He was not much of a horseman, but, riding Symphony, he did not have to be. Roger turned south as soon as he understood the truth of the disaster at the plateau: the power of Avelyn had not come forth and his friends had all been taken prisoner.
Roger had no idea what he should do.
He thought of trying to sneak into the camp and free Elbryan or Pony. He had executed such maneuvers against the powries in Caer Tinella, after all, had stolen prisoners and food right out from under their sentries. But Roger dismissed the notion. These were not powries. This was the King of Honce-the-Bear and his most elite and powerful fighting unit. Worse, this was Father Abbot Markwart and Bishop De'Unnero and a host of gemstone-armed Abellican monks. Roger might get into the encampment, but he knew without doubt that he would never, ever get away. And even if he did manage to free Elbryan, or Pony, or even both somehow, and get them to their weapons and gemstones, it would do little good. They had been armed, after all, when they had first encountered this force, and it seemed to Roger as if none of the King's or Father Abbot's minions had even been injured!
So he rode, hard and fast, the great stallion easily outpacing the troop. He came into Dundalis and learned, to his continued distress, that Tomas, too, had been taken.
Still he rode, past Caer Tinella and Landsdown, down the road toward Palmaris - though what he might accomplish there, he did not know. Lost and alone, the man spent one night in a pine grove, and only then did he learn that not all his friends were caught or dead. Belli'mar Juraviel found him there, or rather, found Symphony, and came in expecting that Nightbird had somehow eluded the Father Abbot and was even then plotting his counterstrikes.
With a heart that grew heavy as soon as the initial joy and relief at seeing Juraviel faded, Roger recounted the events at the Barbacan. The elf listened with mounting, profound sadness, for it seemed to him as if all was lost.
"What are we to do?" Roger asked when he had finished, Juraviel making no comment, other than to close his golden eyes.
The elf looked at him and shook his head. "Bear witness," he replied, echoing Lady Dasslerond's instructions.
"Witness?" Roger said incredulously. "Witness to what? A mass execution?"
"Perhaps," Juraviel admitted. "Have they come through Caer Tinella?"
"I know not," Roger admitted. "They came through Dundalis only a day behind me, for I spotted them moving along a lower trail. Yet that was nearly a week ago. Their course was south, to Palmaris, I expect. But they cannot pace Symphony, so I know not how far behind they might be."
"Are Nightbird and Pony still alive?" Juraviel asked. Roger winced, for he, too, had pondered that question often over the last few days.
"It is likely that the King will want them brought to Palmaris for trial," the elf went on.
"So there, we must go," Roger reasoned.
"Outside the gates," Juraviel replied. "I wish to witness their entrance to the city, that we might determine if our friends are still with them, and still alive, and, if we are quick and clever, where they mean to imprison them."
In response, Roger Lockless looked forlornly to the north. The night-mare was in full swing, and the man felt helpless to try and change its course.
Spring was in bloom by the time the grand procession, prisoners in tow, marched through the northern gate of Palmaris. The only concession Danube had won from Markwart on the entire journey south was to allow the prisoners to ride upright, with some measure of dignity until the trial could commence and they were formally condemned.
The upright posture brought little comfort to Elbryan, though. Mark-wart was careful to keep the dangerous ranger and his equally dangerous wife far apart, both during the day's marches and within the encampment during the nights, affording them no opportunity to speak. They did make eye contact occasionally, and the ranger used the meager opportunity to stare lovingly at Pony, to mouth the words "I love you," to smile - anything at all to make her understand that he was not angry with her, not only that he had forgiven her, but that he understood that there was nothing to forgive.
One thing did perplex him, though, and brought him more than a little worry: Pony was obviously not with child. A multitude of questions assaulted the ranger, all the more frustrating because he knew that he would not soon get the answers. Had the child been born? Had she lost the baby? And if it was alive, then with whom? And if not, then who had killed it?
