But how that image faded next to her Elbryan! Kalas was like a magnificently painted landscape of majestic mountains, an image of beauty, but Elbryan's beauty went far deeper. Elbryan had been those mountainswith the crisp, fresh air, the sounds, the sights, the smells, the exhilarating and real experience. Kalas was mere swagger, but Elbryan had been the substance; and this man, for all of his pride and puff, seemed a pale figure beside the ghost of Nightbird.
She recognized that she wasn't keeping enough of her true feelings off her face when Duke Kalas stiffened and moved aside suddenly, clearing his throat.
Pony turned her head away from him, chewing her bottom lip, hoping that she had not done too much damage to Brother Braumin's cause, and hoping that she would not burst out into mocking laughter.
'The King was delayed,' came a voice behind them, and they turned to see Lady Constance Pemblebury moving fast to catch up to them. The woman repeated her message, eyeing Pony directly as she spoke. Neither Pony nor Kalas missed Constance's point: King Danube had been delayed because of her.
Pony rolled her eyes, fighting the feeling of mocking helplessness in the face of such abject stupidity. Constance-who, by all rumors, had been seducing King Danube for years-saw the attractive Pony, ten years her junior, as a threat and wanted to openly lay her claim to Danube.
How could Pony explain it to her? Could she grab the woman by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled?
'He bids that we wait for him before entering the audience chamber,' Constance went on, shifting her gaze to Duke Kalas. 'Of course, you may go,' she said dismissively to Pony, who chuckled, shook her head, and turned back for the door, acutely aware that Duke Kalas' eyes were following her every step.
She had rebuffed the man, perhaps had even embarrassed and insulted him, but likely, she knew, he would take that as a challenge and would come after her all the more blatantly in the days ahead.
A man like Kalas always had something to prove.
'It was only a year ago since the last College of Abbots was convened,' Brother Braumin said to Abbot Je'howith when the two were alone at the side of the large audience hall. 'How much the world has changed since then!'
Je'howith eyed the younger monk with suspicion. That last College of Abbots had been a disaster, of course, considering all that had occurred since then. Markwart had declared Master Jojonah a heretic and had used the King's own soldiers-for some reason that even Je'howith had not understood and still did not understand-to have the doomed heretic dragged through the streets of St.-Mere-Abelle village and then burned at the stake. At that same College, Markwart had issued a formal declaration of Brother Avelyn as a heretic; and now, it seemed as if the Church might begin the process of canonizing the man!
Braumin read Je'howith's expression correctly, and he gave a helpless chuckle to alleviate the tension. 'We have learned much since then,' he said. 'Hopefully, the Abellican Church can begin to mend the wounds it has opened.'
'By canonizing Avelyn Desbris?' Je'howith asked skeptically.
Braumin held up his hands. 'In time, perhaps that process will find enough support to begin,' he said noncommittally, not wanting to start that fight now. 'But before we begin to discuss any such action, before we even begin to determine who was correct-Father Abbot Markwart or Master Jojonah and Brother Avelyn-we must, by the King's own command, put our present house in order.'
Je'howith's skeptical glare returned tenfold. 'You have long ago decided which of them chose the proper course,' he said accusingly.
'And it is a case I intend to make against you, and strongly, should you decide, after all that we have seen, to side with Markwart,' Brother Braumin admitted. 'But, again, we have not the time, nor the folly, to begin such a batde at this hour.'
Je'howith backed off. 'Agreed,' he said.
'And we must quickly convene a College of Abbots to elect a new Father Abbot,' Brother Braumin went on, 'and to secure the position of abbot of St. Precious.'
'Why, Brother Braumin, you are not yet even a master. As an immaculate, you would likely be invited to a College of Abbots, though you would have no voice there. And yet you speak as if you personally intend to call one.'
'Master Francis will nominate me as abbot of St. Precious before King Danube this very day,' Braumin announced. 'Brother Talumus and all from St. Precious will second that nomination.' He paused and looked at the old monk directly. 'And Jilseponie, who has refused the post, will act as third.'
'Children leading children!' Je'howith retorted, raising his voice in ire. Braumin knew that the man's anger was born of frustration, for, in truth, the old abbot would have little leverage in preventing the ascension of Brother Braumin. 'And,' he sputtered, 'that woman! Jilseponie! She is not of the Order! She will have no say in any of this!'
'She is of the Order, my friend,' Brother Braumin calmly replied. 'Can you doubt her prowess with the gemstones, a clear sign that she is in God's favor? Can you deny Father Abbot Markwart's last words? '
'He was delirious,' Je'howith insisted. 'He was near death. And, besides, he did not nominate Jilseponie-that was foolish Brother Francis' doing.' 'It was the greatest moment of clarity our Father Abbot experienced since long before the last College of Abbots,' Braumin Herde replied. 'Since before he sent Brother Justice to hunt and kill Brother Avelyn. Since before he abducted the poor Chilichunk family and let them rot in the dungeons of St.-Mere- Abelle. You know that my words are true and that they will ring powerfully to the other abbots and masters, many of whom had come to question Markwart long before the most recent revelations. Master Francis followed Markwart along that dark road, and he has returned to the light to tell the truth of it.'
Je'howith spent a long while digesting Braumin's argument, seeking some flaw. 'I will not oppose your ascension to the position of abbot,' he conceded.
Braumin's smile was cut short as Je'howith pointed a long, thin finger at him. 'But only if Bishop De'Unnero does not return.'
'He is discredited by his own actions even if he does,' Braumin argued. 'We know that he stood with Markwart in the final battle.'
'We know little of his role,' Je'howith countered.
'He is implicated in the murder of Baron Bildeborough.'
'Hardly,' Je'howith scoffed. 'He is implicated only in the eyes of those who so hated Markwart that they saw his treachery in every event. There has been no formal connection to the murder of the Baron, other than the fact that Bishop De'Unnero is known to be proficient with the tiger's paw gemstone. Hardly damning evidence.'
'Then why has he run off?' asked Braumin.
'I will support your nomination if he does not return with some plausible reason why he should reassume the leadership of the abbey, as Father Abbot Markwart had determined,' Je'howith said resolutely. Brother Braumin, after a moment, nodded his concession.
From Je'howith's posture, though, Braumin soon came to realize that there would be a price for that support. 'What do you want?' the young monk asked bluntly.
'Two things,' Je'howith replied. 'First, we will treat the memory of Father Abbot Markwart gently.'
Braumin's expression was one of sheer incredulity, fast transforming into disgust.
'He was a great man,' Je'howith insisted.
'Who culminated his life's work with murder,' Braumin retorted quietly, not wanting to draw anyone else into this particular phase of the discussion.
Je'howith shook his head. 'You cannot understand,' he replied. 'I'll not argue concerning the final actions of Dalebert Markwart, but you cannot judge the whole of his life on an errant turn-'
'A wrong choice,' Braumin interjected.
Je'howith nodded, apparently conceding the point-but only for now, Braumin understood. 'By either definition, an errant turn in his life's work,' Je'howith said. 'And we would be in grave error to judge all he accomplished based on the failings of his last days.'
It was more than just 'his last days,' Braumin knew, and the whole manner in which Je'howith was framing the discussion left a sour taste in the idealistic young monk's mouth. 'A man might lose sainthood over a single indiscretion,' he reminded him.
'I am not asking you to beatify Dalebert Markwart,' Je'howith replied.
