'Not so different,' Je'howith insisted.
Brother Braumin slowly shook his head, making it clear to Je'howith and all who were watching-and that included every monk in the room, by this time-that he was not going to surrender this crucial point.
Everyone in the room understood that if King Danube tried to insinuate himself into the Abellican Church now, it would be very difficult, given the lack of experienced and charismatic leadership, for the Church to hold him at bay.
'Father Abbot Markwart attempted such a joining,' Master Francis reminded them, referring to the fairly recent appointment of Marcalo De'Unnero as bishop of Palmaris, a title that conveyed the power of both Church leadership and secular control over the city. The city had been without a baron since beloved Rochefort Bildeborough had been murdered on the road to Ursal-and the subsequent evidence had implicated De'Unnero and his preferred use of the tiger's paw gemstone as the killer-and Markwart had tried to take advantage of the emergency.
But that action had only prompted Danube to come north, with his army and his entourage, to protect his power base within the city.
'A complete disaster,' Francis went on. 'And so it will be again if the King asserts his power and influence where they do not belong.'
Brother Braumin looked over at Francis and nodded solemnly. The two were not friends-far from it! — despite Francis' apparent transformation since Markwart's death, but Braumin did appreciate his support at this crucial time. AU the Church could crumble around them, Braumin understood, if they did not act and choose wisely in the coming months.
Braumin looked back at Je'howith and saw clearly that the man could become a difficult enemy. Je'howith had spent decades securing his comforts and his power, and both owed more to King Danube than to the Abellican Order.
Braumin stared at Je'howith solemnly, then slightly nodded his head, indicating a quiet corner of the room where they might negotiate this disagreement less publicly.
She had a difficult time climbing out of bed that morning, as on almost every morning. By Braumin Herde's estimation, the events of this day would be more critical than any powrie attack that ended short of the vicious dwarves conquering the whole of the kingdom. But to weary Jilseponie, it was just another in an endless, and futile, stream of meetings. Always they talked and organized, shifting the balances of power, but Pony had come to believe that in the overall scheme of things, in the history and the future of humanity and the world, all their little games would have very little impact.
So many people viewed everything as momentous and important, but was it really?
That question had haunted Pony since the death of Elbryan, had followed her every step, had stilled her tongue during those meetings when she knew the consensus was in error. In the end, what did it matter?
Even the war with the demon dactyl. They had gone to Aida and destroyed its physical manifestation, but that seemingly important and heroic deed, in which Avelyn and Tuntun the elf had given their lives, had only led to more misery. Father Abbot Markwart, who was fearful of his power base, was on the road to declaring Avelyn a heretic and had sent out brothers to murder him. In Markwart's desperate search to find the new keepers of the stolen gemstones-Elbryan and Pony-he had gone after Pony's adoptive family, killing her stepbrother, Grady, on the road, and imprisoning Graevis and Pettibwa in his dungeons, where they had died horribly.
That had only spurred more conflict that Pony had hoped would end it all. And so it had-for Markwart and Elbryan-but they were hardly cold in the ground before the bickering had begun anew, before new problems, grave problems according to Brother Braumin, had reared up to threaten the supposed fruits of all their sacrifices.
As she considered it all, Pony put her hand to her belly, to her womb, which the demon Markwart had so violated, taking her child from her, stilling the heartbeat that had found such rhythm with her own.
Now they were fighting again, and in her time of grieving, Pony could not bring herself to believe that it would ever end. Without that optimism, that flicker of hope, how could she leap out of bed with excitement to attend to another of the so-called important meetings?
She did manage to rise, wash, and dress, though, for the sake of brothers Braumin, Dellman, Castinagis, and Viscenti, who had stood strong beside her and Elbryan in their time of need, who had refused to turn against them despite their own imprisonment and the threat of torturous deaths at the hands of Markwart. She had to do it for Brother Romeo Mullahy, who had leaped from the blessed plateau at the Barbacan to his death rather than surrender to Markwart. She had to do it for Avelyn, for the Church he had envisioned-even though she was certain it would never come to fruition.
Her responsibilities enabled her to put one foot in front of the other along the corridors of St. Precious.
When she turned the last corner into the hallway that ran in front of the meeting room, she came upon another whose stride, markedly different from her own, was full of eagerness and strength.
'Greetings, Jilseponie,' Duke Kalas said, edging to walk close to her side. 'I would have thought that you would have been inside with the brothers long before this, preparing for the King's visit.'
'I have spoken with Brother Braumin many times,' Pony casually replied, her reference to Braumin only-and not the higher-ranking monks, particularly Abbot Je'howith-speaking volumes about her stance on the present issues.
Kalas remained quiet; the only sound in the corridor was the soft padding of Pony's light shoes and the hard clacking of Kalas' military boots.
Before they reached the door, the Duke strode ahead of her and then turned back so that she had to look at him. 'A difficult fight on yesterday's morn,' he said.
Pony chuckled at his abrupt subject change. 'Not so, I would think,' she replied, 'since so few were wounded.'
'A testament to the power of the Allheart Brigade,' the proud Kalas quickly added. 'The powries were many and were eager for battle, but our precision formations and practiced coordination cut their ranks asunder and sent them running.'
Pony nodded despite her nagging suspicions. She had no hard proof, after all, to dispute the Duke's words.
Kalas moved in front of her and forced her to stop abruptly. 'I was pleased to see you on the wall when I rode back into Palmaris,' he said, staring at her intently. 'It is good that you should witness such a spectacle as the Allheart Brigade in these troubled times, that you might gain confidence that we, you and I, are fighting the same enemies.'
It took all of Pony's considerable composure not to laugh in the man's face. He was making a play for her-oh, not for the present-for he, like everyone else, understood that she, less than four months widowed, was still grieving for Elbryan. No, Kalas was being far more subtle and polite. He was sowing seeds-she saw it so clearly. In truth, such occasions had become quite common. She was able to easily put aside her vanity and harbor no illusions that her beauty and charm were winning the hearts of the visiting nobles of Danube's court. She knew she was a beautiful woman, but so were many of those who had followed the King and his court to Palmaris, courtesans well versed in the arts of seduction. Pony understood the truth behind Kalas' words. She was an important figure now, with more potential for power within Church or State than any other woman in the kingdom, including Delenia, the abbess of St. Gwendolyn, the highestranking woman in the Abellican Church. Pony had been tentatively offered the highest position in the Order by several of the monks in Palmaris and certainly would have been given, at least, the Abbey of St. Precious as her own with a mere word. And she had been offered Palmaris by Danube, to serve him as its baroness.
If Pony was at all interested in this game of political intrigue, she could, in a matter of days, step into the thick of the highest levels of power.
Duke Kalas, a political animal if ever Pony had seen one, understood that, of course, and so he thought his charms well placed. Except that, to Pony, those charms themselves were the most lacking.
'If injured upon the field, I would have insisted on Jilseponie for my healer,' the Duke went on; and it was obvious that he thought he was paying her the highest compliment.
Again, Pony had to work hard not to laugh. She understood Duke Kalas very clearly. The man could have nearly any woman in the kingdom; he could snap his fingers or run them through his thick black mop of curly hair and bat those pretty dark eyelashes of his and have the ladies of Ursal's court fainting on the floor. Pony knew that, and didn't deny that the man was physically handsome, beautiful even.