He could not know, and no one would speak with him. He had been placed in the care of the Allheart line, moved far away from Pony, and Markwart and Danube had been very specific to the soldiers guarding him. They were not to speak with him, not to acknowledge him at all unless an emergency arose. To the ranger's dismay, no emergencies at all confronted them all the way to Palmaris.
He took some comfort, at least, in the fact that Markwart won the argu-ment that ensued once they were inside the city. He, Pony, the five monks, and Bradwarden were to be jailed at St. Precious. Colleen and Shamus Kil-ronney and the other treasonous Kingsmen, along with Tomas and the folk of Dundalis, fell under the care of Duke Kalas at the house of Aloysius Crump.
During the descent to the dungeons of the abbey, he saw Pony briefly, passing her more closely than at any time.
"I love you," he said quickly, before the nearest monk could force him to be quiet. "We will be together."
And then two monks leaped onto him, forcing him to the floor; one wrapped a gag around his mouth and pulled it tight.
He did hear Pony say, "I love you," and heard, too, her charge that Markwart had murdered their child.
And then he was dragged to his cell and thrown inside, the heavy door slammed in his face.
After a while, the ranger collected himself enough to crawl through the filth to his door and call out for Pony.
To his surprise, a voice answered.
"Pony?" he asked desperately.
"Brother Braumin," came the distant response. "Pony is far down the corridor, the furthest cell from your own. Except for Bradwarden; he is in another corridor, for none of these cells would hold him."
Elbryan sighed and rested his face against the door, thoroughly defeated.
"My brothers and I are all in line between you, my friend," came Braumin's voice. "We will relay your words to her, and hers to you, if you do not mind us hearing them."
Elbryan chuckled at the absurdity of it all, but he did take Braumin up on the offer. He told Pony of all his adventures since she had left him in Caer Tinella, and heard through Braumin Pony's response, most pointedly the tale of the disaster on the field outside Palmaris, when she had lost her - their - baby.
"They will try the monks first," Constance Pemblebury reported to her King the next morning. All Palmaris was alive with gossip; no two people in the city passed by on the street without an exchange of news.
"Those four remaining will be handled quietly and efficiently," King Danube reasoned. "Markwart will surely condemn them, though he will not likely execute them until he secures the sentence of death upon Nightbird and the woman."
"It is all a disgusting and evil affair," Constance dared to say.
King Danube didn't disagree.
"Is there nothing we can do?" she asked.
The King only chuckled helplessly. "We are to hold our own trials," he explained. "And our sentencing will probably be no less harsh than the Father Abbot's. Both the woman Kilronney, soldier of the former Baron, and Shamus of the Kingsmen are surely doomed, rightfully so by their own actions."
"Yet they acted out of conscience, against what they perceived as injus-tice," Constance remarked.
Again came the chuckle. "Whenever were they granted such permis-sion?" he asked.
"Are we to try them first?" Constance continued. "At the same time as the monks, perhaps, or immediately following?"
King Danube sat back in his chair and spent a long time pondering that question. "Last," he decided, though he was not sure that he would stick with the decision. "Perhaps by that time, the peasants' taste for blood will be sated and some of Shamus Kilronney's soldiers, at least, might be spared."
Constance turned away. She wanted to yell at him, remind him that he was the King, that he could dismiss the charges against all of them, even Nightbird and Pony. Or could he? she suddenly wondered. What would be the price of such an action, in addition to the obvious enmity of the Abel-lican Church?
"The monk who leaped from Aida," King Danube remarked, shaking his head, "he fell right before me, you know. I saw his face, all the way down, right before he struck the stone."
"I am, sorry, my King," she replied.
"Sorry?" Danube scoffed. "The man was not afraid. He was smiling. Smiling, though he knew that he was but an instant from death. I will never understand these Abellican monks, Constance, so fanatical that they do not even fear death."
