DemonWars Saga Volume 1 (157 page)

If only you understood the truth of that,Jojonah silently replied, and was quite glad then that he had hidden the ancient book in his room before he tried to get to the prisoners.

“And yet you could not even hold true to that course!” Markwart went on. “And while you were at your work, buried in ancient writings that bear no importance to the present dangerous situation, one of our younger brothers nearly met his doom!”

That perked up Jojonah’s ears.

“In the courtyard,” Markwart went on. “Doing work that Master Jojonah would normally oversee, but that Master De’Unnero had to watch over, in addition to the other laborers he was directing. Perhaps that was why he could not react in time when two of the three brothers slipped off the wheel, when the third, poor Dellman, was nearly broken in half by the sudden weight.”

“Dellman!” Jojonah cried, nearly coming out of his seat, forcing Markwart to take a step back. Panic crept through Jojonah’s mind; he worried suddenly for Brother Braumin, whom he had not seen in days. How many “accidents” had there been?

He realized, though, that his excitement only implicated Dellman as a fellow conspirator, and so he worked hard to control himself, to settle back into his chair. “The same Brother Dellman who accompanied us to Aida?” he asked.

“The only Brother Dellman,” Markwart sternly replied, seeing right through the ruse.

“Such a pity,” Jojonah remarked. “He is alive, though?”

“Barely, and perhaps not for long,” the Father Abbot answered, going into his pacing once more.

“I will see to him.”

“You will not!” the Father Abbot snapped. “He is under the care of Master De’Unnero. I forbid you from trying to so much as speak to him. He does not need to hear your apologies, Master Jojonah. Let the guilt of your absence weigh on your mind. Perhaps that will lead you back to your true duties and purpose.”

The thought that he was somehow responsible was preposterous, of course, but Jojonah understood the subtle meaning behind it. Markwart was only using that excuse to keep him away from Brother Dellman, to keep his influence from the man while De’Unnero, the master so proficient at bending the minds of the brothers sent on Avelyn’s trail, worked his wicked way.

“You are my witness to this, Brother Francis,” Markwart said. “And I warn you, Master Jojonah, if I hear that you go anywhere near Brother Dellman, the consequences will be dire—for you and for him.”

It surprised Jojonah that Markwart had drawn so clear a line in the sand, had all but openly threatened him. Things were going Markwart’s way, it seemed to Jojonah, so why had he taken such a bold step as that?

He didn’t press the issue, simply nodded and left, and had no intention of crossing Markwart’s line anytime soon. It would be better for Brother Dellman, he reasoned, if he broke all connection with the man for the time being. Besides, Jojonah was only beginning his work. He took a quick meal, went to his room and sighed profoundly in relief to find the tome still in place. Then he went right back to the lower stairs, heading again for the ancient libraries, for more pieces to this ever-more-interesting puzzle.

The doors were sealed, barred by heavy planks. One young monk, a man Jojonah did not know, was standing guard.

“What is the meaning of this?” the master asked.

“No entrance to the lower libraries at this time,” the man mechanically replied. “By order of—”

Before he had even finished, Master Jojonah stormed away, taking the stairs two at a time. He was not surprised to find Father Abbot Markwart waiting for him in his private quarters, this time alone.

“You said nothing about ending my work,” Master Jojonah began, feeling his way cautiously into this fight, for he believed this one might prove conclusive.

“Now is not the time to worry about Brother Allabarnet’s sainthood,” the Father Abbot replied calmly. “I cannot afford to have one of my masters wasting precious time in the dungeons.”

“A curious choice of words,” Jojonah came back, “considering that you have many of your most trusted brothers wasting time in dungeons of another sort.”

He saw the flicker of anger in the old man’s eyes, but Markwart got it quickly under control. “The canonization process will wait until the war is ended,” he said.

“By all reports, it may already be over,” Jojonah was quick to reply.

“And until the threat to our Order is ended,” Markwart added. “It is reasonable to assume that if a powrie could get to Abbot Dobrinion, then none of us are safe. Our enemies are desperate now, for their war is going badly, and it is prudent to believe that they might begin a larger campaign of assassinating important leaders.”

Jojonah had to fight very hard to hold his tongue, to stop from accusing Markwart then and there of facilitating Dobrinion’s murder. He didn’t care anymore for his personal well-being, would have laid into Markwart openly, publicly, beginning an internal struggle that would likely cost him his life. But he could not, he reminded himself many times in the next few seconds. There were others to consider—Dellman, Braumin Herde, Marlboro Viscenti, and the poor prisoners. For their sake, if not his own, he could not begin the open battle against Markwart.

“The process will also wait until the stolen gemstones are returned,” Markwart went on.

“Thus I will sit idle, wasting my time in the upper levels,” Jojonah did dare to remark.

“No, I have other plans for you,” Markwart replied. “More important matters. You are obviously well again—fit enough to attack another monk—and so you should prepare yourself for the road.”

“You just said that the sainthood would wait,” Jojonah responded.

“So I did,” Markwart replied. “But your destination is no longer St. Honce. You will go to Palmaris, to St. Precious, to witness the appointment of a new abbot.”

Master Jojonah could not completely hide his surprise. There was no monk at that abbey prepared for the job, and thus, as far as he knew, nothing of succession had even been discussed, and would be a matter for the College of Abbots later that year.

“Master De’Unnero,” Father Abbot Markwart answered his unspoken question.

“De’Unnero?” Jojonah echoed incredulously. “The junior master in all of St.-Mere-Abelle, a man prematurely promoted due to the death of Master Siherton?”

“The murder of Master Siherton, by Avelyn Desbris,” Markwart was quick to remind.

