R. Salvatore - The Bear

"I would not have thought you could travel so far south so fast, battling powries along the way," Yeslnik bade his general as Milwellis and Harcourt dismounted and handed their reins to attendants.

"They are insignificant gnats to the army of Palmaristown," Milwellis answered as he arrived at the side of the coach, before and below the king and queen. Father De Guilbe moved up to stand beside him, offering a slight nod of greeting. "We slaughtered them every step and left them rotting by the riverbank, or"-he glanced to his right, out toward the Masur Delaval and the many warships shadowing his march-"drowned in the dark and cold waters."

Milwellis again glanced all around, hiding a smile, it seemed. "My king," he asked, "do you think it wise to be so prominently displayed?"

Yeslnik's face screwed up with confusion. He glanced to Olym, who snapped at Milwellis, "Should he grovel with the peasants?"

"No, of course not, my queen," the Laird of Palmaristown answered. "It is just that an enemy archer might spy him from afar up there, and yourself as well."

That had the two nobles shifting nervously, and Yeslnik calling for a ladder.

"And I am keen to such loss," Milwellis went on, though Yeslnik wasn't really paying him much heed.

"You said that the powries were slaughtered," Yeslnik scolded, gingerly making his way down the ladder, pointedly before his wife.

"They are."

"Then what archers need I fear?"

"Word from Chapel Abelle has not reached this far south," Harcourt remarked to Milwellis, and that had Yeslnik and Olym exchanging concerned glances and made De Guilbe shift and turn to face the pair from Palmaristown directly.

"Dame Gwydre has come forth, my king," Milwellis reported.

"What?" Yeslnik stuttered. "I told you to keep them imprisoned in their walls! Can you not perform the simplest of duties, Prince of Palmaris-"

"Laird of Palmaristown," Milwellis dared interrupt, and the weight of his words did, indeed, excuse the indiscretion.

"Where is your father?" Father De Guilbe demanded.

"Dead before the walls of Chapel Abelle," said Milwellis. "We turned as you ordered," he added, looking back to Yeslnik. "To the river and the powrie threat. And soon after our departure, the witch of Vanguard struck."

"She coordinated the assault with her powrie minions!" De Guilbe insisted.

Yeslnik growled, Olym gasped, and Milwellis nodded, not about to disagree. "My father was slain before the walls, his force overwhelmed."

"Surely you do not blame me!" King Yeslnik demanded, and he even stamped his foot to accentuate his point.

"No, of course not, my king," Harcourt interjected.

Milwellis was glad of that, glad that his advisor had given him the moment to compose himself before he had uttered something ungraceful to the King of Honce.

"The powries had to be defeated," Milwellis agreed. "It was the only course, particularly since Bannagran of Pryd has not found his way to the river." He glanced at Harcourt as he finished the sentence, and the older man gave him a wink of approval.

"I rode from Chapel Abelle to protect Palmaristown, to serve the minions of my father and my king, and to protect the walls of Delaval City," Milwellis went on. "The death of my father is the doing of Dame Gwydre alone, and I will have her head in recompense. As the Laird of Palmaristown, I demand no less."

"Yes, it is your city now, I suppose," Yeslnik replied. He paused and tapped his fingers to his lips, nodding and thinking. "Your father was a great man. My uncle, the King of Honce, spoke of him often as a fine ally and friend."

Milwellis knew the phony ploy for what it was, of course, but he accepted the truth of Yeslnik's words, inadvertent though it might be. Given Milwellis's ambitions for the glory of his city, it was good to have the King of Honce speaking of Panlamaris in such a positive manner.

"And so my father oft spoke of Laird Delaval," he replied.

"King Delaval," Yeslnik quickly and sternly corrected.

At Milwellis's side, Harcourt gave a curt bow. "Even before he wore that mantle, King Yeslnik," the general explained. "For many years, Laird Panlamaris viewed your uncle as a great and powerful ally."