"But you must understand them," Constance replied grimly, and that thought settled heavily on both their shoulders. There was little doubt that Markwart now held the upper hand. Markwart, risen from the grave. Mark-wart, the valiant Father Abbot, so old and yet strong enough to travel all the way to the Barbacan to capture the most dangerous criminals in all the world. Markwart! They were all talking about Markwart, the hero of the common folk. Though Danube had a stronger force within Palmaris, his position seemed weak when compared to that of the Father Abbot.
Duke Kalas entered the room then, obviously outraged.
"The centaur is no criminal," he declared immediately.
"You have interviewed the creature?" Danube asked, eyes wide.
"Bradwarden is his name," Kalas explained. "But, no, the monks would not let me speak with any of the prisoners held in St. Precious."
King Danube banged his fist on the arm of his chair. He had sent Kalas to the abbey to demand an interview with any whose words would be rele-vant to the trial of Shamus and the other soldiers. He had given the man a personal writ, with the seal of the Crown, demanding an interview.
And Markwart had denied him.
"I did find Abbot Je'howith, making his way from St. Precious to Chasewind Manor," Kalas explained.
"Je'howith," King Danube echoed in a wicked tone, for the King was not pleased with the old abbot.
"He deigned not to speak with me!" the Duke cried. "He would have denied me altogether."
The King looked at him curiously.
"Except that I informed him that he would give me his tongue willingly or I would cut it from his mouth," the volatile Kalas explained. "I had ten Allheart soldiers with me, while Je'howith was accompanied by merely a pair of monks."
"You threatened the abbot of St. Honce?" Constance asked incredu-lously, though she too, frustrated, didn't seem too upset by the action.
"I would have killed him," Duke Kalas declared flatly, "right there, on the open street, and let Father Abbot Markwart declare me an outlaw and try to bring me to his overused gallows!"
"But you did not," the King prompted.
"He spoke with me," Kalas replied, "as did the other monks. One of them had gone on the first journey to Mount Aida, the one during which Markwart first captured the centaur Bradwarden, and brought him back in chains through Palmaris, taking him all the way to the dungeons of St.- Mere-Abelle."
"And Nightbird and Pony rescued him," Constance reasoned.
Kalas nodded. "Thus sealing their own fates as criminals," he explained. "But that premise is only valid if one considers the centaur a criminal, and from what I have learned, that is far from proven. Bradwarden went to Mount Aida with Nightbird and Pony and several others, including the monk Avelyn Desbris, whom the College of Abbots formally declared heretic last Calember."
"Thus they are criminals by association with the heretic," Danube reasoned.
"They went, so the centaur claims, to destroy the demon dactyl, who raised that army against Honce-the-Bear," Kalas explained. "And, indeed, even the Church admits that the demon dactyl was there destroyed!"
"They saved the country, but are criminals in the eyes of the Church," Constance remarked, shaking her head.
"What are we to do?" Duke Kalas demanded.
King Danube looked away, fixing his gaze on a distant point and then let-ting that point melt into nothingness as he pondered the situation. He understood Kalas' call for action, for a large part of him wanted to openly declare the Church wrong and demand the release of all prisoners. But Danube understood the truth of the situation, a dire truth that was rein-forced by what the lady of Andur'Blough Inninness had secretly told him, and doubly reinforced by his memories of Markwart's powerful specter. He could fight them now, with words if not with soldiers, but if he pushed too hard, Markwart would fight back, viciously.
"I have just informed Constance that we shall delay the trials of Sha-mus and the others until after the Church completes its inquisition and sentencing," Danube replied at length. "And we shall show mercy to our prisoners. Perhaps we will even find a way to exonerate some of them com-pletely, thus casting a dark shadow on the previous actions of the vengeful Church."
"And what of Nightbird, Pony, and Bradwarden?" Kalas asked. "And what of the captured monks?"
"The monks are not our affair," King Danube was quick to respond. "If Markwart chooses to execute them - and I am certain that he shall - then let the populace judge his actions."
"And the others?" Constance asked.
The King paused for a long moment. "Again, we shall let Markwart do as he sees fit with them," he replied. Constance shook her head, and Duke Kalas growled and banged his fist against the wall.
