Robert Salvatore - Mortalis

"The trials are behind us," Constance agreed, letting go of the rail and self-consciously hiding her hands within the folds of her thick woolen cloak.

"Most, perhaps," said old Je'howith, his expression pensive. "For the Crown and court, at least, though I fear that I've many trials ahead of me." The old man walked up beside Constance, gripping the rail and staring out, as she had been, at the receding shapes of Palmaris' dock.

Constance eyed him curiously; never had she and Je'howith been on good terms, though neither had they been openly hostile toward each other, as was the case between the elderly abbot and Duke Kalas.

"They are so young and idealistic," the abbot continued, and he glanced over at Constance. "The young Abellican brothers, I mean, who take the downfall of Father Abbot Markwart as a signal that it is their time to step to the forefront of the Abellican Church. They believe they have seen the truth; though the truth, you and I both understand in our wisdom of experience, is never as simple as that. They will overreach, and pity the Church if we older abbots and masters cannot tame the fire of youth."

Constance's expression turned even more curious and skeptical; she wondered why old Je'howith was confiding in her, and she trusted him not at all. Was he, perhaps, using her ear to get his seemingly sincere feelings whispered to King Danube? Was he seeking an unspoken alliance with the King by using the mouth of an unwitting third party? Though, of course, Constance Pemblebury was hardly that!

"The young brothers now leading St. Precious are nearly my own age," she reminded Je'howith; and it was true that Braumin, Marlboro Viscenti, and Francis were all near their thirtieth birthdays.

"But how many of their years have been spent within the sheltered confines of an outland abbey?" Je'howith asked. "The other houses of the Abellican Church are not as St. Honce, you see. Even great St.-MereAbelle, with its seven hundred brothers, is a secluded place, a place of few viewpoints and little understanding of anything that is not Abellican. We of St. Honce have the advantage of the city of Ursal about us, and of the wisdom of the King and his noble court."

Constance's expression betrayed her skepticism, particularly given the recent battles between Church and Crown. If Je'howith meant to call her on that point, though, he did not do so immediately and lost the opportunity as another voice piped in.

"Farewell, Palmaris," King Danube said with a chuckle, "and good luck to you, my friend Duke Kalas! For your task, I know, is the most wretched by far!" He walked up to Constance and Je'howith, his smile wide and sincere, for it was no secret among them that King Danube was glad indeed to be sailing for home.

"My King," said Je'howith, dipping a bow.

"Ah, so you remember? " Danube replied slyly. Behind the old abbot, Constance smiled widely, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Never did I forget," the abbot insisted seriously.

Danube looked at him doubtfully.

"Can you doubt the influence of the Father Abbot? " Je'howith asked, and Constance did not miss the fact that a bit of the cocksureness seemed to dissipate from King Danube's serene face.

"Will the new father abbot prove so influential, I wonder?" Danube retorted, his voice thick with implication. He narrowed his eyes as he spoke, and Constance understood him to be signaling the influential abbot of St. Honce in no uncertain terms that he had tolerated about all that he would from the troublesome Abellican Church.

"A gender man, whomever it might prove to be," Abbot Je'howith replied calmly. "And fear not for Duke Kalas, my King. The Duke of Wester-Honce, the Baron of Palmaris, will find the brothers of St. Precious accommodating."

"Somehow I doubt that," said Danube.

"At the least, they will come to understand that they are not enemies but allies in the war to reclaim the souls of Palmaris," Je'howith went on.

"For Church or for Crown? " Constance asked.

Je'howith glanced back at her, and, surprisingly, he appeared wounded by her attitude. What was he about? she wondered. Did he seek alliance with her, and, if so, to what advantage for her?

"I must go and see about my duties, my King," Je'howith quickly said. "I must begin the letters to summon the College of Abbots." He bowed again and, with no objections forthcoming, hustled away.

Danube watched him go, shaking his head. " Never am I quite certain where that one stands," he remarked to Constance, moving close beside her It the taffrail, "for Church or for Crown."

' "For Je'howith, more likely," said Constance. "And with his mentor, — Markwart, dead, and the Church turned hostile to his old ways, that path, it: would seem, now lies with the Crown."

Danube stared at her, nodding, admiring. "You always see things so; dearly," he complimented, and he draped his arm about her shoulder. "Ah, ' my Constance, whatever would I do without you? " The woman nudged closer, liking the support from the strong man. She knew the rules, knew that by those rules she was not fit to be queen. She trusted that Danube cared for her deeply, though, and while it was friendship more than love, she could be satisfied with that.

Almost satisfied, she reminded herself, and soon after, she led the King to his stateroom belowdeck.

Prince Midalis watched the hefty Abbot Agronguerre come bounding out of the gates, huffing and puffing and wiping the sweat from his brow with a dirty kerchief. The man shook his head repeatedly, muttering prayers. He brought his right hand up before his face, then swept it down to the left and back up, then down to the right and out, the sign of the evergreen, an old, though now seldom used, Church gesture.

Glancing around at the carnage on the field, the Prince understood. Many goblins were down, most dead and some squirming and crying. And many men had fallen as well, the Prince's brave soldiers, most to Midalis' right, and some of the Alpinadoran barbarians, over on the field to the left. Those monks who had come out before the Abbot, had gone to the right almost exclusively, moving to tend their own countrymen.

Abbot Agronguerre surveyed the situation briefly, then looked at Midalis, who caught his attention with a quick wave of his hand. The abbot nodded and rushed over.

"We have allies," Prince Midalis remarked gravely, "wounded allies."

"And will they accept our soul stones?" the abbot asked in all seriousness. "Or will they see our magic as some demonic power to be avoided?"

"Do you believe-" the Prince started incredulously.

Agronguerre stopped him with a shrug. "I do not know," he admitted, "nor do the younger brothers, which is why they instinctively went to the aid of the Vanguardsmen."

"Bring some, and quickly," the Prince instructed, then he turned his mount and started at a swift trot to the left toward the barbarian line. The bulk of the Alpinadorans were on the edge of the field now, and many had gone into the shadows beneath the boughs in pursuit of the fleeing goblins. Several others had been left behind on the open field, wounded.

"Where is Andacanavar? " the Prince called out, then, trying to remember his bedongadongadonga, he translated. "Tiuk nee Andacanavar?"

A couple of whistles were relayed along the line, and the giant ranger appeared from the brush, mighty Bruinhelde at his side. The pair spotted Midalis at once and strode over quickly.

"Our debt to you this day is great," Midalis said, sliding down from his horse and landing right into a respectful bow. "We would have been lost."

"Such debts do not exist between friends," Andacanavar replied, and Midalis did not miss the fact that the man glanced to the side, and somewhat unsurely, at Bruinhelde as he spoke. "We did not know if you would come," Midalis admitted. "Did we not share drink in the mead hall? " Bruinhelde asked, as if that alone should explain everything and should have given Midalis confidence that the barbarians would indeed appear.