forth above the low humming of the arm. Goblins tried to turn and run, but could only twist their upper torsos, as if their feet were rooted to the stone.
The men and the centaur winced as they saw the goblin bones, as if their flesh had become translucent.
And then there were just bones, skeletons where the horde of goblins had been.
The humming stopped; the purple glow disappeared.
Hundreds of goblin skeletons crumbled with a great rattling sound.
Brother Braumin prostrated himself before the upraised arm, weeping and crying, "A miracle."
Not even Elbryan the skeptic nor Bradwarden, who had little use for human religions, could find a word to dissuade him, could find any word at all to speak at that moment.
PART
FIVE
MIRROR IMAGE
Even hope can be deceived. I never thought about the seemingly eternal struggle between good and evil in those terms before, Uncle Mather, and quite honestly the notion frightens me. But now I know it to be true, and that, I fear, is the real danger to the world of man.
The demon dactyl was a terrifying creature, horrible almost beyond comprehension. When I faced the beast in the bowels of Mount Aida, it took all of my willpower to struggle forward even a step toward Bestesbulzibar. Overwhelmingly malicious, Uncle Mather, evil personified.
Bui I have said before, and know now, having faced the fiend, that the demon dactyl could never win in the end. Such a force of true, recognizable evil would forever find foes among the men of Corona; someone would always take up the sword and fight. Only by sweeping every man and woman from the world of the living could Bestesbulzibar assure uncontested victory, and what a hollow victory that would be to a creature bent on domination. Its minions, the goblins and giants and powries, might have eradicated the human race, but never could they, never could Bestesbulzibar, capture the real prize: the human soul.
Might subtlety win out where brute force failed?
That is my fear, for far more dangerous than the demons and their monstrous minions are the deceivers, and I believe father Abbot Markwart to be one, perhaps the foremost one in all the world. He and his Church seem to have perfected the art of coercion, and it horrifies me, and saddens me, to think that they might claim the prize that eluded Bestesbulzibar. How cunning and sly! They publicly say just enough of the right things, and draw just enough logical conclusions, to lend credence to other philosophies which, if examined separately and carefully, would not hold up. They mask untruth with a covering web of truth, and excuse immorality by claiming urgency or hiding behind convenient traditions that hold no logical purpose in the present world.
Why not train a ship's crew of monks for the voyage to collect the sacred gemstones? Why not use those stones to better the lives of the common folk?
They have answers, Uncle Mather. Always there are answers.
But when a sickly mother appears at the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle, begging for healing that her children would not be orphaned. . .
Then there are no excuses. At that moment, all the justifications called forth by tradition or some supposed "greater good" melt away, revealed for the lies they are.
But they are masters, these deceivers, and they frighten me. They speak enough truths to calm the populace, and offer just enough meager morsels to keep the common folk in line, to make those scrambling daily to find food believe that their world will continue to improve, or at least that their children will find a better life. For that, Uncle Mather, in the end, is the most common desire of humanity.
Father Abbot Markwart knows that.
I alluded, half jokingly, that the spirit of Bestesbulzibar might remain, and in an even more dangerous host. I was speaking metaphorically, of course, or so I thought. For now, as this fight between me, Pony, and all the other followers of Avelyn, has intensified against the Abellican Church - Father Abbot Markwart's Church - I have come to wonder if the spirit of Bestesbulzibar does not actually find the hearts of some men, and root there. Are there those among us tainted by the diabolical fiend? And if that is the case, will goodly men, godly men, win out in the end, or will the tide of humanity follow the current of calming words, thickened with truth, but baked, in essence, with lies?
Perhaps even hope can be deceived.