"If he executes them - " the King began.
"Which he surely shall," said Constance.
The King nodded. "But if the true story of Mount Aida then begins to circulate, if after the executions, the people of Palmaris come to see that Nightbird, Pony, and Bradwarden were not criminals but heroes, then Father Abbot Markwart must surely shoulder the vast amount of blame."
Now both Constance and Kalas were nodding, though their expressions remained grim. Neither liked the idea of sacrificing innocent people, but both understood the pragmatism of King Danube's position.
"In the meantime," the King went on. "I shall appoint Targon Bree Kalas, Duke of Wester-Honce, as baron of Palmaris."
"But there is already a Bishop," Kalas reasoned.
"If Markwart can declare both a bishop and an abbot of St. Precious, then I can justify the appointment of a baron," the King replied. "Markwart cannot oppose me on this, nor can he deny the demand of the new baron that he take residence at Chasewind Manor."
"And the Bishop?" Duke Kalas asked slyly, liking this plan more and more by the second.
"Let us find a powerful merchant who owes us a favor to come north and make a claim that he is a relative of Aloysius Crump. Let us see if we can force the Church from both mansions and put them back in St. Precious where they belong."
That won the approval of both advisers. The King would oppose Markwart, but quietly, and while none liked the idea that several apparently innocent people would be sacrificed for the sake of expediency, all three understood that Markwart's present course might well turn many folk against him.
That position was reinforced later that same day, when Captain Al'u'met arrived at the house of Crump. When the man was granted an immediate audience with the King and his advisers, he begged for royal intervention on behalf of Pony and her friends, declaring they were innocent, indeed were heroes.
None of the folk in the room doubted the man's words, but neither did anyone believe that Al'u'met would find opportunity to make those claims heard during the trial of the supposed conspirators against the Church. Yet, when the seaman left, ultimately frustrated, Danube and his advisers were even more hopeful that Markwart was making a mistake, and that, in the end, the Church would lose favor with the common folk of Palmaris.
But those hopes, even if they came to fruition, would prove of little value to Elbryan, Pony and their friends.
Roger's heart sank even lower at the sight of the Fellowship Way. Once one of the most respected taverns in Palmaris, the place now lay quiet and dark, with no patrons and no staff. Roger had hoped that Belster could pro-vide some information valuable to him and Juraviel, some way perhaps that they might be able to get to their friends.
But there was no Belster to be found. No one at all.
With a shake of his head, the forlorn man moved down the street and into an alley, where he was to meet Belli'mar Juraviel after the elf finished scouting St. Precious.
Prim O'Bryen and Heathcomb Mallory, disguised as incoherent drunks, watched Roger.
"Ye think that's the one?" Mallory asked, for Belster, suspecting and hoping that Roger might show up, had placed them in this very spot. Both men knew Roger from their time in the north before the defeat of the dactyl's army, though they couldn't get a good enough look at the small form now as the man rushed away.
"Worth asking," Prim O'Bryen replied. The two glanced around to make sure that no soldiers or monks were about, then followed the man, stopping at the edge of the alley and carefully peering around. With no one else in sight, the two took a chance and approached.
Roger's face brightened, for he recognized the two men from the north, and they him. Less than an hour later, he came face-to-face with Belster O'Comely in the hold of theSaudi Jacintha.
"Markwart's got them both," Roger explained, and the innkeeper was nodding with every word, for his network of spies had provided every detail about the disposition of the prisoners.
"Captain Al'u'met went to the King himself," Belster replied, indicating the tall black man.
Roger regarded Belster's friend, whom he had just met.
"I believe the King to be sympathetic," Al'u'met said, "but he'll not go against the Father Abbot. Our friends will find no help from the Crown."
"They are doomed," Belster added.
"We have to get them out," Roger said determinedly, but his tone did little to bolster the confidence of his companions.