That seemed to satisfy Yeslnik, but Milwellis remained tensely staring at the foppish man.

"Where is Laird Bannagran?" Milwellis asked. "My march has been full of enemies and battles at every mile, yet all that Bannagran has faced before his great army are the miles of empty land!"

King Yeslnik answered him with a long silence and stare, one that revealed nothing of Bannagran, but much of Yeslnik's own displeasure that the Laird of Pryd had not yet arrived.

"What good my march, then?" Milwellis pressed. "We risked the wrath of our most powerful foes in their fortress of Chapel Abelle. Laird Panlamaris paid for that risk with his life, as he rushed to sweep clear the river and bank of the wretched powries. Palmaristown paid dearly for the good of King Yeslnik's kingdom, while Bannagran and Pryd Town sit quiet and content."

For a moment, it seemed as if King Yeslnik meant to lash out verbally at the malcontent Milwellis, but he calmed quickly.

"As soon as Laird Bannagran is finished with Ethelbert, I will pull back my legions from him," Yeslnik said.

Milwellis waved the thought away. "Forget Laird Ethelbert at this dark time," he advised. "Your more dangerous foes are Dame Gwydre and the monks of Chapel Abelle. The prisoners incarcerated there have joined their ranks, so say those who fled the field, and the witch of Vanguard has more tricks to play, I am sure. Ethelbert is in his hole, and there he will stay. Send a fleet to blockade him so that no supplies or mercenaries come to him from Behr but eliminate the more immediate threat, I say."

"Laird Ethelbert guided the assassin who murdered my uncle!" Yeslnik argued.

"And you have punched him back into his hole," Milwellis replied. "Command the center, my king. You cannot safely stretch your line with Dame Gwydre running free so near to Palmaristown, to Pryd Town, and to Delaval City."

That last reference had the always nervous Yeslnik stiffening a bit.

"The brothers of Abelle can weaken your high walls with their gemstones, do not doubt," Milwellis continued.

"We have brothers to counter!" Yeslnik shouted at him, and the king turned to the hulking Father De Guilbe for support. Indeed, De Guilbe was all too glad to stick out his chin and cross his large arms over his large chest.

"If you gathered all of the brothers loyal to Father De Guilbe of all of the chapels across Honce, they would not come near to matching the magical prowess of Artolivan's skilled monks. Most of the older brothers have fled or gone into hiding, their old loyalties to Chapel Abelle holding firm. And not all the other chapels of the world combined have near the quantity or quality of the gemstones at Chapel Abelle. This I know from the brothers of the Chapel of Precious Memories, and this you, too, know, Father De Guilbe."

King Yeslnik seemed quite taken aback at being spoken to in so blunt a manner. He looked to De Guilbe again and saw that much of the man's puffery was no more. Father De Guilbe seemed smaller in that moment of truth, for, indeed, Milwellis had spoken truly, and all there knew it.

"And so you believe that these few hundred brothers and prisoners, led by a witch from Vanguard, will threaten the power of my kingdom?" Yeslnik asked with as much skepticism as he could manage.

"Preposterous!" Father De Guilbe added.

"I believe that they can cause great mischief," Laird Milwellis replied coolly. "No more than a few hundred powries crawled out of the river, and they brought great distress to Palmaristown and to every port between my city and your own. Gwydre and Artolivan are smarter than powries-and more dangerous-with a host of monks and their gemstone magic. They won't slaughter haphazardly and send more folk running to King Yeslnik for safety. Nay, they will carefully pick their fights, perhaps against the lairds most loyal and the chapels turning to Father De Guilbe's vision of Abelle. And as they defeat those chapels, how many converts will they win and how many more gemstones will they place in their arsenal? Your course, our course, is clear, my king," he finished dramatically. "The garrison of Palmaristown is on the march, as is the army of Delaval City. The witch has come out of her hole, and so we must put her back into it and then tear the walls of Chapel Abelle down around her."