“He will assume the leadership of St. Precious?” Jojonah continued, too engrossed to even feel the sting of that last verbal barb. “Surely that position is of utmost importance, given the fact that Palmaris remains closest to the lines of battle.”

“That is exactly why I chose De’Unnero,” Markwart replied calmly.

“You chose?” Jojonah echoed. There was little precedence for such a move; the appointment of an abbot, even one coming from within the ranks of the affected abbey, was no small matter, one open to the collective reasoning of the College of Abbots.

“There is no time to convene the College prematurely,” Markwart explained. “Nor can we wait until the scheduled meeting in Calember. Until then, acting on what I deem to be emergency circumstances, I have appointed Master De’Unnero as Dobrinion’s replacement.”

“Temporarily,” Jojonah said.

“Permanently,” came the stern reply. “And you, Master Jojonah, will accompany him.”

“I just returned from many weeks on the road,” Jojonah protested, but he knew he was defeated, and understood that he had erred in trying to get to the prisoners, in pushing hard against Markwart. And now he would pay. Markwart had been well within his rights to halt the canonization process for the time being, and whether or not the Father Abbot’s choice of De’Unnero for abbot would stand would be decided at the fall College of Abbots, and not before. Jojonah was out of excuses and out of dodges.

“You will remain at St. Precious to aid Master… Abbot De’Unnero, as his second,” Markwart went on. “If it pleases him, you may return to St.-Mere-Abelle with him for the College.”

“I outrank him.”

“No more,” Markwart replied.

“I… the College will not stand for this!” Jojonah protested.

“That will be determined in mid-Calember,” Markwart replied. “If the other abbots and their voting seconds see fit to overrule me, then perhaps Jojonah will be appointed abbot of St. Precious.”

But by that time, Jojonah knew, Markwart would likely have his gemstones back, and all of those monks (who had been in league with, or even friendly to, Jojonah’s cause) would have been weeded out of St.-Mere-Abelle, the victims of “accidents” like the one that befell Brother Dellman, or converted to Markwart’s way of thinking by a barrage of lies and threats. Or, for those brothers of conviction like himself, Markwart would find missions in faraway, dangerous lands. Until this moment, Master Jojonah had not truly appreciated how formidable a foe the old Father Abbot would prove to be.

“Perhaps we will meet again,” Markwart said, waving his hand dismissively. “For the sake of peace of mind for both of us, I hope not.”

And so it ends, Master Jojonah thought.

They came in sight of the clusters of houses, farms mostly, just to the north of Palmaris, and were heartened indeed to see that many of the folk had come out of the walled city and returned to their homes.

“The region is returning to normal,” Connor remarked. He was sitting astride his horse, riding next to Pony, who along with Belli’mar Juraviel was up on Symphony, while Elbryan and Roger walked in front, flanking Brother Youseff, whose hands were bound tightly behind his back. “We will know peace again, and soon,” Connor promised, and that seemed a likely notion to all the others, for they had seen no monsters all the way to this point.

“Caer Tinella and Landsdown may have been the last monstrous strongholds in the region,” the ranger reasoned. “What few remain there should prove of little trouble to Palmaris’ garrison.” The ranger stopped then, taking Symphony’s bridle and bringing the horse to a halt. He looked up at his two friends, and both Pony and Juraviel understood.

“We do not dare enter the city,” Elbryan said to Connor. “Nor even get close enough that those folk in the farms might see us.” He looked at Brother Youseff as he finished the thought. “Even knowing of us seems to endanger people.”

“Because you recognize that you are rightly branded as outlaws,” Brother Youseff retorted sharply. “Do you believe that the Church will cease its hunt for you?” He laughed wickedly, seeming not at all the prisoner here.

“It may be that the Church will have other, more pressing problems when the truth of your actions at St. Precious becomes known,” Connor put in, stepping Greystone up between the monk and the ranger.

“And you have proof of these absurd accusations?” Brother Youseff was quick to reply.

“We shall see,” Connor answered, and turned back to Elbryan and the two on Symphony. “Roger and I will deliver him to my uncle,” he explained. “We will use the secular channels of power before trying to decide how much of the Church will side with this dog and his masters.”

“You might be starting a small war,” Pony reasoned, for it was well-known that the Church was nearly as powerful as the state—and some who had witnessed the magical powers of St.-Mere-Abelle considered the Church even more powerful.

“If such a war is to begin, then it was started by those who murdered Abbot Dobrinion, not by me or my uncle,” Connor replied with conviction. “I am only following the proper course in response to that heinous act, and in defense of my own life.”

“We will wait for word,” Elbryan put in, not wanting to belabor this point any longer.

“Roger and I will return to you as soon as possible,” Connor agreed. “I know that you are anxious to be on your way.” He was careful to end the thought there, for he did not want the dangerous monk prisoner to know that Elbryan intended to go straightaway to St.-Mere-Abelle. Given the wonders he had seen of stone magic, Connor had thought it foolish that the ranger openly declared to Youseff that they would be going after their captured friends. The less precise information this dangerous man held, the better for all of them.

Connor motioned to Elbryan and turned his horse aside, the ranger walking beside him, away from the others. “If I cannot get back out to you, then farewell, Nightbird,” the nobleman said in all sincerity.

Elbryan followed the nobleman’s gaze back to Pony.

“I would be a liar if I did not admit that I was envious of you,” Connor went on. “I, too, loved her; who could not, after witnessing her beauty?”

Elbryan had no practical response, and so he said nothing.

“But it is obvious where lies Jill’s … Pony’s heart,” Connor added after a long and uncomfortable pause. “That heart is for you,” he said, looking the ranger in the eye.

“You do not intend to return to us,” Elbryan suddenly understood. “You will deliver the monk, then stay in Palmaris.”