"If we gathered every ally and convinced them of our cause, and went unified against St. Precious, we would all be dead on the street within a matter of moments," Al'u'met answered. "You make the same mistake as Jilseponie, I fear. You believe that we can fight openly against the Church, but that, my friend, will bring nothing but disaster."
"Are we to let them die?" Roger asked, aiming the painful question at Belster.
"If we get ourselves killed trying to help them, then know that they will feel their own deaths far more painfully," the innkeeper replied.
"Their fates are not sealed," Roger growled. "I came into Palmaris beside Belli'mar Juraviel. He'll not stand idly by while his friends are murdered!"
The name of Juraviel did bring a glimmer of hope to Belster's sad eyes. The innkeeper looked to Al'u'met. "Juraviel of the Touel'alfar," he explained, "an elf friend of Nightbird and Pony."
"Elf," Al'u'met echoed, and he, too, managed a slightly hopeful smile. Captain Al'u'met knew Juraviel, or had seen the elf with Elbryan, Pony, and Bradwarden, when he'd ferried them across the Masur Delaval. The captain did not understand the Touel'alfar, knew practically nothing about them other than Juraviel's appearance, but from Roger's determination and Belster's somewhat hopeful smile, he, too, dared to hope that perhaps all was not lost.
At the same time as the meeting in the hold of theSaudi Jacintha, Belli'mar Juraviel made his way along the corridors of the house of Crump. Juraviel had taken the same secret route into the place Dasslerond had used to meet with the King; and when he had first entered, the elf had consid-ered going to speak privately with King Danube.
But that he could not do, he realized, for the lady had forbade him to interfere. Still, feeling that he had to do something for his friends, the elf had not left the place, but had slipped down into the bowels of the old house. An elvish trick got him by the half-asleep guards, and his size allowed him to fit through a fireplace and into the chimney network, moving to the musty cellar and large room where Colleen, Shamus, and the other soldiers were being held.
They milled about the cellar unchained, but unarmed, with no chance of escape. A single stairway led to the one heavy door above, and that, Juraviel knew, was heavily barred.
The elf stayed out of sight for some time, listening, taking a measure of the group, particularly of Colleen, whom he had learned had been a companion of Pony. The other soldiers knew of Tiel'marawee, so, trusting their reaction, Juraviel came out of the chimney, announcing his presence quietly.
"I am Belli'mar Juraviel," he explained, "a friend of Nightbird, and," he added, looking Colleen in the eye, "of Pony."
The soldiers scrambled to encircle the elf.
"Have ye seen her?" Colleen asked him. The woman was the most unnerved of the group, for though she had heard much of the Touel'alfar - of Juraviel, in fact - she had never before seen an elf.
"Or Nightbird?" Shamus added. "How fares Nightbird?"
"They are in St. Precious," Juraviel explained. "And there I have not yet dared to venture. I fear the power of the monks and their gemstones."
"There is no one to trust," Shamus said gravely. "For those who believe in us have not the power, nor the courage, to stand with us. I only hope that King Danube will let me speak before passing judgment over me and my men, and I trust that he shall. But for Nightbird and Pony and the others in the clutches of Father Abbot Markwart, alas!"
"Then speak your words as loudly as you are allowed," Juraviel insisted. "For even if they will not help our friends, they will assure that Nightbird and Pony have not died in vain."
"Tell him of the miracle," another soldier prompted, and Shamus Kil-ronney recounted the tale of the goblin battle atop Mount Aida, the same story Roger had told the elf on their journey to Palmaris.
"Keep well that tale," Juraviel replied, and, hearing some noise outside, he turned back for the fireplace. Colleen Kilronney went with him.
"Brother Talumus," she whispered as the elf slipped into the chimney, "a monk of St. Precious. He is a friend, perhaps."
The conversation ended before she could give a proper description, for the door banged open and a host of Allheart soldiers came down the stairs, bearing trays of food.
