'An impressive woman,' Agronguerre remarked.
'You cannot begin to understand the depth of her heroism,' Al'u'met was pleased to reply. 'In the time of Bishop De'Unnero and the last days of Father Abbot Markwart, my people were being persecuted brutally in Palmaris, and Jilseponie stood strong beside us, risking all for folk she did not even know. There is a goodness there, and a strength.'
'None is stronger in the use of the sacred gemstones,' Brother Dellman remarked, and both Agronguerre and Haney gasped and made the evergreen sign.
'Both the Church and King Danube himself recognized it within her,' Al'u'met went on. 'She was offered both the barony of Palmaris and a high position within your Church, as abbess of St. Precious, or even…' He paused and looked to Dellman.
'There was talk of nominating her as mother abbess of the Abellican Church,' Dellman admitted. 'Proposed by Master Francis Dellacourt-'
'Markwart's lackey,' Agronguerre interrupted. 'Well I know Brother Francis from the last College of Abbots. I found him most disagreeable, to be honest.'
'Master Francis has seen the error of his ways,' Brother Dellman assured him. 'He saw it on the face of his dying Father Abbot, and heard it in the last words, of repentance, that Markwart spoke to him.'
'It has been an interesting year,' Abbot Agronguerre said with a profound sigh.
'I should like to meet thisJilseponie,' Warder Presso remarked.
'She once served in your Coastpoint Guard,' Brother Dellman told him, and the Warder nodded appreciatively. 'Indeed, she was at Pireth Tuime when the powries invaded, perhaps the only survivor of that massacre.'
That widened Presso's eyes, and he stared hard at Dellman. 'Describe her,' he demanded.
'Beauty incarnate,' ATu'met said with a chuckle.
Dellman was more specific, holding up his hand to indicate that Pony was about five foot five. 'Her eyes are blue and her hair golden,' he said.
'It could not be,' Warder Presso remarked.
'You know her? ' Al'u'met asked him.
'There was a woman at Pireth Tuime who went by the name ofJill,' Presso explained. 'She had been indentured into the King's armysomething about a failed marriage with a nobleman-and had worked her way into the Coastpoint Guard. But that was years ago.'
'A failed marriage to Connor Bildeborough, nephew of Baron Bildeborough of Palmaris,' Brother Dellman explained, smiling, for he knew that they were indeed speaking of the same remarkable woman. 'A marriage that could only fail, since Jilseponie's heart was ever for Elbryan.'
'Amazing,' Warder Presso breathed.
'You do know her, then,' said Agronguerre.
Presso nodded. 'And even then, she was impressive, good Abbot. A woman of high moral character and strength of heart and of arm.'
'That would be her,' said a smiling Al'u'met.
'We can decide on your passage at a later date,' Brother Dellman said to Abbot Agronguerre. 'In the meantime, I have been instructed to spend the summer in Vanguard, and truly, I do wish to see this wondrous land.'
'And you are most welcome, Brother Dellman,' said the congenial Agronguerre. 'There is much room here at St. Belfour, and with so many brothers off in the north with Prince Midalis, an extra set of hands would greatly help.'
'And Captain Al'u'met and his crew will stay with me at Pireth Vanguard,' said Warder Presso. 'I, too, find myself shorthanded, with many soldiers on the road with my Prince.'
'And when do you expect their return?' Al'u'met asked.
'We have heard rumors that it will be soon,' Presso replied. 'They ventured to southern Alpinador with the barbarian leader Bruinhelde and the ranger Andacanavar, repaying the northmen for their aid in our struggles.'
'An alliance with Alpinador? ' Captain ATu'met asked skeptically.
Warder Presso shrugged. 'That is a story for another day, I suspect,' he answered when there came a soft knock on Abbot Agronguerre's door.
'Vespers,' the abbot explained, rising. 'Perhaps you would lead us in our prayers this evening, Brother Dellman.'
Dellman rose from his chair and bowed respectfully. He stared at Agronguerre, continuing to take the measure of the man. If first impressions meant anything at all, though, Dellman suspected that he would indeed be recommending that Braumin Herde and the others nominate this man for the position of father abbot.
Chapter 16
One returning brother after another,' Master Bou-raiy said with obvious sarcasm as Marcalo De'Unnero walked into his office in St.-Mere-Abelle. 'First Brother-oh, do pardon me, it is Master Francis now-comes in unexpectedly, and now our pleasure is doubled.'
De'Unnero wore a smirk as he studied the man. Bou-raiy had never been a friend of his, had resented him; for, though younger, De'Unnero had been in greater favor of Father Abbot Markwart, and, through deed after deed, had elevated himself above Bou-raiy. Their rivalry had been evident to De'Unnero soon after the powrie fleet had come to St.-Mere-Abelle. De'Unnero had distinguished himself in that fight, while Bou-raiy had spent the bulk of it at the western wall, waiting for a ground invasion that had never come.
De'Unnero wasn't surprised to find that Bou-raiy had used the power vacuum at St.-Mere-Abelle to further his own cause; who else was there, after all, to take up the lead at the great abbey? So now Bou-raiy, a man long buried under Markwart's disdain, had stepped forward, with that lackey Glendenhook at his heels.
'Two masters-former bishops, former abbots, both-returned to bolster St.-Mere-Abelle in this time of trial,' De'Unnero said.
'Bolster?' Bou-raiy echoed skeptically, and he gave a sarcastic laugh. De'Unnero pictured how wide that smile might stretch if he drove his palm through Bou-raiy's front teeth. 'Bolster? Master De'Unnero, have you not listened to the whispers that hound your every step? Have you not heard the snickers?'
'I followed Father Abbot Markwart.'
'Who is discredited,' Bou-raiy reminded him. 'Both you and Francis found your zenith under Markwart's rule, that is true. But now he is gone, and will soon enough be forgotten.' He paused and shook his head. 'Offer i97 me not that scowl, Marcalo De'Unnero. There was once a day when you outranked me here at St.-Mere-Abelle, but only because of Father Abbot Markwart. You will find few allies among the remaining masters, I assure you, even with Master Francis, if what I have heard about his admission of error is true. No, you have returned to find a new Church in the place of the old-the old that so welcomed a man of your… talents.'
'I'll not defend my actions, nor recount my deeds, for the likes of Fio Bou-raiy,' De'Unnero retorted.
'Deeds inflated in your recounting, no doubt.'
That statement stopped De'Unnero cold, and he stared hard at the man, felt the primal urges of the tiger welling inside him. How he wanted to give in to that darker side, to become the great cat and leap across the desk, tearing this wretch apart! How he wanted to taste Fio Bou-raiy's blood!
The volatile master fought hard to keep his breathing steady, to restrain those brutal urges. What would be left for him if he gave in to them now? He would have to flee St.-Mere-Abelle and his cherished Order for all time, would have to run and exist on the borderlands of civilization, as he had done over the last months. No, he didn't want that again, not at all, and so he fought with all his willpower, closing off his mind to Bou-raiy's continuing stream of sarcastic comments. The man was a gnat, De'Unnero reminded himself constantly, an insignificant pest feeling the seeds of power for the first time in his miserable life.
'You are nearly ten years my junior,' Bou-raiy was saying. 'Ten years! A full decade, I have studied the ancient texts and the ways of man and God longer than you. So know your place now, and know that your place is