By the time Roger found Juraviel in the alley near the Fellowship Way, the elf had already visited St. Precious, though he had not ventured in and had not found Brother Talumus. The two went back to theSaudi Jacintha, and Belster O'Comely assured them both that finding the monk would not be difficult. The innkeeper added a stern warning, though, that if this Abel-lican monk learned too much about them and could not be trusted, he would not be allowed to leave.
The very next night, Roger met with Brother Talumus, with Juraviel joining the conversation from the shadows at the sides of the alley. Again the monk showed his reluctance to take any overt action against the Church, though he admitted his uneasiness with the trial and expected exe-cutions, even going so far as to declare the Father Abbot wrong on this issue when prodded hard enough by Juraviel.
"Then make a difference," the elf demanded. "Find a way to help us. If we are caught, then your name will not be uttered, I assure you. If we suc-ceed, or if we do not, Brother Talumus can sleep with conscience clear."
"You speak fine words," the monk replied, peering into the shadows, though he could not get a glimpse of the elusive Juraviel. "Yet you mis-understand me. You think that I am afraid for my own life, but that is not the case. What I fear is doing harm to my Church, for that I cannot tolerate. I am not the only one who believes that this situation has become terrible, and hardly godly. At least one master - " The monk stopped abruptly, and it was obvious that he did not want to break a confidence.
"You do not wish to harm your Church," Juraviel said from the shadows. "Yet, how will aiding innocents bring such harm? If the Church is worth following, then should not such an action strengthen it?"
"You twist my words," Talumus argued, but he was clearly coming to understand that he could not sit back and let these terrible executions happen.
By the time he left the alley, the plan had been formed.
But by the time Brother Talumus walked in through the great doors of St. Precious Abbey, he knew that he would not have the strength to see it through. Wracked with guilt, the confused young man went to the only superior he felt he could trust, seeking the blessing of Penitence, betraying himself, and, at gentle prodding, his friends.
Brother Talumus felt better when he left that meeting, but the master who had bestowed the blessing, Master Theorelle Engress, surely did not. For the second time in a few short months, Engress had heard a story of conspiracy and complicity, a tearing of heart against Markwart-directed precept, of conscience against rank. For many weeks, the gentle master had sat back and watched as the Father Abbot had taken the Church in a new, dominating direction, rolling roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. Now they were approaching the pinnacle of that Church ascent, and that height would be reached on top of the bodies of innocents.
Engress had heard enough. He went back to Brother Talumus that same night, and the younger man was surprised by what the aged master had in mind.
"He offered amnesty to Castinagis, Dellman, and Viscenti if they would speak against you at your trial," Brother Braumin told Elbryan that same night, the monk returned to his cell after the swift and brutal interrogation by Markwart.
"And what of Brother Braumin?" the ranger asked.
"No amnesty," the monk replied, and to Elbryan, his voice did not sound heavy. "I will confess and implicate you, Pony, and Bradwarden, because I will be tortured until I do so. But no matter what I say, I will die right after you three are convicted. Markwart did offer me a quick death if I spoke against you, but nothing more."
The ranger pitied the man, though he understood that his own end would be just as terrible.
"But all three have vowed not to speak against you," Brother Braumin added firmly. "They understand, as do I, as did Jojonah, that to deny our cause and our beliefs is to strengthen Markwart."
"The alternative for those three is death," the ranger reminded. "Yet they can save their lives with a few words."
"We all die, Nightbird," the monk replied calmly, "every man and every woman. Better to die young, with principles intact, than to live out a life that is a lie. What guilt would a man who goes so directly against his heart have to carry through the years? What life worth living might he find? You must understand the process of becoming an Abellican monk, the dedication and the faith. No man who fears death could have ever walked through the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle in the robes of an Abellican initiate."
The ranger took comfort in that. It pained him that these brothers would die, as they were all pained by the glorious death of Brother Mullahy, and yet he, and they, understood that holding fast to their principles was by far the nobler course.
The conversation ended abruptly as footsteps sounded in the hall, fol-lowed by a jingling at Elbryan's door, as if someone was fiddling with keys. After several moments, the door finally opened, and the ranger was sur-prised to see only a single Abellican monk - usually they sent three.
The ranger used the wall for support as he stood up on shaky legs. He considered attacking, but since the monk's cowl was pulled low, hiding his face, he feared that this might be De'Unnero, come, perhaps, to challenge him once again.
And then Elbryan nearly fell over, for Roger Lockless pulled back the cowl, smiling widely. "I know," he apologized. "I should have arrived more quickly. But there were complications."
Elbryan hit him with a bear hug that nearly sent them both to the floor. "How?" the ranger asked.
"I had to wait for these," Roger replied, opening his robe. There, hanging from the man's belt, hung Pony's pouch of gemstones. "Fortu-nately, they kept much of the evidence together," Roger explained. "Juraviel is outside waiting for us, though he is troubled since we were not yet able to find the elven sword and bow."
Another man entered the corridor then, a high-ranking Abellican master, judging from the golden belt tied about his brown robe. His face was wrin-kled and old, his eyes soft.
"Gather your friends and be out quickly," he said to Elbryan. "Run away as far as your horses will carry you, though I fear that even that distance will not prove far enough."
"Who are you?" the ranger replied. "How is this possible?"
"Master Engress," Roger explained as he began sorting through the huge ring of keys before on Braumin's door. "A friend."
"A friend who will run to the north with us," Elbryan decided, but the old man laughed at the notion before the ranger even finished.
"I will be caught, and will not deny my role in your escape," Engress explained. "I am old and near death anyway. To give my life so that seven others, younger and more deserving of their futures than I, might live, is no cause for sadness."
Elbryan still did not understand, but he had no time to question him fur-ther, for Roger had Braumin free and moved to the next door. More impor-tant, the ranger heard a voice from the end of the corridor that he could not ignore. He sprinted to Pony's door, running his hands over, testing it to see if he could simply pull it from its hinges. Roger saw him and came to that door next. A moment later the lovers were reunited, in each others' arms for the first time in what seemed like years. Elbryan crushed her against him, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet, that everything was now all right.
Of course, that was far from the truth, but soon after, Roger and the others joined Juraviel in the alley outside of St. Precious and ran off into the darkness.
Friends met them in the alleys and separated them, for Bradwarden could not possibly get through the submerged cave openings. Elbryan sug-gested they go right out then, all of them, to the wilds of the north. That was not possible, the scouts responded, since the Allheart soldiers and a host of monks were guarding the northern wall.
It was too close to dawn to hope for an escape from the city now, and besides, word would spread quickly from St. Precious of their escape. Better to hide the fugitives until a clearer route out of the city could be discerned.
Elbryan, Pony, and the four monks were in the secret caverns along the banks of the Masur Delaval soon after dawn.
By that time, soldiers and monks charged along the city's streets in frantic search, the soldiers led by Duke Kalas, as eager to capture the fugi-tives as the monks, with Kalas planning that if his soldiers did find them, they would be brought to the house of Crump and not to St. Precious.
"Strike me dead," Master Engress said to Markwart, holding his arms out wide in absolute submission. "I could not allow this, Dalebert Markwart. I watched you burn Jojonah and unjustly proclaim Avelyn a heretic - "
The words caught in the old man's throat as Markwart's spirit surged through the hematite and grabbed him.
Engress went down to his knees but managed somehow to speak once more. "Avelyn destroyed Bestesbulzibar," he gasped. "They are not criminals."
And then he died on the floor of Chasewind Manor, murdered by Mark-wart as abbots De'Unnero and Je'howith, Bishop Francis, and several other monks - including a very afraid Brother Talumus - looked on.
But Engress had died contented. He had gone straight to the outraged Markwart and admitted his crime, and then had goaded the old man so that Markwart would kill him quickly, before the Father Abbot could learn that Brother Talumus, too, had played a role in the escape.
